Vol. I 1807-1809 PREFACE
It is many years since an attempt has been made in England to deal with the general history of the Peninsular War. Several interesting and valuable diaries or memoirs of officers who took part in the great struggle have been published of late[1], but no writer of the present generation has dared to grapple with the details of the whole of the seven years of campaigning that lie between the Dos Mayo and Toulouse. Napier’s splendid work has held the field for sixty years. Meanwhile an enormous bulk of valuable material has been accumulating in English, French, and Spanish, which has practically remained unutilized. Papers, public and private, are accessible whose existence was not suspected in the ’thirties; an infinite number of autobiographies and reminiscences which have seen the light after fifty or sixty years of repose in some forgotten drawer, have served to fill up many gaps in our knowledge. At least one formal history of the first importance, that of General Arteche y Moro, has been published. I fancy that its eleven volumes are practically unknown in England, yet it is almost as valuable as Tore?o’s Guerra de la Independencia in enabling us to understand the purely Spanish side of the war.

I trust therefore that it will not be considered presumptuous for one who has been working for some ten or fifteen years at the original sources to endeavour to[p. iv] summarize in print the results of his investigations; for I believe that even the reader who has already devoted a good deal of attention to the Peninsular War will find a considerable amount of new matter in these pages.

My resolve to take in hand a general history of the struggle was largely influenced by the passing into the hands of All Souls College of the papers of one of its most distinguished fellows, the diplomatist Sir Charles Vaughan. Not only had Vaughan unique opportunities for observing the early years of the Peninsular War, but he turned them to the best account, and placed all his observations on record. I suppose that there was seldom a man who had a greater love for collecting and filing information. His papers contain not only his own diaries and correspondence, but an infinite number of notes made for him by Spanish friends on points which he desired to master, and a vast bulk of pamphlets, proclamations, newspapers, and tables of statistics, carefully bound together in bundles, which (as far as I can see) have not been opened between the day of his death and that on which they passed, by a legacy from his last surviving relative, into the possession of his old college. Vaughan landed at Corunna in September, 1808, in company with Charles Stuart, the first English emissary to the Central Junta. He rode with Stuart to Madrid and Aranjuez, noting everything that he saw, from Roman inscriptions to the views of local Alcaldes and priests on the politics of the day. He contrived to interview many persons of importance—for example, he heard from Cuesta’s own lips of his treasonable plot to overthrow the Junta, and he secured a long conversation with Casta?os as to the Capitulation of Baylen, from which I have extracted some wholly new facts as to that event. He then went to Aragon, where he stayed three weeks in the company of the Captain[p. v]-General Joseph Palafox. Not only did he cross-question Palafox as to all the details of his famous defence of Saragossa, but he induced San Genis (the colonel who conducted the engineering side of the operations) to write him a memorandum, twelve pages long, as to the character and system of his work. Vaughan accompanied Palafox to the front in November, but left the Army of Aragon a day before the battle of Tudela. Hearing of the disaster from the fugitives of Casta?os’s army, he resolved to take the news to Madrid. Riding hard for the capital, he crossed the front of Ney’s cavalry at Agreda, but escaped them and came safely through. On arriving at Madrid he was given dispatches for Sir John Moore, and carried them to Salamanca. It was the news which he brought that induced the British general to order his abortive retreat on Portugal. Moore entrusted to him not only his dispatch to Sir David Baird, bidding him retire into Galicia, but letters for Lord Castlereagh, which needed instant conveyance to London. Accordingly Vaughan rode with headlong speed to Baird at Astorga, and from Astorga to Corunna, which he reached eleven days after his start from Tudela. From thence he took ship to England and brought the news of the Spanish disasters to the British Ministry.

Vaughan remained some time in England before returning to Spain, but he did not waste his time. Not only did he write a short account of the siege of Saragossa, which had a great vogue at the moment, but he collected new information from an unexpected source. General Lefebvre-Desnouettes, the besieger of Saragossa, arrived as a prisoner in England. Vaughan promptly went to Cheltenham, where the Frenchman was living on parole, and had a long conversation with him as to the details of the siege, which he carefully[p. vi] compared with the narrative of Palafox. Probably no other person ever had such opportunities for collecting first-hand information as to that famous leaguer. It will please those who love the romantic side of history, to know that Vaughan was introduced by Palafox to Agostina, the famous ‘Maid of Saragossa,’ and heard the tale of her exploit from the Captain-General less than three months after it had occurred. The doubts of Napier and others as to her existence are completely dissipated by the diary of this much-travelled Fellow of All Souls College.

Vaughan returned to Spain ere 1809 was out, and served under various English ambassadors at Seville and Cadiz for the greater part of the war. His papers and collections for the later years of the struggle are almost as full and interesting as those for 1808 which I have utilized in this volume.

I have worked at the Record Office on the British official papers of the first years of the war, especially noting all the passages which are omitted in the printed dispatches of Moore and other British generals. The suppressed paragraphs (always placed within brackets marked with a pencil) contain a good deal of useful matter, mainly criticisms on individuals which it would not have been wise to publish at the time. There are a considerable number of intercepted French dispatches in the collection, and a certain amount of correspondence with the Spaniards which contains facts and figures generally unknown. Among the most interesting are the letters of General Leith, who was attached to the head quarters of Blake; in them I found by far the best account of the operations of the Army of Galicia in Oct.-Nov., 1808, which I have come upon.

As to printed sources of information, I have read all the Parliamentary papers of 1808-9, and the whole file[p. vii] of the Madrid Gazette, as well as many scores of memoirs and diaries, French, English, and Spanish. I think that no important English or French book has escaped me; but I must confess that some of the Spanish works quoted by General Arteche proved unprocurable, both in London and Paris. The British Museum Library is by no means strong in this department; it is even short of obvious authorities, such as the monographs of St. Cyr and of Cabanes on the War in Catalonia. The memoirs of the Peninsular veterans on both sides often require very cautious handling; some cannot be trusted for anything that did not happen under the author’s eye. Others were written so long after the events which they record, that they are not even to be relied upon for facts which must have been under his actual observation. For example, General Marbot claims that he brought to Bayonne the dispatch from Murat informing Napoleon of the insurrection of Madrid on May 2, and gives details as to the way in which the Emperor received the news. But it is absolutely certain, both from the text of Murat’s letter and from Napoleon’s answer to it, that the document was carried and delivered by a Captain Hannecourt. The aged Marbot’s memory had played him false. There are worse cases, where an eye-witness, writing within a short time of the events which he describes, gives a version which he must have known to be incorrect, for the glorification of himself or some friend. Thiébault and Le Noble are bad offenders in this respect: Thiébault’s account of some of the incidents in Portugal and of the combat of Aldea del Ponte, Le Noble’s narrative of Corunna, seem to be deliberately falsified. I have found one English authority who falls under the same suspicion. But on both sides the majority of the mistakes come either from writers who describe that which did not pass under[p. viii] their own eyes, or from aged narrators who wrote their story twenty, thirty, or forty years after the war was over. Their diaries written at the time are often invaluable correctives to their memoirs or monographs composed after an interval; e.g. Foy’s rough diary lately published by Girod de l’Ain contains some testimonials to Wellington and the British army very much more handsomely expressed than anything which the General wrote in his formal history of the early campaigns of 1808.

I hope to insert in my second volume a bibliography of all the works useful for the first two years of the war. The inordinate size to which my first volume has swelled has made it impossible to include in it a list of authorities, which covers a good many pages.

It will be noticed that my Appendices include several extensive tables, giving the organization of the French and Spanish armies in 1808. For part of them I am indebted to General Arteche’s work; but the larger half has been constructed at great cost of time and labour from scattered contemporary papers—from returns to be found in the most varied places (some of the most important Spanish ones survive only in the Record Office or in Vaughan’s papers, others only in the Madrid Gazette). No one, so far as I know, had hitherto endeavoured to construct the complete table of the Spanish army in October, or of that of the exact composition of Napoleon’s ‘grand army’ in the same month. I hope my Appendices therefore may be found of some use.

More than one friend has asked me during the last few months whether it is worth while to rewrite the history of the Peninsular War when Napier’s great work is everywhere accessible. I can only reply that I no more dream of superseding the immortal six volumes of[p. ix] that grand old soldier, than Dr. S. R. Gardiner dreamed of superseding Clarendon’s History of the Great Rebellion when he started to write the later volumes of his account of the reign of Charles I. The books of Napier and Clarendon must remain as all-important contemporary narratives, written by men who saw clearly one aspect of the events which they describe; in each the personal element counts for much, and the political and individual sympathies and enmities of the historian have coloured his whole work. No one would think of going to Clarendon for an unprejudiced account of the character and career of Oliver Cromwell. But I do not think that it is generally realized that it is just as unsafe to go to Napier for an account of the aims and undertakings of the Spanish Juntas, or the Tory governments of 1808-14. As a narrator of the incidents of war he is unrivalled: no one who has ever read them can forget his soul-stirring descriptions of the charge of the Fusilier brigade at Albuera, of the assault on the Great Breach at Badajoz, or the storming of Soult’s positions on the Rhune. These and a hundred other eloquent passages will survive for ever as masterpieces of vigorous English prose.

But when he wanders off into politics, English or Spanish, Napier is a less trustworthy guide. All his views are coloured by the fact that he was a bitter enemy of the Tories of his own day. The kinsman not only of Charles James Fox, but of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, he could never look with unprejudiced eyes on their political opponents. Canning and Spencer Perceval were in his ideas men capable of any folly, any gratuitous perversity. Castlereagh’s splendid services to England are ignored: it would be impossible to discover from the pages of the Peninsular War that this was the man who picked out Wellington for the[p. x] command in Spain, and kept him there in spite of all manner of opposition. Nor is this all: Napier was also one of those strange Englishmen who, notwithstanding all the evidence that lay before them, believed that Napoleon Bonaparte was a beneficent character, thwarted in his designs for the regeneration of Europe by the obstinate and narrow-minded opposition of the British Government. In his preface, he goes so far as to say that the Tories fought the Emperor not because he was the dangerous enemy of the British Empire, but because he was the champion of Democracy, and they the champions of caste and privilege. When the tidings of Napoleon’s death at St. Helena reached him (as readers of his Life will remember), he cast himself down on his sofa and wept for three hours! Hence it was that, in dealing with the Tory ministries, he is ever a captious and unkind critic, while for the Emperor he displays a respect that seems very strange in an enthusiastic friend of political liberty. Every one who has read the first chapters of his great work must see that Bonaparte gets off with slight reproof for his monstrous act of treachery at Bayonne, and for the even more disgusting months of hypocritical friendship that had preceded it. While pouring scorn on Charles IV and Ferdinand VII, the silly father and the rebellious son, whose quarrels were the Emperor’s opportunity, Napier forgets to rise to the proper point of indignation in dealing with the false friend who betrayed them. He almost writes as if there were some excuse for the crimes of robbery and kidnapping, if the victim were an imbecile or a bigot, or an undutiful son. The prejudice in favour of the Emperor goes so far that he even endeavours to justify obvious political and military mistakes in his conduct of the Peninsular War, by throwing all the blame on the way in which his marshals[p. xi] executed his orders, and neglecting to point out that the orders themselves were impracticable.

On the other hand, Napier was just as over-hard to the Spaniards as he was over-lenient to Bonaparte. He was one of those old Peninsular officers who could never dismiss the memory of some of the things that he had seen or heard. The cruelties of the Guerillas, the disgraceful panic on the eve of Talavera, the idiotic pride and obstinacy of Cuesta, the cowardice of Imaz and La Pe?a, prejudiced him against all their countrymen. The turgid eloquence of Spanish proclamations, followed by the prosaic incapacity of Spanish performance, sickened him. He always accepts the French rather than the Spanish version of a story, forgetting that Bonaparte and his official writers were authorities quite as unworthy of implicit credence as their opponents. In dealing with individual Spaniards—we may take for example Joseph Palafox, or the unfortunate Daoiz and Velarde—he is unjust to the extreme of cruelty. His astounding libel on La Romana’s army, I have had occasion to notice in some detail on page 416 of this work. He invariably exaggerates Spanish defeats, and minimizes Spanish successes. He is reckless in the statements which he gives as to their numbers in battle, or their losses in defeat. Evidently he did not take the trouble to consult the elaborate collection of morning-states of armies and other official documents which the Spanish War Office published several years before he wrote his first volume. All his figures are borrowed from the haphazard guesses of the French marshals. This may seem strong language to use concerning so great an author, but minute investigation seems to prove that nearly every statement of Napier’s concerning a battle in which the Spaniards were engaged is drawn from some French source. The Spaniards’ version is ignored.[p. xii] In his indignation at the arrogance and obstinacy with which they often hampered his hero Wellington, he refuses to look at the extenuating circumstances which often explain, or even excuse, their conduct. After reading his narrative, one should turn to Arguelles or Tore?o or Arteche, peruse their defence of their countrymen, and then make one’s ultimate decision as to facts. Every student of the Peninsular War, in short, must read Napier: but he must not think that, when the reading is finished, he has mastered the whole meaning and importance of the great struggle.

The topographical details of most of my maps are drawn from the splendid Atlas published by the Spanish War Office during the last twenty years. But the details of the placing of the troops are my own. I have been particularly careful in the maps of Vimiero and Corunna to indicate the position of every battalion, French or English.

I am in duty bound to acknowledge the very kind assistance of three helpers in the construction of this volume. The first compiled the Index, after grappling with the whole of the proofs. The second, Mr. C. E. Doble, furnished me with a great number of suggestions as to revision, which I have adopted. The third, Mr. C. T. Atkinson, of Exeter College, placed at my disposition his wide knowledge of British regimental history, and put me in the way of obtaining many details as to the organization of Wellesley’s and Moore’s armies. I am infinitely obliged to all three.

C. OMAN.

All Souls College,
March 31, 1902.
SECTION I  NAPOLEON AND THE SPANISH BOURBONS CHAPTER I  THE TREATY OF FONTAINEBLEAU
‘I am not the heir of Louis XIV, I am the heir of Charlemagne,’ wrote Napoleon, in one of those moments of epigrammatic self-revelation which are so precious to the students of the most interesting epoch and the most interesting personality of modern history[2]. There are historians who have sought for the origins of the Peninsular War far back in the eternal and inevitable conflict between democracy and privilege[3]: there are others who—accepting the Emperor’s own version of the facts—have represented it as a fortuitous development arising from his plan of forcing the Continental System upon every state in Europe. To us it seems that the moment beyond which we need not search backward was that in which Bonaparte formulated to himself the idea that he was not the successor of the greatest of the Bourbons, but of the founder of the Holy Roman Empire. It is a different thing to claim to be the first of European monarchs, and to claim to be the king of kings. Louis XIV had wide-reaching ambitions for himself and for his family: but it was from his not very deep or accurate knowledge of Charlemagne that Napoleon had derived his idea of a single imperial power bestriding Europe, of a monarch whose writ ran alike at Paris and at Mainz, at Milan and at Hamburg, at Rome and at Barcelona, and whose vassal[p. 2]-princes brought him the tribute of all the lands of the Oder, the Elbe, and the middle Danube[4].

There is no need for us to trace back the growth of Napoleon’s conception of himself as the successor of Charlemagne beyond the winter of 1805-6, the moment when victorious at Austerlitz and master for the first time of Central Europe, he began to put into execution his grandiose scheme for enfeoffing all the realms of the Continent as vassal states of the French Empire. He had extorted from Francis of Austria the renunciation of his meagre and time-worn rights as head of the Holy Roman Empire, because he intended to replace the ancient shadow by a new reality. The idea that he might be Emperor of Europe and not merely Emperor of the French was already developed, though Prussia still needed to be chastised, and Russia to be checked and turned back on to the ways of the East. It was after Austerlitz but before Jena that the foundations of the Confederation of the Rhine were laid[5], and that the Emperor took in hand the erection of that series of subject realms under princes of his own house, which was to culminate in the new kingdom of Spain ruled by ‘Joseph Napoleon the First.’ By the summer of 1806 the system was already well developed: the first modest experiment, the planting out of his sister Eliza and her insignificant husband in the duchy of Lucca and Piombino was now twelve months old. There had followed the gift of the old Bourbon kingdom of Naples to Joseph Bonaparte in February, 1806, and the transformation of the Batavian Republic into Louis Bonaparte’s kingdom of Holland in June. The Emperor’s brother-in-law, Joachim Murat, had been made Grand-Duke of Berg in March, his sister, Pauline, Duchess of Guastalla in the same month. It cannot be doubted that his eye was already roving all round Europe, marking out every region in which the system of feudatory states could be further extended.

At the ill-governed realms of Spain and Portugal it is certain that he must have taken a specially long glance. He had against the house of the Bourbons the grudge that men always feel against[p. 3] those whom they have injured. He knew that they could never forgive the disappointed hopes of 1799, nor the murder of the Duc d’Enghien, however much they might disguise their sentiments by base servility. What their real feelings were might be guessed from the treacherous conduct of their kinsmen of Naples, whom he had just expelled from the Continent. The Bourbons of Spain were at this moment the most subservient and the most ill-used of his allies. Under the imbecile guidance of his favourite Godoy, Charles IV had consistently held to the league with France since 1795, and had thereby brought down untold calamities upon his realm. Nevertheless Napoleon was profoundly dissatisfied with him as an ally. The seventy-two million francs of subsidies which he was annually wringing from his impoverished neighbour seemed to him a trifle. The chief gain that he had hoped to secure, when he goaded Spain into war with England in 1804, had been the assistance of her fleet, by whose aid he had intended to gain the control of the narrow seas, and to dominate the Channel long enough to enable him to launch his projected invasion against the shores of Kent and Sussex. But the Spanish navy, always more formidable on paper than in battle, had proved a broken reed. The flower of its vessels had been destroyed at Trafalgar. There only remained in 1806 a few ships rotting in harbour at Cadiz, Cartagena, and Ferrol, unable even to concentrate on account of the strictness of Collingwood’s blockade. Napoleon was angry at his ally’s impotence, and was already reflecting that in hands more able and energetic than those of Charles IV Spain might give aid of a very different kind. In after years men remembered that as early as 1805 he had muttered to his confidants that a Bourbon on the Spanish throne was a tiresome neighbour—too weak as an ally, yet dangerous as a possible enemy[6]. For in spite of all the subservience of Charles IV the Emperor believed, and believed quite rightly, that a Bourbon prince must in his heart loathe the unnatural alliance with the child of the Revolution. But in 1806 Bonaparte had an impending war with Prussia on his hands, and there was no leisure for interfering in the affairs of the Peninsula.[p. 4] Spain, he thought, could wait, and it is improbable that he had formulated in his brain any definite plan for dealing with her.

The determining factor in his subsequent action was undoubtedly supplied in the autumn of 1806 by the conduct of the Spanish government during the campaign of Jena. There was a moment, just before that decisive battle had been fought, during which European public opinion was expecting a check to the French arms. The military prestige of Prussia was still very great, and it was well known that Russia had not been able to put forth her full strength at Austerlitz. Combined it was believed that they would be too much for Napoleon. While this idea was still current, the Spanish king, or rather his favourite Godoy, put forth a strange proclamation which showed how slight was the bond of allegiance that united them to France, and how hollow their much vaunted loyalty to the emperor[7]. It was an impassioned appeal to the people of Spain to take arms en masse, and to help the government with liberal gifts of men, horses and money. ‘Come,’ it said, ‘dear fellow countrymen, come and swear loyalty beneath the banners of the most benevolent of sovereigns.’ The God of Victories was to smile on a people which helped itself, and a happy and enduring peace was to be the result of a vigorous effort. It might have been pleaded in defence of Charles IV that all this was very vague, and that the anonymous enemy who was to be crushed might be England. But unfortunately for this interpretation, three whole sentences of the document are filled with demands for horses and an instant increase in the cavalry arm of the Spanish military establishment. It could hardly be urged with seriousness that horsemen were intended to be employed against the English fleet. And of naval armaments there was not one word in the proclamation.

This document was issued on Oct. 5, 1806: not long after there arrived in Madrid the news of the battle of Jena and the capture of Berlin. The Prince of the Peace was thunderstruck at the non-fulfilment of his expectations and the complete triumph of Napoleon. He hastened to countermand his armaments, and to shower letters of explanation and apology on the Emperor, pointing out that his respected ally could not possibly have been the ‘enemy’ referred to in the proclamation. That document had[p. 5] reached Napoleon on the very battle-field of Jena, and had caused a violent paroxysm of rage in the august reader[8]. But, having Russia still to fight, he repressed his wrath for a moment, affecting to regard as satisfactory Godoy’s servile letters of explanation. Yet we can hardly doubt that this was the moment at which he made up his mind that the House of Bourbon must cease to reign in Spain. He must have reflected on the danger that southern France had escaped; a hundred thousand Spaniards might have marched on Bordeaux or Toulouse at the moment of Jena, and there would have been no army whatever on the unguarded frontier of the Pyrenees to hold them in check. Supposing that Jena had been deferred a month, or that no decisive battle at all had been fought in the first stage of the struggle with Prussia, it was clear that Godoy would have committed himself to open war. A stab in the back, even if dealt with no better weapon than the disorganized Spanish army, must have deranged all Napoleon’s plans, and forced him to turn southward the reserves destined to feed the ‘Grand Army.’ It was clear that such a condition of affairs must never be allowed to recur, and we should naturally expect to find that, the moment the war of 1806-7 was ended, Napoleon would turn against Spain, either to dethrone Charles IV, or at least to demand the dismissal from office of Godoy. He acknowledged this himself at St. Helena: the right thing to have done, as he then conceded, would have been to declare open war on Spain immediately after Tilsit[9].

After eight years of experience of Bonaparte as an ally, the rulers of Spain ought to have known that his silence during the campaigns of Eylau and Friedland boded them no good. But his present intentions escaped them, and they hastened to atone for the proclamation of Oct. 5 by a servile obedience to all the orders which he sent them. The most important of these was the command to mobilize and send to the Baltic 15,000 of their best troops [March, 1807]. This was promptly done, the depleted[p. 6] battalions and squadrons being raised to war-strength, by drafts of men and horses which disorganized dozens of the corps that remained at home[10]. The reason alleged, the fear of Swedish and English descents on the rear of the Grand Army, was plausible, but there can be no doubt that the real purpose was to deprive Spain of a considerable part, and that the most efficient, of her disposable forces. If Godoy could have listened to the interviews of Napoleon and Alexander of Russia at Tilsit, he would have been terrified at the offhand way in which the Emperor suggested to the Czar that the Balearic Isles should be taken from Spain and given to Ferdinand of Naples, if the latter would consent to cede Sicily to Joseph Napoleon[11]. To despoil his allies was quite in the usual style of Bonaparte—Godoy cannot have forgotten the lot of Trinidad and Ceylon—but he had not before proposed to tear from Spain, not a distant colony, but an ancient province of the Aragonese crown. The project was enshrined in the ‘secret and supplementary’ clauses of the Treaty of Tilsit, which Napoleon wished to conceal till the times were ripe.

It was only when Bonaparte had returned to France from his long campaign in Poland that the affairs of the Iberian Peninsula began to come seriously to the front. The Emperor arrived in Paris at the end of July, 1807, and this was the moment at which he might have been expected to produce the rod, for the chastisement which the rulers of Spain had merited by their foolish proclamation of the preceding year. But no sign of any such intention was displayed: it is true that early in August French troops in considerable numbers began to muster at Bayonne[12], but[p. 7] Bonaparte openly declared that they were destined to be used, not against Spain, but against Portugal. One of the articles of the Peace of Tilsit had been to the effect that Sweden and Portugal, the last powers in Europe which had not submitted to the Continental System, should be compelled—if necessary by force—to adhere to it, and to exclude the commerce of England from their ports. It was natural that now, as in 1801, a French contingent should be sent to aid Spain in bringing pressure to bear on her smaller neighbour. With this idea Godoy and his master persisted in the voluntary blindness to the signs of the times which they had so long been cultivating. They gave their ambassador in Lisbon orders to act in all things in strict conjunction with his French colleague.

On August 12, therefore, the representatives of Spain and France delivered to John, the Prince-Regent of Portugal (his mother, Queen Maria, was insane), almost identical notes, in which they declared that they should ask for their passports and leave Lisbon, unless by the first of September the Regent had declared war on England, joined his fleet to that of the allied powers, confiscated all British goods in his harbours, and arrested all British subjects within the bounds of his kingdom. The prince, a timid and incapable person, whose only wish was to preserve his neutrality, answered that he was ready to break off diplomatic relations with England, and to close his ports against British ships, but that the seizure of the persons and property of the British merchants, without any previous declaration of war, would be contrary to the rules of international law and morality. For a moment he hoped that this half-measure would satisfy Napoleon, that he might submit to the Continental System without actually being compelled to declare war on Great Britain. But when dispatches had been interchanged between the French minister Rayneval and his master at Paris, the answer came that the Regent’s offer was insufficient, and that the representatives of France and Spain were ordered to quit Lisbon at once. This they did on September 30, but without issuing any formal declaration of war.

On October 18, the French army, which had been concentrating at Bayonne since the beginning of August, under the harmless name of the ‘Corps of Observation of the Gironde,’ crossed the Bidassoa at Irun and entered Spain. It had been placed under[p. 8] the orders of Junot, one of Napoleon’s most active and vigorous officers, but not a great strategist after the style of Masséna, Soult, or Davoust. He was a good fighting-man, but a mediocre general. The reason that he received the appointment was that he had already some knowledge of Portugal, from having held the post of ambassador at Lisbon in 1805. He had been promised a duchy and a marshal’s baton if his mission was carried out to his master’s complete satisfaction.

It is clear that from the first Napoleon had intended that Portugal should refuse the ignominious orders which he had given to the Prince-Regent. If he had only been wishing to complete the extension of the Continental System over all Southern Europe, the form of obedience which had been offered him by the Portuguese government would have been amply sufficient. But he was aiming at annexation, and not at the mere assertion of his suzerainty over Portugal. The fact that he began to mass troops at Bayonne before he commenced to threaten the Regent is sufficient proof of his intentions. An army was not needed to coerce the Portuguese: for it was incredible that in the then condition of European affairs they would dare to risk war with France and Spain by adhering too stiffly to the cause of England. The Regent was timid and his submission was certain; but Napoleon took care to dictate the terms that he offered in such an offensive form that the Portuguese government would be tempted to beg for changes of detail, though it sorrowfully accepted the necessity of conceding the main point—war with England and the acceptance of the Continental System. The Prince-Regent, as might have been expected, made a feeble attempt to haggle over the more ignominious details, and then Napoleon withdrew his ambassador and let loose his armies.

Shortly after Junot had crossed the Bidassoa there was signed at Fontainebleau the celebrated secret treaty which marks the second stage of the Emperor’s designs against the Peninsula. It was drawn up by Duroc, Napoleon’s marshal of the palace, and Eugenio Izquierdo, the agent of Godoy. For the official ambassador of Spain in Paris, the Prince of Masserano, was not taken into the confidence of his master[13]. All delicate matters were conducted by the favourite’s private representative, an obscure but astute personage, the director of the Botanical Gardens at Madrid, whose[p. 9] position was legitimized by a royal sign-manual giving him powers to treat as a plenipotentiary with France. ‘Manuel is your protector: do what he tells you, and by serving him you serve me,’ the old king had said, when giving him his commission.

The Treaty of Fontainebleau is a strange document, whose main purpose, at a first glance, seems to be the glorification of Godoy. It is composed of fourteen articles[14], the most important of which contain the details of a projected dismemberment of Portugal. The country was to be cut up into three parts. Oporto and the northern province of Entre-Douro-e-Minho were to become the ‘Kingdom of Northern Lusitania,’ and to be ceded to a Bourbon, the young King of Etruria, whom Napoleon was just evicting from his pleasant abode at Florence. All Southern Portugal, the large province of Alemtejo and the coast region of Algarve, was to be given as an independent principality to Godoy, under the title of ‘Prince of the Algarves’[15]. The rest of Portugal, Lisbon and the provinces of Beira, Estremadura and Tras-os-Montes were to be sequestrated till the conclusion of a general peace, and meanwhile were to be governed and administered by the French. Ultimately they were to be restored, or not restored, to the house of Braganza according as the high contracting parties might determine.

Instead therefore of receiving punishment for his escapade in the autumn of 1806, Godoy was to be made by Napoleon a sovereign prince! But Spain, as apart from the favourite, got small profit from this extraordinary treaty: Charles IV might take, within the next three years, the pompous title of ‘Emperor of the Two Americas,’ and was to be given some share of the transmarine possessions of Portugal—which meanwhile (treaties or no) would inevitably fall into the hands of Great Britain, who held the command of the seas, while Napoleon did not.

It is incredible that Bonaparte ever seriously intended to carry out the terms of the Treaty of Fontainebleau: they were not even[p. 10] to be divulged (as Article XIV stipulated) till it was his pleasure. Godoy had deserved badly of him, and the Emperor was never forgiving. The favourite’s whole position and character (as we shall presently show) were so odious and disgraceful, that it would have required an even greater cynicism than Napoleon possessed, to overthrow an ancient and respectable kingdom in order to make him a sovereign prince. To pose perpetually as the regenerator of Europe, and her guardian against the sordid schemes of Britain, and then to employ as one’s agent for regeneration the corrupt and venal favourite of the wicked old Queen of Spain, would have been too absurd. Napoleon’s keen intelligence would have repudiated the idea, even in the state of growing autolatry into which he was already lapsing in the year 1807. What profit could there be in giving a kingdom to a false friend, already convicted of secret disloyalty, incapable, disreputable, and universally detested?

But if we apply another meaning to the Treaty of Fontainebleau we get a very different light upon it. If we adopt the hypothesis that Bonaparte’s real aim was to obtain an excuse for marching French armies into Spain without exciting suspicion, all its provisions become intelligible. ‘This Prince of the Peace,’ he said in one of his confidential moments, ‘this mayor of the palace, is loathed by the nation; he is the rascal who will himself open for me the gates of Spain[16].’ The phantom principality that was dangled before Godoy’s eyes was only designed to attract his attention while the armies of France were being poured across the Pyrenees. It is doubtful whether the Emperor intended the project of the ‘Principality of the Algarves’ to become generally known. If he did, it must have been with the intention of making the favourite more odious than he already was to patriotic Spaniards, at the moment when he and his master were about to be brushed away by a sweep of the imperial arm. That Napoleon was already in October preparing other armies beside that of Junot, and that he purposed to overrun Spain when the time was ripe, is shown in the Treaty itself. Annexed to it is a convention regulating the details of the invasion of Portugal: the sixth clause of this paper mentions that it was the emperor’s intention to concentrate 40,000 more troops at Bayonne—in case Great Britain should threaten an armed descent[p. 11] on Portugal—and that this force would be ready to cross the Pyrenees by November 20. Napoleon sent not 40,000 but 100,000 men, and pushed them into Spain, though no English invasion of Portugal had taken place, or even been projected. After this is it possible to believe for a moment in his good faith, or to think that the Treaty of Fontainebleau was anything more than a snare?

Those who could best judge what was at the back of the emperor’s mind, such as Talleyrand and Fouché, penetrated his designs long before the treaty of Fontainebleau had been signed. Talleyrand declares in his memoirs[17] that the reason for which he was deprived of the portfolio of Foreign Affairs in August, 1807, was that he had disliked the scheme of invading Spain in a treacherous fashion, and warned his master against it. No improbability is added to this allegation by the fact that Napoleon at St. Helena repeatedly stated that Talleyrand had first thought of the idea, and had recommended it to him ‘while at the same time contriving to set an opinion abroad that he was opposed to the design.’ On the other hand, we are not convinced of the Prince of Benevento’s innocence merely by the fact that he wrote in his autobiography that he was a strenuous opponent of the plan. He says that the emperor broached the whole scheme to him the moment that he returned from Tilsit, asseverating that he would never again expose himself to the danger of a stab in the back at some moment when he might be busy in Central Europe[18]. He himself, he adds, combated the project by every possible argument, but could not move his master an inch from his purpose. This is probably true; but we believe it not because Talleyrand wrote it down—his bills require the endorsement of some backer of a less tarnished reputation—but because the whole of the Spanish episode is executed in the true Napoleonesque manner. Its scientific mixture of force and fraud is clearly the work of the same hand that managed the details of the fall of the Venetian Republic, and of the dethroning of Pope Pius VII. It is impossible to ascribe the plot to any other author.

SECTION I: CHAPTER II  THE COURT OF SPAIN
Junot’s army was nearing the Portuguese frontier, and the reserve at Bayonne was already beginning to assemble—it was now styled ‘the Second Corps of Observation of the Gironde’—when a series of startling events took place at the Spanish Court. On October 27, the very day that the treaty of Fontainebleau was signed, Ferdinand, Prince of the Asturias, was seized by his father and thrown into confinement, on a charge of high treason, of having plotted to dethrone or even to murder his aged parent. This astonishing development in the situation need not be laid to Napoleon’s charge. There have been historians who think that he deliberately stirred up the whole series of family quarrels at Madrid: but all the materials for trouble were there already, and the shape which they took was not particularly favourable to the Emperor’s present designs. They sprang from the inevitable revolt against the predominance of Godoy, which had long been due.

The mere fact that an incapable upstart like Godoy had been able to control the foreign and internal policy of Spain ever since 1792 is a sufficient evidence of the miserable state of the country. He was a mere court favourite of the worst class: to compare him to Buckingham would be far too flattering—and even Piers Gaveston had a pretty wit and no mean skill as a man-at-arms, though he was also a vain ostentatious fool. After a few years, we may remember, the one met the dagger and the other the axe, with the full approval of English public opinion. But Godoy went on flourishing like the green bay-tree, for sixteen years, decked with titles and offices and laden with plunder, with no other support than the queen’s unconcealed partiality for him, and the idiotic old king’s desire to have trouble taken off his hands. Every thinking man in Spain hated the favourite as the outward and visible sign of corruption in high places. Every patriot saw that the would-be statesman who made himself the adulator first of Barras and then of Bonaparte, and played cat’s-paw to each of them, to the ultimate[p. 13] ruin and bankruptcy of the realm, ought to be removed. Yet there was no sign of any movement against him, save obscure plots in the household of the Prince Royal. But for the interference of Napoleon in the affairs of Spain, it is possible that the Prince of the Peace might have enjoyed many years more of power. Such is the price which nations pay for handing over their bodies to autocratic monarchy and their souls to three centuries of training under the Inquisition.

It is perhaps necessary to gain some detailed idea of the unpleasant family party at Madrid. King Charles IV was now a man of sixty years of age: he was so entirely simple and helpless that it is hardly an exaggeration to say that his weakness bordered on imbecility. His elder brother, Don Philip, was so clearly wanting in intellect that he had to be placed in confinement and excluded from the throne. It might occur to us that it would have been well for Spain if Charles had followed him to the asylum, if we had not to remember that the crown would then have fallen to Ferdinand of Naples, who if more intelligent was also more morally worthless than his brother. Till the age of forty Charles had been entirely suppressed and kept in tutelage by an autocratic father: when he came to the throne he never developed any will or mind of his own, and remained the tool and servant of those about him. He may be described as a good-natured and benevolent imbecile: he was not cruel or malicious or licentious, or given to extravagant fancies. His one pronounced taste was hunting: if he could get away from his ministers to some country palace, and go out all day with his dogs, his gun, and his gamekeepers, he was perfectly happy. His brother of Naples, it will be remembered, had precisely the same hobby. Of any other tastes, save a slight interest in some of the minor handicrafts, which he shared with his cousin Louis XVI, we find no trace in the old king. He was very ugly, not with the fierce clever ugliness of his father Charles III, but in an imbecile fashion, with a frightfully receding forehead, a big nose, and a retreating jaw generally set in a harmless grin. He did not understand business or politics, but was quite capable of getting through speeches and ceremonies when properly primed and prompted beforehand. Even his private letters were managed for him by his wife and his favourite. He had just enough brains to be proud of his position as king, and to resent anything that he re[p. 14]garded as an attack on his dignity—such as the mention of old constitutional rights and privileges, or any allusion to a Cortes. He liked, in fact, to feel himself and to be called an absolute king, though he wished to hand over all the duties and worries of kingship to his wife and his chosen servants. Quite contrary to Spanish usage, he often associated Maria Luisa’s name with his own in State documents, and in popular diction they were often called ‘los Reyes,’ ‘the Kings,’ as Ferdinand and Isabella had been three hundred years before.

The Queen was about the most unfit person in Europe to be placed on the throne at the side of such an imbecile husband. She was his first cousin, the daughter of his uncle Don Philip, Duke of Parma—Bourbon on the mother’s side also, for she was the child of the daughter of Louis XV of France. Maria Luisa was self-confident, flighty, reckless, and utterly destitute of conscience of any sort. Her celebrated portrait by Goya gives us at once an idea of the woman, bold, shameless, pleasure-loving, and as corrupt as Southern court morality allows—which is saying a good deal. She had from the first taken the measure of her imbecile husband: she dominated him by her superior force of will, made him her mere mouthpiece, and practically ruled the realm, turning him out to hunt while she managed ministers and ambassadors.

For the last twenty years her scandalous partiality for Don Manuel Godoy had been public property. When Charles IV came to the throne Godoy was a mere private in the bodyguard—a sort of ornamental corps of gentlemen-at-arms. He was son of a decayed noble family, a big handsome showy young man of twenty-one—barely able to read and write, say his detractors—but a good singer and musician. Within four years after he caught the Queen’s eye he was a grandee of Spain, a duke, and prime minister! He was married to a royal princess, the Infanta Teresa, a cousin of the King, a mésalliance unparalleled in the whole history of the house of Bourbon. Three years later, to commemorate his part in concluding the disgraceful peace of Basle, he was given the odd title of ‘Prince of the Peace,’ ‘Principe de la Paz’: no Spanish subject had ever before been decorated with any title higher than that of duke[19]. In 1808 he was a man of forty, beginning to get a little[p. 15] plump and bald after so many years of good (or evil) living, but still a fine personable figure. He had stowed away enormous riches, not only from the gifts of the King and Queen, but by the sale of offices and commissions, the taking of all sorts of illicit percentages, and (perhaps the worst symptom of all) by colossal speculations on the stock exchange. A French ambassador recorded the fact that he had to keep the treaty of peace of 1802 quiet for three days after it was signed, in order that Godoy might complete his purchases ‘for a rise’ before the news got about[20]. Godoy was corrupt and licentious, but not cruel or even tyrannical: though profoundly ignorant, he had the vanity to pose as a patron of art and science. His foible was to be hailed as a universal benefactor, and as the introducer of modern civilization into Spain. He endeavoured to popularize the practice of vaccination, waged a mild and intermittent war with the Inquisition, and (a most astonishing piece of courage) tried to suppress the custom of bull-fighting. The last two acts were by far the most creditable items that can be put down to his account: unfortunately they were also precisely those which appealed least to the populace of Spain. Godoy was a notable collector of pictures and antiquities, and had a certain liking for, and skill in, music. When this has been said, there is nothing more to put down in his favour. Fifteen years of power had so turned his head that for a long time he had been taking himself quite seriously, and his ambition had grown so monstrous that, not contented with his alliance by marriage with the royal house, he was dreaming of becoming a sovereign prince. The bait by which Napoleon finally drew him into the trap, the promise that he should be given the Algarves and Alemtejo, was not the Corsican’s own invention. It had been an old idea of Godoy’s which he broached to his ally early in 1806, only to receive a severe rebuff. Hence came the joy with which he finally saw it take shape in the treaty of Fontainebleau[21]. When such schemes were running in his head, we can perfectly well credit the accusation which Prince Ferdinand brought against him, of having intended to change the succession to the crown of Spain, by a coup d’état on the death of Charles IV. The man had grown capable of any outburst of pride and ambition.[p. 16] Meanwhile he continued to govern Spain by his hold over the imbecile and gouty old king and his worthless wife, who was now far over fifty, but as besotted on her favourite as ever. It was his weary lot to be always in attendance on them. They could hardly let him out of their sight. Tore?o relates a ridiculous story that, when Napoleon invited them to dinner on the first night of their unhappy visit to Bayonne, he did not ask the Prince of the Peace to the royal table. Charles was so unhappy and uncomfortable that he could not settle down to his meal till the emperor had sent for Godoy, and found a place for him near his master and mistress[22].

The fourth individual with whose personality it is necessary to be acquainted when studying the court of Spain in 1808 is the heir to the throne, Ferdinand, Prince of the Asturias. Little was known of him, for his parents and Godoy had carefully excluded him from political life. But when a prince is getting on for thirty, and his father has begun to show signs of failing health, it is impossible that eyes should not be turned on him from all quarters. Ferdinand was not an imbecile like his father, nor a scandalous person like his mother; but (though Spain knew it not) he was coward and a cur. With such parents he had naturally been brought up very badly. He was ignominiously excluded from all public business, and kept in absolute ignorance of all subjects on which a prince should have some knowledge: history, military science, modern politics, foreign languages, were all sealed books to him. He had been educated, so far as he was trained at all, by a clever and ambitious priest, Juan Escoiquiz, a canon of Toledo. An obscure churchman was not the best tutor for a future sovereign: he could not instruct the prince in the more necessary arts of governance, but he seems to have taught him dissimulation and superstition[23]. For Ferdinand was pious with a grovelling sort of piety, which made him carry about strings of relics, spend much of his time in church ceremonies, and[p. 17] (as rumour said) take to embroidering petticoats for his favourite image of the Virgin in his old age.
Portrait illustration

MARIA LUISA
REYNA DE ESPA?A.

The prince had one healthy sentiment, a deep hatred for Godoy, who had from his earliest youth excluded him from his proper place in the court and the state. But he was too timid to resent the favourite’s influence by anything but sulky rudeness. If he had chosen, he could at once have put himself at the head of the powerful body of persons whom the favourite had disobliged or offended. His few intimate friends, and above all his tutor Escoiquiz, were always spurring him on to take some active measures against the Prince of the Peace. But Ferdinand was too indolent and too cautious to move, though he was in his secret heart convinced that his enemy was plotting his destruction, and intended to exclude him from the throne at his father’s death.

To give a fair idea of the education, character, and brains of this miserable prince it is only necessary to quote a couple of his letters. The first was written in November, 1807, when he had been imprisoned by his father for carrying on the famous secret correspondence with Napoleon. It runs as follows:—

Dear Papa[24],

I have done wrong: I have sinned against your majesty, both as king and as father; but I have repented, and I now offer your majesty the most humble obedience. I ought to have done nothing without your majesty’s knowledge; but I was caught unawares. I have given up the names of the guilty persons, and I beg your majesty to pardon me for having lied to you the other night, and to allow your grateful son to kiss your royal feet.

(Signed)    Fernando.

San Lorenzo (The Escurial), Nov. 5, 1807.

It is doubtful whether the childish whining, the base betrayal of his unfortunate accomplices, or the slavish tone of the confession forms the most striking point in this epistle.

But the second document that we have to quote gives an even worse idea of Ferdinand. Several years after he had been[p. 18] imprisoned by Napoleon at Valen?ay, a desperate attempt was made to deliver him. Baron Colli, a daring Austrian officer, entered France, amid a thousand dangers, with a scheme for delivering the prince: he hoped to get him to the coast, and to an English frigate, by means of false passports and relays of swift horses. The unfortunate adventurer was caught and thrown into a dungeon at Vincennes[25]. After the plot had miscarried Ferdinand wrote as follows to his jailor:—

‘An unknown person got in here in disguise and proposed to Se?or Amezaga, my master of the horse and steward, to carry me off from Valen?ay, asking him to pass on some papers, which he had brought, to my hands, and to aid in carrying out this horrible undertaking. My honour, my repose, and the good opinion due to my principles might all have been compromised, if Se?or Amezaga had not given proof of his devotion to His Imperial Majesty and to myself, by revealing everything to me at once. I write immediately to give information of the matter, and take this opportunity of showing anew my inviolable fidelity to the Emperor Napoleon, and the horror that I feel at this infernal project, whose author, I hope, may be chastised according to his deserts.’

It is not surprising to find that the man who was capable of writing this letter also wrote more than once to congratulate Joseph Bonaparte on his victories over the ‘rebels’ in Spain.

It had been clear for some time that the bitter hatred which the Prince Royal bore to Godoy, and the fear which the favourite felt at the prospect of his enemy’s accession to the throne, would lead to some explosion ere long. If Ferdinand had been a man of ordinary ability and determination he could probably have organized a coup d’état to get rid of the favourite, without much trouble. But he was so slow and timid that, in spite of all the exhortations of his partisans, he never did more than copy out two letters to his father which Escoiquiz drafted for him. He never screwed up his courage to the point of sending them, or personally delivering them into his father’s hands. They were rhetorical[p. 19] compositions, setting forth the moral and political turpitude of Godoy, and warning the King that his favourite was guilty of designs on the throne. If Charles IV had been given them, he probably could not have made out half the meaning, and would have handed them over for interpretation to the trusty Manuel himself. The only other move which the prince was induced to make was to draw out a warrant appointing his friend and confidant, the Duke of Infantado, Captain-General of New Castile. It was to be used if the old king, who was then labouring under one of his attacks of gout, should chance to be carried off by it. The charge of Madrid, and of the troops in its vicinity, was to be consigned to one whom Ferdinand could trust, so that Godoy might be check-mated.

But the Prince of the Asturias took one other step in the autumn of 1807 which was destined to bring matters to a head. It occurred to him that instead of incurring the risks of conspiracy at home he would do better to apply for aid to his father’s all-powerful ally. If Napoleon took up his cause, and promised him protection, he would be safe against all the machinations of the Prince of the Peace: for a frank and undisguised terror of the Emperor was the mainspring of Godoy’s foreign and domestic policy. Ferdinand thought that he had a sure method of enlisting Bonaparte’s benevolence: he was at this moment the most eligible parti in Europe: he had lost his first wife, a daughter of his uncle of Naples, and being childless was bound to marry again[26]. By offering to accept a spouse of the Emperor’s choice he would give such a guarantee of future loyalty and obedience that his patron (who was quite aware of Godoy’s real feelings towards France) would withdraw all his support from the favourite and transfer it to himself. Acting under the advice of Escoiquiz, with whom he was always in secret communication, Ferdinand first sounded the French ambassador at Madrid, the Marquis de Beauharnais, a brother-in-law of the Empress Josephine. Escoiquiz saw the ambassador, who displayed much pleasure at his proposals, and urged him to encourage the prince to proceed with his plan[27].[p. 20] The fact was that the diplomatist saw profit to his own family in the scheme: for in default of eligible damsels of the house of Bonaparte, it was probable that the lady whom the Emperor might choose as Queen of Spain would be one of his own relatives—some Beauharnais or Tascher—a niece or cousin of the Empress. A wife for the hereditary prince of Baden had been already chosen from among them in the preceding year.

When therefore Escoiquiz broached the matter to the ambassador in June, 1807, the latter only asked that he should be given full assurance that the Prince of the Asturias would carry out his design. No private interview could be managed between them in the existing state of Spanish court etiquette, and with the spies of Godoy lurking in every corner. But by a prearranged code of signals Ferdinand certified to Beauharnais, at one of the royal levées, that he had given all his confidence to Escoiquiz, and that the latter was really acting in his name. The ambassador therefore undertook to transmit to his master at Paris any document which the prince might entrust to him. Hence there came to be written the celebrated letter of October 11, 1807, in which Ferdinand implored the pity of ‘the hero sent by providence to save Europe from anarchy, to strengthen tottering thrones, and to give to the nations peace and felicity.’ His father, he said, was surrounded by malignant and astute intriguers who had estranged him from his son. But one word from Paris would suffice to discomfit such persons, and to open the eyes of his loved parents to the just grievances of their child. As a token of amity and protection he ventured to ask Bonaparte for the hand of some lady of his august house. He does not seem to have had any particular one in his eye, as the demand is made in the most general terms. The choice would really have lain between the eldest daughter of Lucien Bonaparte, who was then (as usual) on strained terms with his brother, and one of the numerous kinswomen of the Empress Josephine.

Godoy was so well served by his numerous spies that the news of the letter addressed to Bonaparte was soon conveyed to him. He resolved to take advantage to the full of the mistake which[p. 21] the prince had made in opening a correspondence with a foreign power behind the back of his father. He contrived an odious scene. He induced the old king to make a sudden descent on his son’s apartments on the night of October 27, with an armed guard at his back, to accuse him publicly of aiming at dethroning or even murdering his parents, and to throw him into solitary confinement. Ferdinand’s papers were sequestrated, but there was found among them nothing of importance except the two documents denouncing Godoy, which the prince had composed or copied out under the direction of his adviser Escoiquiz, and a cypher code which was discovered to have belonged to the prince’s late wife, and to have been used by her in her private letters to her mother, the Queen of Naples.

There was absolutely nothing that proved any intention on the part of Ferdinand to commit himself to overt treason, though plenty to show his deep discontent, and his hatred for the Prince of the Peace. The only act that an honest critic could call disloyal was the attempt to open up a correspondence with Napoleon. But Godoy thought that he had found his opportunity of crushing the heir to the throne, and even of removing him from the succession. He caused Charles IV to publish an extraordinary manifesto to his subjects, in which he was made to speak as follows:—

‘God, who watches over all creation, does not permit the success of atrocious designs against an innocent victim. His omnipotence has just delivered me from an incredible catastrophe. My people, my faithful subjects, know my Christian life, my regular conduct: they all love me and give me constant proof of their veneration, the reward due to a parent who loves his children. I was living in perfect confidence, when an unknown hand delated to me the most enormous and incredible plot, hatched in my own palace against my person. The preservation of my life, which has been already several times in danger, should have been the special charge of the heir to my throne, but blinded, and estranged from all those Christian principles in which my paternal care and love have reared him, he has given his consent to a plot to dethrone me. Taking in hand the investigation of the matter, I surprised him in his apartments and found in his hands the cypher which he used to communicate with his evil counsellors. I have thrown several of these criminals into prison, and have put my son under arrest in his own abode. This necessary punishment adds another sorrow to the many which[p. 22] already afflict me; but as it is the most painful of all, it is also the most necessary of all to carry out. Meanwhile I publish the facts: I do not hide from my subjects the grief that I feel—which can only be lessened by the proofs of loyalty which I know that they will display’[28] [Oct. 30, 1807].

Charles was therefore made to charge his son with a deliberate plot to dethrone him, and even to hint that his life had been in danger. The only possible reason for the formulating of this most unjustifiable accusation must have been that Godoy thought that he might now dare to sweep away the Prince of the Asturias from his path by imprisonment or exile. There can be no other explanation for the washing in public of so much of the dirty linen of the palace. Ferdinand, by his craven conduct, did his best to help his enemy’s designs: in abject fear he delated to the King the names of Escoiquiz and his other confidants, the dukes of Infantado and San Carlos. He gave full particulars of his attempt to communicate with Napoleon, and of all his correspondence with his partisans—even acknowledging that he had given Infantado that undated commission as Captain-General of New Castile, to come into effect when he himself should become king, which we have already had occasion to mention. This act, it must be owned, was a little unseemly, but if it had really borne the sinister meaning that Godoy chose to put upon it, we may guess that Ferdinand would never have divulged it. In addition the prince wrote the disgusting letter of supplication to his father which has been already quoted, owning that ‘he had lied the other night,’ and asking leave to kiss his majesty’s royal feet. It is beyond dispute that this epistle, with another similar one to the Queen, was written after a stormy interview with Godoy. The favourite had been allowed by his master and mistress to visit Ferdinand in prison, and to bully him into writing these documents, which (as he hoped) would ruin the prince’s reputation for ever with every man of heart and honour. Godoy was wrong here: what struck the public mind far more than the prince’s craven tone was the unseemliness of publishing to the world his miserable letters. That a prince royal of Spain should have been terrified by an upstart charlatan like Godoy into writing such words maddened all who read them.

Napoleon was delighted to see the royal family of Spain putting itself in such an odious light. He only intervened on a side issue[p. 23] by sending peremptory orders that in any proceedings taken against the Prince of the Asturias no mention was to be made of himself or of his ambassador, i.e. the matter of the secret appeal to France (the one thing for which Ferdinand could be justly blamed) was not to be allowed to transpire. It was probably this communication from Paris which saved Ferdinand from experiencing the full consequences of Godoy’s wrath[29]. If any public trial took place, it was certain that either Ferdinand or some of his friends would speak of the French intrigue, and if the story came out Napoleon would be angry. The mere thought of this possibility so worked upon the favourite that he suddenly resolved to stop the impeachment of the prince. In return for his humiliating prayers for mercy he was given a sort of ungracious pardon. ‘The voice of nature,’ so ran the turgid proclamation which Godoy dictated to the old king, ‘disarms the hand of vengeance; I forgive my son, and will restore him to my good graces when his conduct shall have proved him a truly reformed character.’ Ferdinand was left dishonoured and humiliated: he had been accused of intended parricide, made to betray his friends and to confess plots which he had never formed, and then pardoned. Godoy hoped that he was so ruined in the eyes of the Spanish people, and (what was more important) in the eyes of Napoleon, that there would be no more trouble with him, a supposition in which he grievously erred. After a decent interval the prince’s fellow conspirators, Escoiquiz and Infantado, were acquitted of high treason by the court before which they had been sent, and allowed to go free. Of the dreadful accusations made in the Proclamation of Oct. 30 nothing more was heard.

The whole of the ‘Affair of the Escurial,’ as the arrest, imprisonment, and forgiveness of Ferdinand came to be called, took place between the twenty-seventh of October and the fifth of November, dates at which it is pretty certain that Napoleon’s unscrupulous designs against the royal house of Spain had long been matured. The open quarrel of the imbecile father and the cowardly son only helped him in his plans, by making more manifest than ever the deplorable state of the Spanish court. It served as a useful plea to[p. 24] justify acts of aggression which must have been planned many months before. If it had never taken place, it is still certain that Napoleon would have found some other plea for sweeping out the worthless house of Bourbon from the Peninsula. He had begun to collect armies at the roots of the Pyrenees, without any obvious military necessity, some weeks before Ferdinand was arrested. When that simple fact is taken into consideration we see at once the hollowness of his plea, elaborated during his exile at St. Helena[30], that it was the disgraceful explosion of family hatred in the Spanish royal house that first suggested to him the idea of removing the whole generation of Bourbons, and giving Spain a new king and a new dynasty.

NOTE TO CHAPTER II

It may perhaps be worth while to give, for what it is worth, a story which I find in the Vaughan Papers concerning the causes of the final quarrel between Godoy and the Prince of the Asturias, ending in the arrest of the latter and the whole ‘Affair of the Escurial.’ Among Vaughan’s large collection of miscellaneous papers is a long document addressed to him by one of his Spanish friends, purporting to give the secret history of the rupture; the narrative is said by the author to have been obtained from the mouth of the minister Caballero, who would certainly have had the best means of gaining court intelligence in October, 1807. The tale runs as follows: ‘The Queen had for many years been accustomed to make secret visits to Godoy’s palace under cover of the dark, escorted only by a lady-in-waiting and a single body-servant. The sentinels round the palace had been designedly so placed that none of them covered the postern door by which her majesty was accustomed to pass in and out. One night in the autumn of 1807 the whole system of the palace-guards was suddenly changed without the Queen’s knowledge, and when she returned from her excursion she ran into the arms of a corporal’s guard placed in front of the privy entrance. The men, fortunately for Maria Luisa, did not recognize the three muffled figures who fell into their clutches, and allowed them to buy their way in for an onza d’oro, or gold twenty-dollar piece. But when Godoy and the Queen talked the matter over, and found that King Charles had ordered the inconvenient alterations in the sentinels, they came to the conclusion that Ferdinand had deliberately induced his father to change the posts of the guard, with the object either of stopping his mother’s exits or of making a public scandal by causing her to be arrested at this strange place and hour. The Prince chanced to have had a private conversation with his father on the previous day, and this might well have been its result.’ In high wrath, the story[p. 25] proceeds, the Queen and the favourite resolved to crush Ferdinand at once, and to get him excluded from the succession. They chose the very inadequate excuse of the letter of the Prince to Napoleon, of which they had perfect cognizance from the very moment of its being written. But, we are assured, they were quite wrong in their suspicions, the originator of the movement of the sentries, which had so disconcerted them, having been Baron Versage, the newly appointed colonel of the Walloon Guards. He had got the King’s leave to rearrange the watching of the palace, and going round it had spied the private door, which he had blocked with a new picquet, quite unaware of the purpose for which it had been used for so many years. This Versage, it will be remembered, served under Palafox, and was killed in Aragon during the first year of the war. I should imagine the whole tale to be an ingenious fiction, in spite of the name of Caballero cited in its support: of that personage Napoleon wrote [Nap. Corresp. 14,015] ‘il a une très mauvaise réputation; c’est tout dire que de dire qu’il était l’homme de confiance de la Reine.’ But the story was current in Spain very soon after the alleged adventure took place.
SECTION I: CHAPTER III  THE CONQUEST OF PORTUGAL
There is certainly no example in history of a kingdom conquered in so few days and with such small trouble as was Portugal in 1807. That a nation of three million souls, which in earlier days had repeatedly defended itself with success against numbers far greater than those now employed against it, should yield without firing a single shot was astonishing. It is a testimony not only to the timidity of the Portuguese Government, but to the numbing power of Napoleon’s name.

The force destined by the Treaty of Fontainebleau for the invasion of Portugal consisted of Junot’s ‘Army of the Gironde,’ 25,000 strong, and of three auxiliary Spanish corps amounting in all to about the same numbers. Of these one, coming from Galicia[31], was to strike at Oporto and the Lower Douro; another, from Badajoz[32], was to take the fortress of Elvas, the southern bulwark of Portugal, and then to march on Lisbon by the left bank of the Tagus. These were flanking operations: the main blow at the Portuguese capital was to be dealt by Junot himself, strengthened by a third Spanish force[33]; they were to concentrate at Salamanca and Ciudad Rodrigo, and make for Lisbon by the high-road that passes by Almeida and Coimbra.

The Army of the Gironde crossed the Bidassoa on October 18: by the 12th of November it had arrived at Salamanca, having covered 300 miles in twenty-five days—very leisurely marching at the rate of twelve miles a day. The Spaniards would not have been pleased to know that, by Napoleon’s orders, engineer officers were secretly taking sketches of every fortified place and defile that the army passed, and preparing reports as to the resources of all the towns of Old Castile and Leon. This was one of the many signs of the[p. 27] Emperor’s ultimate designs. On the 12th of November, in consequence we cannot doubt of the outbreak of the troubles of October 27 at the Spanish court, Junot suddenly received new orders, telling him to hurry. He was informed that every day which intervened before his arrival at Lisbon was time granted to the Portuguese in which to prepare resistance,—possibly also time in which England, who had plenty of troops in the Mediterranean, might make up her mind to send military aid to her old ally. Junot was directed to quicken his pace, and to strike before the enemy could mature plans of defence.

For this reason he was told to change his route. The Emperor had originally intended to invade the country over the usual line of attack from Spain, by Almeida and Coimbra, which Masséna was to take three years later, in 1810. But when the events at the Escurial showed that a crisis was impending in Spain, Napoleon changed his mind: there was the fortress of Almeida in the way, which might offer resistance and cause delay, and beyond were nearly 200 miles of difficult mountain roads. Looking at his maps, Napoleon saw that there was a much shorter way to Lisbon by another route, down the Tagus. From Alcantara, the Spanish frontier town on that river, to Lisbon is only 120 miles, and there is no fortress on the way. The maps could not show the Emperor that this road was for half of its length a series of rocky defiles through an almost unpeopled wilderness.

Orders were therefore sent to Junot to transfer his base of operations from Salamanca to Alcantara, and to march down the Tagus. The Spaniards (according to their orders) had collected the magazines for feeding Junot’s force at Salamanca and Ciudad Rodrigo. But for that Napoleon cared little. He wrote that the army must take the shortest road at all costs, whatever the difficulty of getting supplies. ‘I will not have the march of the army delayed for a single day,’ he added; ‘20,000 men can feed themselves anywhere, even in a desert.’ It was indeed a desert that Junot was ordered to cross: the hill-road from Ciudad Rodrigo to Alcantara, which hugs the Portuguese frontier, has hardly a village on it; it crosses ridge after ridge, ravine after ravine. In November the rains had just set in, and every torrent was full. Over this stony wilderness, by the Pass of Perales, the French army rushed in five days, but at the cost of dreadful privations. When it reached Alcantara half the horses had perished of cold, all the[p. 28] guns but six had been left behind, stranded at various points on the road, and of the infantry more than a quarter was missing—the famished men having scattered in all directions to find food. If there had been a Portuguese force watching Alcantara, Junot must have waited for many days to get his army together again, all the more so because every cartridge that his men were carrying had been spoiled by the wet. But there were no enemies near; Junot found at the great Tagus bridge only a few Spanish battalions and guns on the way to join his army. Confiscating their munitions to fill his men’s pouches, and their food to provide them with two days’ rations, Junot rushed on again upon the 19th of November. He found, to his surprise, that there was no road suitable for wheeled traffic along the Tagus valley, but only a poor track running along the foot of the mountains to Castello Branco, the sole Portuguese town in this part of the frontier. The march from Alcantara to Abrantes proved even more trying than that from Ciudad Rodrigo to Alcantara. It was through a treeless wilderness of grey granite, seamed with countless ravines. The rain continued, the torrents were even fuller than before, the country even more desolate than the Spanish side of the border. It was only after terrible sufferings that the head of the column reached Abrantes on November 23: the rear trailed in on the 26th. All the guns except four Spanish pieces of horse artillery had fallen behind: the cavalry was practically dismounted. Half the infantry was marauding off the road, or resting dead-beat in the few poor villages that it had passed. If there had been even 5,000 Portuguese troops at Abrantes the French would have been brought to a stop. But instead of hostile battalions, Junot found there only an anxious diplomatist, named Barreto, sent by the Prince-Regent to stop his advance by offers of servile submission to the Emperor and proffers of tribute. Reassured as to the possibility that the Portuguese might have been intending armed resistance, Junot now took a most hazardous step. Choosing the least disorganized companies of every regiment, he made up four battalions of picked men, and pushed on again for Lisbon, now only seventy-five miles distant. This time he had neither a gun nor a horseman left, but he struggled forward, and on the 30th of November entered the Portuguese capital at the head of 1,500 weary soldiers, all that had been able to endure to the end. They limped in utterly exhausted, their clothes in rags, and their cartridges so soaked through that they[p. 29] could not have fired a shot had they been attacked. If the mob of Lisbon had fallen on them with sticks and stones, the starving invaders must have been driven out of the city. But nothing of the kind happened, and Junot was able to install himself as governor of Portugal without having to strike a blow. It was ten days before the last of the stragglers came up from the rear, and even more before the artillery appeared and the cavalry began to remount itself with confiscated horses. Meanwhile the Portuguese were digesting the fact that they had allowed 1,500 famished, half-armed men to seize their capital.

While Junot had been rushing on from Salamanca to Alcantara, and from Alcantara to Abrantes, Lisbon had been the scene of much pitiful commotion. The Prince-Regent had long refused to believe that Napoleon really intended to dethrone him, and had been still occupying himself with futile schemes for propitiating the Emperor. Of his courtiers and generals, hardly one counselled resistance: there was no talk of mobilizing the dilapidated army of some 30,000 men which the country was supposed to possess, or of calling out the militia which had done such good service in earlier wars with Spain and France. Prince John contented himself with declaring war on England on the twentieth of October, and with garrisoning the coast batteries which protect Lisbon against attacks from the sea. Of these signs of obedience he sent reports to Napoleon: on the eighth of November he seized the persons of the few English merchants who still remained in Portugal; the majority had wisely absconded in October. At the same time he let the British Government know that he was at heart their friend, and only driven by brute force to his present course: he even permitted their ambassador, Lord Strangford, to linger in Lisbon.

In a few days the Regent began to see that Napoleon was inexorable: his ambassador from Paris was sent back to him, and reported that he had passed on the way the army of Junot marching by Burgos on Salamanca. Presently an English fleet under Sir Sydney Smith, the hero of Acre, appeared at the mouth of the Tagus, and declared Lisbon in a state of blockade—the natural reply to the Regent’s declaration of war and seizure of English residents. Other reasons existed for the blockade: there had lately arrived in the Tagus a Russian squadron on its homeward way from the Mediterranean. The Czar Alexander was at this time Napoleon’s eager ally, and had just declared war on England;[p. 30] it seemed wise to keep an eye on these ships, whose arrival appeared to synchronize in a most suspicious way with the approach of Junot. Moreover there was the Portuguese fleet to be considered: if the Prince-Regent intended to hand it over to the French, it would have to be dealt with in the same way as the Danish fleet had been treated a few months before.

Lord Strangford retired on board Sydney Smith’s flagship, the Hibernia, and from thence continued to exchange notes with the miserable Portuguese Government. The Regent was still hesitating between sending still more abject proposals of submission to Bonaparte, and the only other alternative, that of getting on board his fleet and crossing the Atlantic to the great Portuguese colony in Brazil. The news that Junot had reached Alcantara only confused him still more; he could not make up his mind to leave his comfortable palace at Mafra, his gardens, and the countless chapels and shrines in which his soul delighted, in order to dare the unaccustomed horrors of the deep. On the other hand, he feared that, if he stayed, he might ere long find himself a prisoner of state in some obscure French castle. At last his mind was made up for him from without: Lord Strangford on the twenty-fifth of November received a copy of the Paris Moniteur of the thirteenth of October, in which appeared a proclamation in the true Napoleonesque vein, announcing that ‘the house of Braganza had ceased to reign in Europe.’ The celerity with which the paper had been passed on from Paris to London and from London to Lisbon was most fortunate, as it was just not too late for the prince to fly, though far too late for him to think of defending himself. Junot was already at Abrantes, but during the four days which he spent between that place and Lisbon the die was cast. Abandoning his wonted indecision, the Regent hurried on shipboard his treasure, his state papers, his insane mother, his young family, and all the hangers-on of his court. The whole fleet, fifteen men-of-war, was crowded with official refugees and their belongings. More than twenty merchant vessels were hastily manned and freighted with other inhabitants of Lisbon, who determined to fly with their prince: merchants and nobles alike preferred the voyage to Rio de Janeiro to facing the dreaded French. On the twenty-ninth of November the whole convoy passed out of the mouth of the Tagus and set sail for the West. When he toiled in on the thirtieth, Junot[p. 31] found the birds flown, and took possession of the dismantled city.

Junot’s Spanish auxiliaries were, as might have been expected from the national character and the deplorable state of the government, much slower than their French allies. Solano and the southern army did not enter Portugal till the second of December, three days after Lisbon had fallen. Taranco and the Galician corps only reached Oporto on the thirteenth of December. To neither of them was any opposition offered: the sole show of national feeling which they met was that the Governor of Valenza closed his gates, and would not admit the Spaniards till he heard that Lisbon was in the enemy’s hands, and that the Prince-Regent had abandoned the country.

Junot at first made some attempt to render himself popular and to keep his troops in good discipline. But it was impossible to conciliate the Portuguese: when they saw the exhausted condition and comparatively small numbers of the army that had overrun their realm, they were filled with rage to think that no attempt had been made to strike a blow to save its independence. When, on the thirteenth of December, Junot made a great show out of the ceremony of hauling down the Portuguese flag and of hoisting the tricolour on the public buildings of the metropolis, there broke out a fierce riot, which had to be dispersed with a cavalry charge. But this was the work of the mob: both the civil and the military authorities showed a servile obedience to Junot’s orders, and no one of importance stood forward to head the crowd.

The first precautionary measure of the French general was to dissolve the Portuguese army. He ordered the discharge of all men with less than one and more than six years’ service, dissolved the old regimental cadres, and reorganized the 6,000 or 7,000 men left into nine new corps, which were soon ordered out of the realm. Ultimately they were sent to the Baltic, and remained garrisoned in Northern Germany for some years. At the time of the Russian War of 1812 there were still enough of these unhappy exiles left to constitute three strong regiments. Nearly all of them perished in the snow during the retreat from Moscow.

Further endeavour to make French rule popular in Portugal was soon rendered impossible by orders from Paris. The Emperor’s mandate not only bade Junot confiscate and realize all the property of the 15,000 persons, small and great, who had fled to Brazil with[p. 32] the Prince-Regent; it also commanded him to raise a fine of 100,000,000 francs, four millions of our money, from the little kingdom. But the emigrants had carried away nearly half the coined money in Portugal, and the rest had been hidden, leaving nothing but coppers and depreciated paper money visible in circulation. With the best will in the world Junot found it difficult to begin to collect even the nucleus of the required sum. The heavy taxes and imposts which he levied had no small effect in adding to the discontent of the people, but their total did little more than pay for the maintenance of the invaders. Meanwhile the troops behaved with the usual licence of a French army in a conquered country, and repeatedly provoked sanguinary brawls with the peasantry. Military executions of persons who had resisted requisitions by force began as early as January, 1808. Nothing was wanting to prepare an insurrection but leaders: of their appearance there was no sign; the most spirited members of the upper classes had gone off with the Regent. Those who had remained were the miserable bureaucrats which despotic governments always breed. They were ready to serve the stranger if they could keep their posts and places. A discreditable proportion of the old state servants acquiesced in the new government. The Patriarch of Lisbon issued a fulsome address in praise of Napoleon. The members of the provisional government which the Regent had nominated on his departure mostly submitted to Junot. There was little difficulty found in collecting a deputation, imposing by its numbers and by the names of some of its personnel, which travelled to Bayonne, to compliment Bonaparte and request him to grant some definite form of government to Portugal. The Emperor treated them in a very offhand way, asked them if they would like to be annexed to Spain, and on their indignant repudiation of that proposal, sent them off with a few platitudes to the effect that the lot of a nation depends upon itself, and that his eye was upon them. But this interview only took place in April, 1808, when events in Spain were assuming a very different aspect from that which they displayed at the moment of Junot’s first seizure of Lisbon.
SECTION I: CHAPTER IV
THE FRENCH AGGRESSION IN SPAIN: ABDICATION OF CHARLES IV

The ‘Affair of the Escurial’ added some complications to the situation of affairs in Spain from Napoleon’s point of view. But there was nothing in it to make him alter the plans which he was at this moment carrying out: if the Bourbons were to be evicted from Spain, it made the task somewhat easier to find that the heir to the throne was now in deep disgrace. It would be possible to urge that by his parricidal plots he had forfeited any rights to the kingdom which he had hitherto possessed. In dealing with the politics of Spain he might for the future be disregarded, and there would be no one to take into consideration save the King and Queen and Godoy. All three were, as the Emperor knew, profoundly unpopular: if anything had been needed to make the nation more discontented, it was the late scandalous events at the Escurial. Nothing could be more convenient than that the favourite and his sovereigns should sink yet further into the abyss of unpopularity.

Napoleon therefore went steadily on with his plans for pushing more and more French troops into Spain, with the object of occupying all the main strategical points in the kingdom. The only doubtful point in his schemes is whether he ultimately proposed to seize on the persons of the royal family, or whether he intended by a series of threatening acts to scare them off to Mexico, as he had already scared the Prince of Portugal off to Rio de Janeiro. It is on the whole probable that he leaned to the latter plan. Every week the attitude of the French armies became more aggressive, and the language of their master more haughty and sinister[34]. The tone[p. 34] in which he had forbidden the court of Spain to allow any mention of himself or his ambassador to appear, during the trial of Prince Ferdinand and his fellow conspirators, had been menacing in the highest degree. After the occupation of Portugal no further allusion had been made to the project for proclaiming Godoy Prince of the Algarves. His name was never mentioned either to the Portuguese or to the officers of Junot. The favourite soon saw that he had been duped, but was too terrified to complain.

But it was the constant influx into Spain of French troops which contributed in the most serious way to frighten the Spanish court. Junot had entered Lisbon on Nov. 30, and the news that he had mastered the place without firing a shot had reached the Emperor early in December. But long before, on the twenty-second of November, the French reserves, hitherto known as the ‘Second Corps of Observation of the Gironde,’ which had been collected at Bayonne in November, crossed the Spanish frontier. They consisted of 25,000 men—nearly all recently levied conscripts—under General Dupont. The treaty of Fontainebleau had contained a clause providing that, if the English tried to defend Portugal by landing troops, Napoleon might send 40,000 men to aid Junot after giving due notice to the King of Spain. Instead of waiting to hear how the first corps had fared, or apprising his ally of his intention to dispatch Dupont’s corps across the frontier, the Emperor merely ordered it to cross the Bidassoa without sending any information to Madrid. The fact was that whether the preliminary condition stated in the treaty, an English descent on Portugal, did or did not take place, Bonaparte was determined to carry out his design. A month later the Spaniards heard, to their growing alarm, that yet a third army corps had come across the border: this was the ‘Corps of Observation of the Ocean Coast,’ which had been hastily organized under Marshal Moncey at Bordeaux, and pushed on to Bayonne when Dupont’s troops moved forward. It was 30,000 strong, but mainly composed of conscript battalions of the levy of 1808, which had been raised by anticipation in the previous spring, while the Russian war was still in progress. On the eighth of January this army began to pass the Pyrenees, occupying all the chief towns of Biscay and Navarre, while Dupont’s divisions pressed on and cantoned themselves in Burgos,[p. 35] Valladolid, and the other chief cities of Old Castile. They made no further advance towards Portugal, where Junot clearly did not require their aid.

The Spanish government was terror-stricken at the unexpected appearance of more than 60,000 French troops on the road to Madrid. If anything more was required to cause suspicion, it was the news that still more ‘corps of observation’ were being formed at Bordeaux and Poitiers. What legitimate reason could there possibly be for the direction of such masses of troops on Northern Spain? But any thought of resistance was far from the mind of Godoy and the King. Their first plan was to propitiate Napoleon by making the same request which had brought the Prince of the Asturias into such trouble in October—that the hand of a princess of the house of Bonaparte might be granted to the heir of the Spanish throne. The Emperor was making an ostentatious tour in Italy while his forces were overrunning the provinces of his ally—as if the occupation of Castile and Biscay were no affair of his. His most important act in November was to evict from Florence the ruling sovereign, the King of Etruria, and the Regent, his mother, thus annexing the last surviving Bourbon state save Spain to the French crown. He wrote polite but meaningless letters to Madrid, making no allusion to the boon asked by Charles IV. The fact was that Napoleon could now treat Ferdinand as ‘damaged goods’; he was, by his father’s own avowal, no more than a pardoned parricide, and it suited the policy of the Emperor to regard him as a convicted criminal who had played away his rights of succession. If Napoleon visited his brother Lucien at Mantua, it was not (as was thought at the time) with any real intention of persuading him to give his daughter to the craven suitor offered her[35], but in order to tempt her father to accept the crown of Portugal—even perhaps that of Spain. But Lucien, who always refused to fall in with Napoleon’s family policy, showed no gratitude for the offer of a thorny throne in the Iberian Peninsula, and not without reason, for one of the details of the bargain was to be that he should divorce a wife to whom he was fondly attached.

It was only after returning from Italy in January that the Emperor deigned to answer the King of Spain’s letter, now two months old,[p. 36] in precise terms. He did not object to the principle of the alliance, but doubted if he could give any daughter of his house to ‘a son dishonoured by his own father’s declaration.’ This reply was not very reassuring to Godoy and his master, and worse was to follow. In the end of January the Moniteur, which the Emperor always used as a means for ventilating schemes which were before long to take shape in fact, began a systematic course of abusing the Prince of the Peace as a bad minister and a false friend. More troops kept pouring across the Pyrenees without any ostensible reason, and now it was not only at the western passes that they began to appear, but also on the eastern roads which lead from Roussillon into Catalonia and Valencia. These provinces are so remote from Portugal that it was clear that the army which was collecting opposite them could not be destined for Lisbon. But on February 10, 1808, 14,000 men, half French, half Italians, under General Duhesme, began to drift into Catalonia and to work their way down towards its capital—Barcelona. A side-light on the meaning of this development was given by Izquierdo, Godoy’s agent at Paris, who now kept sending his master very disquieting reports. French ministers had begun to sound him as to the way in which Spain would take a proposal for the cession to France of Catalonia and part of Biscay, in return for Central Portugal. King Charles would probably be asked ere long to give up these ancient and loyal provinces, and to do so would mean the outbreak of a revolution all over Spain.

In the middle of February Napoleon finally threw off the mask, and frankly displayed himself as a robber in his ally’s abode. On the sixteenth of the month began that infamous seizure by surprise of the Spanish frontier fortresses, which would pass for the most odious act of the Emperor’s whole career, if the kidnapping at Bayonne were not to follow. The movement started at Pampeluna: French troops were quartered in the lower town, while a Spanish garrison held, as was natural, the citadel. One cold morning a large party of French soldiers congregated about the gate of the fortress, without arms, and pretended to be amusing themselves with snowballing, while waiting for a distribution of rations. At a given signal many of them, as if beaten in the mock contest, rushed in at the gate, pursued by the rest. The first men knocked down the unsuspecting sentinels, and seized the muskets of the guard stacked in the arms-racks of the guard-room.[p. 37] Then a company of grenadiers, who had been hidden in a neighbouring house, suddenly ran in at the gate, followed by a whole battalion which had been at drill a few hundred yards away. The Spanish garrison, taken utterly by surprise and unarmed, were hustled out of their quarters and turned into the town[36].

A high-spirited prince would have declared war at once, whatever the odds against him, on receiving such an insulting blow. But this was not to be expected from persons like Godoy and Charles IV. Accordingly they exposed themselves to the continuation of these odious tricks. On February 29 General Lecchi, the officer commanding the French troops which were passing through Barcelona, ordered a review of his division before, as he said, its approaching departure for the south. After some evolutions he marched it through the city, and past the gate of the citadel; when this point was reached, he suddenly bade the leading company wheel to the left and enter the fortress. Before the Spaniards understood what was happening, several thousand of their allies were inside the place, and by the evening the rightful owners, who carried their opposition no further than noisy protestations, had been evicted. A few days later the two remaining frontier fortresses of Spain, San Sebastian, at the Atlantic end of the Pyrenees, and Figueras, at the great pass along the Mediterranean coast, suffered the same fate: the former place was surrendered by its governor when threatened with an actual assault, which orders from Madrid forbade him to resist [March 5]. Figueras, on the other hand, was seized by a coup de main, similar to that at Pampeluna; 200 French soldiers, having obtained entrance within the walls on a futile pretext, suddenly seized the gates and admitted a whole regiment, which turned out the Spanish garrison [March 18][37]. It would be hard, if not impossible, to find in the whole of modern history any incident approaching, in cynical effrontery and mean cunning, to these first hostile acts of the French on the[p. 38] territory of their allies. The net result was to leave the two chief fortresses, on each of the main entries into Spain from France, completely in the power of the Emperor.

Godoy and his employers were driven into wild alarm by these acts of open hostility. The favourite, in his memoirs[38], tells us that he thought, for a moment, of responding by a declaration of war, but that the old king replied that Napoleon could not be intending treachery, because he had just sent him twelve fine coach-horses and several polite letters. In face of his master’s reluctance, he tells us that he temporized for some days more. The story is highly improbable: Charles had no will save Godoy’s, and would have done whatever he was told. It is much more likely that the reluctance to take a bold resolve was the favourite’s own. When the French troops still continued to draw nearer to Madrid, Godoy could only bethink himself of a plan for absconding. He proposed to the King and Queen that they should leave Madrid and take refuge in Seville, in order to place themselves as far as possible from the French armies. Behind this move was a scheme for a much longer voyage. It seems that he proposed that the court should follow the example of the Regent of Portugal, and fly to America. At Mexico or Buenos Ayres they would at least be safe from Bonaparte. To protect the first stage of the flight, the troops in Portugal were directed to slip away from Junot and mass in Estremadura. The garrison of Madrid was drawn to Aranjuez, the palace where the court lay in February and March, and was to act as its escort to Seville. It is certain that nothing would have suited Napoleon’s plans better than that Charles IV should abscond and leave his throne derelict: it would have given the maximum of advantage with the minimum of odium. It is possible that the Emperor was working precisely with the object of frightening Godoy into flight. If so his scheme was foiled, because he forgot that he had to deal not only with the contemptible court, but with the suspicious and revengeful Spanish nation. In March the people intervened, and their outbreak put quite a different face upon affairs.

Meanwhile the Emperor was launching a new figure upon the stage. On February 26 his brother-in-law, Joachim Murat, the new Grand-Duke of Berg, appeared at Bayonne with the title of ‘Lieutenant of the Emperor,’ and a commission to take command[p. 39] of all the French forces in Spain. On March 10 he crossed the Bidassoa and assumed possession of his post. Murat’s character is well known: it was not very complicated. He was a headstrong, unscrupulous soldier, with a genius for heading a cavalry charge on a large scale, and an unbounded ambition. He was at present meditating on thrones and kingdoms: Berg seemed a small thing to this son of a Gascon innkeeper, and ever since his brothers-in-law Joseph, Louis, and Jerome Bonaparte had become kings, he was determined to climb up to be their equal. It has frequently been asserted that Murat was at this moment dreaming of the Spanish crown: he was certainly aware that the Emperor was plotting against the Bourbons, and the military movements which he had been directed to carry out were sufficient in themselves to indicate more or less his brother-in-law’s intentions. Yet on the whole it is probable that he had not received more than half-confidences from his august relative. His dispatches are full of murmurs that he was being kept in the dark, and that he could not act with full confidence for want of explicit directions. Napoleon had certainly promised him promotion, if the Spanish affair came to a successful end: but it is probable that Murat understood that he was not to be rewarded with the crown of Charles IV. Perhaps Portugal, or Holland, or Naples (if one of the Emperor’s brothers should pass on to Madrid) was spoken of as his reward. Certainly there was enough at stake to make him eager to carry out whatever Bonaparte ordered. In his cheerful self-confidence he imagined himself quite capable of playing the part of a Machiavelli, and of edging the old king out of the country by threats and hints. But if grape-shot was required, he was equally ready to administer an unsparing dose. With a kingdom in view he could be utterly unscrupulous[39].

On March 13 Murat arrived at Burgos, and issued a strange proclamation bidding his army ‘treat the estimable Spanish nation as friends, for the Emperor sought only the good and happiness of Spain.’ The curious phrase could only suggest that unless he gave this warning, his troops would have treated their allies as enemies.[p. 40] The scandalous pillage committed by many regiments during February and March quite justified the suspicion.

The approach of Murat scared Godoy into immediate action, all the more because a new corps d’armée, more than 30,000 strong, under Marshal Bessières, was already commencing to cross the Pyrenees, bringing up the total of French troops in the Peninsula to more than 100,000 men. He ordered the departure of the King and his escort, the Madrid garrison, for Seville on March 18. This brought matters to a head: it was regarded as the commencement of the projected flight to America, of which rumours were already floating round the court and capital. A despotic government, which never takes the people into its confidence, must always expect to have its actions interpreted in the most unfavourable light. Except Godoy’s personal adherents, there was not a soul in Madrid who did not believe that the favourite was acting in collusion with Napoleon, and deliberately betraying his sovereign and his country. It was by his consent, they thought, that the French had crossed the Pyrenees, had seized Pampeluna and Barcelona, and were now marching on the capital. They were far from imagining that of all the persons in the game he was the greatest dupe, and that the recent developments of Napoleon’s policy had reduced him to despair. It was correct enough to attribute the present miserable situation of the realm to Godoy’s policy, but only because his servility to Bonaparte had tempted the latter to see how far he could go, and because his maladministration had brought the army so low that it was no longer capable of defending the fatherland. Men did well to be angry with the Prince of the Peace, but they should have cursed him as a timid, incompetent fool, not as a deliberate traitor. But upstarts who guide the policy of a great realm for their private profit must naturally expect to be misrepresented, and there can be no doubt that the Spaniards judged Godoy to be a willing helper in the ruin of his master and his country.

Aranjuez, ordinarily a quiet little place, was now crowded with the hangers-on of the court, the garrison of Madrid, and a throng of anxious and distraught inhabitants of the capital: some had come out to avoid the advancing French, some to learn the latest news of the King’s intentions, others with the deliberate intention of attacking the favourite. Among the latter were the few friends of the Prince of the Asturias, and a much greater number who[p. 41] sympathized with his unhappy lot and had not gauged his miserable disposition. It is probable that as things stood it was really the best move to send the King to Seville, or even to America, and to commence open resistance to the French when the royal person should be in safety. But the crowd could see nothing but deliberate treason in the proposal: they waited only for the confirmation of the news of the departure of the court before breaking out into violence.
Portrait illustration

DON MANUEL GODOY
PRINCE OF THE PEACE
AT THE AGE OF 25

On the night of the seventeenth of March Godoy was actually commencing the evacuation of Aranjuez, by sending off his most precious possession, the too-celebrated Donna Josepha Tudo, under cover of the dark. The party which was escorting her fell into the midst of a knot of midnight loiterers, who were watching the palace. There was a scuffle, a pistol was fired, and as if by a prearranged plan crowds poured out into the streets. The cry went round that Godoy was carrying off the King and Queen, and a general rush was made to his house. There were guards before it, but they refused to fire on the mob, of which no small proportion was composed of soldiers who had broken out of their barracks without leave. In a moment the doors were battered down and the assailants poured into the mansion, hunting for the favourite. They could not find him, and in their disappointment smashed all his works of art, and burnt his magnificent furniture. Then they flocked to the palace, in which they suspected that he had taken refuge, calling for his head. The King and Queen, in deadly terror, besought their ill-used son to save them, by propitiating the mob, who would listen to his voice if to no other. Then came the hour of Ferdinand’s triumph; stepping out on to the balcony, he announced to the crowd that the King was much displeased with the Prince of the Peace, and had determined to dismiss him from office. The throng at once dispersed with loud cheers.

Next morning, in fact, a royal decree was issued, declaring Godoy relieved of all his posts and duties and banished from the court. Without the favourite at their elbow Charles and his queen seemed perfectly helpless. The proclamation was received at first with satisfaction, but the people still hung about the palace and kept calling for the King, who had to come out several times and salute them. It began to look like a scene from the beginning of the French Revolution. There was already much talk in the crowd of the benefit that would ensue to Spain if the Prince of[p. 42] the Asturias, with whose sufferings every one had sympathized, were to be entrusted with some part in the governance of the realm. His partisans openly spoke of the abdication of the old king as a desirable possibility.

Next day the rioting commenced again, owing to the reappearance of Godoy. He had lain concealed for thirty-six hours beneath a heap of mats, in a hiding-place contrived under the rafters of his mansion; but hunger at last drove him out, and, when he thought that the coast was clear, he slipped down and tried to get away. In spite of his mantle and slouched hat he was recognized almost at once, and would have been pulled to pieces by the crowd if he had not been saved by a detachment of the royal guard, who carried him off a prisoner to the palace. The news that he was trapped brought thousands of rioters under the royal windows, shouting for his instant trial and execution. The imbecile King could not be convinced that he was himself safe, and the Queen, who usually displayed more courage, seemed paralysed by her fears for Godoy even more than for herself. This was the lucky hour of the Prince of the Asturias; urged on by his secret advisers, he suggested abdication to his father, promising that he would disperse the mob and save the favourite’s life. The silly old man accepted the proposal with alacrity, and drew up a short document of twelve lines, to the effect ‘that his many bodily infirmities made it hard for him to support any longer the heavy weight of the administration of the realm, and that he had decided to remove to some more temperate clime, there to enjoy the peace of private life. After serious deliberation he had resolved to abdicate in favour of his natural heir, and wished that Don Ferdinand should at once be received as king in all the provinces of the Spanish crown. That this free and spontaneous abdication should be immediately published was to be the duty of the Council of Castile.’
SECTION I: CHAPTER V
THE TREACHERY AT BAYONNE

The news of the abdication of Charles IV was received with universal joy. The rioters of Aranjuez dispersed after saluting the new sovereign, and allowed Godoy to be taken off, without further trouble, to the castle of Villaviciosa. Madrid, though Murat was now almost at its gates, gave itself up to feasts and processions, after having first sacked the palaces of the Prince of the Peace and some of his unpopular relations and partisans. Completely ignorant of the personal character of Ferdinand VII, the Spaniards attributed to him all the virtues and graces, and blindly expected the commencement of a golden age—as if the son of Charles IV and Maria Luisa was likely to be a genius and a hero.

Looking at the general situation of affairs, there can be no doubt that the wisest course for the young king to have taken would have been to concentrate his army, put his person in safety, and ask Napoleon to speak out and formulate his intentions. Instead of taking this, the only manly course, Ferdinand resolved to throw himself on the Emperor’s mercy, as if the fall of Godoy had been Napoleon’s object, and not the conquest of Spain. Although Murat had actually arrived at Madrid on March 23, with a great body of cavalry and 20,000 foot, the King entered the city next day and practically put himself in the hands of the invader. He wrote a fulsome letter to Napoleon assuring him of his devotion, and begging once more for the hand of a princess of his house.

His reception in Madrid by the French ought to have undeceived him at once. The ambassador Beauharnais, alone among the foreign ministers, refrained from acknowledging him as king. Murat was equally recalcitrant, and moreover most rude and disobliging in his language and behaviour. The fact was that the Grand-Duke had supposed that he was entering Madrid in order to chase out Godoy and rule in his stead. The popular explosion which had swept[p. 44] away the favourite and the old king, and substituted for them a young and popular monarch, had foiled his design. He did not know how Bonaparte would take the new situation, and meanwhile was surly and discourteous. But he was determined that there should at least be grounds provided for a breach with Ferdinand, if the Emperor should resolve to go on with his original plan.

Accordingly, he not only refused to acknowledge the new king’s title, but hastened to put himself in secret communication with the dethroned sovereigns. They were only too eager to meet him halfway, and Maria Luisa especially was half-mad with rage at her son’s success. At first she and her husband thought of nothing but escaping from Spain: they begged Murat to pass on to the Emperor letters in which they asked to be permitted to buy a little estate in France, where they might enjoy his protection during their declining years. But they begged also that ‘the poor Prince of the Peace, who lies in a dungeon covered with wounds and contusions and in danger of death,’ might be saved and allowed to join them, ‘so that we may all live together in some healthy spot far from intrigues and state business[40].’

Murat saw that the angry old queen might be utilized to discredit her son, and promised to send on everything to Napoleon. At the first word of encouragement given by the Grand-Duke’s agent, De Monthion, Maria Luisa began to cover many sheets with abuse of her son. ‘He is false to the core: he has no natural affection: he is hard-hearted and nowise inclined to clemency. He has been directed by villains and will do anything that ambition suggests: he makes promises, but does not always keep them[41].’ Again she writes:—‘From my son we have nothing to expect but outrages and persecution. He has commenced by forgery, and he will go on manufacturing evidence to prove that the Prince of the Peace—that innocent and affectionate friend of the Emperor, the Duke of Berg, and every Frenchman!—may appear a criminal in the eyes of the Spanish people and of Napoleon himself. Do not believe a word that he says, for our enemies have the power and means to make any falsehood seem true[42].’ In another letter she says that the riots of Aranjuez were no genuine explosion of[p. 45] popular wrath, but a deliberate plot got up by her son, who spent countless sums on debauching the soldiery and importing ruffians from Madrid. He gave the signal for the outburst himself by putting a lamp in his window at a fixed hour—and so forth[43].

Finding the Queen in this state of mind, Murat saw his way to dealing a deadly blow at Ferdinand: with his counsel and consent Charles IV was induced to draw up and send to Bonaparte a formal protest against his abdication. He was made to declare that his resignation had not been voluntary, but imposed on him by force and threats. And so he ‘throws himself into the arms of the great monarch who has been his ally, and puts himself at his disposition wholly and for every purpose[44].’ This document placed in Napoleon’s hands the precise weapon which he required to crush King Ferdinand. If the Emperor chose to take it seriously, he could declare the new monarch a usurper—almost a parricide—the legality of whose accession had been vitiated by force and fraud.

As a matter of fact Bonaparte’s mind had long been made up. The revolution of Aranjuez had been a surprise and a disappointment to him: his designs against Spain were made infinitely more difficult of realization thereby. While he had only the weak and unpopular government of Godoy and Charles IV to deal with, he had fancied that the game was in his hands. It had been more than probable that the Prince of the Peace would take fright, and carry off the King and Queen to America—in which case he would, as it were, find Spain left derelict. If, however, the emigration did not take place, and it became necessary to lay hands on Charles and his favourite, Napoleon calculated that the Spaniards would be more pleased to be rid of Godoy than angry to see force employed against him. He was so profoundly ignorant of the character of the nation, that he imagined that a few high-sounding proclamations and promises of liberal reforms would induce them to accept from his hands any new sovereign whom he chose to nominate. It was clear that the accession of a young and popular king would make matters far more difficult. It was no longer possible to pose as the deliverer of Spain from the shameful predominance of Godoy. Any move against Ferdinand must bear the character of an open assault on the national independence of the kingdom.

[p. 46]

But Bonaparte had gone too far to recede: he had not moved 100,000 men across the Pyrenees, and seized Pampeluna and Barcelona, merely in order that his troops might assist at the coronation ceremonies of another Bourbon king. In spite of all difficulties he was resolved to persevere in his iniquitous plan. He would not recognize the new monarch, but would sweep him away, and put in his place some member of his own family. But his chosen instrument was not to be Murat, but one of the Bonapartes. He knew too well the Duke of Berg’s restless spirit and overweening ambition to trust him with so great a charge as Spain. And he was right—with only Naples at his back Joachim was powerful enough to do his master grave harm in 1814. The tool was to be one of his own brothers. It was on the night of March 26 that the news of the abdication of Charles IV reached him: on the morning of the twenty-seventh he wrote to Amsterdam offering Louis Bonaparte the chance of exchanging the Dutch for the Spanish crown. The proposal was made in the most casual form—‘You say that the climate of Holland does not suit you. Besides the country is too thoroughly ruined to rise again. Give me a categorical answer: if I nominate you King of Spain will you take the offer; can I count on you?[45]’ Louis very wisely refused the proffered crown: but his weaker brother Joseph, tired of Naples and its brigands, made no scruples when the same proposal was laid before him.

This letter to Louis of Holland having been written on the first news of the events at Aranjuez, and four days before Murat began to send in his own plans and the letters of protest from the King and Queen of Spain, it is clear that the Emperor had never any intention of recognizing Ferdinand, and was only playing with him during the month that followed. It was not in mere caution that Beauharnais, the ambassador, and Murat, the military representative, of France, were bidden never to address the new sovereign as king but as Prince of the Asturias, and to act as if Charles IV were still legally reigning until they should have specific directions from Paris[46].

[p. 47]

This state of semi-suspended relations lasted for a fortnight, from Ferdinand’s arrival in Madrid on March 24, down to his departure from it on April 10. They were very uncomfortable weeks for the new king, who grew more alarmed as each day passed without a letter from Paris ratifying his title, while French troops continued to pour into Madrid till some 35,000 were assembled in it and its suburbs.

A very few days after his accession Ferdinand was informed that it was probable that Napoleon was intending a visit to Madrid, and was at any rate coming as far as Bayonne. He immediately sent off his eldest brother Don Carlos (the hero of the unhappy wars of 1833-40) to compliment his patron, and if necessary to receive him at the frontier [April 5]. Two days later there appeared in Madrid a new French emissary, General Savary—afterwards Duke of Rovigo—who purported to come as Bonaparte’s harbinger, charged with the duty of preparing Madrid for his arrival. He carried the farce so far that he asked for a palace for the Emperor’s residence, produced trunks of his private luggage[47], and began to refurnish the apartments granted him. That he bore secret orders for Murat we know from the latter’s dispatches, but this was only half his task. Napoleon had confided to him verbal instructions to lure Ferdinand to come out to meet him in the north of Spain, among the French armies massed in Biscay and Navarre—if possible even to get him to Bayonne on French soil. In his St. Helena memoirs Napoleon denies this, and Savary in his autobiography also states that he did not act the part of tempter or make any promises to the young king: the journey to Bayonne, he says, was a silly inspiration of Ferdinand’s own. But neither Bonaparte nor Savary are witnesses whom one would believe on their most solemn oath. The former we know well: the latter had been one of the persons most implicated in the shocking murder of the Duc d’Enghien. When we find the Spanish witnesses, who conversed with Savary during his short stay in Madrid, agreeing that the general promised that Napoleon would recognize Ferdinand as king, give him an imperial princess as wife, and take him into favour, we need not doubt them. It is not disputed[p. 48] that Savary, unlike Murat and Beauharnais, regularly addressed his victim by the royal title, and it is certain that he started in his company and acted as his keeper during the journey[48]. The move that he at first proposed was not a long one: the general said that according to his advices the Emperor must be due at Burgos on April 13: it would be time enough to start to meet him on the tenth. Burgos lies well inside the frontiers of Castile, and if it was packed with French troops, so was Madrid: one place was no more dangerous than the other.

Exactly how far the perjuries of Savary went, or how far he was apprised of his master’s final intentions, we cannot tell, but it is certain that on April 10 he set out from Madrid in the King’s company: with them went Escoiquiz, Ferdinand’s clerical confidant, Cevallos the minister of foreign affairs, and half a dozen dukes and marquises chosen from among the King’s old partisans. To administer affairs in his absence Ferdinand nominated a ‘Junta’ or council of regency, with his uncle Don Antonio, a simple and very silly old man, at its head[49].

On reaching Burgos, on April 12, the party found masses of French troops but no signs of Napoleon. Savary appeared vexed, said that his calculation must have been wrong, and got the King to go forward two more stages, as far as Vittoria, at the southern foot of the Pyrenees [April 14]. Here Ferdinand received a note from his brother Don Carlos, whom he had sent ahead, saying that Bonaparte had been lingering at Bordeaux, and was not expected at Bayonne till the fifteenth. Ferdinand, always timid and suspicious, was getting restive: he had nothing on paper to assure him of Napoleon’s intentions, and began to suspect Savary’s blandishments. The latter doubted for a moment whether he should not have the court seized by the French garrison of Vittoria, but[p. 49] finally resolved to endeavour to get a letter from his master, which would suffice to lure Ferdinand across the frontier. He was entrusted with a petition of the same cast that Napoleon had been in the habit of receiving from his would-be client, full of servile loyalty and demands for the much-desired Bonaparte princess.

The four days during which Savary was absent, while the royal party remained at Vittoria, were a period of harassing doubt to Ferdinand. He was visited by all manner of persons who besought him not to go on, and especially by Spaniards lately arrived from Paris, who detailed all the disquieting rumours which they had heard at the French court. Some besought him to disguise himself and escape by night from the 4,000 troops of the Imperial Guard who garrisoned Vittoria. Others pointed out that the Spanish troops in Bilbao, which was still unoccupied by the French, might be brought down by cross-roads, and assume charge of the king’s person halfway between Vittoria and the frontier, in spite of the 600 French cavalry which escorted the cavalcade. Guarded by his own men Ferdinand might retire into the hills of Biscay. But to adopt either of the courses proposed to him would have compelled the King to come to an open breach with Bonaparte, and for this he had not sufficient courage, as long as there was the slightest chance of getting safely through his troubles by mere servility.

On April 18 Savary reappeared with the expected communication from Bayonne. It was certainly one of the strangest epistles that one sovereign ever wrote to another, and one of the most characteristic products of Napoleon’s pen. It was addressed to the Prince of the Asturias, not to the King of Spain, which was an ominous preface. But on the other hand the Emperor distinctly stated that ‘he wished to conciliate his friend in every way, and to find occasion to give him proofs of his affection and perfect esteem.’ He added that ‘the marriage of your royal highness to a French princess seems conformable to the interests of my people, and likely to forge new links of union between myself and the house of Bourbon.’ The core of the whole was the explicit statement that ‘if the abdication of King Charles was spontaneous, and not forced on him by the riot at Aranjuez, I shall have no difficulty in recognizing your royal highness as King of Spain. On these details I wish to converse with your royal highness.’ This was a double-edged saying: Napoleon had in his pocket Charles’s protest, complaining that the abdication had been forced upon him by fears[p. 50] for his personal safety: but Ferdinand was not aware of the fact; indeed he so little realized his parent’s state of mind that he had written to him before quitting Madrid in the most friendly terms. If he had fathomed the meaning of Napoleon’s carefully constructed sentence, he would have fled for his life to the mountains.

These were the main clauses of Napoleon’s letter, but they are embedded in a quantity of turgid verbiage, in which we are only uncertain whether the hypocrisy or the bad taste is the more offensive. ‘How perilous is it for kings to permit their subjects to seek justice for themselves by deeds of blood! I pray God that your royal highness may not experience this for yourself some day! It is not for the interest of Spain that the Prince of the Peace should be hunted down: he is allied by marriage to the royal house and has governed the realm for many years. He has no friends now: but if your royal highness were to fall into similar disgrace you would have no more friends than he. You cannot touch him without touching your parents. You have no rights to the crown save those which your mother has transmitted to you: if in trying the Prince you smirch her honour, you are destroying your own rights. You have no power to bring him to judgement: his evil deeds are hidden behind the throne.... O wretched Humanity! Weakness, and Error, such is our device! But all can be hushed up: turn the Prince out of Spain, and I will give him an asylum in France.’

In the next paragraph Napoleon tells Ferdinand that he should never have written to him in the preceding autumn without his father’s knowledge—‘in that your royal highness was culpable; but I flatter myself that I contributed by my remonstrances in securing a happy end to the affair of the Escurial.’ Finally Ferdinand might assure himself that he should have from his ally precisely the same treatment that his father had always experienced—which again is a double-edged saying, if we take into consideration the history of the relations of Charles IV and France.

The King and his confidant Escoiquiz read and reread this curious document without coming to any certain conclusion: probably they thought (as would any one else who did not know the Emperor thoroughly) that the meeting at Bayonne would open with a scolding, and end with some tiresome concessions, but that Ferdinand’s title would be recognized. Savary’s commentary was reassuring: Spanish witnesses say that he exclaimed ‘I am ready to[p. 51] have my head taken off if, within a quarter of an hour of your majesty’s arrival at Bayonne, the Emperor has not saluted you as King of Spain and the Indies.... The whole negotiation will not take three days, and your majesty will be back in Spain in a moment[50].’

On April 19, therefore, the royal party set out amid the groans of the populace of Vittoria, who tried to hold back the horses, and to cut the traces of the King’s coach: on the twentieth they reached Bayonne. Napoleon entertained them at dinner, but would not talk politics: after the meal they were sent home to the not very spacious or magnificent lodgings prepared for them. An hour later the shameless Savary presented himself at the door, with the astounding message that the Emperor had thought matters over, and had come to the conclusion that the best thing for Spain would be that the house of Bourbon should cease to reign, and that a French prince should take their place. A prompt acquiescence in the bargain should be rewarded by the gift of the kingdom of Etruria, which had just been taken from Ferdinand’s widowed sister and her young son.

The possibility of such an outrage had never occurred to the young king and his counsellors: when something of the kind had been suggested to them at Vittoria, they had cried out that it was insulting to the honour of the greatest hero of the age to dream that he could be plotting treachery[51]. And now, too late, they learnt the stuff of which heroes were made. Even with Savary’s words ringing in their ears, they could not believe that they had heard aright. It must be some mere threat intended to frighten them before negotiations began: probably it meant that Spain would have to cede some American colonies or some Catalonian frontier districts. Next morning, therefore, Ferdinand sent his minister Cevallos to plead his cause: Napoleon refused to bargain or compromise: he wanted nothing, he said, but a prompt resignation of his rights by the Prince of the Asturias: there was nothing left to haggle about. It was gradually borne in upon Ferdinand that the Emperor meant what he had said. But though timid he was obstinate, and nothing like an abdication could be got out of him. He merely continued to send to Napoleon one agent after another[p. 52]—first the minister Cevallos, then his tutor and confidant Escoiquiz, then Don Pedro Labrador, a councillor of state, all charged with professions of his great readiness to do anything, short of resigning the Spanish throne, which might satisfy his captor. Cevallos and Escoiquiz have left long narratives of their fruitless embassies. That of the latter is especially interesting: he was admitted to a long conference with Bonaparte, in which he plied every argument to induce him to leave Ferdinand on the throne, after marrying him to a French princess and exacting from him every possible guarantee of fidelity. The Emperor was ready to listen to every remonstrance, but would not move from his projects. He laughed at the idea that Spain would rise in arms, and give him trouble. ‘Countries full of monks, like yours,’ he said, ‘are easy to subjugate. There may be some riots, but the Spaniards will quiet down when they see that I offer them the integrity of the boundaries of the monarchy, a liberal constitution, and the preservation of their religion and their national customs[52].’

When such were Napoleon’s ideas it was useless to argue with him. But Ferdinand refused to understand this, and kept reiterating all sorts of impracticable offers of concession and subservience, while refusing to do the one thing which the Emperor required of him. Napoleon, much irritated at the refusal of such a poor creature to bow to his will, has left a sketch of him during these trying days. ‘The Prince of the Asturias,’ he wrote, ‘is very stupid, very malicious, a very great hater of France.... He is a thoroughly uninteresting person, so dull that I cannot get a word out of him. Whatever one says to him he makes no reply. Whether I scold him, or whether I coax him, his face never moves. After studying him you can sum him up in a single word—he is a sulky fellow[53].’

As Ferdinand would not budge, Bonaparte had now to bring his second device to the front. With the old king’s protest before him, the Emperor could say that Charles IV had never abdicated in any real sense of the word. He had been made to sign a resignation ‘with a pistol levelled at his head,’ as a leading article in the Moniteur duly set forth. Such a document was, of course, worth nothing: therefore Charles was still King of Spain, and might sign[p. 53] that surrender of his rights which Ferdinand denied. Napoleon promptly sent for the old king and queen, who arrived under a French escort on April 30, ten days after their son’s captivity began. At Bayonne they rejoined their dearly-loved Godoy, whom Murat had extorted from the Junta of Regency, under cover of a consent sent by Ferdinand to Napoleon from Vittoria two days before he crossed the frontier.

Charles IV arrived in a state of lachrymose collapse, sank on Napoleon’s breast and called him his true friend and his only support. ‘I really do not know whether it is his position or the circumstances, but he looks like a good honest old man,’ commented the Emperor. ‘The Queen has her past written on her face—that is enough to define her. As to the Prince of the Peace, he looked like a prize bull, with a dash of Count Daru about him.’ Godoy and the Queen had only one thought, to avenge themselves on Ferdinand: after what had taken place they could never go back to rule in Spain, so they cared little what happened to the country. As to the King, his wife and his favourite pulled the strings, and he gesticulated in the fashion that they desired. The Emperor treated them with an ostentatious politeness which he had always refused to the new king: at the first banquet that he gave them occurred the absurd scene (already mentioned by us), in which Charles refused to sit down to table till Godoy had been found and put near him.

Two days after their arrival Napoleon compelled Ferdinand to appear before his parents: he himself was also present. The interview[54] commenced by King Charles ordering his son to sign a complete and absolute renunciation of the Spanish throne. Bonaparte then threw in a few threatening words: but Ferdinand, still unmoved, made a steady refusal. At this the old king rose from his chair—he was half-crippled with rheumatism—and tried to strike his son with his cane, while the Queen burst in with a stream of abuse worthy of a fishwife. Napoleon, horrified at the odious scene, according to his own narrative of it, hurried Ferdinand, ‘who looked scared,’ out of the room.

The same night [May 1], Ferdinand’s advisers bethought them of a new and ingenious move—we need not ascribe it to his own[p. 54] brains, which were surely incapable of the device. He wrote to King Charles to the effect that he had always regarded the abdication at Aranjuez as free and unconstrained, but that if it had not been so, he was ready to lay down his crown again and hand it back to his father. But the ceremony must be done in an open and honourable way at Madrid, before the Cortes. If his parent personally resumed the reins of power, he bowed to his authority: but if his age and infirmities induced him to name a regent, that regent should be his eldest son.

This proposal did not suit the Emperor at all, so he dictated to the old king a long letter, in which the Napoleonesque phraseology peeps out in a score of places. Charles refuses all terms, says that his son’s conduct had ‘placed a barrier of bronze between him and the Spanish throne,’ and concludes that ‘only the Emperor can save Spain, and he himself would do nothing that might stir up the fire of discord among his loved vassals or bring misery on them’ [May 2]. Ferdinand replied with an equally long letter justifying at large all his conduct of the past year [May 4].

When things stood at this point there arrived from Madrid the news of the bloody events of the second of May, which we have to relate in the next chapter. This brought Napoleon up to striking point, and once more he intervened in his own person. He sent for Ferdinand, and in the presence of his parents accused him of having stirred up the riot in the capital, and informed him that if he did not sign an abdication and an acknowledgement of his father as the only true king by twelve that night ‘he should be dealt with as a traitor and rebel.’ This is Napoleon’s own version[55], but Spanish witnesses say that the words used were that ‘he must choose between abdication and death[56].’

To any one who remembered the fate of the Duc d’Enghien such a phrase was more than an idle threat. It brought the stubborn Ferdinand to his knees at last. That evening he wrote out a simple and straightforward form of abdication—‘without any motive, save that I limited my former proposal for resignation by certain proper conditions, your majesty has thought fit to insult me in the presence of my mother and the Emperor. I have been abused in the most humiliating terms: I have been told that unless I make an unconditional resignation I and my companions[p. 55] shall be treated as criminals guilty of conspiracy. Under such circumstances I make the renunciation which your majesty commands, that the government of Spain may return to the condition in which it was on March 19 last, the day on which your majesty spontaneously laid down your crown in my favour[57]’ [May 6].

Ferdinand having abdicated, Napoleon at once produced a treaty which King Charles had ratified on the previous day, twenty-four hours before his son gave in. By it the old man ‘resigned all his rights to the throne of Spain and the Indies to the Emperor Napoleon, the only person who in the present state of affairs can re-establish order.’ He only annexed two conditions: ‘(1) that there should be no partition of the Spanish monarchy; (2) that the Roman Catholic religion should be the only one recognized in Spain: there should, according to the existing practice, be no toleration for any of the reformed religions, much less for infidels.’ If anything is wanting to make the silly old man odious, it is the final touch of bigotry in his abdication. The rest of the document consists of a recital of the pensions and estates in France conferred by the Emperor on his dupe in return for the abdication. It took five days more to extort from Don Ferdinand a formal cession of his ultimate rights, as Prince of the Asturias, to the succession to the throne. It was signed on May 10, and purported to give him in return a palace in France and a large annual revenue. But he was really put under close surveillance at Talleyrand’s estate of Valen?ay, along with his brother Don Carlos, and never allowed to go beyond its bounds. The Emperor’s letter of instructions to Talleyrand is worth quoting for its cynical brutality. He wrote to his ex-minister, who was much disgusted with the invidious duty put upon him: ‘Let the princes be received without any show, but yet respectably, and try to keep them amused. If you chance to have a theatre at Valen?ay there would be no harm in importing some actors now and then. You may bring over Mme de Talleyrand [the notorious Mme Grand of 1800], and four or five ladies in attendance on her. If the prince should fall in love with some pretty girl among them, there would be no harm in it, especially if you are quite sure of her. The prince must not be allowed to take any false step, but must be amused and occupied. I ought, for political safety, to put him in Bitche[p. 56] or some other fortress-prison: but as he placed himself into my clutches of his own free will, and as everything in Spain is going on as I desire, I have resolved merely to place him in a country house where he can amuse himself under strict surveillance.... Your mission is really a very honourable one—to take in three[58] illustrious guests and keep them amused is a task which should suit a Frenchman and a personage of your rank[59].’ Napoleon afterwards owned that he was framing what he called ‘a practical joke’ on Talleyrand, by billeting the Spaniards on him. The Prince of Benevento had wished to make no appearance in the matter, and the Emperor revenged himself by implicating him in it as the jailor of his captives. Talleyrand’s anger may be imagined, and estimated by his after conduct.

At Valen?ay the unfortunate Ferdinand was destined to remain for nearly six years, not amusing himself at all according to Napoleon’s ideas of amusement, but employed in a great many church services, a little partridge shooting, and (so his unwilling jailor tells us) the spoiling of much paper, not with the pen but with the scissors; for he developed a childish passion for clipping out paper patterns and bestowing them on every one that he met. One could pardon him everything if he had not spoilt his attitude as victim and martyr by occasionally sending adulatory letters to the Emperor, and even to his own supplanter, Joseph Bonaparte the new King of Spain.
SECTION I: CHAPTER VI
THE SECOND OF MAY: OUTBREAK OF THE SPANISH INSURRECTION

When King Ferdinand had taken his departure to Bayonne, the position of Murat in Madrid became very delicate. He might expect to hear at any moment, since the Emperor’s plans were more or less known to him, either that the Spanish king had been made a prisoner, or that he had taken the alarm, escaped from his escort, and fled into the mountains. In either case trouble at Madrid was very probable, though there was no serious military danger to be feared, for of Spanish troops there were only 3,000 in the city, while some 35,000 French were encamped in or about it. But there might be a moment of confusion if the Junta of Regency should take violent measures on hearing of the King’s fate, or the populace of Madrid (and this was much more likely) burst into rioting.

From the tenth of April, the day of the King’s departure for the north, down to the twenty-ninth there was no serious cause for apprehension. The people were no doubt restless: they could not understand why the French lingered in Madrid instead of marching on Portugal or Gibraltar, according to their expressed intention. Rumours of all kinds, some of which hit off fairly well the true projects of Bonaparte, were current. Murat’s conduct was not calculated to reassure observers; he gave himself the airs of a military governor, rather than those of an officer engaged in conducting an allied army through friendly territory. Some of his acts gave terrible offence, such as that of insisting that the sword of Francis I, taken at Pavia in 1525, the pride for three centuries of the royal armoury, should be given up to him[60]. His[p. 58] call on the Junta for the surrender of the Prince of the Peace, whom he forwarded under French escort to Bayonne, could not fail to be unpopular. But the first real signs of danger were not seen till the twenty-second of April, when Murat, in obedience to his master, intended to publish the protest of Charles IV against his abdication. It was to be presented to the Junta in the form of a letter to its president, Don Antonio. Meanwhile French agents were set to print it: their Spanish underlings stole and circulated some of the proofs. Their appearance raised a mob, for the name of Charles IV could only suggest the reappearance of Godoy. An angry crowd broke into the printing office, destroyed the presses, and hunted away the Frenchmen. Murat at once made a great matter of the affair, and began to threaten the Junta. ‘The army which he commanded could not without dishonouring itself allow disorders to arise: there must be no more anarchy in Spain. He was not going to allow the corrupt tools of the English government to stir up troubles.’ The Junta replied with rather more spirit than might have been expected, asked why an army of 35,000 French troops had now lingered more than a month around the capital, and expressed an opinion that the riot was but an explosion of loyalty to Ferdinand. But they undertook to deal severely with factious persons, and to discourage even harmless assemblies like that of the twenty-second.

Meanwhile Murat wrote to the Emperor that it was absurd that he could not yet establish a police of his own in Madrid, that he could not print what he pleased, and that he had to negotiate with the Junta when he wished his orders published, instead of being able to issue them on his own authority[61]. He was answered in a style which must have surprised him. Napoleon was ashamed, he said, of a general who, with 50,000 men at his back, asked for things instead of taking them. His letters to the Junta were servile; he should simply assume possession of the reins of power, and act for himself. If the canaille stirred, let it be shot down[62]. Murat could only reply that ‘if he had not yet scattered rioters by a blast of grape, it was only because there were no mobs to shoot: his imperial majesty’s rebuke had stunned him “like a tile falling on his head” by its unmerited severity[63].’

Within three days of this letter there was to be plenty of[p. 59] grape-shot, enough to satisfy both Emperor and Grand-Duke. They probably had the revolt of Cairo and the 13th Vendémiaire in their mind, and were both under the impression that a good émeute pitilessly crushed by artillery was the best basis of a new régime.

On the night of April 29 the first clear and accurate account of what was happening at Bayonne arrived at Madrid. Napoleon had intercepted all the letters which Don Ferdinand had tried to smuggle out of his prison. He read them with grave disapproval, for his guest had not scrupled to use the expression ‘the cursed French,’ and had hinted at the propriety of resistance. He had not yet been cowed by the threat of a rebel’s death. But on the twenty-third one of the Spaniards at Bayonne succeeded in escaping in disguise, crossed the mountains by a lonely track, and reached Pampeluna, whence he posted to Madrid. This was a certain Navarrese magistrate named Ibarnavarro, to whom Ferdinand had given a verbal message to explain Napoleon’s plans and conduct to the Junta, and to inform them that he would never give in to this vile mixture of force and fraud. He could not send them any definite instructions, not knowing the exact state of affairs at Madrid, and a premature stroke might imperil the life of himself, his brother, and his companions: let them beware therefore of showing their warlike intentions till preparations had been fully made to shake off the yoke of the oppressor.

This message Ibarnavarro delivered on the night of April 29-30 to the Junta[64], who had summoned in to hear it a number of judges and other magnates of the city. Next morning, of course, the information, in a more or less garbled shape, spread all round Madrid: there were foolish rumours that the Biscayans had already taken arms, and that 30,000 of them were marching on Bayonne to save the King, as also that certain of the coast towns had invited the English to land. On the thirtieth leaflets, both written and printed, were being secretly circulated round the city, setting forth the unhappy condition of the King, and bidding his subjects not to forget Numancia[65]. It is astonishing that riots did[p. 60] not break out at once, considering the growing excitement of the people, and the habitual insolence of the French soldiery. But leaders were wanting, and in especial the Junta of Regency and its imbecile old president made no move whatever, on the pretext, apparently, that any commotion might imperil the lives of Napoleon’s prisoners.

It was Murat himself who brought matters to a head next day, by ordering the Junta to put into his hands the remaining members of the royal family, Ferdinand’s youngest brother Don Francisco, a boy of sixteen, and his sister the widowed and exiled Queen of Etruria, with her children. Only Don Antonio, the incapable president of the Junta, and the Archbishop of Toledo, the King’s second-cousin, were to be left behind: the rest were to be sent to Bayonne. Knowing what had happened to Don Ferdinand and Don Carlos, the people were horrified at the news; but they trusted that the Regency would refuse its leave. To its eternal disgrace that body did nothing: it did not even try to smuggle away the young Don Francisco before Murat should arrest him.
Map of Madrid

Enlarge  Madrid in 1808.

On the morning, therefore, of May 2 the streets were filled with people, and the palace gates in especial were beset by an excited mob. It was soon seen that the news was true, for the Queen of Etruria appeared and started for the north with all her numerous family. She was unpopular for having sided with her mother and Godoy against Don Ferdinand, and was allowed to depart undisturbed. But when the carriage that was to bear off Don Francisco was brought up, and one of Murat’s aides-de-camp appeared at the door to take charge of the young prince, the rage of the crowd burst all bounds. The French officer was stoned, and saved with difficulty by a patrol: the coach was torn to pieces. Murat had not been unprepared for something of the kind: the battalion on guard at his palace was at once turned out, and fired a dozen volleys into the unarmed mob, which fled devious, leaving scores of dead and wounded on the ground.

The Grand-Duke thought that the matter was over, but it had but just begun. At the noise of the firing the excited citizens flocked into the streets armed with whatever came to hand, pistols, blunderbusses, fowling-pieces, many only with the long Spanish knife. They fell upon, and slew, a certain number of isolated French soldiers, armed and unarmed, who were off duty and wandering round the town, but they also made a fierce attack[p. 61] on Murat’s guard. Of course they could do little against troops armed and in order: in the first hour of the fight there were only about 1,000 men at the Grand-Duke’s disposal, but this small force held its own without much loss, though eight or ten thousand angry insurgents fell upon them. But within seventy minutes the French army from the suburban camps came pouring into the city, brigade after brigade. After this the struggle was little more than a massacre: many of the insurgents took refuge in houses, and maintained a fierce but futile resistance for some time; but the majority were swept away in a few minutes by cavalry charges. Only at one point did the fight assume a serious shape. Almost the entire body of the Spanish garrison of Madrid refrained from taking any part in the rising: without the orders of the Junta the chiefs refused to move, and the men waited in vain for the orders of their officers. But at the Artillery Park two captains, Daoiz and Velarde, threw open the gates to the rioters, allowed them to seize some hundreds of muskets, and when the first French column appeared ran out three guns and opened upon it with grape[66]. Though aided by no more than forty soldiers, and perhaps 500 civilians, they beat off two assaults, and only succumbed to a third. Daoiz was bayonetted, Velarde shot dead, and their men perished with them; but they had poured three volleys of grape into a street packed with the enemy, and caused the only serious losses which the French suffered that day.

The whole struggle had occupied not more than four hours: when it was over Murat issued an ‘order of the day,’ sentencing all prisoners taken with arms in their hands, all persons discovered with arms concealed in their houses, and all distributors of seditious leaflets, ‘the agents of the English government,’ to be shot. It seems that at least a hundred persons were executed under this edict, many of them innocent bystanders who had taken no part in the fighting. Next morning Murat withdrew his Draconian decree, and no further fusillades took place. It is impossible, in the conflict of authorities, to arrive at any clear estimate of the numbers slain on each side on May 2[67]. Probably Tore?o is not[p. 62] far out when he estimates the whole at something over a thousand. Of these four-fifths must have been Spaniards, for the French only lost heavily at the arsenal: the number of isolated soldiers murdered in the streets at the first outbreak of the riot does not seem to have been very large.

Many French authors have called the rising a deliberate and preconcerted conspiracy to massacre the French garrison. On the other hand Spanish writers have asserted that Murat had arranged everything so as to cause a riot, in order that he might have the chance of administering a ‘whiff of grape-shot,’ after his master’s plan. But it is clear that both are making unfounded accusations: if the insurrection had been premeditated, the Spanish soldiery would have been implicated in it, for nothing would have been easier than to stir them up. Yet of the whole 3,000 only forty ran out to help the insurgents. Moreover, the mob would have been found armed at the first commencement of trouble, which it certainly was not. On the other hand, if Murat had been organizing a massacre, he would not have been caught with no more than two squadrons of cavalry and five or six companies of infantry under his hand. These might have been cut to pieces before the troops from outside could come to their help. He had been expecting riots, and was prepared to deal with them, but was surprised by a serious insurrection on a larger scale than he had foreseen, and at a moment when he was not ready.

For a few days after May 2, Murat at Madrid and his master at Bayonne were both living in a sort of fools’ paradise, imagining that ‘the affairs of Spain were going off wonderfully well,’ and that ‘the party of Ferdinand had been crushed by the prompt suppression of its conspiracy.’ The Grand-Duke had the simplicity or the effrontery to issue a proclamation in which he said ‘that every good Spaniard had groaned at the sight of such disorders,’ and another in which the insurrection was attributed to ‘the machinations of our common enemy, i.e. the British government[68].’ On May 4 Don Antonio laid down the presidency of the Junta without a word of regret, and went off to Bayonne, having first borrowed 25,000 francs from Murat. The latter, by virtue of[p. 63] a decree issued by Charles IV, then assumed the presidency of the Junta of Regency. The rest of the members of that ignoble body easily sank into his servile instruments, though they had at last received a secret note smuggled out from Bayonne, in which Ferdinand (the day before his abdication) told them to regard his removal into the interior of France as a declaration of war, and to call the nation to arms. To this they paid no attention, while they pretended to take the document of resignation, which Bonaparte had forced him to sign, as an authentic and spontaneous expression of his will. The fact is that twenty years of Godoy had thoroughly demoralized the bureaucracy and the court of Spain: if the country’s will had not found better exponents than her ministers and officials, Napoleon might have done what he pleased with the Peninsula.

At present his sole interest seems to have lain in settling the details of his brother Joseph’s election to the Spanish throne. Ferdinand’s final resignation of all his rights having been signed on May 10, the field was open for his successor. The Emperor thought that some sort of deputation to represent the Spanish nation ought to be got together, in order that his brother might not seem to receive the crown from his own hands only. Murat was first set to work to terrorize the Junta of Regency, and the ‘Council of Castile,’ a body which practically occupied much the same position as the English Privy Council. At his dictation the Junta yielded, but with an ill grace, and sent petitions to Bayonne asking for a new monarch, and suggesting (as desired) that the person chosen might be Joseph Bonaparte, King of Naples [May 13]. Murat had just been informed that as all had gone well with the Emperor’s plans he should have his reward: he might make his choice between the thrones of Naples and of Portugal. He wisely chose the former, where the rough work of subjection had already been done by his predecessor.

But resolved to get together something like a representative body which might vote away the liberty of Spain, Napoleon nominated, in the Madrid Gazette of May 24, 150 persons who were to go to Bayonne and there ask him to grant them a king. He named a most miscellaneous crowd—ministers, bishops, judges, municipal officers of Madrid, dukes and counts, the heads of the religious orders, the Grand Inquisitor and some of his colleagues, and six well-known Americans who were to speak for the colonies. To the eternal disgrace of[p. 64] the ruling classes of Spain, no less than ninety-one of the nominees were base enough to obey the orders given them, to go to Bayonne, and there to crave as a boon that the weak and incompetent Joseph Bonaparte might be set to govern their unhappy country, under the auspices of his brother the hero and regenerator. Long before the degrading farce was complete, the whole country was in arms behind them, and they knew themselves for traitors. The election of King Joseph I was only taken in hand on June 15, while twenty days before the north and south of Spain had risen in arms in the name of the captive Ferdinand VII.

It took a week for the news of the insurrection of May 2 to spread round Spain: in the public mouth it of course assumed the shape of a massacre deliberately planned by Murat. It was not till some days later that the full details of the events at Bayonne got abroad. But ever since the surprise of the frontier fortresses in February and March, intelligent men all over the country had been suspecting that some gross act of treachery was likely to be the outcome of the French invasion. Yet in most of the districts of Spain there was a gap of some days between the arrival of the news of the King’s captivity and the first outbreak of popular indignation. The fact was that the people were waiting for the lawful and constituted authorities to take action, and did not move of themselves till it was certain that no initiative was to be expected from those in high places. But Spain was a country which had long been governed on despotic lines; and its official chiefs, whether the nominees of Godoy or of the knot of intriguers who had just won their way to power under Ferdinand, were not the men to lead a war of national independence. Many were mere adventurers, who had risen to preferment by flattering the late favourite. Others were typical bureaucrats, whose only concern was to accept as legitimate whatever orders reached them from Madrid: provided those orders were couched in the proper form and written on the right paper, they did not look to see whether the signature at the bottom was that of Godoy or of the Infante Don Antonio, or of Murat. Others again were courtiers who owed their position to their great names, and not to any personal ability. It is this fact that accounts for the fortnight or even three weeks of torpor that followed the events of the second and sixth of May. Murat’s orders during that space travelled over the country, and most of the captains-general and other authorities[p. 65] seemed inclined to obey them. Yet they were orders which should have stirred up instant disobedience; the Mediterranean squadron was to be sent to Toulon, where (if it did not get taken on the way by the British) it would fall into the hands of Napoleon. A large detachment of the depleted regular army was to sail for Buenos Ayres, with the probable prospect of finding itself ere long on the hulks at Portsmouth, instead of on the shores of the Rio de la Plata. The Swiss regiments in Spanish pay were directed to be transferred to the French establishment, and to take the oath to Napoleon. All this could have no object save that of diminishing the fighting power of the country.

The first province where the people plucked up courage to act without their officials, and to declare war on France in spite of the dreadful odds against them, was the remote and inaccessible principality of the Asturias, pressed in between the Bay of Biscay and the Cantabrian hills. Riots began at its capital, Oviedo, as early as the first arrival of the news from Madrid on May 9, when Murat’s edicts were torn down in spite of the feeble resistance of the commander of the garrison and some of the magistrates. The Asturias was one of the few provinces of Spain which still preserved vestiges of its mediaeval representative institutions. It had a ‘Junta General,’ a kind of local ‘estates,’ which chanced to be in session at the time of the crisis. Being composed of local magnates and citizens, and not of officials and bureaucrats, this body was sufficiently in touch with public opinion to feel itself borne on to action. After ten days of secret preparation, the city of Oviedo and the surrounding country-side rose in unison on May 24: the partisans of the new government were imprisoned, and next day the estates formally declared war on Napoleon Bonaparte, and ordered a levy of 18,000 men from the principality to resist invasion. A great part of the credit for this daring move must be given to the president of the Junta, the Marquis of Santa Cruz, who had stirred up his colleagues as early as the thirteenth by declaring that ‘when and wherever one single Spaniard took arms against Napoleon, he would shoulder a musket and put himself at that man’s side.’ The Asturians had knowledge that other provinces would follow their example; there was only one battalion of regular troops and one of militia under arms in the province; its financial resources were small. Its only strength lay in the rough mountains that had once sheltered King Pelayo from the[p. 66] Moors. It was therefore an astounding piece of patriotism when the inhabitants of the principality threw down the challenge to the victor of Jena and Austerlitz, confiding in their stern resolution and their good cause. All through the war the Asturias played a very creditable part in the struggle, and never let the light of liberty go out, though often its capital and its port of Gihon fell into French hands.

One of the first and wisest measures taken by the Asturian Junta was an attempt to interest Great Britain in the insurrection. On May 30 they sent to London two emissaries (one of whom was the historian Tore?o) on a Jersey privateer, whose captain was persuaded to turn out of his course for the public profit. On June 7 they had reached London and had an interview with Canning, the Foreign Secretary of the Tory government which had lately come into power. Five days later they were assured that the Asturias might draw on England for all it required in the way of arms, munitions, and money. All this was done before it was known in England that any other Spanish province was stirring, for it was not till June 22 that the plenipotentiaries of the other juntas began to appear in London.

The revolt of other provinces followed in very quick succession. Galicia rose on May 30, in spite of its captain-general, Filanghieri, whose resistance to the popular voice cost him his popularity and, not long after, his life. Corunna and Ferrol, the two northern arsenals of Spain, led the way. This addition to the insurgent forces was very important, for the province was full of troops—the garrisons that protected the ports from English descents. There were eighteen battalions of regulars and fourteen of militia—a whole army—concentrated in this remote corner of Spain. Napoleon’s plan of removing the Spanish troops from the neighbourhood of Madrid had produced the unintended result of making the outlying provinces very strong for self-defence.

It is more fitting for a Spanish than an English historian to descend into the details of the rising of each province of Spain. The general characteristics of the outburst in each region were much the same: hardly anywhere did the civil or military officials in charge of the district take the lead. Almost invariably they hung back, fearing for their places and profits, and realizing far better than did the insurgents the enormous military power which they were challenging. The leaders of the movement were either[p. 67] local magnates not actually holding office—like the celebrated Joseph Palafox at Saragossa—or demagogues of the streets, or (but less frequently than might have been expected) churchmen, Napoleon was quite wrong when he called the Spanish rising ‘an insurrection of monks.’ The church followed the nation, and not the nation the church: indeed many of the spiritual hierarchy were among the most servile instruments of Murat. Among them was the primate of Spain, the Archbishop of Toledo, who was actually a scion of the house of Bourbon. There were many ecclesiastics among the dishonoured ninety-one that went to Bayonne, if there were others who (like the Bishop of Santander) put themselves at the head of their flocks when the country took arms.

It was a great misfortune for Spain that the juntas, which were everywhere formed when the people rose, had to be composed in large part of men unacquainted with government and organization. There were many intelligent patriots among their members, a certain number of statesmen who had been kept down or disgraced by Godoy, but also a large proportion of ambitious windbags and self-seeking intriguers. It was hard to constitute a capable government, on the spur of the moment, in a country which had suffered twenty years of Godoy’s rule.

An unfortunate feature of the rising was that in most of the provinces, and especially those of the south, it took from the first a very sanguinary cast. It was natural that the people should sweep away in their anger every official who tried to keep them down, or hesitated to commit himself to the struggle with France. But there was no reason to murder these weaklings or traitors, in the style of the Jacobins. There was a terrible amount of assassination, public and private, during the first days of the insurrection. Three captains-general were slain under circumstances of brutal cruelty—Filanghieri in Galicia, Torre del Fresno in Estremadura, Solano at Cadiz. The fate of Solano may serve as an example: he tried to keep the troops from joining the people, and vainly harangued the mob: pointing to the distant sails of the English blockading squadron he shouted, ‘There are your real enemies!’ But his words had no effect: he was hunted down in a house where he took refuge, and was being dragged to be hung on the public gallows, when the hand of a fanatic (or perhaps of a secret friend who wished to spare him a dishonourable death) dealt him a fatal[p. 68] stab in the side. Gregorio de la Cuesta, the Governor-General of Old Castile, who was destined to play such a prominent and unhappy part in the history of the next two years, nearly shared Solano’s fate. The populace of Valladolid, where he was residing, rose in insurrection like those of the other cities of Spain. They called on their military chief to put himself at their head; but Cuesta, an old soldier of the most unintelligent and brainless sort, hated mob-violence almost more than he hated the French. He held back, not from a desire to serve Bonaparte, but from a dislike to being bullied by civilians. The indignant populace erected a gallows outside his house and came to hang him thereon. It was not, it is said, till the rope was actually round his neck that the obstinate old man gave in. The Castilians promptly released him, and put him at the head of the armed rabble which formed their only force. Remembering the awful slaughter at Cabezon, at Medina de Rio Seco, and at Medellin, which his incapacity and mulish obstinacy was destined to bring about, it is impossible not to express the wish that his consent to take arms had been delayed for a few minutes longer.

All over Spain there took place, during the last days of May and the first week of June, scores of murders of prominent men, of old favourites of Godoy, of colonels who would not allow their regiments to march, of officials who had shown alacrity in obeying the orders of Murat. In the Asturias and at Saragossa alone do the new juntas seem to have succeeded in keeping down assassination. The worst scenes took place at Valencia, where a mad priest, the Canon Baltasar Calvo, led out a mob of ruffians who in two days [June 6-7] murdered 338 persons, the whole colony of French merchants residing in that wealthy town. It is satisfactory to know that when the Junta of Valencia felt itself firmly seated in the saddle of power, it seized and executed this abominable person and his chief lieutenants. In too many parts of Spain the murderers went unpunished: yet remembering the provocation which the nation had received, and comparing the blood shed by mob-violence with that which flowed in Revolutionary France, we must consider the outburst deplorable rather than surprising.

When the insurrection had reached its full development, we find that it centred round five points, in each of which a separate junta had seized on power and begun to levy an army. The most powerful focus was Seville, from which all Andalusia took its[p. 69] directions: indeed the Junta of Seville had assumed the arrogant style of ‘supreme Junta of Spain and the Indies,’ to which it had no legitimate title. The importance of Andalusia was that it was full of troops, the regular garrisons having been joined by most of the expeditionary corps which had returned from southern Portugal. Moreover it was in possession of a full treasury and a fleet, and had free communication with the English at Gibraltar. On June 15 the Andalusians struck the first military blow that told on Napoleon, by bombarding and capturing the French fleet (the relics of Trafalgar) which lay at their mercy within the harbour of Cadiz.

The second in importance of the centres of resistance was Galicia, which was also fairly well provided with troops, and contained the arsenals of Ferrol and Corunna. The risings in Asturias, and the feebler gatherings of patriots in Leon and Old Castile, practically became branches of the Galician insurrection, though they were directed by their own juntas and tried to work for themselves. It was on the army of Galicia that they relied for support, and without it they would not have been formidable. The boundaries of this area of insurrection were Santander, Valladolid, and Segovia: further east the troops of Moncey and Bessières, in the direction of Burgos and Aranda, kept the country-side from rising. There were sporadic gatherings of peasants in the Upper Ebro valley and the mountains of Northern Castile, but these were mere unorganized ill-armed bands that half a battalion could disperse. It was the same in the Basque Provinces and Navarre: here too the French lay cantoned so thickly that it was impossible to meddle with them: their points of concentration were Vittoria and the two fortresses of Pampeluna and San Sebastian.

The other horn of the half-moon of revolt, which encircled Madrid, was composed of the insurrections in Murcia and Valencia to the south and Aragon to the north. These regions were much less favourably situated for forming centres of resistance, because they were very weak in organized troops. When the Aragonese elected Joseph Palafox as their captain-general and declared war on France, there were only 2,000 regulars and one battery of artillery in their realm. The levies which they began to raise were nothing more than half-armed peasants, with no adequate body of officers to train and drill them. Valencia and Murcia were a little better off, because the arsenal of Cartagena and its garrison lay within[p. 70] their boundaries, but there were only 9,000 men in all under arms in the two provinces. Clearly they could not hope to deliver such a blow as Galicia or Andalusia might deal.

The last centre of revolt, Catalonia, did not fall into the same strategical system as the other four. It looked for its enemies not at Madrid, but at Barcelona, where Lecchi and Duhesme were firmly established ever since their coup de main in February. The Catalans had as their task the cutting off of this body of invaders from its communication with France, and the endeavour to prevent new forces from joining it by crossing the Eastern Pyrenees. The residence of the insurrectionary Junta was at Tarragona, but the most important point in the province for the moment was Gerona, a fortress commanding the main road from France, which Napoleon had not had the foresight to seize at the same moment that he won by treachery Barcelona and Figueras. While the Spaniards could hold it, they had some chance of isolating the army of Duhesme from its supports. In Catalonia, or in the Balearic Isles off its coast, there were in May 1808, about 16,000 men of regular troops, among whom there were only 1,200 soldiers of the cavalry arm. There was no militia, but by old custom the levée en masse might always be called out in moments of national danger. These irregulars, somatenes as they were called (from somaten, the alarm-bell which roused them), turned out in great numbers according to ancient custom: they had been mobilized thirteen years before in the French War of 1793-5 and their warlike traditions were by no means forgotten. All through the Peninsular struggle they made a very creditable figure, considering their want of organization and the difficulty of keeping them together.

The French armies, putting aside Duhesme’s isolated force at Barcelona, lay compactly in a great wedge piercing into the heart of Spain. Its point was at Toledo, just south of Madrid: its base was a line drawn from San Sebastian to Pampeluna across the Western Pyrenees. Its backbone lay along the great high road from Vittoria by Burgos to Madrid. The advantageous point of this position was that it completely split Central Spain in two: there was no communication possible between the insurgents of Galicia and those of Aragon. On the other hand the wedge was long and narrow, and exposed to be pierced by a force striking at it either from the north-east or the north-west. The Aragonese[p. 71] rebels were too few to be dangerous; but the strong Spanish army of Galicia was well placed for a blow at Burgos, and a successful attack in that direction would cut off Madrid from France, and leave the troops in and about the capital, who formed the point of the intrusive wedge, in a very perilous condition. This is the reason why, in the first stage of the war, Napoleon showed great anxiety as to what the army of Galicia might do, while professing comparative equanimity about the proceedings of the other forces of the insurrection.

Having thus sketched the strategic position of affairs in the Peninsula during the first days of June, we must set ourselves to learn the main characteristics of the military geography of Spain, and to estimate the character, organization, and fighting value of the two armies which were just about to engage. Without some knowledge of the conditions of warfare in Spain, a mere catalogue of battles and marches would be absolutely useless.
SECTION II  THE LAND AND THE COMBATANTS CHAPTER I
MILITARY GEOGRAPHY OF THE PENINSULA: MOUNTAINS, RIVERS, ROADS

Of all the regions of Europe, the Iberian Peninsula possesses the best marked frontier. It is separated from France, its only neighbour, by one broad range of mountains, which defines its boundaries even more clearly than the Alps mark those of Italy. For the Alps are no single chain, but a system of double and triple chains running parallel to each other, and leaving between them debatable lands such as Savoy and the Southern Tyrol. Between Spain and France there is no possibility of any such claims and counter-claims. It is true that Roussillon, where the eastern end of the Pyrenean range runs into the sea, was Spanish down to 1659, but that was a political survival from the Middle Ages, not a natural union: there can be no doubt that geographically Roussillon is a French and not an Iberian land: the main backbone of the boundary chain lies south and not north of it.

The Pyrenees, though in height they cannot vie with the Alps, and though they are not nearly so jagged or scarped as the greater chain, are extremely difficult to cross, all the more so because the hand of man has seldom come to help the hand of nature in making practicable lines of access between France and Spain. In the whole length between the Bay of Biscay and the Mediterranean there are only two short fronts where intercommunication is easy, and these lie at the extreme east and west, where the mountains touch the sea. In the 250 miles which intervene there is hardly one good pass practicable for wheeled traffic or for the march of an army: most are mere mule-paths, rarely used save by smugglers and shepherds. The only one of these minor routes employed in the war was that which leads from Jaca in Aragon to Oloron in[p. 73] Béarn, and that was not much used: only on one single occasion in 1813 does it appear prominently in history, when Clausel’s French division, fleeing before Wellington and pressed up against the foot of the mountains, escaped across it with some difficulty.

The only passes that were systematically employed during the war were those which lie close to the water at each end of the Pyrenean chain. At the eastern end there are three which lead from Roussillon into Catalonia. One hugs the water’s edge, and crawls along under the cliffs from Perpignan to Rosas: this was not in 1808 the most important of the three, though it is the one by which the railway passes to-day. Inland there are two other roads over difficult crests—one ten, the other forty miles from the shore—the former from Bellegarde to Figueras, the other from Mont-Louis to Puycerda and Vich. The first was the pass most used in the war, being less exposed than the Rosas route to English descents from the sea: the coast road could actually be cannonaded by warships at some corners. It was blocked indeed by the fortress of Figueras, but that stronghold was only in Spanish hands for a very short period of the war. The inmost, or Mont-Louis-Puycerda road was bad, led into nothing more than a few upland valleys, and was very little employed by the French. It would have been of importance had it led down into the lowlands of Aragon, but after taking a long turn in the hills it harks back towards the Catalan coast, and joins the other two roads near Gerona—a fortress which is so placed as practically to command every possible access into Eastern Spain.

Taking all three of these paths into Catalonia together, they do but form a sort of back door into the Iberian Peninsula. They only communicate with the narrow eastern coast-strip from Barcelona to Valencia. There is no direct access from them into Castile, the heart of the country, and only a roundabout entrance by Lerida into Aragon. The great mass of the Catalan and Valencian Sierras bars them out from the main bulk of the Spanish realm. Catalonia and Valencia, wealthy and in parts fertile as they are, are but its back premises.

The true front door of the kingdom is formed by the passes at the other, the western, end of the Pyrenees. Here too we have three available routes, but they differ in character from the roads at the edge of the Mediterranean, in that they open up two completely separate lines of advance into Spain, and do not (like the[p. 74] Catalan defiles) all lead on to the same goal. All three start from Bayonne, the great southern fortress of Gascony. The first keeps for some time close to the seaside, and after crossing the Bidassoa, the boundary river of France and Spain, at Irun, leaves the fortress of San Sebastian a few miles to its right and then charges the main chain of the mountains. It emerges at Vittoria, the most northerly town of importance in the basin of the Ebro. A few miles further south it crosses that stream, and then makes for Burgos and Madrid, over two successive lines of Sierras. It opens up the heart of both Old and New Castile. The other two roads from Bayonne strike inland at once, and do not hug the Biscayan shore like the Irun-Vittoria route. They climb the Pyrenees, one by the pass of Maya, the other, twenty miles further east, by the more famous pass of Roncesvalles, where Charlemagne suffered disaster of old, and left the great paladin, Roland, dead behind him. The Maya and Roncesvalles roads join, after passing the mountains, at the great fortress of Pampeluna, the capital of Navarre. From thence several lines are available for the invader, the two chief of which are the roads into Old Castile by Logro?o and into Aragon by Tudela. Pampeluna is quite as valuable as Vittoria as the base for an attack on Central Spain.

The whole Iberian Peninsula has been compared, not inaptly, to an inverted soup-plate: roughly it consists of a high central plateau, surrounded by a flat rim. But no comparison of that kind can be pressed too hard, and we must remember that the rim is variable in width: sometimes, as on the north coast, and in the extreme south-east of the peninsula, it is very narrow, and much cut up by small spurs running down to the sea. But as a rule, and especially in Central Portugal, Andalusia, Murcia, and Valencia, it is broad and fertile. Indeed if we set aside the northern coast—Biscay, Asturias, and Galicia—we may draw a sharp division between the rich and semi-tropical coast plain, and the high, wind-swept, and generally barren central plateau. All the wealth of the land lies in the outer strip: the centre is its most thinly inhabited and worthless part. Madrid, lying in the very midst of the plateau, is therefore not the natural centre of the land in anything save a mathematical sense. It is a new and artificial town of the sixteenth century, pitched upon as an administrative capital by the Hapsburg kings; but in spite of the long residence of the court there, it never grew into a city of the first class. Summing[p. 75] up its ineligibilities, an acute observer said that Madrid combined ‘the soil of the Sahara, the sun of Calcutta, the wind of Edinburgh, and the cold of the North Pole.’ Though in no sense the natural capital of the country, it has yet a certain military importance as the centre from which the road-system of Spain radiates. There is, as a glance at the map will show, no other point from which all the main avenues of communication with the whole of the provinces can be controlled. An invader, therefore, who has got possession of it can make any combined action against himself very difficult. But he must not flatter himself that the capture of Madrid carries with it the same effect that the capture of Paris or Berlin or Vienna entails. The provinces have no such feeling of dependence on the national capital as is common in other countries. France with Paris occupied by an enemy is like a body deprived of its head. But for Andalusians or Catalonians or Galicians the occupation of Madrid had no such paralysing effect. No sentimental affection for the royal residence—and Madrid was nothing more—existed. And a government established at Seville or Cadiz, or any other point, would be just as well (or as ill) obeyed as one that issued its orders from the sandy banks of the Manzanares.

The main geographical, as well as the main political, characteristics of Spain are determined by its very complicated mountain-system. It is a land where the rivers count for little, and the hills for almost everything, in settling military conditions. In most countries great rivers are connecting cords of national life: their waters carry the internal traffic of the realm: the main roads lie along their banks. But in Spain the streams, in spite of their length and size, are useless. They mostly flow in deep-sunk beds, far below the level of the surrounding country-side. Their rapid current is always swirling round rocks, or dashing over sandbanks: often they flow for mile after mile between cliffs from which it is impossible to reach the water’s edge. In the rainy season they are dangerous torrents: in the summer all save the very largest dwindle down into miserable brooks. A river in Spain is always a sundering obstacle, never a line of communication. Only for a few scores of miles near their mouths can any one of them be utilized for navigation: the Douro can be so employed as far as Freneda on the frontier of Portugal, the Tagus in good seasons as far as Abrantes, the Guadalquivir to Seville. For the rest of their long courses they are not available even for the lightest boats.

[p. 76]

Spanish rivers, in short, are of importance not as lines of transit, but as obstacles. They form many fine positions for defence, but positions generally rendered dangerous by the fact that a very few days of drought may open many unsuspected fords, where just before there had been deep and impassable water. Rivers as broad as the Tagus below Talavera and the Douro at Toro were occasionally crossed by whole armies in dry weather. It was always hazardous to trust to them as permanent lines of defence.

It is the mountains which really require to be studied in detail from the military point of view. Speaking generally we may describe the Iberian system—as distinct from the Pyrenees—as consisting of one chain running roughly from north to south, so as to separate the old kingdoms of Castile and Aragon, while at right angles to this chain run a number of others, whose general courses are parallel to each other and run from east to west. There is no single name for the mountains which separate Castile and Aragon, nor do they form one continuous range. They are a number of separate systems, often divided from each other by wide gaps, and sometimes broadening out into high tablelands. The central nucleus, from which the rest run out, lies between the provinces of New Castile and Valencia, from Guadalajara in the former to Morella in the latter. Here there is a great ganglion of chaotic sierras, pierced by hardly a single practicable road. Northward, in the direction of Aragon, they sink down into the plain of the Ebro: southward they spread out into the lofty plateau of Murcia, but rise into higher and narrower ranges again as they get near the frontier of Andalusia.

This block of chains and plateaus forms the central watershed of Spain, which throws westward the sources of the Douro, Tagus, Guadiana, and Guadalquivir, and eastward those of the Xucar and Segura. The basins of these streams and their tributaries form three-fourths of the Iberian Peninsula. The rest consists mainly of the great valley of the Ebro: this hardly falls into the system, and is somewhat exceptional. It has been described as serving as a sort of wet-ditch to the main fortification of the peninsula. Starting in the western extension of the Pyrenees, quite close to the Bay of Biscay, it runs diagonally across Spain, more or less parallel to the Pyrenees, and falls into the Mediterranean between Catalonia and Valencia. It is more low-lying than the rest of the main valleys of Spain, is broader, and is not so much cramped[p. 77] and cut up by mountains running down to it at right angles to its course.

Behind the Ebro lie, chain after chain, the parallel sierras which mark off the divisions of the great central plateau of Spain. Arteche compares them to the waves of a great petrified sea, running some higher and some lower, but all washing up into jagged crests, with deep troughs between them.

The first and most northerly of these waves is that which we may call the range of Old Castile, which separates the basin of the Ebro from that of the Douro. At one end it links itself to the Pyrenean chain in the neighbourhood of Santander: at the other it curves round to join the more central sierras in the direction of Soria and Calatayud. It is the lowest of the chains which bound the central plateau of Spain, and is pierced by three practicable roads, of which the most important is that from Vittoria to Burgos.

Between this chain on the east and the Cantabrian mountains on the north lies the great plain of Old Castile and Leon, the heart of the elder Spanish monarchy, in the days when Aragon was still independent and Andalusia remained in the hands of the Moor. It is a fairly productive corn-producing land, studded with ancient cities such as Burgos, Palencia, Valladolid, Toro, Zamora, Salamanca. The Tierra de Campos (land of the plains), as it was called, was the granary of Northern Spain, the most civilized part of the kingdom, and the only one where there existed a fairly complete system of roads. For want of the isolated mountain chains which cut up most provinces of the Iberian Peninsula, it was hard to defend and easy to overrun. If the mountains that divide it from the Ebro valley are once passed, there is no way of stopping the invader till he reaches the border of Asturias, Galicia, or New Castile. The whole plain forms the valley of the Upper Douro and its tributaries, the Adaja, Pisuerga, Esla, Tormes, and the rest. It narrows down towards Portugal, as the mountains of Galicia on the one side and Estremadura on the other throw out their spurs to north and south. Hence the Lower Douro valley, after the Portuguese frontier has been passed, is a defile rather than a plain. Before Oporto and the estuary are reached, there are many places where the mountains on either side come right down to the river’s edge.

The second chain is much more important, and more strongly[p. 78] marked: it divides Old from New Castile, the valley of the Douro from that of the Tagus. In its central and western parts it is really a double range, with two narrow valleys between its chief ridges. These valleys are drained by the Zezere and Alagon, two tributaries of the Tagus which flow parallel for many scores of miles to the broad river which they feed. If we call this great system of mountains the chain of New Castile it is only for convenience’ sake: the Spaniards and Portuguese have no common name for them. In the east they are styled the Sierra de Ayllon; above Madrid they are known as the Guadarrama—a name sometimes extended to the whole chain. When they become double, west of Madrid, the northern chain is the Sierra de Gata, the southern the Sierra de Gredos. Finally in Portugal the extension of the Sierra de Gata is called the Sierra da Estrella, the southern parallel ridge the Sierra do Moradal. The whole system forms a very broad, desolate, and lofty belt of hills between the Tagus and Douro, through which the practicable passes are few and difficult. Those requiring notice are (1) the Somosierra Pass, through which runs the great northern road from Burgos to Madrid: its name is well remembered owing to the extraordinary way in which Napoleon succeeded in forcing it (against all the ordinary rules of war) in the winter of 1808. (2) There is a group of three passes, all within twelve miles of each other, across the Guadarrama, through which there debouch on to Madrid the main roads from North-western Spain—those from (a) Valladolid and Segovia, (b) from Astorga, Tordesillas, and Arevalo, (c) from Salamanca by Avila. After this group of passes there is a long space of impracticable hills, till we come to the chief road from north to south, parallel to the Portuguese frontier: it comes down the valley of the Alagon from Salamanca, by Ba?os and Plasencia, on to the great Roman bridge of Alcantara, the main passage over the Middle Tagus. This is a bad road through a desolate country, but the exigencies of war caused it to be used continually by the French and English armies, whenever they had to transfer themselves from the valley of the Douro to that of the Tagus. Occasionally they employed a still worse route, a little further west, from Ciudad Rodrigo by Perales to Alcantara. When we get within the Portuguese frontier, we find a road parallel to the last, from Almeida by Guarda to Abrantes, also a difficult route, but like it in perpetual use: usually, when the French marched from Salamanca[p. 79] to Alcantara, Wellington moved in a corresponding way from near Almeida to Abrantes. This road runs along the basin of the Zezere, though not down in the trough of the river, but high up the hillsides above it. Spanish and Portuguese roads, as we shall see, generally avoid the river banks and run along the slopes far above them.

The next great chain across the Peninsula is that which separates the barren and sandy valley of the Upper Tagus from the still more desolate and melancholy plateau of La Mancha, the basin of the Guadiana. Of all the regions of Central Spain, this is the most thinly peopled and uninviting. In the whole valley there are only two towns of any size, Ciudad Real, the capital of La Mancha, and Badajoz, the frontier fortress against Portugal. The mountains north of the Guadiana are called first the Sierra de Toledo, then the Sierra de Guadalupe, lastly on the Portuguese frontier the Sierra de San Mamed. Their peculiarity, as opposed to the other cross-ranges of the Peninsula, is that at their eastern end they do not unite directly with the mountains of Valencia, but leave a broad gap of upland, through which the roads from Madrid to Murcia and Madrid to Valencia take their way. When the Sierra de Toledo once begins roads are very few. There are practically only three—(1) Toledo by San Vincente to Merida, a most break-neck route winding among summits for forty miles; (2) Almaraz by Truxillo to Merida, the main path from Tagus to Guadiana, and the most used, though it is difficult and steep; (3) Alcantara by Albuquerque to Badajoz, a bad military road parallel to the Portuguese frontier, continuing the similar route from Salamanca to Alcantara.

Leaving the barren basin of the Guadiana to proceed southward, we find across our path a range of first-rate importance, the southern boundary of the central plateaux of Spain: dropping down from its crest we are no longer among high uplands, but in the broad low-lying semi-tropical plain of Andalusia, the richest region of Spain. The chain between the fertile valley of the Guadalquivir and the barren plateau of La Mancha is known for the greater part of its course as the Sierra Morena, but in its western section it takes the name of Sierra de Constantino. The passes across it require special notice: the most eastern and the most important is that of Despe?a Perros, through which passes the high road from Madrid to Cordova, Seville, and Cadiz. At its southern exit was fought the fight of Baylen, in which the armies[p. 80] of Napoleon received their first great check by the surrender of Dupont and his 20,000 men on July 23, 1808. Higher up the defile lies another historic spot, on which Christian and Moor fought the decisive battle for the mastery of Spain in the early years of the thirteenth century, the well-known fight of Las Navas de Tolosa. The Despe?a Perros has two side-passes close to its left and right: the former is that of San Estevan del Puerto: the latter is known as the ‘King’s Gate’ (Puerto del Rey). All these three defiles present tremendous difficulties to an assailant from the north, yet all were carried in a single rush by the armies of Soult and Sebastiani in 1810. The central pass of the Sierra Morena lies ninety miles to the left, and is of much less importance, as it starts from the most arid corner of La Mancha, and does not connect itself with any of the great roads from the north. It leads down on to Cordova from Hinojosa. Again sixty miles to the west three more passes come down on to Seville, the one by Llerena, the second by Monasterio, the third by Fregenal: they lead to Badajoz and Merida. These are easier routes through a less rugged country: they were habitually used by Soult in 1811 and 1812, when, from his Andalusian base at Seville, he used to go north to besiege or to relieve the all-important fortress of Badajoz.

Last of all the great Spanish chains is that which lies close along the Mediterranean Sea, forming the southern edge of the fertile Andalusian plain. It is the Sierra Nevada, which, though neither the longest nor the broadest of the ranges of the south, contains the loftiest peaks in Spain, Mulha?en and La Veleta. This chain runs from behind Gibraltar along the shore, till it joins the mountains of Murcia, leaving only a very narrow coast-strip between its foot and the southern sea. Three roads cut it in its western half, which, starting from Granada, Ronda, and Antequera all come down to the shore at, or in the neighbourhood of, the great port of Malaga. The parts of the coast-line that are far from that city are only accessible by following difficult roads that run close to the water’s edge.

We have still to deal with two corners of the Iberian Peninsula, which do not fall into any of the great valleys that we have described—Galicia and Northern Portugal in the north-west, and Catalonia in the north-east. The geographical conditions of the former region depend on the Cantabrian Mountains, the western continuation of the Pyrenees. This chain, after running for many[p. 81] miles as a single ridge, forks in the neighbourhood of the town of Leon. One branch keeps on in its original direction, and runs by the coast till it reaches the Atlantic at Cape Finisterre. The other turns south-west and divides Spain from Portugal as far as the sea. The angle between these forking ranges is drained by a considerable river, the Minho. The basins of this stream and its tributary the Sil, form the greater part of the province of Galicia. Their valleys are lofty, much cut up by cross-spurs, and generally barren. The access to them from Central Spain is by two openings. The main one is the high road from Madrid to Corunna by Astorga; it does not follow the course of either the Sil or the Minho, but charges cross-ridge after cross-ridge of the spurs of the Galician hills, till at last it comes down to the water, and forks into two routes leading the one to Corunna, the other to the still more important arsenal of Ferrol. The other gate of Galicia is a little to the south of Astorga, where a pass above the town of Puebla de Sanabria gives access to a steep and winding road parallel to the Portuguese frontier, which finally gets into the valley of the Minho, and turns down to reach the port of Vigo. It will be remembered that Sir John Moore, in his famous retreat, hesitated for some time at Astorga between the Vigo and Corunna roads, and finally chose the latter. His judgement was undoubtedly correct, but the best alternative was bad, for in winter even the Madrid-Corunna road, the main artery of this part of Spain, is distressing enough to an army. It does not follow any well-marked valley, but cuts across four separate ranges, every one of which in January was a nursery of torrents in its lower slopes, and an abode of snow in its upper levels. Besides the roads with which we have already dealt there is a third important line of communication in Galicia, that by the narrow coast-plain of the Atlantic, from Corunna by Santiago to Vigo, and thence into Portugal as far as Oporto. This would be a good road but for the innumerable river-mouths, small and great, which it has to cross: the road passes each stream just where it ceases to be tidal, and at each is fronted at right angles by a defensible position, which, if held by a competent enemy, is difficult to force from the front, and still more difficult to turn by a detour up-stream. Nevertheless it was by this route that Soult successfully invaded Northern Portugal in the spring of 1809. It must be remembered that he was only opposed by bands of peasants not even organized into the loosest form of militia.

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The geography of Catalonia, the last Iberian region with which we have to deal, is more simple than that of Galicia. The land is formed by a broad mountain belt running out from the eastern end of the Pyrenees, parallel to the Mediterranean. From this chain the slopes run down and form on the eastern side a coast-plain, generally rather narrow, on the western a series of parallel valleys drained by tributaries of the Segre, the most important affluent of the Ebro. They all unite near Lerida, an important town and a great centre of roads. But two considerable rivers, the Ter and the Llobregat, have small basins of their own in the heart of the central mountain mass, which open down into the coast-plain by defiles, the one blocked by the peak of Montserrat, the other by the town of Gerona. During the greater part of the Peninsular War the French held the larger share of the shoreland, dominating it from the great fortress of Barcelona, which they had seized by treachery ere hostilities began. In 1811 they captured Tarragona also, the second capital of the sea coast. But they never succeeded in holding down all the small upland plains, and the minor passes that lead from one to the other. Hunted out of one the Spanish army took refuge in the next, and, though it dwindled down ultimately to a mass of guerilla bands, was never caught en masse and exterminated. There were too many bolt-holes among the network of hills, and the invaders never succeeded in stopping them all, so that down to the end of the war the patriots always maintained a precarious existence inland, descending occasionally to the shore to get ammunition and stores from the English squadrons which haunted the coast. They were supplied and reinforced from the Balearic Isles, which Napoleon could never hope to touch, for his power (like that of the witches of old) vanished when it came to running water. The survival of the Catalan resistance after the French had drawn a complete cordon around the hill-country, holding the whole coast-plain on the one hand, and Lerida and the Segre valley on the other, is one of the incidents of the war most creditable to Spanish constancy.

Having dealt with the physical geography of Spain, it is necessary for us to point out the way in which the natural difficulties of the country had influenced its main lines of communication. Roads always take the ‘line of least resistance’ in early days, and seek for easy passes, not for short cuts. The idea that ‘time is money,’ and that instead of going round two sides of a triangle it may be worth[p. 83] while to cut a new path across its base, in spite of all engineering difficulties, was one very unfamiliar to the Spaniard. Nothing shows more clearly the state of mediaeval isolation in which the kingdom still lay in 1808 than the condition of its roads. Wherever the country presented any serious obstacles, little or no attempt had been made to grapple with them since the days of the Romans. The energetic Charles III, alone among the kings of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, had done something to improve the system of intercommunication. He had, for example, superseded the old break-neck road from the plains of Leon into Galicia, by building the fine new chaussée from Astorga to Villafranca by Manzanal; but among the line of Hapsburg and Bourbon sovereigns Charles was a rare exception. Under the imbecile rule of his son (or rather of Godoy) improvements ceased, and internal communications were as much neglected as any other branch of state management. What roads there were, when the war of 1808 broke out, were in a state of dreadful neglect. The Spaniard was still too prone to go round an intolerable distance rather than attempt a serious piece of engineering work. Let us take, for example, the northern coast of Spain: the Cantabrian range is no doubt a most serious obstacle to intercourse between Castile and Leon, on the one side, and the maritime provinces of Asturias and Biscay on the other. But who would have conceived it possible that in a length of 300 miles of mountain, there should be no more than five roads practicable for wheeled traffic and artillery? Yet this was so: to get down from the central plateau to the coast there are only available these five routes—one from Leon to Oviedo, one from Burgos to Santander, one from Burgos to Bilbao, one from Vittoria to Bilbao, and one from Vittoria to San Sebastian and Irun. There were many other points at which a division travelling in light order without guns or baggage could cross the watershed—as was shown in Blake’s flight from Reynosa and Ney’s invasion of the Asturias. But for an army travelling with all its impedimenta such bypaths were impracticable.

Let us take another part of the Peninsula—its eastern side. The ancient separation between Aragon and Castile is fully reflected by the utter isolation of the two for intercommunication. To get from Madrid to the east coast there are only three roads suitable for wheeled traffic: one goes by the main gap in the hills by Chinchilla to Murcia, another by Reque?a to Valencia. The[p. 84] third passes by Calatayud to Saragossa and ultimately to Barcelona. Between it and the Valencia road there is a gap of no less than 120 miles unpierced by any good practicable line of communication[69]. This being so, we begin to understand how it was that the operations on the eastern side of Spain, during the whole of the struggle, were a sort of independent episode that never exercised any great influence on the main theatre of the war, or, on the other hand, was much affected by the progress of the strife in Castile or Portugal. Soult’s conquest of Andalusia did not help Suchet to conquer Valencia. On the other hand, when the latter did, in January, 1812, succeed in his attempt to subdue the eastern coast-line, it did not much affect him that Wellington was storming Ciudad Rodrigo and pressing back the French in the west. He was able to hold on to Valencia till the allies, in 1813, got possession of the upper valley of the Ebro and the great road from Madrid to Saragossa and Lerida, after the battle of Vittoria. It was only then that his flank was really turned, and that he was compelled to retreat and to abandon his southern conquests.

Summing up the general characteristics of the road-system of Spain, we note first that the main routes are rather at right angles to the great rivers than parallel to them. The sole exception is to be found in the valley of the Ebro, where the only good cross-road of Northern Spain does follow the river-bank from Logro?o and Tudela on to Saragossa and Lerida.

Just because the roads do not cling to the valleys, but strike across them at right angles, they are always crossing watersheds by means of difficult passes. And so there is hardly a route in the whole Peninsula where it is possible to find fifty miles without a good defensive position drawn across the path. Moreover, the continual passes make the question of supplies very difficult: in crossing a plain an army can live, more or less, on the supplies of the country-side; but among mountains and defiles there is no population, and therefore no food to be had. Hence an army on the move must take with it all that it consumes, by means of a heavy wagon train, or an enormous convoy of pack-mules. But only the best roads are suitable for wheeled traffic, and so the lines practicable for a large host are very restricted in number. The student is often tempted to consider the movements of the rival generals very slow. The explanation is simply that to transfer an[p. 85] army from one river-basin to another was a serious matter. It was necessary to spend weeks in collecting at the base food and transport sufficient to support the whole force till it reached its goal. In 1811 or 1812 the French and English were continually moving up and down the Portuguese frontier parallel to each other, the one from Salamanca to Badajoz, the other from Almeida or Guarda to Elvas. But to prepare for one of these flittings was such a serious matter that by the time that the army was able to move, the enemy had usually got wind of the plan, and was able to follow the movement on his own side of the frontier. There were months of preparation required before a few weeks of active operations, and when the concentration was over and the forces massed, they could only keep together as long as the food held out, and then had to disperse again in order to live. This was what was meant by the old epigram, that ‘in Spain large armies starve, and small armies get beaten.’

Half the strategy of the campaigns of 1811-12-13 consisted in one of the combatants secretly collecting stores, concentrating his whole army, and then dashing at some important part of his adversary’s line, before the other could mass his forces in a corresponding way. If prompt, the assailant might gain a fortnight, in which he might either try to demolish the enemy in detail before he could concentrate, or else to take from him some important position or town. In 1811 Marmont and Dorsenne played this trick on Wellington, during the short campaign of El Bodon and Aldea da Ponte. They relieved Ciudad Rodrigo, and nearly caught some divisions of the English army before the rest could join. But missing the instant blow, and allowing Wellington time to draw in his outlying troops, they failed and went home. In 1812, on the other hand, the British general successfully played off this device on the French. He first concentrated in the north, and captured Ciudad Rodrigo in eleven days, before Marmont could mass his scattered divisions; then going hastily south he took Badajoz in exactly the same way, storming it after only nineteen days of siege. Soult drew his army together at the news of Wellington’s move, but had to bring troops from such distances, and to collect so much food, that he arrived within three marches of Badajoz only to hear that the place had just fallen.

In dealing with the main geographical facts of the war it is fair to recollect that an invasion of Spain from France is one of the[p. 86] most difficult of undertakings, because the whole river and mountain system of the Peninsula lies across the main line of advance from Bayonne to Cadiz, which the invader must adopt. While the French conquest must be pushed from north to south, both the streams and the Sierras of Spain all run at right angles to this direction, i.e. from east to west. In advancing from the Pyrenees to Madrid, and again from Madrid to Seville and Cadiz, the invader has to cross every main river—Ebro, Douro, Tagus, Guadiana, and Guadalquivir—and to force the passes of every main range. Moreover, as he advances southward, he has to keep his flanks safe against disturbance from the two mountainous regions, Catalonia and Portugal, which lie along the eastern and western coasts of the Peninsula. Unless the whole breadth of Spain, from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, be occupied step by step as the invader moves on towards the Straits of Gibraltar, he can always be molested and have his lines of communication with France threatened. In the end it may be said that Napoleon’s whole scheme of conquest was shipwrecked upon the blunder of attacking Andalusia and Cadiz while Portugal was still unsubdued. Wellington’s constant sallies out of that country upon the French flank, in Leon and Estremadura, detained such large forces to protect the valleys of the Central Douro and Tagus that enough men were never found to finish the conquest of the south and east. And finally one crushing victory at Salamanca, in the plains of Leon, so threatened the invader’s line of touch with France, that he had to abandon the whole south of Spain in order to concentrate an army large enough to force Wellington back from Burgos and the great northern road.

On the other hand, one tremendous advantage possessed by the French in the central years of the war must be remembered. It is manifest that Madrid is the only really important road-centre in Spain, and that its undisturbed possession by the French in 1809-11 gave them the advantage of being able to operate from a single point, against enemies who lay in a vast semicircle around, with no good cross-roads to join them and enable them to work together. The small ‘Army of the Centre,’ which was always kept in and around Madrid, could be used as a reserve for any other of the French armies, and transferred to join it in a few marches, while it was infinitely more difficult to unite the various forces lying on an outer circle at Astorga, Almeida, Abrantes, and Cadiz,[p. 87] which the Spaniards and the British kept in the field. In short, in estimating the difficulties of the two parties, the advantage of the central position must be weighed against the disadvantage of long and exposed lines of communication.

One of the cardinal blunders of Napoleon’s whole scheme for the conquest of the Peninsula was that he persisted in treating it as if it were German or Italian soil, capable of supporting an army on the march. His troops were accustomed to live on the country-side while crossing Central Europe, and therefore made no proper preparations for supplying themselves by other means than plunder. But in Spain there are only a few districts where this can be done: it may be possible to get forward without an enormous train of convoys in Andalusia, the coast plain of Valencia, and certain parts of the rather fertile plateau of Leon, the wheat-bearing Tierra de Campos. But over four-fifths of the Peninsula, an army that tries to feed on the country-side will find itself at the point of starvation in a few days, and be forced to disperse in order to live.

Till he had seen Spain with his own eyes Napoleon might perhaps have been excused for ignoring the fact that his ordinary method of ‘making war support itself’ was not in this case possible. But even after he had marched from Bayonne to Madrid, and then from Madrid to Astorga, in 1808, he persisted in refusing to see facts as they were. We find him on his way back to Paris from the campaign uttering the extraordinary statement that ‘Spain is a much better country than he had ever supposed, and that he had no idea what a magnificent present he had made to his brother Joseph till he had seen it[70].’ Of his utter failure to grasp the difficulties of the country we may get a fair conception from his orders, given at the same time, to Marshal Soult, who was at that moment occupied in pushing Sir John Moore towards Corunna. He told the Duke of Dalmatia that if he reached Lugo on January 9, and the English got away safely by sea, he was to march on Oporto, where he ought to arrive on the first of February; after seizing that city he was to go on to Lisbon, which he might reach on or about February 10. As a matter of fact Soult saw the English depart, and occupied Corunna on January 19, but his army was so utterly worn out, and his stores so entirely exhausted, that with the best will in the world he could not move again till February 20, only took Oporto on March 29, and had not yet started for Lisbon[p. 88] when Wellesley suddenly fell on him and drove him out of the country on May 12, 1809. The Emperor, in short, had given Soult orders executable perhaps, according to the distance, in Lombardy or Bavaria, but utterly absurd when applied to a country where roads are few and bad, with a defile or a river crossing the path at every few miles, and where food has to be carefully collected before a move, and taken on with the army by means of enormous convoys. Moreover the month was January, when every brook had become a raging mountain stream, and every highland was covered with snow! With such conceptions of the task before him, it is not wonderful that Napoleon was continually issuing wholly impracticable orders. The one that we have just quoted was sent out from Valladolid: how much worse would the case be when the Emperor persisted in directing affairs from Paris or Vienna, the last news that had reached him from the front being now several weeks old! With all his genius he never thoroughly succeeded in grasping the state of affairs, and to the very last continued to send directions that would have been wise enough in Central Europe, but happened to be inapplicable in the Iberian Peninsula.

It is only fair to Napoleon to add that his Spanish enemies, who ought at least to have known the limitations of their own road-system, and the disabilities of their half-starved armies, used habitually to produce plans of operations far more fantastically impossible than any that he ever drafted. They would arrange far-reaching schemes, for the co-operation of forces based on the most remote corners of the Peninsula, without attempting to work out the ‘logistics’ of the movement. The invariable result was that such enterprises either ended in disaster, or at the best came to a stop after the first few marches, because some vital point of the calculation had already been proved to have been made on erroneous data.
SECTION II: CHAPTER II
THE SPANISH ARMY IN 1808

When the English student begins to investigate the Peninsular War in detail, he finds that, as regards the Spanish armies and their behaviour, he starts with a strong hostile prejudice. The Duke of Wellington in his dispatches, and still more in his private letters and his table-talk, was always enlarging on the folly and arrogance of the Spanish generals with whom he had to co-operate, and on the untrustworthiness of their troops. Napier, the one military classic whom most Englishmen have read, is still more emphatic and far more impressive, since he writes in a very judicial style, and with the most elaborate apparatus of references and authorities. When the reader begins to work through the infinite number of Peninsular diaries of British officers and men (for there are a very considerable number of writers from among the rank and file) the impression left upon him is much the same. It must be confessed that for the most part they had a very poor opinion of our allies.

Before allowing ourselves to be carried away by the almost unanimous verdict of our own countrymen, it is only fair to examine the state and character of the Spanish army when the war broke out. Only when we know its difficulties can we judge with fairness of its conduct, or decide upon its merits and shortcomings.

The armed force which served under the banners of Charles IV in the spring of 1808 consisted of 131,000 men, of whom 101,000 were regulars and 30,000 embodied militia. The latter had been under arms since 1804, and composed the greater part of the garrisons of the seaports of Spain, all of which had to be protected against possible descents of English expeditions[71].

Of the 101,000 men of the regular army, however, not all were available for the defence of the country. While the war with Russia was still in progress, Bonaparte had requested the Spanish government to furnish him with a strong division for use in the North [March, 1807], and in consequence the Marquis of La Romana[p. 90] had been sent to the Baltic with 15,000 men, the picked regiments of the army. There remained therefore only 86,000 regulars within the kingdom. A very cursory glance down the Spanish army-list of 1808 is sufficient to show that this force was far from being in a satisfactory condition for either offensive or defensive operations.

It is well worth while to look at the details of its composition. The infantry consisted of three sorts of troops—the Royal Guard, the line regiments, and the foreign corps in Spanish pay. For Spain, more than any other European state, had kept up the old seventeenth-century fashion of hiring foreign mercenaries on a large scale. Even in the Royal Guard half the infantry were composed of ‘Walloon Guards,’ a survival from the day when the Netherlands had been part of the broad dominions of the Hapsburg kings. The men of these three battalions were no longer mainly Walloons, for Belgium had been a group of French departments for the last thirteen years. There were Germans and other foreigners of all sorts in the ranks, as well as a large number of native Spaniards. There were also six regiments of Swiss mercenaries—over 10,000 bayonets—and in these the men in the ranks did really come from Switzerland and Germany, though there was a sprinkling among them of strangers from all lands who had ‘left their country for their country’s good.’ There were also one Neapolitan and three Irish regiments. These latter were survivals from the days of the ‘Penal Laws,’ when young Irishmen left their homes by thousands every year to take service with France or Spain, in the hope of getting some day a shot at the hated redcoats. The regiments bore the names of Hibernia, Irlanda, and Ultonia (i.e. Ulster). They were very much under their proper establishment, for of late years Irish recruits had begun to run short, even after the ’98: they now took service in France and not in Spain. The three Irish corps in 1808 had only 1,900 men under arms, instead of the 5,000 which they should have produced; and of those the large majority were not real Irish, but waifs of all nationalities. Of late native Spaniards had been drafted in, to keep the regiments from dying out. On the other hand we shall find that not only the foreign regiments but the whole Spanish army was still full of officers of Irish name and blood, the sons and grandsons of the original emigrants of two generations back. An astounding proportion of the officers who rose to some note during the war bore Irish names, and were hereditary soldiers of fortune, who[p. 91] justified their existence by the unwavering courage which they always showed, in a time when obstinate perseverance was the main military virtue. We need only mention Blake, the two O’Donnells, Lacy, Sarsfield, O’Neill, O’Daly, Mahony, O’Donahue. If none of them showed much strategical skill, yet their constant readiness to fight, which no series of defeats could tame, contrasts very well with the spiritless behaviour of a good many of the Spanish generals. No officer of Irish blood was ever found among the cowards, and hardly one among the traitors[72].

The ten foreign corps furnished altogether about 13,000 men to the Spanish regular army. The rest of the infantry was composed of thirty-five regiments of troops of the line, of three battalions each, and twelve single-battalion regiments of light infantry. They were theoretically territorial, like our own infantry of to-day, and mostly bore local names derived from the provinces—Asturias, Toledo, Estremadura, and so forth. All the light infantry corps belonged to the old kingdoms of Aragon and Navarre, which were therefore scantily represented in the nomenclature of the ordinary line regiments. There were altogether 147 battalions of Spanish infantry, excluding the foreign troops, and if all of these had been up to the proper establishment of 840 men, the total would have amounted to 98,000 bayonets. But the state of disorganization was such that as a matter of fact there were only 58,000 under arms. The regiments which Napoleon had requisitioned for service in the North had been more or less brought up to a war-footing, and each showed on an average 2,000 men in the ranks. But many of the corps in the interior of Spain displayed the most lamentable figures: e.g. the three battalions of the regiment of Estremadura had only 770 men between them, Cordova 793, and Navarre 822—showing 250 men to the battalion instead of the proper 840. Theoretically there should have been no difficulty in keeping them up to their proper strength, as machinery for recruiting them had been duly provided. Voluntary enlistment was the first resource: but when that did not suffice to keep the ranks full, there was a kind of limited conscription called the Quinta[73] to fall back upon. This consisted in balloting for men in the regimental district, under certain rules which allowed an enormous number of exemptions—e.g. all skilled artisans and all[p. 92] middle-class townsfolk were free from the burden—so that the agricultural labourers had to supply practically the whole contingent. Substitutes were allowed, if by any means the conscript could afford to pay for them. The conscription therefore should have kept the regiments up to their proper strength, and if many of them had only a third of their complement under arms, it was merely due to the general demoralization of the times. Under Godoy’s administration money was always wanting, more especially since Napoleon had begun to levy his monthly tribute of 6,000,000 francs from the Spanish monarchy, and the gaps in the ranks probably represented enforced economy as well as corrupt administration.

The 30,000 embodied militia, which formed the remainder of the Spanish infantry, had been under arms since 1804, doing garrison duty; they seem in many respects to have been equal to the line battalions in efficiency. They bore names derived from the towns in whose districts they had been raised—Badajoz, Lugo, Alcazar, and so forth. Their officering was also strictly local, all ranks being drawn from the leading families of their districts, and seems to have been quite as efficient as that of the line. Moreover their ranks were, on the average, much fuller than those of the regular regiments—only two battalions in the total of forty-three showed less than 550 bayonets on parade.

It is when we turn to the cavalry that we come to the weakest part of the Spanish army. There were twelve regiments of heavy and twelve of light horse, each with a nominal establishment of 700 sabres, which should have given 16,800 men for the whole force. There were only about 15,000 officers and troopers embodied, but this was a small defect. A more real weakness lay in the fact that there were only 9,000 horses for the 15,000 men. It is difficult for even a wealthy government, like our own, to keep its cavalry properly horsed, and that of Charles IV was naturally unable to cope with this tiresome military problem. The chargers were not only too few, but generally of bad quality, especially those of the heavy cavalry: of those which were to be found in the regimental stables a very large proportion were not fit for service. When the five regiments which Napoleon demanded for the expedition to Denmark had been provided with 540 horses each and sent off, the mounts of the rest of the army were in such a deplorable state that some corps had not the power to horse one-third of their[p. 93] troopers: e.g. in June, 1808, the Queen’s Regiment, No. 2 of the heavy cavalry, had 202 horses for 668 men; the 12th Regiment had 259 horses for 667 men; the 1st Chasseurs—more extraordinary still—only 185 horses for 577 men. It resulted from this penury of horses that when Napoleon made a second demand for Spanish cavalry, asking for a division of 2,000 sabres to aid Junot in invading Portugal, that force had to be made up by putting together the mounted men of no less than ten regiments, each contributing two or at the most three squadrons and leaving the rest of its men dismounted at the dép?t.

Even if the cavalry had all been properly mounted, they would have been far too few in proportion to the other arms, only 15,000 out of a total force of 130,000—one in eight; whereas in the time of the Napoleonic wars one in six, or even one in five, was considered the proper complement. In the Waterloo campaign the French had the enormous number of 21,000 cavalry to 83,000 infantry—one to four. What with original paucity, and with want of remounts, the Spaniards took the field in 1808, when the insurrection began, with a ridiculously small number of horsemen. At Medina de Rio Seco they had only 750 horsemen to 22,000 foot-soldiers, at Baylen only 1,200 to 16,000. Later in the war they succeeded in filling up the ranks of the old cavalry regiments, and in raising many new ones. But the gain in number was not in the least accompanied by a gain in efficiency. For the whole six years of the struggle the mounted arm was the weakest point of their hosts. Again and again it disgraced itself by allowing itself to be beaten by half its own numbers, or by absconding early in the fight and abandoning its infantry. It acquired, and merited, a detestable reputation, and it is hard to find half a dozen engagements in which it behaved even reasonably well[74]. When Wellington was made generalissimo of the Spanish armies in 1813 he would not bring it up to the front at all, and though he took 40,000 Spaniards over the Pyrenees, there was not a horseman among them. It is hard to account for the thorough worthlessness of these squadrons, even when we make allowance for all the difficulties of the time: Spain was notoriously deficient in decent cavalry officers when the war began. The horses were inferior to the French, and the equipment bad. From early disasters the troopers[p. 94] contracted a demoralization which they could never shake off. But granting all this, it is still impossible to explain the consistent misbehaviour of these evasive squadrons. The officers, no doubt, had a harder task in organizing their new levies than those of the infantry and artillery, but it is curious that they should never have succeeded in learning their business even after four or five years of war.

The artillery of the Spanish army, on the other hand, earned on the whole a good reputation. This was not the result of proper preparation. When the struggle began it consisted of thirty-four batteries of field artillery, six of horse, and twenty-one garrison batteries (compa?ias fijas), with a total of 6,500 men. Forty batteries—that is to say 240 guns or somewhat less, for in some cases there seem to have been only four instead of six pieces in the battery—was according to the standard of 1808 a mediocre allowance to an army of 130,000 men, only about two-thirds of what it should have been[75]. But this was not the worst. Deducting four fully-horsed batteries, which had been taken off by Napoleon to Denmark, there remained in Spain four horse and thirty-two field batteries. These were practically unable to move, for they were almost entirely destitute of horses. For the 216 guns and their caissons there were only in hand 400 draught animals! When the war began, the artillery had to requisition, and more or less train, 3,000 horses or mules before they could move from their barracks! I do not know any fact that illustrates better the state of Spanish administration under the rule of Godoy. The raising of the great insurrectionary armies in the summer of 1808 ought to have led to an enormous increase to the artillery arm, but the trained men were so few that the greatest difficulty was found in organizing new batteries. Something was done by turning the marine artillery of the fleet into land troops, and there were a few hundreds of the militia who had been trained to work guns. But the officers necessary for the training and officering of new batteries were so scarce, that for many months no fresh forces of the artillery arm could take the field. In the autumn of 1808, at the time of the battles of Espinosa and Tudela, if we carefully add up the[p. 95] number of guns brought into action by the five armies of Galicia, Estremadura, Aragon, the ‘Centre’ (i.e. Andalusia and Castile), and Catalonia, we do not find a piece more than the 240 which existed at the outbreak of the war. That is to say, the Spaniards had raised 100,000 new levies of infantry, without any corresponding extension of the artillery arm. During the campaign the conduct of the corps seems on the whole to have been very good, compared with that of the other arms. This was to be expected, as they were old soldiers to a much greater extent than either the infantry or the cavalry. They seem to have attained a fair skill with their weapons, and to have stuck to them very well. We often hear of gunners cut down or bayonetted over their pieces, seldom of a general bolt to the rear. For this very reason the personnel of the batteries suffered terribly: every defeat meant the capture of some dozens of guns, and the cutting up of the men who served them. It was as much as the government could do to keep up a moderate number of batteries, by supplying new guns and amalgamating the remnants of those which had been at the front. Each batch of lost battles in 1808-10 entailed the loss and consequent reconstruction of the artillery. If, in spite of this, we seldom hear complaints as to its conduct, it must be taken as a high compliment to the arm. But as long as Spanish generals persisted in fighting pitched battles, and getting their armies dispersed, a solid proportion of artillery to infantry could never be established. Its average strength may be guessed from the fact that at Albuera the best army that Spain then possessed put in line 16,300 men with only fourteen guns, less than one gun per thousand men—while Napoleon (as we have already noted) believed that five per thousand was the ideal, and often managed in actual fact to have three. In the latter years of the war the pieces were almost always drawn by mules, yoked tandem-fashion, and not ridden by drivers but goaded by men walking at their side—the slowest and most unsatisfactory form of traction that can be imagined. Hence came, in great part, their inability to man?uvre.

Of engineers Spain in 1808 had 169 officers dispersed over the kingdom. The corps had no proper rank and file. But there was a regiment of sappers, 1,000 strong, which was officered from the engineers. There was no army service corps, no military train, no organized commissariat of any kind. When moving about[p. 96] a Spanish army depended either on contractors who undertook to provide horses and wagons driven by civilians, or more frequently on the casual sweeping in by requisition of all the mules, oxen, and carts of the unhappy district in which it was operating. In this respect, as in so many others, Spain was still in the Middle Ages. The fact that there was no permanent arrangement for providing for the food of the army is enough in itself to account for many of its disasters. If, like the British, the Spaniards had possessed money to pay for what they took, things might have worked somewhat better. Or if, like the French, they had possessed an organized military train, and no scruples, they might have contrived to get along at the cost of utterly ruining the country-side. But as things stood, depending on incapable civil commissaries and the unwilling contributions of the local authorities, they were generally on the edge of starvation. Sometimes they got over the edge, and then the army, in spite of the proverbial frugality of the Spanish soldier, simply dispersed. It is fair to the men to say that they generally straggled back to the front sooner or later, when they had succeeded in filling their stomachs, and got incorporated in their own or some other regiment. It is said that by the end of the war there were soldiers who had, in their fashion, served in as many as ten different corps during the six years of the struggle.

Summing up the faults of the Spanish army, its depleted battalions, its small and incompetent cavalry force, its insufficient proportion of artillery, its utter want of commissariat, we find that its main source of weakness was that while the wars of the French Revolution had induced all the other states of Europe to overhaul their military organization and learn something from the methods of the French, Spain was still, so far as its army was concerned, in the middle of the eighteenth century. The national temperament, with its eternal relegation of all troublesome reforms to the morrow, was no doubt largely to blame. But Godoy, the all-powerful favourite who had also been commander-in-chief for the last seven years, must take the main responsibility. If he had chosen, he possessed the power to change everything; and in some ways he had peddled a good deal with details, changing the uniforms, and increasing the number of battalions in each regiment. But to make the army efficient he had done very little: the fact was that the commander-in-chief was quite ignorant of[p. 97] the military needs and tendencies of the day: all his knowledge of the army was gained while carpet-soldiering in the ranks of the royal bodyguard. It was natural that the kind of officers who commended themselves to his haughty and ignorant mind should be those who were most ready to do him homage, to wink at his peculations, to condone his jobs, and to refrain from worrying him for the money needed for reforms and repairs. Promotion was wholly arbitrary, and was entirely in the favourite’s hands. Those who were prepared to bow down to him prospered: those who showed any backbone or ventured on remonstrances were shelved. After a few years of this system it was natural that all ranks of the army became demoralized, since not merit but the talents of the courtier and the flatterer were the sure road to prosperity. Hence it came to pass that when the insurrection began, the level of military ability, patriotism, and integrity among the higher ranks of the army was very low. There were a few worthy men like Casta?os and La Romana in offices of trust, but a much greater proportion of Godoy’s protégés. One cannot condone the shocking way in which, during the first days of the war, the populace and the rank and file of the army united to murder so many officers in high place, like Filanghieri, the Captain-General of Galicia, Torre del Fresno, the Captain-General of Estremadura, and Solano, who commanded at Cadiz. But the explanation of the atrocities is simple: the multitude were resenting the results of the long administration of Godoy’s creatures, and fell upon such of them as refused to throw in their lot immediately with the insurrection. The murdered men were (rightly or wrongly) suspected either of an intention to submit to Joseph Bonaparte, or of a design to hang back, wait on the times, and make their decision only when it should become obvious which paid better, patriotism or servility. The people had considerable justification in the fact that a very large proportion of Godoy’s protégés, especially of those at Madrid, did swear homage to the intruder in order to keep their places and pensions. They were the base of the miserable party of Afrancesados which brought so much disgrace on Spain. The misguided cosmopolitan liberals who joined them were much the smaller half of the traitor-faction.

Godoy and his clique, therefore, must take the main responsibility for the state of decay and corruption in which the Spanish army[p. 98] was found in 1808. What more could be expected when for so many years an idle, venal, dissolute, ostentatious upstart had been permitted to control the administration of military affairs, and to settle all promotions to rank and office? ‘Like master like man’ is always a true proverb, and the officers who begged or bought responsible positions from Godoy naturally followed their patron’s example in spreading jobs and peculation downwards. The undrilled and half-clothed soldiery, the unhorsed squadrons, the empty arsenals, the idle and ignorant subalterns, were all, in the end, the result of Godoy’s long domination. But we do not wish to absolve from its share of blame the purblind nation which tolerated him for so long. In another country he would have gone the way of Gaveston or Mortimer long before.

When this was the state of the Spanish armies, it is no wonder that the British observer, whether officer or soldier, could never get over his prejudice against them. It was not merely because a Spanish army was generally in rags and on the verge of starvation that he despised it. These were accidents of war which every one had experienced in his own person: a British battalion was often tattered and hungry. The Spanish government was notoriously poor, its old regiments had been refilled again and again with raw conscripts, its new levies had never had a fair start. Hence came the things which disgusted the average Peninsular diarist of British origin—the shambling indiscipline, the voluntary dirt, the unmilitary habits of the Spanish troops. He could not get over his dislike for men who kept their arms in a filthy, rusty condition, who travelled not in orderly column of route but like a flock of sheep straggling along a high road, who obeyed their officers only when they pleased. And for the officers themselves the English observer had an even greater contempt: continually we come across observations to the effect that the faults of the rank and file might be condoned—after all they were only half-trained peasants—but that the officers were the source and fount of evil from their laziness, their arrogance, their ignorance, and their refusal to learn from experience. Here is a typical passage from the Earl of Munster’s Reminiscences:—

‘We should not have been dissatisfied with our allies, malgré their appearance and their rags, if we had felt any reason to confide in them. The men might be “capable of all that men[p. 99] dare,” but the appearance of their officers at once bespoke their not being fit to lead them in the attempt. They not only did not look like soldiers, but even not like gentlemen, and it was difficult from their mean and abject appearance, particularly among the infantry, to guess what class of society they could have been taken from. Few troops will behave well if those to whom they should look up are undeserving respect. Besides their general inefficiency we found their moral feeling different from what we expected. Far from evincing devotion or even common courage in their country’s cause, they were very often guilty, individually and collectively, of disgraceful cowardice. We hourly regretted that the revolution had not occasioned a more complete bouleversement of society, so as to bring forward fresh and vigorous talent from all classes. Very few of the regular military showed themselves worthy of command. Indeed, with the exception of a few self-made soldiers among the Guerillas, who had risen from among the farmers and peasantry, it would be hard to point out a Spanish officer whose opinion on the most trivial military subject was worth being asked. We saw old besotted generals whose armies were formed on obsolete principles of the ancien régime of a decrepit government. To this was added blind pride and vanity. No proofs of inferiority could open their eyes, and they rushed from one error and misfortune to another, benefiting by no experience, and disdaining to seek aid and improvement’ [pp. 194-5].

A voice from the ranks, Sergeant Surtees of the Rifle Brigade, gives the same idea in different words.

‘Most of the Spanish officers appeared to be utterly unfit and unable to command their men. They had all the pride, arrogance, and self-sufficiency of the best officers in the world, with the very least of all pretension to have a high opinion of themselves. It is true they were not all alike, but the majority were the most haughty, and at the same time the most contemptible creatures in the shape of officers that ever I beheld’ [p. 109].

As a matter of fact the class of officers in Spain was filled up in three different ways. One-third of them were, by custom, drawn from the ranks. In an army raised by conscription from all strata of society excellent officers can be procured in this way. But in one mainly consisting of the least admirable part of the surplus[p. 100] population, forced by want or hatred of work into enlisting, it was hard to get even good sergeants. And the sergeants made still worse sub-lieutenants, when the colonel was forced to promote some of them. No wonder that the English observer thought that there were ‘Spanish officers who did not look like gentlemen.’ This class were seldom or never allowed to rise above the grade of captain. The remaining two-thirds of the officers received their commissions from the war office: in the cavalry they were supposed to show proofs of noble descent, but this was not required in the infantry. There was a large sprinkling, however, of men of family, and for them the best places and the higher ranks were generally reserved—a thing feasible because all promotion was arbitrary, neither seniority nor merit being necessarily considered. The rest were drawn from all classes of society: for the last fifteen years any toady of Godoy could beg or buy as many commissions for his protégés as he pleased. But a large, and not the worst, part of the body of officers was composed of the descendants of soldiers of fortune—Irishmen were most numerous, but there were also French and Italians—who had always been seen in great numbers in the Spanish army. They held most of the upper-middle grades in the regiments, for the promoted sergeants were kept down to the rank of captain, while the nobles got rapid promotion and soon rose to be colonels and generals. On the whole we cannot doubt that there was a mass of bad officers in the Spanish army: the ignorant fellows who had risen from the ranks, the too-rapidly promoted scions of the noblesse, and the nominees of Godoy’s hangers-on, were none of them very promising material with which to conduct a war à outrance for the existence of the realm.

In 1808 there was but one small military college for the training of infantry and cavalry officers. Five existed in 1790, but Godoy cut them down to one at Zamora, and only allowed sixty cadets there at a time, so that five-sixths of the young men who got commissions went straight to their battalions, there to pick up (if they chose) the rudiments of their military education. From want of some common teaching the drill and organization of the regiments were in a condition of chaos. Every colonel did what he chose in the way of manual exercise and man?uvres. A French officer says that in 1807 he saw a Spanish brigade at a review, in which, when the brigadier gave the order ‘Ready, present, fire!’ the different[p. 101] battalions carried it out in three different times and with wholly distinct details of execution.

Not only was the Spanish army indifferently officered, but even of such officers as it possessed there were not enough. In the old line regiments there should have been seventy to each corps, i.e. 2,450 to the 105 battalions of that arm. But Godoy had allowed the numbers to sink to 1,520. When the insurrection broke out, the vacant places had to be filled, and many regiments received at the same moment twenty or thirty subalterns taken from civil life and completely destitute of military training. Similarly the militia ought to have had 1,800 officers, and only possessed 1,200 when the war began. The vacancies were filled, but with raw and often indifferent material.

Such were the officers with whom the British army had to co-operate. There is no disguising the fact that from the first the allies could not get on together. In the earlier years of the war there were some incidents that happened while the troops of the two nations lay together, which our countrymen could never forgive or forget. We need only mention the midnight panic in Cuesta’s army on the eve of Talavera, when 10,000 men ran away without having had a shot fired at them, and the cowardly behaviour of La Pe?a in 1811, when he refused to aid Graham at the bloody little battle of Barossa.

The strictures of Wellington, Napier, and the rest were undoubtedly well deserved; and yet it is easy to be too hard on the Spaniards. It chanced that our countrymen did not get a fair opportunity of observing their allies under favourable conditions; of the old regular army that fought at Baylen or Zornoza they never got a glimpse. It had been practically destroyed before we came upon the field. La Romana’s starving hordes, and Cuesta’s evasive and demoralized battalions were the samples from which the whole Spanish army was judged. In the Talavera campaign, the first in which English and Spanish troops stood side by side, there can be no doubt that the latter (with few exceptions) behaved in their very worst style. They often did much better; but few Englishmen had the chance of watching a defence like that of Saragossa or Gerona. Very few observers from our side saw anything of the heroically obstinate resistance of the Catalonian miqueletes and somatenes. Chance threw in our way Cuesta and La Pe?a and Imaz as types of Peninsular generals, and from them the rest[p. 102] were judged. No one supposes that the Spaniards as a nation are destitute of all military qualities. They made good soldiers enough in the past, and may do so in the future: but when, after centuries of intellectual and political torpor, they were called upon to fight for their national existence, they were just emerging from subjection to one of the most worthless adventurers and one of the most idiotic kings whom history has known. Charles IV and Godoy account for an extraordinary amount of the decrepitude of the monarchy and the demoralization of its army.

It is more just to admire the constancy with which a nation so handicapped persisted in the hopeless struggle, than to condemn it for the incapacity of its generals, the ignorance of its officers, the unsteadiness of its raw levies. If Spain had been a first-rate military power, there would have been comparatively little merit in the six years’ struggle which she waged against Bonaparte. When we consider her weakness and her disorganization, we find ourselves more inclined to wonder at her persistence than to sneer at her mishaps.
SECTION II: CHAPTER III
THE FRENCH ARMY IN SPAIN

§ 1. The Army of 1808: its Character and Organization.

In dealing with the history of the imperial armies in the Peninsula, it is our first duty to point out the enormous difference between the troops who entered Spain in 1807 and 1808, under Dupont, Moncey, and Murat, and the later arrivals who came under Bonaparte’s personal guidance when the first disastrous stage of the war was over.

Nothing can show more clearly the contempt which the Emperor entertained, not only for the Spanish government but for the Spanish nation, than the character of the hosts which he first sent forth to occupy the Peninsula. After Tilsit he was the master of half a million of the best troops in the world; but he did not consider the subjugation of Spain and Portugal a sufficiently formidable task to make it necessary to move southward any appreciable fraction of the Grand Army. The victors of Jena and Friedland were left in their cantonments on the Rhine, the Elbe, and the Oder, while a new force, mainly composed of elements of inferior fighting value, was sent across the Pyrenees.

This second host was at Napoleon’s disposition mainly owing to the fact that during the late war he had been anticipating the conscription. In the winter of 1806-7 he had called out, a year too soon, the men who were due to serve in 1808. In the late autumn of 1807, while his designs in Spain were already in progress, he had summoned forth the conscription of 1809. He had thus under arms two years’ contingents of recruits raised before their proper time. The dép?ts were gorged, and, even after the corps which had been depleted in Prussia and Poland had been made up to full strength, there was an enormous surplus of men in hand.

To utilize this mass of conscripts the Emperor found several ways. Of the men raised in the winter of 1806-7 some thousands had been thrown into temporary organizations, called ‘legions of reserve,[p. 104]’ and used to do garrison duty on the Atlantic coast, in order to guard against possible English descents. There were five of these ‘legions’ and two ‘supplementary legions’ in the army sent into Spain: they showed a strength of 16,000 men. None of them had been more than a year under arms, but they were at any rate organized units complete in themselves. They formed the greater part of the infantry in the corps of Dupont.

A shade worse in composition were twenty ‘provisional regiments’ which the Emperor put together for Spain. Each regimental dép?t in the south of France was told to form four companies from its superabundant mass of conscripts. These bodies, of about 560 men each, were united in fours, and each group was called a ‘provisional regiment.’ The men of each battalion knew nothing of those of the others, since they were all drawn from separate regiments: there was not a single veteran soldier in the ranks: the officers were almost all either half-pay men called back to service, or young sub-lieutenants who had just received their commissions. These bodies, equally destitute of esprit de corps and of instruction, made up nearly 30,000 men of the army of Spain. They constituted nearly the whole of the divisions under Bessières and Moncey, which lay in Northern Spain at the moment of the outbreak of the war.

But there were military units even less trustworthy than the ‘provisional regiments’ which Napoleon transferred to Spain in the spring of 1808. These were the five or six régiments de marche, which were to be found in some of the brigades which crossed the Pyrenees when the state of affairs was already growing dangerous. They were formed of companies, or even smaller bodies, hastily drawn together from such southern dép?ts, as were found to be still in possession of superfluous conscripts even after contributing to the ‘provisional regiments.’ They were to be absorbed into the old corps when the pressing need for instant reinforcements for the Peninsula should come to an end. In addition to all these temporary units, Bonaparte was at the same moment making a vast addition to his permanent regular army. Down to the war of 1806-7 the French regiments of infantry had consisted of three battalions for the field and a fourth at the dép?t, which kept drafting its men to the front in order to fill up the gaps in the other three. Napoleon had now resolved to raise the establishment to five battalions per regiment, four for field service, while the newly created fifth became the dép?t battalion. When the Peninsular[p. 105] War broke out, a good many regiments had already completed their fourth field-battalion, and several of these new corps are to be found in the rolls of the armies which had entered Spain. The multiplication of battalions had been accompanied by a reduction of their individual strength: down to February, 1808, there were nine companies to each unit, and Junot’s corps had battalions of a strength of 1,100 or 1,200 bayonets. But those which came later were six-company battalions, with a strength of 840 bayonets when at their full establishment.

All the troops of which we have hitherto spoken were native Frenchmen. But they did not compose by any means the whole of the infantry which the Emperor dispatched into Spain between October, 1807, and May, 1808. According to his usual custom he employed great numbers of auxiliaries from his vassal kingdoms: we note intercalated among the French units seven battalions of Swiss, four of Italians, two each of Neapolitans and Portuguese[76], and one each of Prussians, Westphalians, Hanoverians, and Irish. Altogether there were no less than 14,000 men of foreign infantry dispersed among the troops of Junot, Dupont, Bessières, Moncey, and Duhesme. They were not massed, but scattered broadcast in single battalions, save the Italians and Neapolitans, who formed a complete division under Lecchi in the army of Catalonia.

The cavalry of the army of Spain was quite as heterogeneous and ill compacted as the infantry. Just as ‘provisional regiments’ of foot were patched up from the southern dép?ts of France, so were ‘provisional regiments’ of cavalry. The best of them were composed of two, three, or four squadrons, each contributed by the dép?t of a different cavalry regiment. The worst were escadrons de marche, drawn together in a haphazard fashion from such of the dép?ts as had a surplus of conscripts even after they had given a full squadron to the ‘provisional regiments.’ There were also a number of foreign cavalry regiments, Italians, Neapolitans, lancers of Berg, and Poles. Of veteran regiments of French cavalry there were actually no more than three, about 1,250 men, among the 12,000 horsemen of the army of Spain.

When we sum up the composition of the 116,000 men who lay south of the Pyrenees on the last day of May, 1808, we find that[p. 106] not a third part of them belonged to the old units of the regular French army. It may be worth while to give the figures:—

Of veterans we have—
      Infantry.     Cavalry.
(1) A detachment of the Imperial Guard, which was intended to serve as the Emperor’s special escort during his irruption into Spain     3,600     1,750
(2) Twenty-six battalions of infantry of the line and light infantry, being all first, second, or third battalions, and not newly raised fourth battalions     25,800      
(3) Three old regiments of cavalry of the line           1,250
(4) Three newly raised fourth battalions of infantry regiments of the line     1,800      
This gives a total of regularly organized French troops of the standing army of     31,200     3,000
(5) Five legions of reserve, and two ‘supplementary legions of reserve’     16,000      
(6) Fifteen ‘provisional regiments’ from the dép?ts of Southern France [the remaining five had not crossed the frontier on May 31]     31,000      
(7) Six régiments de marche of conscripts     3,200      
(8) Eighteen battalions of Italian, Swiss, German, and other auxiliaries     14,000      
(9) Sixteen ‘provisional regiments’ of cavalry, and a few detached ‘provisional squadrons,’ and escadrons de marche           9,500
(10) Three regiments of foreign cavalry           1,000
This makes a total of troops in temporary organization, or of foreign origin, of     64,200     10,500

Napoleon, then, intended to conquer Spain with a force of about 110,000 men, of which no more than 34,000 sabres and bayonets belonged to his regular army; the rest were conscripts or foreign auxiliaries. But we must also note that the small body of veteran troops was not distributed equally in each of the corps, so as to stiffen the preponderating mass of conscripts. If we put aside the division of Imperial Guards, we find that of the remaining 25,000 infantry of old organization no less than 17,500 belonged to Junot’s army of Portugal, which was the only one of the corps that had a solid organization. Junot had indeed a very fine force, seventeen old line battalions to two battalions of conscripts and[p. 107] three of foreigners. The rest of the veteran troops were mainly with Duhesme in Catalonia, who had a good division of 5,000 veterans. In the three corps of Dupont, Moncey, and Bessières on the other hand old troops were conspicuous by their absence: among the 19,000 infantry of Dupont’s corps, on which (as it chanced) the first stress of the Spanish war was destined to fall, there was actually only two battalions (1,700 men) of old troops. In Moncey’s there was not a single veteran unit; in Bessières’, only four battalions. This simple fact goes far to explain why Dupont’s expedition to Andalusia led to the capitulation of Baylen, and why Moncey’s march on Valencia ended in an ignominious retreat. Countries cannot be conquered with hordes of undrilled conscripts—not even countries in an advanced stage of political decomposition, such as the Spain of 1808.

§ 2. The Army of 1808-14: its Character and Organization.

Baylen, as we shall see, taught Napoleon his lesson, and the second army which he brought into the Peninsula in the autumn of 1808, to repair his initial disasters, was very differently constituted from the heterogeneous masses which he had at first judged to be sufficient for his task. It was composed of his finest old regiments from the Rhine and Elbe, the flower of the victors of Jena and Friedland. Even when the despot had half a million good troops at his disposition, he could not be in force everywhere, and the transference of 200,000 veterans to Spain left him almost too weak in Central Europe. In the Essling-Wagram campaign of 1809 he found that he was barely strong enough to conquer the Austrians, precisely because he had left so many men behind him in the Peninsula. In the Russian campaign of 1812, vast as were the forces that he displayed, they were yet not over numerous for the enterprise, because such an immense proportion of them was composed of unwilling allies and disaffected subjects. If the masses of Austrians, Prussians, Neapolitans, Portuguese, Westphalians, Bavarians, and so forth had been replaced by half their actual number of old French troops from Spain, the army would have been far more powerful. Still more was this the case in 1813: if the whole of the Peninsular army had been available for service[p. 108] on the Elbe and Oder at the time of Lützen and Bautzen, the effect on the general history of Europe might have been incalculable. Truly, therefore, did the Emperor call the Spanish War ‘the running sore’ which had sapped his strength ever since its commencement.

A word as to the tactical organization of the French army in 1808 is required. The infantry regiments of normal formation consisted, as we have seen, of four field battalions and one dép?t battalion; the last named never, of course, appeared at the front. Each field battalion was composed of six companies of 140 men: its two flank companies, the grenadiers and voltigeurs, were formed of the pick of the corps[77]: into the grenadiers only tall, into the voltigeurs only short men were drafted. Thus a battalion should normally have shown 840 and a regiment 3,360 men in the field. But it was by no means the universal rule to find the whole four battalions of a regiment serving together. In the modern armies of France, Germany, or Russia, a regiment in time of peace lives concentrated in its recruiting district, and can take the field in a compact body. This was not the case in Napoleon’s ever-wandering hosts: the chances of war were always isolating single battalions, which, once dropped in a garrison or sent on an expedition, did not easily rejoin their fellows. Many, too, of the new fourth battalions raised in 1807 had never gone forward to Germany to seek the main body of their regiments. Of the corps which were brought down to Spain in the late autumn of 1808 there were more with three battalions than with four concentrated under the regimental eagle. Some had only two present, a few no more than one[78]. But the Emperor disliked to have single isolated battalions, and preferred to work them in pairs, if he could not get three or four together. The object of this was that, if one or two battalions got much weakened in a campaign, the men could be fused into a single unit, and the supernumerary officers and sergeants sent back[p. 109] to the dép?t, where they would form a new battalion out of the stock of conscripts. But the fresh organization might very likely be hurried, by some sudden chance of war, to Flushing, or Italy, or the Danube, while the eagle and the main body remained in Spain—or vice versa.

There was therefore, in consequence of the varying strength of the regiments, no regularity or system in the brigading of the French troops in Spain: in one brigade there might be five or six isolated battalions, each belonging to a separate regiment; in another three from one regiment and two from a second; in a third four from one regiment and one from another. Nor was there any fixed number of battalions in a brigade: it might vary from three (a very unusual minimum) up to nine—an equally rare maximum. Six was perhaps the most frequent number. A division was composed of two, or less frequently of three, brigades, and might have any number from ten up to sixteen or eighteen battalions—i.e. it varied, allowing for casual losses, from 6,000 to 10,000 men. This irregularity was part of Napoleon’s system: he laid it down as an axiom that all military units, from a brigade to an army corps, ought to differ in strength among themselves: otherwise the enemy, if he had once discovered how many brigades or divisions were in front of him, could calculate with accuracy the number of troops with which he had to do.

Much confusion is caused, when we deal with Napoleon’s army, by the strange system of numeration which he adopted. The infantry, whether called ‘line regiments’ or ‘light infantry regiments,’ were drilled and organized in the same way. But the Emperor had some odd vagaries: he often refused to raise again a regiment which had been exterminated, or taken prisoners en masse. Hence after a few years of his reign there were some vacant numbers in the list of infantry corps. The regiments, for example, which were garrisoning the colonies at the time of the rupture of the Peace of Amiens, fell one after another into the hands of the English as the war went on. They were never replaced, and left gaps in the army list. On the other hand the Emperor sometimes raised regiments with duplicate numbers, a most tiresome thing for the military historian of the next age. It is impossible to fathom his purpose, unless he was set on confusing his enemies by showing more battalions than the list of existing corps seemed to make possible. Or perhaps he was thinking of the old legions of the[p. 110] Roman Empire, of which there were always several in existence bearing the same number, but distinguished by their honorary titles. Those who wish to read the story of one of these duplicate regiments may follow in the history of Nodier the tale of the raising and extermination of Colonel Oudet’s celebrated ‘9th Bis’ of the line[79].

There is another difficulty caused by a second freak of the Emperor: all regiments ought, as we have said, to have shown four field battalions. But Bonaparte sometimes added one or even two more, to corps which stood high in his favour, or whose dép?ts produced on some occasions a very large surplus of conscripts. Thus we find now and then, in the morning state of a French army corps, a fifth or even a sixth[80] battalion of some regiment. But as a rule these units had not a very long existence: their usual fate was to be sent home, when their numbers ran low from the wear and tear of war, in order to be incorporated in the normal cadres of their corps. On the authority of that good soldier and admirable historian, Foy, we are able to state that on the first of June, 1808, Napoleon had 417 field battalions, over and above the dép?ts, on his army rolls. If the 113 regiments of the line, and the thirty-two light infantry regiments had all been in existence and complete, there should have been 580 field battalions. Clearly then some corps had disappeared and many others had not more than three battalions ready. But the units were always being created, amalgamated, or dissolved, from week to week, so that it is almost impossible to state the exact force of the whole French army at any given moment. The most important change that was made during the year 1808 was the conversion of those of the provisional regiments which escaped Dupont’s disaster into new permanent corps. By combining them in pairs the 114th-120th of the line and the 33rd léger were created[81]. In the succeeding five years more and more corps were raised: the[p. 111] annexation of Holland and Northern Germany in 1810-11 ultimately enabled the Emperor to carry the total of his line regiments up to 156 [1813], and of his light infantry regiments up to thirty-six[82].

Of the French cavalry we need not speak at such length. When the Spanish war broke out, Bonaparte was possessed of about eighty regiments of horsemen, each taking the field with four squadrons of some 150 to 200 men. There were twelve regiments of cuirassiers, two of carabineers, thirty of dragoons, twenty-six of chasseurs à cheval, ten of hussars, i.e. fourteen regiments of heavy, thirty of medium, and thirty-six of light horse. The cuirassiers were hardly ever seen in Spain—not more than two or three regiments ever served south of the Pyrenees[83]. On the other hand the greater part of the dragoons were employed in the Peninsula—there were in 1809 twenty-five of the thirty regiments of them in the field against the English and Spaniards. More than half of the hussars also served in Spain. To the veteran corps of regulars there were added, at the outset of the war, as will be remembered, a great number of ‘provisional regiments,’ but these gradually disappeared, by being incorporated in the older cadres, or in a few cases by being formed into new permanent units. There was also a mass of Polish, German, and Italian cavalry; but these auxiliaries did not bear such a high proportion to the native French as did the foreign part of the infantry arm. By far the most distinguished of these corps were the Polish lancers, whom the English came to know only too well at Albuera. The Italians were almost exclusively employed on the east coast of Spain, in the army of Catalonia. The Germans—mostly from Westphalia, Berg, and Nassau—were scattered about in single regiments among the cavalry corps of the various armies. They were always mixed with the French horse, and never appeared in brigades (much less in divisions) of their own.

The average strength of a French cavalry regiment during the years 1809-14 was four squadrons of about 150 men each. It was very seldom that a corps showed over 600 men in the ranks:[p. 112] not unfrequently it sank to 450[84]. When it grew still further attenuated, it was usual to send back the cadres of one or two squadrons, and to complete to full numbers the two or three which kept the field. These figures do not hold good for the raw ‘provisional regiments’ which Bonaparte used during the first year of the war: they sometimes rose to 700 or even 800 strong, when the dép?ts from which they had been drawn chanced to be exceptionally full of recruits[85]. But such large corps are not to be found in the later years of the war. By 1812, when Napoleon, busied in Central Europe, ceased to reinforce his Spanish armies, the average of a cavalry regiment had shrunk to 500 men. In 1813 it was seldom that 400 effective sabres could be mustered by any mounted corps.

As to the scientific arms of the French service, the artillery and engineers, there is no doubt that throughout the war they deserved very well of their master. Artillery cannot be improvised in the manner that is possible with infantry, and the batteries which accompanied Dupont’s and Moncey’s conscripts into Spain in 1808 were veterans. Without them the raw infantry would have fared even worse than it did, during the first year of the struggle. The proportion of guns which the French employed during the wars of the Empire was generally very large in comparison with the size of their armies—one of the many results of the fact that Bonaparte had originally been an artillery officer. He raised, as was remarked, the number of gunners in the French service to a figure as large as that of the whole regular army of Louis XVI at the moment when the Revolution broke out. But in Spain the difficulties of transport and the badness of the roads seem to have combined to keep down the proportion of guns to something very much less than was customary in the more favourable terrain of Italy or Germany. A large part, too, of the pieces were of very light metal—four- and even three-pounders, which were found easier to transport across the mountains than six- or eight-pounders, though much less effective in the field. In many of the campaigns, therefore, of the Peninsular War the French artillery stood in a proportion to the total number[p. 113] of men present, which was so low that it barely exceeded that customary among the British, who were notoriously more ‘under-gunned’ than any other European army save that of Spain. Junot at Vimiero had twenty-three guns to 13,500 men: Victor at Talavera had eighty guns to about 50,000 men: Masséna in 1810 invaded Portugal with some 70,000 men and 126 guns; at Fuentes d’O?oro he only showed forty-two guns to 40,000 bayonets and sabres[86]. Soult at Albuera had (apparently) forty guns to 24,000 men: in the autumn campaign of 1813 the same marshal had 125 guns to 107,000 men. It will be noted that the proportion never rises to two guns per thousand men, and occasionally does not much exceed one gun per thousand[87]. This contrasts remarkably with the 350 guns to 120,000 men which Bonaparte took out for the campaign of Waterloo, or even with the 1,372 guns to 600,000 men of the Russian expedition and 1,056 guns to 450,000 men of the ill-compacted army of 1813.

SECTION II: CHAPTER IV
THE TACTICS OF THE FRENCH AND THEIR ADVERSARIES DURING THE PENINSULAR WAR

An account of the numbers and the organization of an army is of comparatively little interest, unless we understand the principles on which its leaders are accustomed to handle it on the day of battle, and its value as a fighting machine.

Speaking generally, the tactics of the French infantry during the Peninsular War were those which had been developed fifteen years before, during the first struggles of the Revolution. They nearly always attacked with a thick cloud of tirailleurs covering one or two lines of battalions in column. The idea was that the very numerous and powerful skirmishing line would engage the enemy sufficiently to attract all his attention, so that the massed battalions behind arrived at the front of battle almost without sustaining loss. The momentum of the columns ought then to suffice to carry them right through the enemy’s lines, which would already have suffered appreciably from the fire of the tirailleurs. This form of attack had won countless victories over Prussian, Austrian, and Russian; and many cases had been known where a hostile position had been carried by the mere impetus of the French columns, without a shot having been fired save by their skirmishers. But this method, which Wellington called ‘the old French style,’ never succeeded against the English. It had the fatal defect that when the column came up through the tirailleurs and endeavoured to charge, it presented a small front, and only the first two ranks could fire. For the normal French battalion advanced in column of companies, or less frequently of double companies, i.e. with a front of forty or at most of eighty men, and a depth of nine or of eighteen, since the company was always three deep, and there were six companies to a battalion. The rear ranks only served to give the front ranks moral support, and to impress the enemy with a sense of the solidity and inexorable strength of the approaching[p. 115] mass. Sometimes a whole regiment or brigade formed one dense column. Now if the enemy, as was always the case with the British, refused to be impressed, but stood firm in line, held their ground, and blazed into the head of the mass, the attack was certain to fail. For 800 men in the two-deep line, which Wellington loved, could all use their muskets, and thus poured 800 bullets per volley into a French battalion of the same strength, which only could return 160. The nine-deep, or eighteen-deep, column was a target which it was impossible to miss. Hence the front ranks went down in rows and the whole came to a standstill. If, as was often the case, the French battalion tried to deploy in front of the English line, so as to bring more muskets to bear, it seldom or never succeeded in accomplishing the man?uvre, for each company, as it straggled out from the mass, got shot down so quickly that the formation could never be completed. No wonder that Foy in his private journal felt himself constrained to confess that, for a set battle with equal numbers on a limited front, the English infantry was superior. ‘I keep this opinion to myself,’ he adds, ‘and have never divulged it; for it is necessary that the soldier in the ranks should not only hate the enemy, but also despise him[88].’ Foy kept his opinion so closely to himself that he did not put it in his formal history of the Peninsular War: it has only become public property since his journals were published in 1900.

But the fact that with anything like equal numbers the line must beat the column was demonstrated over and over again during the war. It had first been seen at Maida in 1806, but that obscure Calabrian battle was hardly known, even by name, save to those who had been present. It was at Talavera, and still more at Busaco and Albuera, that it became patent to everybody that the attack in battalion column, even if preceded by a vigorous swarm of skirmishers, could never succeed against the English. At the two former fights the French attacked uphill, and laid the blame of their defeat upon the unfavourable ground. But when at Albuera three English brigades drove double their own numbers from the commanding ridge on which Soult had ranged them, simply by the superiority of their musketry fire, there was no longer any possibility of disguising the moral. Yet to the end of the war, down to Waterloo itself, the French stuck to their old formation: at the great battle in 1815, as Wellington tersely[p. 116] said, ‘The French came on once more in the old style, and we beat them in the old style.’

But when Napoleon’s armies were opposed to troops who could not stand firm to meet them in a line formation, they generally succeeded. The Spaniards, in their earlier battles, often tried to resist in a line of deployed battalions, but their morale was not good enough when the attacking column drew close to them, and they generally gave way at the critical moment and let their assailants break through[89]. The same had often been the case with the Austrians and Prussians, who in their earlier wars with Napoleon used the line formation which Frederick the Great had popularized fifty years before. The great king had accustomed his troops to fight in a three- or four-deep line, with a comparatively small provision of skirmishers to cover their front, for it was by the fire of the whole battalion that his troops were intended to win. The masses of tirailleurs which the French sent forward in front of their columns generally succeeded in engaging the Prussian or Austrian line so closely, that the columns behind them came up without much loss, and then broke the line by their mere momentum and moral effect. Hence in their later wars the German powers copied their enemies, and took to using a very thick skirmishing line backed by battalion columns in the French style.

Wellington never found any reason to do so. His method was to conceal his main line as long as possible by a dip in the ground, a hedge, or a wall, or to keep it behind the crest of the position which it was holding. To face the tirailleurs each battalion sent out its light company, and each brigade had assigned to it several detached companies of riflemen: from 1809 onward some of the 60th Rifles and one or two foreign light corps[90] were broken up and distributed round the various divisions for this special purpose. This gave a line of skirmishers strong enough to hold back the tirailleurs for a long time, probably till the supporting columns[p. 117] came up to help them. It was only then that the British skirmishing line gave way and retired behind its main body, leaving the deployed battalions in face of the French column, of which they never failed to give a satisfactory account. The covering screen of light troops often suffered terribly; e.g., at Barossa, Brown’s ‘light battalion’ lost fourteen out of twenty-one officers and more than half its rank and file[91], while holding off the French advance from the line which was forming in its rear. But the combat always went well if the enemy’s skirmishers could be kept back, and his supporting columns forced to come to the front, to engage with the regiments in two-deep formation which were waiting for them.

Charges with the bayonet are often heard of in narratives—especially French narratives—of the Peninsular War. But it was very seldom that the opposing troops actually came into collision with the white weapon. There were occasions, almost invariably in fighting in villages or enclosed ground, on which considerable numbers of men were killed or wounded with the bayonet, but they were but few. It is certain, however, that the 43rd at Vimiero, the 71st and 88th at Fuentes d’O?oro, and the 20th at Roncesvalles, engaged in this fashion[92]; and other cases could be quoted. But as a rule a ‘bayonet charge’ in a French historian merely means the advance of a column up to the enemy’s position without firing: it does not imply actual contact or the crossing of weapons. An English charge on the other hand was practically an advance in line with frequent volleys, or independent file-firing. At Albuera, or Barossa, or Salamanca it was the ball not the bayonet which did the work; the enemy was shot down, or gave way without any hand-to-hand conflict.

French cavalry tactics had by 1808 developed into as definite a system as those of the infantry. Napoleon was fond of massing his horsemen in very large bodies and launching them at the flank, or even at the centre, of the army opposed to him. He would occasionally use as many as 6,000 or 8,000, or (as at Waterloo) even 12,000 men for one of these great strokes. Two or three of his[p. 118] famous battles were won by tremendous cavalry charges—notably Marengo and Dresden, while Eylau was just saved from falling into a disaster by a blow of the same kind. But cavalry must be used at precisely the right moment, must be skilfully led and pushed home without remorse, and even then it may be beaten off by thoroughly cool and unshaken troops. It is only against tired, distracted, or undisciplined battalions that it can count on a reasonable certainty of success. All through the war the Spanish armies supplied the French horsemen with exactly the opportunities that they required: they were always being surprised, or caught in confusion while executing some complicated man?uvre; and as if this was not enough, they were often weak enough in morale to allow themselves to be broken even when they had been allowed time to take their ground and form their squares. The battles of Gamonal (1808), Medellin, Alba de Tormes, and Oca?a (1809), the Gebora, and Saguntum (1811) were good examples of the power of masses of horse skilfully handled over a numerous but ill-disciplined infantry.

On the other hand, against the English the French cavalry hardly ever accomplished anything worthy of note. It is only possible to name two occasions on which they made their mark: the first was at Albuera, where, profiting by an opportune cloud-burst which darkened the face of day, two regiments of lancers came in upon the flank of a British brigade (Colborne’s of the second division), and almost entirely cut it to pieces. The second incident of the kind was at Fuentes d’O?oro, in the same summer, when Montbrun’s cavalry charged with some effect on Houston’s division and hustled it back for some two miles, though they never succeeded in breaking its squares.

On the other hand the cases where the French horsemen found themselves utterly unable to deal with the British infantry were very numerous—we need only mention Cacabellos (during Moore’s retreat), El Bodon, Salamanca, and several skirmishes during the retreat from Burgos in 1812. After such experiences it was no wonder that Foy, and other old officers of the army of Spain, looked with dismay upon Napoleon’s great attempt at Waterloo to break down the long line of British squares between La Haye Sainte and Hougoumont, by the charges of ten or twelve thousand heavy cavalry massed on a short front of less than a mile[93]. The Emperor[p. 119] had never seen the British infantry fight, and was entirely ignorant of their resisting power.

Of fights between cavalry and cavalry, where the two sides were present in such equal numbers as to make the struggle a fair test of their relative efficiency, there were but few in the Peninsular War. In the early years of the struggle Wellington was very scantily provided with horsemen, and never could afford to engage in a cavalry battle on a large scale. Later on, when he was more happily situated in this respect, he showed such a marked reluctance to risk great cavalry combats that the old saying that he was ‘pre-eminently an infantry general’ seems justified. That he could use his horsemen vigorously enough, when he saw his opportunity, he showed at Assaye, long before he had made his name known in Europe. Yet the only one of his great battles in Spain where his dragoons took a prominent part in the victory was Salamanca, where Le Marchant’s brigade struck such a smashing blow on the flank of the French army. We have his own authority[94] for the fact that he hesitated to mass great bodies of horse, because he doubted the tactical skill of his officers, and the power of the regiments to man?uvre. ‘I considered our cavalry,’ he wrote ten years after the war was over, ‘so inferior to the French from want of order, that although I considered one squadron a match for two French, I did not like to see four British opposed to four French: and as the numbers increased and order, of course, became more necessary, I was the more unwilling to risk our men without having a superiority in numbers. They could gallop, but could not preserve their order.’

Foy, in his excellent history of the Spanish War, emits an opinion in words curiously similar to those of Wellington, stating that for practical purposes the English troopers were inferior to the French on account of their headlong impetuosity and want of power to man?uvre[95]. When two such authorities agree, there must clearly have been some solid foundation for their verdict. Yet it is hard to quote many combats in their support: there were cases, no doubt, where English regiments threw their chances away by their blind fury in charging, as did the 23rd Light Dragoons at Talavera, the 13th Light Dragoons near Campo Mayor on March 25, 1811, and Slade’s brigade at Maguilla on June 11, 1812. Yet with the memory before us of Paget’s admirable operations at Sahagun and[p. 120] Benavente in December, 1808, of Lumley’s skilful containing of Latour Maubourg’s superior numbers at Albuera, and his brilliant success at Usagre over that same general in 1811, as well as Cotton’s considerable cavalry fight at Villa Garcia in 1812, it seems strange to find Wellington disparaging his own troopers. No doubt we must concede that the British horsemen did not show that marked superiority over their rivals of the same arm which Wellington’s infantry always asserted. But fairly balancing their faults and their merits, it would seem that there was something wanting in their general no less than in themselves. A lover of the cavalry arm would have got more profit out of the British horse than Wellington ever obtained. It is noticeable that not one of the successful fights cited above took place under the eye or the direction of the Duke.

As to the Spanish cavalry, it was (as we have already had occasion to remark) the weakest point in the national army. In the first actions of the war it appeared on the field in such small numbers that it had no chance against the French. But later on, when the juntas succeeded in raising large masses of horsemen, their scandalous conduct on a score of fields was the despair of Spanish generals. We need only mention Medellin and Oca?a as examples of their misbehaviour. No French cavalry-general ever hesitated to engage with double of his own number of Spanish horse. When vigorously charged they never failed to give way, and when once on the move it was impossible to rally them. It was often found on the night of a battle that the mass of the cavalry was in flight twenty miles ahead of the infantry, which it had basely deserted.

Napoleon, as every student of the art of war knows, had started his career as an officer of artillery, and never forgot the fact. He himself has left on record the statement that of all his tactical secrets the concentration of an overwhelming artillery fire on a given point was the most important. ‘When once the combat has grown hot,’ he wrote, ‘the general who has the skill to unite an imposing mass of artillery, suddenly and without his adversary’s knowledge, in front of some point of the hostile position, may be sure of success.’ His leading idea was to secure an overwhelming artillery preparation for his infantry attacks: for this reason his typical battle began with the massing of a great number of guns on the points of the enemy’s line which he intended ultimately to break down. In this respect he abandoned entirely the vicious tactics that prevailed[p. 121] in the earlier years of the revolutionary war, when the cannon, instead of being concentrated, were distributed about in twos and threes among the infantry battalions. We shall find that his method had been perfectly assimilated by his subordinates: when the ground allowed of it, they were much given to collecting many guns at some salient point of the line, and bringing a concentrated fire to bear on the weak spot in the enemy’s position. At Oca?a a battery of this kind had a great share in the credit of the victory; at Albuera it saved Soult’s routed troops from complete destruction. The names of artillery generals like Senarmont and Ruty need honourable mention for such achievements. If the French artillery had less effect against the English than against most of Napoleon’s foes, it was because of Wellington’s admirable custom of hiding his troops till the actual moment of battle. Austrian, Russian, or Prussian generals occupied a hillside by long lines drawn up on the hither slope, of which every man could be counted. Hence they could be thoroughly searched out and battered by the French guns, long before the infantry was let loose. Wellington, on the other hand, loved to show a position apparently but half-defended, with his reserves, or even his main line, carefully hidden behind the crest, or covered by walls and hedges, or concealed in hollows and ravines. Hence the French artillery-preparation was much embarrassed: there were no masses to fire at, and it was impossible to tell how any part of the line was held. By the end of the war the French marshals grew very chary of attacking any position where Wellington showed fight, for they never could tell whether they were opposed by a mere rearguard, or by a whole army skilfully concealed.

The English armies, unlike the French, always took with them a comparatively small proportion of artillery, seldom so much as two guns to the thousand men, as Foy remarks. But what there was was excellent, from its high discipline and the accuracy of its fire. The Duke preferred to work with small and movable units, placed in well-chosen spots, and kept dark till the critical moment, rather than with the enormous lines of guns that Bonaparte believed in. His horse artillery was often pushed to the front in the most daring way, in reliance on its admirable power of man?uvring and its complete steadiness. At Fuentes d’O?oro, for example, it was made to cover the retreat of the right wing before the masses of French cavalry, in a way that would have[p. 122] seemed impossible to any one who was not personally acquainted with Norman Ramsay and his gunners. Hence came the astounding fact that during the whole war the Duke never in the open field lost an English gun. Several times cannon were taken and retaken; once or twice guns not belonging to the horse or field batteries were left behind in a retreat, when transport failed. But in the whole six years of his command Wellington lost no guns in battle. Foy gives an unmistakable testimony to the English artillery in his history, by remarking that in its material it was undoubtedly superior to the French[96]: the same fact may be verified from the evidence of our own officers, several of whom have left their opinion on record, that after having inspected captured French cannon, limbers, and caissons they much preferred their own.

This statement, it must be remembered, only applies to the field and horse artillery. The English siege artillery, all through the war, was notably inferior to the French. Wellington never possessed a satisfactory battering train, and the awful cost at which his sieges were turned into successes is a testimony to the inadequacy of his resources. The infantry were sent in to win, by sheer courage and at terrible expense of life, the places that could not be reduced by the ill-equipped siege artillery. There can be no doubt that in poliorcetics the enemy was our superior: but with a very small number of artillery officers trained to siege work, an insignificant body of Royal Engineers[97], and practically no provision of trained sappers[98], what was to be expected? It was not strange that the French showed themselves our masters in this respect. But the fault lay with the organization at head quarters, not with the artillery and engineer officers of the Peninsular army, who had to learn their trade by experience without having received any proper training at home.
SECTION III  SARAGOSSA AND BAYLEN CHAPTER I
OPENING OF HOSTILITIES: THE FRENCH INVASIONS OF ANDALUSIA AND VALENCIA

While the provinces of Spain were bursting out, one after another, into open insurrection, Murat at Madrid and Bonaparte at Bayonne were still enjoying the fools’ paradise in which they had dwelt since the formal abdication of Ferdinand VII. The former was busy in forcing the Junta of Regency to perform the action which he elegantly styled ‘swallowing the pill,’ i.e. in compelling it to do homage to Napoleon and humbly crave for the appointment of Joseph Bonaparte as King of Spain. He imagined that his only serious trouble lay in the lamentable emptiness of the treasury at Madrid, and kept announcing smooth things to his master—‘The country was tranquil, the state of public opinion in the capital was far happier than could have been hoped: the native soldiery were showing an excellent disposition, the captains-general kept sending in good reports: the new dynasty was likely to be popular, and the only desire expressed by the people was to see their newly designated king arrive promptly in their midst[99].’ Letters of this kind continued to flow from the pen of the Duke of Berg till almost the end of the month. Even after details of the insurrection of Aragon and the Asturias began to reach him, he could write on May 31 that a strong flying column would suffice to put everything right. About this time he was seized by a violent fever and took to his bed, just as things were commencing to grow serious. On his convalescence he left for France, after putting everything in charge of Savary, the man who of all Frenchmen most deserved the hatred of Spain. About the middle of June he recrossed the French frontier, and after a few weeks went off to[p. 124] Naples to take up his new kingship there. Spain was never to see him again: the catastrophe which he had, by his master’s orders, brought about, was to be conducted to its end by other hands.

While Murat lay sick at the suburban palace of Chamartin, and while Napoleon was drafting acts and constitutions which the assembly of notables at Bayonne were to accept and publish, the first acts of war between the insurgents and the French army of occupation took place.

We have already had occasion to point out that the main military strength of the insurrection lay in Galicia and Andalusia, the two districts in which large bodies of regular troops had placed themselves at the disposition of the newly organized juntas. In Valencia, Catalonia, and Murcia the movement was much weaker: in Old Castile, Aragon, and the Asturias it had hardly any other forces at its disposal than hordes of half-armed peasants. Clearly then Galicia and Andalusia were the dangerous points for the French, and the former more than the latter, since an army descending from its hills, and falling on the long line of communications between France and Madrid, might cause the gravest inconvenience. If there had been any organized Spanish forces in Aragon, there would have been an equal danger of an attack directed from Saragossa against the eastern flank of the French communications. But while Galicia was possessed of a numerous army of regular troops, Aragon had nothing to show but a mass of hastily assembled peasants, who were not yet fully provided with arms and were only just beginning to be told off into battalions.

Napoleon, at the moment when he began to order his troops to move, was under the impression that he had to deal with a number of isolated riots rather than with a general insurrection of the Spanish nation. His first orders show that he imagined that a few flying columns would be able to scour the disaffected districts and scatter the bands of insurgents without much trouble. Instead of a strategical plan for the conquest of Spain, we find in his directions nothing more than provisions for the launching of a small column against each point where he had been informed that a rising had broken out. He presupposes that the kingdom as a whole is quiet, and that bodies of 3,000 or 4,000 men may march anywhere, without having to provide for the maintenance of their communications with Madrid, or with each other. Only in a friendly country would it have been possible to carry out such orders.

[p. 125]

There were at the Emperor’s disposition, at the end of May, some 116,000 men beyond the Pyrenees: but the 26,000 troops under Junot in Portugal were so completely cut off from the rest, by the insurrection in Castile and Estremadura, that they had to be left out of consideration. Of the remainder the corps of Dupont and Moncey, 53,000 strong, lay in and about Madrid: Bessières, to whom the preservation of the main line of communications with France fell, had some 25,000 between Burgos and San Sebastian: Duhesme, isolated at Barcelona, and communicating with France by Perpignan and not by Bayonne, had only some 13,000 at his disposal in Catalonia. Up to the first week in June the Emperor thought that the 91,000 men of these four corps would be enough to pacify Spain.

His first design was somewhat as follows: Bessières was to keep a firm hand on the line of communications, but also to detach a division of 4,000 men under Lefebvre-Desnouettes against Saragossa, and a brigade under Merle to pacify Santander and the northern littoral. The Emperor does not at first seem to have realized that, with the army of Galicia hanging on his western flank, Bessières might not be able to spare men for such distant enterprises. He dealt with the corps as if it had nothing to face save the local insurgents of Aragon and Old Castile. From the large body of troops which lay about Madrid, Toledo, and Aranjuez, two strong columns were to be dispatched to strike at the two main centres of the insurrection in Southern Spain. Dupont was to take the first division of his army corps, with two brigades of cavalry and a few other troops, and march on Cordova and Seville. This gave him no more than about 13,000 men for the subjugation of the large and populous province of Andalusia. The other two infantry divisions of his corps remained for the present near Madrid[100].

On the other side of the capital, Marshal Moncey with a somewhat smaller force—one division of infantry from his own army corps and one brigade of cavalry, 9,000 men in all—was to move on Valencia, and to take possession of that city and of the great naval arsenal of Cartagena. His expedition was to be supported by a diversion from the side of Catalonia, for Duhesme (in spite of the small number of his army) was told to send a column along the sea-coast route, by Tarragona and Tortosa, to threaten Valencia[p. 126] from the north. Moncey’s remaining infantry divisions, which were not detailed for the expedition that he was to lead, remained near Madrid, available (like Dupont’s second and third divisions) for the reinforcement of Bessières or the strengthening of the two expeditionary columns, as circumstances might decide.

Clearly Dupont and Moncey were both sent forth to undertake impossible tasks. Napoleon had not comprehended that it was not provincial émeutes that he had to crush, but the regular resistance of a nation. To send a column of 12,000 men on a march through 300 miles of hostile territory to Cadiz, or a column of 9,000 men on a march of 180 miles to Valencia, presupposes the idea that the expeditions are affairs of police and not strategical operations. Our astonishment grows greater when we consider the character of the troops which Dupont and Moncey commanded. In the army of the former there was one veteran French battalion—that of the Marines of the Guard, six of raw recruits of the Legions of Reserve, two of Paris Municipal Guards (strangely distracted from their usual duties), one of the contingent of the Helvetic Confederation, and four of Swiss mercenaries in the Spanish service, who had just been compelled to transfer their allegiance to Napoleon. The cavalry consisted of four ‘provisional regiments’ of conscripts. It was a military crime of the first order to send 13,000 troops of this quality on an important expedition. Moncey’s force was of exactly the same sort—eight battalions of conscripts formed in ‘provisional regiments’ and two ‘provisional regiments’ of dragoons, plus a Westphalian battalion, and two Spanish corps, who deserted en masse when they were informed that they were to march against Valencia in company with the marshal’s French troops. He had not one single company or squadron of men belonging to the old imperial army.

Bessières was much more fortunate, as, among the 25,000 men of whom he could dispose, there were four veteran battalions of the line and two old regiments of cavalry; moreover there were sent ere long to his aid three of the battalions of the Imperial Guard which lay at Madrid, and four hundred sabres of the dragoons, chasseurs, and gendarmes of the same famous corps.

The march of the two expeditionary columns began on May 24, a date at which Murat and his master had but the faintest notion of the wide-spreading revolt which was on foot. Moncey and Dupont were both officers of distinction: the marshal was one of[p. 127] the oldest and the most respected officers of the imperial army: he had won the grade of general of division in the days of the Republic, and did not owe his first start in life to Napoleon. Of all the marshals he was by several years the senior. He passed as a steady, capable, and prudent officer of vast experience. Dupont on the other hand was a young man, who had first won a name by his brilliant courage at the combat of Dirnstein in the Austrian war of 1805. Since then he had distinguished himself at Friedland: he was on the way to rapid promotion, and, if his expedition to Andalusia had succeeded, might have counted on a duchy and a marshal’s baton as his reward. Napoleon knew him as a brave and loyal subordinate, but had never before given him an independent command. He could hardly guess that, when left to his own inspirations, such a brilliant officer would turn out to be dilatory, wanting in initiative, and wholly destitute of moral courage. It is impossible to judge with infallible accuracy how a good lieutenant will behave, when first the load of responsibility is laid upon his shoulders. On May 24, Dupont quitted Toledo with his 13,000 men: in the broad plains of La Mancha he met with no opposition. Everywhere the people were sullen, but no open hostility was shown. Even in the tremendous defiles of the Sierra Morena he found no enemy, and crossed the great pass of Despe?a Perros without having to fire a shot. Coming out at its southern end he occupied Andujar, the town at the main junction of roads in Eastern Andalusia, on June 5. Here he got clear intelligence that the whole country-side was up in arms: Seville had risen on May 26, and the rest of the province had followed its example. There was a large assembly of armed peasants mustering at Cordova, but the regular troops had not yet been brought up to the front. General Casta?os, whom the Junta had placed in chief command, was still busily engaged in concentrating his scattered battalions, forming them into brigades and divisions, and hastily filling up with recruits the enormous gaps which existed in the greater part of the corps. The regulars were being got together at a camp at Carmona, south of the Guadalquivir, and not far from Seville. The organization of new battalions, from the large number of volunteers who remained when the old regiments were completed, took place elsewhere. It would be weeks, rather than days, before the unorganized mass took shape as an army, and Dupont might count on a considerable respite before being attacked. But it was not only with the forces of[p. 128] Casta?os that he had to reckon: at Cordova, Seville, Granada, and all the other towns of Andalusia, the peasants were flocking in to be armed and told off into new regiments. There was every probability that in a few days the movement would spread northward over the Sierra Morena into La Mancha. An insurrection in this district would sever Dupont’s communications with Madrid, for he had not left behind him any sufficient detachments to guard the defiles which he had just passed, or to keep open the great post-road to the capital across the plains of New Castile. When he started he had been under the impression that it was only local troubles in Andalusia that he had to suppress.

Dupont was already beginning to find that the insurgents were in much greater numbers than he had expected when he crossed the Sierra Morena, but till he had made trial of their strength he considered that it would be wrong to halt. He had close before him the great city of Cordova, a most tempting prize, and he resolved to push on at least so far before taking it upon himself to halt and ask for reinforcements. His continued movement soon brought about the first engagement of the war, as at the bridge of Alcolea he found his advance disputed by a considerable hostile force [June 7].

The military commandant of the district of Cordova was a certain Don Pedro de Echávarri, a retired colonel whom the local Junta had just placed in command of its levies. His force consisted of 10,000 or 12,000 peasants and citizens, who had only received their arms three days before, and had not yet been completely told off into regiments and companies. On the 4th of June he had been sent a small body of old troops—one battalion of light infantry (Campo Mayor), and one of militia (the 3rd Provincial Grenadiers of Andalusia)—1,400 men in all, and with them eight guns. To have abandoned Cordova without a fight would have discouraged the new levies, and probably have led to Echávarri’s own death; for the armed mob which he commanded would have torn him to pieces as a traitor if he had refused to give battle. Accordingly he resolved to defend the passage of the Guadalquivir at the point where the high-road from Andujar crossed it, six miles outside Cordova. He barricaded the bridge and placed his guns and the two old battalions on the hither side of the river, in a position commanding the defile. On each flank of them some thousands of the Cordovan insurgents were drawn up, while the remainder of the levy, including all the[p. 129] mounted men, were sent across the bridge, and hidden in some hills which overhung the road by which the French were coming. They were ordered to show themselves, and to threaten to fall upon the enemy from the flank, when he should have developed his attack upon the bridge. If Echávarri had been guided by military considerations he would not have dared to offer battle with such a raw and motley force to 12,000 French troops—even if the latter were but the conscripts of Dupont. But political necessity compelled him to make the attempt.

When Dupont found the position of Alcolea occupied, he cannonaded the Spaniards for a time, and then launched his vanguard against the bridge. The leading battalion (it was one of those formed of the Paris Municipal Guards) stormed the barricades with some loss, and began to cross the river. After it the rest of Pannetier’s brigade followed, and began to deploy for the attack on the Spanish position. At this moment the Cordovan levies beyond the river showed themselves, and began to threaten a flank attack on Dupont. The latter sent his cavalry against them, and a few charges soon turned back the demonstration, and scattered the raw troops who had made it. Meanwhile Dupont’s infantry advanced and overpowered the two regular battalions opposed to them: seeing the line broken, the masses of insurgents on the flanks left the field without any serious fighting. The whole horde gave way and poured back into Cordova and right through the city, whose ruined walls they made no attempt to defend. They had lost very few men, probably no more than 200 in all, while the French had suffered even less, their only casualties being thirty killed and eighty wounded, wellnigh all in the battalion which had forced the barricades at the bridge.

There would be no reason to linger even for a moment over this insignificant skirmish, if it had not been for the deplorable events which followed—events which did more to give a ferocious character to the war than any others, save perhaps the massacre by Calvo at Valencia, which was taking place (as it chanced) on that very same day, June 7.

Dupont, after giving his army a short rest, led it, still ranged in battle array, across the six miles of plain which separated him from Cordova. He expected to find the defeated army of Echávarri rallying itself within the city. But on arriving in front of its gates, he found the walls unoccupied and the suburbs deserted.[p. 130] The Cordovans had closed their gates, but it was rather for the purpose of gaining time for a formal surrender than with any intention of resisting. Dupont had already opened negotiations for the unbarring of the gates, when a few scattered shots were fired at the French columns from a tower in the wall, or a house abutting on it. Treating this as a good excuse for avoiding the granting of a capitulation, Dupont blew open one of the gates with cannon, and his troops rushed into the empty streets without finding any enemy to defeat. The impudent fiction of Thiers to the effect that the entry of the French was seriously resisted, and that desperate street-fighting took place, is sufficiently disproved by the fact that in the so-called storming of Cordova the French lost altogether two killed and seven wounded.

Nevertheless the city was sacked from cellar to garret. Dupont’s undisciplined conscripts broke their ranks and ran amuck through the streets, firing into windows and battering down doors. Wherever there was the least show of resistance they slew off whole households: but they were rather intent on pillage and rape than on murder. Cordova was a wealthy place, its shops were well worth plundering, its churches and monasteries full of silver plate and jewelled reliquaries, its vaults of the strong wines of Andalusia. All the scenes of horror that afterwards occurred at Badajoz or San Sebastian were rehearsed for the first time at Cordova; and the army of Dupont had far less excuse than the English marauders and murderers of 1812 and 1813. The French had taken the city practically without loss and without opposition, and could not plead that they had been maddened by the fall of thousands of their comrades, or that they were drunk with the fury of battle after many hours of desperate fighting at the breaches. Nevertheless, without any excuse of this sort, Dupont’s army behaved in a way that would have suited better the hordes of Tilly and Wallenstein. Their commanders could not draw them away from their orgies and outrages till the next day: indeed, it seems that many of the French officers disgraced themselves by joining in the plunder. While the men were filling their haversacks with private property, there were found colonels and even generals who were not ashamed to load carts and coaches with pictures, tapestries, and metal-work from churches and public buildings, and bags of dollars from the treasury, where no less than 10,000,000 reals of specie had been found. Laplanne, whom[p. 131] Dupont appointed commandant of the place, took 2,000 ducats of blackmail from the Count of Villanueva, on whom he had billeted himself, in return for preserving his mansion from pillage. When the French left Cordova, nine days later, they had with them more than 500 wheeled vehicles seized in the place which were loaded with all sorts of plunder[101].

Dupont had hardly settled down in Cordova, and begun to substitute crushing military contributions for unsystematic pillage, when he found himself cut off from his base. The valley of the Upper Guadalquivir, and the slopes of the Sierra Morena, on both the southern and the northern sides of the passes, rose in arms in the second week of June. The French had left no detachments behind to preserve their communications: between Cordova and Toledo there were only a few posts where stragglers and sick had been collected, some isolated officers busy on surveying or on raising contributions, and some bodies of ten or twenty men escorting couriers or belated trains of wagons bearing food or ammunition to the front. Most of these unfortunate people were cut up by the insurgents, who displayed from the first a most ferocious spirit. The news of the sack of Cordova drove them to the commission of inhuman cruelties; some prisoners were blinded, others tortured to death: Foy says that the brigadier-general Réné, surprised while crossing the Morena, was thrown into a vat of boiling water and scalded to death[102]. The parties, which escaped massacre hastily drew back towards Madrid and Toledo, and soon there was not a French soldier within 150 miles of Dupont’s isolated division.

That general did not at first realize the unpleasantness of his[p. 132] position. He had been sufficiently surprised by the opposition offered at Alcolea, and the rumours of the concentration of the army of Casta?os, to make him unwilling to advance beyond Cordova. He wrote to Murat asking for reinforcements, and especially for troops to keep open his lines of communication. There were, he said, at least 25,000 regular troops marching against him: the English might disembark reinforcements at Cadiz: the whole province was in a flame: it was impossible to carry out the Grand-Duke of Berg’s original orders to push straight on to Seville. But matters were even worse than he thought: in a few days he realized, from the non-arrival of couriers from Madrid, that he was cut off: moreover, his foraging parties, even when they were only a few miles outside Cordova, began to be molested and sometimes destroyed.

After waiting nine days, Dupont very wisely resolved to fall back, and to endeavour to reopen communications with his base. On June 16 he evacuated Cordova, much to the regret of his soldiers, who resented the order to abandon such comfortable quarters. On the nineteenth, dragging with him an enormous convoy of plunder, he reached Andujar, the great junction of roads where the routes from the passes of the Morena come down to the valley of the Guadalquivir. It would have been far wiser to go still further back, and to occupy the debouches of the defiles, instead of lingering in the plain of Andalusia. He should have retired to Baylen, the town at the foot of the mountains, or to La Carolina, the fortress in the upland which commands the southern exit of the Despe?a Perros. But he was vainly dreaming of resuming the attempt to conquer the whole south of Spain when reinforcements should arrive, and Andujar tempted him, since it was the best point from which he could threaten at once Cordova, Jaen, and Granada, the three chief towns of Eastern Andalusia. Here, therefore, he abode from June 19 to July 18, a wasted month during which the whole situation of affairs in Spain was changed.

Here we must leave Dupont, while we treat of the doings of the other French generals during the month of June. While the invasion of Andalusia was running its course, both Moncey and Bessières had been seriously engaged.

The first named of the two marshals was placed in charge of one-half of the offensive part of Napoleon’s plan for the subju[p. 133]gation of Spain, while Bessières was mainly responsible for the defensive part, i.e. for the maintaining of the communications between Madrid and Bayonne. It is with Moncey’s expedition against Valencia, therefore, that we must first deal. Although he started a few days later than Dupont, that marshal was (like his colleague) still dominated by the idea that possessed both Napoleon and Murat—that the insurrections were purely local, and that their suppression was a mere measure of police. This notion accounts for his choice of route: there are two roads from Madrid to Valencia, a long and fairly easy one which passes through the gap between the mountains of Murcia and those of Cuenca, by San Clemente, Chinchilla, and the plain of Almanza, and a shorter one, full of dangerous defiles and gorges, which cuts through the heart of the hills by Tarancon, Valverde, and Reque?a. The former crosses the watershed between the valley of the Tagus and those of the rivers flowing into the Mediterranean Sea at the easiest point, the latter at one of the most difficult ones. But Moncey, thinking only of the need to deal promptly with the Valencian insurgents, chose the shorter and more difficult route.

He left Madrid on June 4: a week later he was near Cuenca, in the midst of the mountains. Not a shot had yet been fired at him, but as he pressed eastward he found the villages more and more deserted, till at last he had reached a region that seemed to have become suddenly depopulated. He turned a little out of his way on the eleventh to occupy the city of Cuenca[103], the capital of this wild and rugged country, but resumed his advance on the eighteenth, after receiving from Madrid peremptory orders to press forward[104]. There lay before him two tremendous defiles, which must be passed if he was to reach Valencia. The first was the deep-sunk gorge of the river Cabriel, where the highway plunges down a cliff, crosses a ravine, and climbs again up a steep opposing bank. The second, thirty miles further on, was the Pass of the Cabrillas, the point where the road, on reaching the[p. 134] edge of the central plateau of Spain, suddenly sinks down into the low-lying fertile plain of Valencia.

If the Conde de Cervellon, the general whom the Valencian Junta had put in charge of its army, had concentrated on these defiles the 7,000 or 8,000 regular troops who were to be found in the province and in the neighbouring district of Murcia, it is probable that Moncey would never have forced his way through the mountains; for each of the positions, if held in sufficient force, is practically impregnable. But the Spaniards had formed a deeply rooted notion that the invader would come by the easy road over the plains, by San Clemente and Almanza, and not through the mountains of Cuenca. The whole of the troops of Murcia and the greater part of those of Valencia had been directed on Almanza, where there was a good position for opposing an army descending from Castile. Only a small detachment had been sent to watch the northern road, and its commander, Don Pedro Adorno, had stationed at the bridge of the Cabriel no more than one battalion of Swiss mercenaries (No. 1 of Traxler’s regiment) and 500 armed peasants with four guns. The position was too extensive to be held by 1,500 men: Moncey found that the river was fordable in several places, and detached a small column to cross at each, while two battalions dashed at the bridge. In spite of the steepness of the ravine the French got over at more than one point, and climbed the opposite slope, whereupon the peasants fled, and half the Swiss battalion was surrounded and captured while it was trying to cover the retreat of the guns[105]. Adorno, who was lying some miles to the rear, at Reque?a, when he should have been present in full force at the bridge, ought now to have fallen back to cover Valencia, but in a moment of panic he fled across country to join the army at Almanza [June 21].

This disgraceful flight left the Valencian Junta almost destitute of troops for the defence of the still stronger defile of the Cabrillas, which Moncey had yet to force before he could descend into the plain. The Junta hurried up to it two regiments of recruits—one of which is said to have been first practised in the manual exercise the day before it went into action[106]. These, with 300 old soldiers, the wrecks of the combat at the Cabriel, and three guns, tried[p. 135] to hold the pass. Moncey turned both flanks of this very inadequate defending force, and then broke through its centre. Many of the Spaniards dispersed, 500 were slain or captured, and the rest fled down the pass to Valencia. After riding round the position, Moncey remarked that it was so strong that with 6,000 steady troops he would undertake to hold it against Napoleon himself and the Grand Army [June 24].

Two days later, after a rapid march down the defile and across the fertile Valencian plain, Moncey presented himself before the gates of its capital, and demanded its surrender. But he found that there was still much fighting to be done: a small column of regulars had arrived in the city, though the main army from Almanza was still far distant. With three battalions of old troops and 7,000 Valencian levies, Don José Caro, a naval officer and brother of the celebrated Marquis of La Romana, had taken up a position four miles outside the city at San Onofre. He had covered his front with some irrigation canals, and barricaded the road. Moncey had to spend the twenty-seventh in beating back this force into Valencia, not without some sharp fighting.

On the next day he made a general assault upon the city. Valencia was not a modern fortress: it had merely a wet ditch and an enceinte of mediaeval walls. There were several points where it seemed possible to escalade the defences, and the marshal resolved to storm the place. But he had forgotten that he had to reckon with the auxiliary fortifications which the populace had constructed during the last three days. They had built up the gates with beams and earth, barricaded the streets, mounted cannon on the walls where it was possible, and established several batteries of heavy guns to sweep the main approaches from the open country. The city being situated in a perfectly level plain, and in ground much cut up by irrigation canals, it had been found possible to inundate much of the low ground. As the river Guadalaviar washed the whole northern side of the walls, Moncey’s practicable points of attack were restricted to certain short spaces on their southern front.

The marshal first sent a Spanish renegade, a Colonel Solano, to summon the place. But the Valencians were exasperated rather than cowed by their late defeats; their leaders—especially Padre Rico, a fighting priest of undoubted courage and capacity—had worked them up to a high pitch of enthusiasm, and they must[p. 136] have remembered that, if they submitted, they would have to render an account for Calvo’s abominable massacre of the French residents. Accordingly the Junta returned the stirring answer that ‘the people of Valencia preferred to die defending itself rather than to open any sort of negotiations.’ A mixed multitude of 20,000 men, of whom some 8,000 were troops of one sort and another[107], manned the walls and barricades and waited for the assault.

After riding round the exposed front of the city, Moncey resolved to attack only the south-eastern section. He formed two columns, each of a brigade, of which one assailed the gate of San José near the river, while another marched on the gate of Quarte, further to the south. Considering the weak resistance that he had met at the Cabriel and at the Pass of the Cabrillas, he had formed a sanguine expectation that the Valencians would not make a firm stand, even behind walls and barricades. In this he was wofully deceived: the French had yet to learn that the enemy, though helpless in the open, was capable of the most obstinate resistance when once he had put himself under cover of bricks and earth. The first assault was beaten off with heavy loss, though Moncey’s conscripts showed great dash, reached the foot of the defences, and tried to tear down the palisades with their hands. The marshal should have seen at once that he had too large a business in hand for the 8,000 men of whom he could dispose. But he persevered, bringing forward his field artillery to batter the gates and earthworks before a second assault should be made. It was to no purpose, as they were soon silenced by the guns of position which the besieged had prepared for this very purpose. Late in the afternoon Moncey risked a second general attack, embracing the gate of Santa Lucia as well as the other points which he had before assailed. But the stormers were beaten off with even heavier loss than on the first assault, and bodies of the defenders, slipping out by posterns and side-gates, harassed the retreating columns by a terrible flanking fire.

Clearly the game was up: Moncey had lost at least 1,200 men, a sixth of his available infantry force[108]. He was much to blame[p. 137] for pressing the attack when his first movement failed, for as Napoleon (wise after the event) said in his commentary on the marshal’s operations: ‘On ne prend pas par le collet une ville de quatre-vingt mille ames.’ If the first charge did not carry the walls, and the garrison stood firm, the French could only get in by the use of siege artillery, of which they did not possess a single piece.

Moncey’s position was now very dangerous: he knew that the country was up in arms behind him, and that his communications with Madrid were completely cut. He was also aware that Cervellon’s army from Almanza must be marching towards him, unless it had taken the alternative course of pressing in on his rear, to occupy the difficult passes by which he had come down into the Valencian coast-plain. His conscripts were dreadfully discouraged by their unexpected reverse: he was hampered by a great convoy of wounded men, whose transport would cause serious delays. Nothing had been heard of the diversion which General Chabran, with troops detached from Duhesme’s army in Catalonia, had been ordered to execute towards the northern side of Valencia. As a matter of fact that general had not even crossed the Ebro. Retreat was necessary: of the three possible lines on which it could be executed, that along the coast road, in the direction where Chabran was to be expected, was thought of for a moment, but soon abandoned: it was too long, and the real base of the marshal’s corps was evidently Madrid, and not Barcelona. The route by Tarancon and the Cabrillas, by which the army had reached Valencia, was terribly difficult: clearly it would be necessary to force again the defiles which had been cleared on the way down to the coast. And it was possible that 9,000 or 10,000 regular troops might now be occupying them.

Accordingly, Moncey resolved to retire by the third road, that through the plains by Almanza and San Clemente. If, as was possible, Cervellon’s whole army was now blocking it, they must be fought and driven off: a battle in the plain would be less dangerous than a battle at the Cabrillas or the bridge of the Cabriel. Before daylight on June 29, therefore, the marshal moved off on this road.

[p. 138]

Luck now came to his aid: the incapable Spanish commander had made up his mind that the French would retreat by the way that they had come, and had sent forward General Llamas with all the troops of Murcia to seize the defile of the Cabrillas. He himself followed with the rest of the regulars, but halted at Alcira, behind the Xucar. Thus while Moncey was marching to the south, the main body of his enemies was moving northward. Cervellon refused to fight in the absence of Llamas, so nothing was left in the marshal’s way save bands of peasants who occupied the fords of the Xucar and the road between Jativa and Almanza: these he easily brushed away in a couple of skirmishes. Nor did a small column detached in pursuit from Valencia dare to meddle seriously with his rearguard. So without even exchanging a shot with the Spanish field-army, which Cervellon had so unwisely scattered and sent off on a false track, Moncey was able to make his way by Jativa, Almanza, and Chinchilla back towards La Mancha [July 2-6].

At San Clemente he met with reinforcements under General Frère, consisting of the third division of Dupont’s original corps, some 5,000 strong. This division had been sent to search for him by Savary, who had been filled with fears for his safety when he found that the communications were cut, and that Cuenca and all the hill-country had risen behind the expeditionary force. After vainly searching for Moncey on the northern road, in the direction of Reque?a, Frère at last got news that he had taken the southern line of retreat, and successfully joined him on July 8. At San Clemente the marshal intended to halt and to wait for Cervellon’s arrival, in the hope of beating him in the open. But a few days later he received news from Madrid, to the effect that Savary wished to draw back the French forces nearer to the capital, and that Frère, at least, must move in to Oca?a or Toledo. Much displeased at finding a junior officer acting as the lieutenant of the Emperor—for Savary was but a lieutenant-general, while he himself was a marshal—Moncey threw up the whole scheme of waiting to fight the Valencian army, and marched back to the immediate neighbourhood of Madrid [July 15].

There can be no doubt that the marshal had extraordinary luck in this short campaign. If he had been opposed by a general less timid and incapable than the Conde de Cervellon, he might have found arrayed against him, at the bridge of the Cabriel, or at the[p. 139] Cabrillas, a considerable body of regulars—eight or nine thousand men—with a numerous artillery, instead of the insignificant forces which he actually defeated. Again, while he was trying to storm Valencia, Cervellon might have attacked him in the rear with great chance of success; or the Spaniard might have kept his forces united, and opposed Moncey as he retreated from before Valencia. Instead of doing so he split up his army into detachments, and the greater part of it was sent off far from the central point of his operations, and did not fire a shot. Truly such a general was, as Thucydides remarks concerning the Spartans of old, ‘very convenient for his adversaries.’ A less considerate enemy would have had a fair chance of bringing Moncey’s campaign to the same disastrous end that befell that of Dupont.
SECTION III: CHAPTER II
OPERATIONS IN THE NORTH: THE SIEGE OF SARAGOSSA

Having watched the failure of the expeditions by which Napoleon had hoped to complete the conquest of Southern Spain, we must turn our eyes northward, to Madrid and the long line of communications which joined the capital to the French base of operations at Vittoria, Pampeluna, and San Sebastian. At the moment when the Valencian and Andalusian expeditions were sent out from Madrid and Toledo, Murat had still under his hand a large body of troops, the second and third division of Moncey’s corps, the second and third of Dupont’s, and the 5,000 horse and foot of the Imperial Guard—in all more than 30,000 men. Bessières, if the garrison of the northern fortresses and some newly arrived reinforcements are added to his original force, had more than 25,000. With these the grand-duke and the marshal had to contain the insurrection in Northern Spain, and to beat back the advance of the army of Galicia.

The furthest points to the north and east to which the wave of insurrection had washed up were Logro?o and Tudela in the Ebro valley, Santander on the coast of the Bay of Biscay, and Palencia and Valladolid in Old Castile. All these places lay in Bessières’ sphere of action, and he promptly took measures to suppress the rising at each point. On June 2 a column sent out from Vittoria reoccupied Logro?o, slaying some hundreds of half-armed peasants, and executing some of their leaders who had been taken prisoners. On the same day a stronger force, six battalions and two squadrons under General Merle, marched from Burgos on Santander. Driving before him the insurgents of the Upper Ebro valley, Merle advanced as far as Reynosa, and was about to force the defiles of the Cantabrian Mountains and to descend on to Santander, when he received orders to return and to take part in suppressing the more dangerous rising in the plains of Old Castile. News had arrived that the captain-general, Cuesta, was collecting a force at Valladolid, which threatened to cut the road between Burgos and Madrid. To deal[p. 141] with him Bessières told off Merle, and another small column of four battalions and two regiments of chasseurs under his brilliant cavalry-brigadier, Lasalle, one of the best of Napoleon’s younger generals. After sacking Torquemada (where some peasants attempted an ineffectual resistance) and ransoming the rich cathedral town of Palencia, Lasalle got in touch with the forces of Cuesta at the bridge of Cabezon, where the main road from Burgos to Valladolid crosses the river Pisuerga. On the eleventh of June Merle joined him: on the twelfth their united forces, 9,000 strong, fell upon the levies of the Captain-general.

Throughout the two years during which he held high command in the field, Gregorio de la Cuesta consistently displayed an arrogance and an incapacity far exceeding that of any other Spanish general. Considering the state of his embryo ‘army of Castile,’ it was insane for him to think of offering battle. He had but four cannon; his only veteran troops were 300 cavalry, mainly consisting of the squadrons which had accompanied Ferdinand VII as escort on his unhappy journey to Bayonne. His infantry was composed of 4,000 or 5,000 volunteers of the Valladolid district, who had not been more than a fortnight under arms, and had seen little drill and still less musketry practice. It was absolutely wicked to take them into action. But the men, in their ignorance, clamoured for a battle, and Cuesta did not refuse it to them. His dispositions were simply astounding; instead of barricading or destroying the bridge and occupying the further bank, he led his unhappy horde across the river and drew them up in a single line, with the bridge at their backs.

On June 12 Lasalle came rushing down upon the ‘army of Castile,’ and dashed it into atoms at the first shock. The Spanish cavalry fled (as they generally did throughout the war), the infantry broke, the bridge and the guns were captured. Some hundreds of the unfortunate recruits were sabred, others were drowned in the river. Cuesta fled westwards with the survivors to Medina de Rio Seco, abandoning to its fate Valladolid, which Lasalle occupied without opposition on the same evening. The combat by which this important city was won had cost the French only twelve killed and thirty wounded.

This stroke had completely cleared Bessières’ right flank: there could be no more danger from the north-west till the army of Galicia should think proper to descend from its mountains to[p. 142] contest with the French the dominion of the plains of Leon and Old Castile. The marshal could now turn his attention to other fronts of his extensive sphere of command. After the fight of Cabezon Merle’s division was sent northward, to conquer the rugged coastland of the province of Santander. There were frightful defiles between Reynosa and the shore of the Bay of Biscay: the peasants had blocked the road and covered the hillsides with sungahs. But the defence was feeble—as might be expected from the fact that the district could only put into the field one battalion of militia[109] and a crowd of recent levies, who had been about three weeks under arms. On June 23 Merle finished clearing the defiles and entered Santander, whose bishop and Junta fled, with the wreck of their armed force, into the Asturias.

Meanwhile the troops under Bessières had been equally active, but with very different results, on the Middle Ebro and in the direction of Aragon. It was known at Burgos and at Bayonne that Saragossa had risen like the rest of the Spanish cities. But it was also known that there was hardly a man of regular troops in the whole kingdom of Aragon: here, as in Old Castile or in Santander, the invaders would have to deal only with raw levies, who would probably disperse after their first defeat. Saragossa itself, the central focus of the rising, was no modern fortress, but a town of 60,000 souls, surrounded by a mediaeval wall more fitted to assist in the levy of octroi duties, than in a defence against a regular army. Accordingly the column under Lefebvre Desnouettes, which was directed to start from Pampeluna against the Aragonese insurgents, was one of very moderate size—3,500 infantry, 1,000 horse, and a single battery of field artillery[110]. But it was to be joined a few days later by another brigade[111] and battery, which would bring its total force up to something more than 6,000 men.

The resources of the kingdom of Aragon were large, but the patriots were, when the war broke out, in a condition most unfavourable for strenuous action. The province was one of those which had been denuded of its usual garrison: there only remained part of[p. 143] a cavalry regiment, the ‘King’s Dragoons,’ whose squadrons had been so depleted that it had only 300 men and ninety horses, with a weak battalion of Volunteers of Aragon—some 450 men—and 200 gunners and sappers. In addition there had straggled into Saragossa about 500 men from various Spanish corps at Madrid, Burgos, and elsewhere, who had deserted their colours when the news of the insurrection reached them. This was a small cadre on which to create a whole army, but the feat was accomplished by the energetic young man who put himself at the head of the rising in the middle valley of the Ebro. Joseph Palafox, the second son of a noble family of Aragon, had been one of the suite which accompanied Ferdinand VII to Bayonne, and was an indignant spectator of the abominable treachery which there took place. When the tragedy was over he was fortunate enough to escape to Spain: he retired to his native district, took a prominent part in rousing the Aragonese, and was chosen by them as Captain-general when the weak or incapable Guillelmi was deposed. He was only twenty-eight years of age, and had no military experience, for he had only served in the peaceful ranks of the king’s bodyguard[112]. He had been a courtier rather than a soldier, yet at the critical moment of his life it can[p. 144]not be denied that he displayed a courage and energy which justified the high opinions which the Aragonese entertained of him. He kept Saragossa clean from the plague of political assassination, which was so rife in every other corner of Spain. He wisely got his appointment as Captain-general confirmed by the Cortes of Aragon, which he summoned to meet in its ancient form. He found out the most capable leaders of the populace, and always asked their advice before taking any important step. But his main virtue was his untiring activity: considering the procrastination and want of organizing power displayed by most of the Spanish generals, his talent for rapid work seems remarkable. He was only placed in power on May 26, and by June 8 he was already engaged with the French. In this short time he had raised and organized seven regiments of new levies—7,400 men in all. They were stiffened with the deserters from Madrid, and commanded by such retired and half-pay officers as could be got together. There were some scores of cannon in the arsenal of Saragossa, but hardly any gunners, and a very small store of ammunition. Palafox started a powder factory and a manufactory of small arms, turned the workmen of the Canal of Aragon into a corps of sappers, and made a general levy of horses to remount his single regiment of dragoons, and to provide his artillery with draught animals. This was but the commencement of Palafox’s activity: ere Saragossa was saved he had raised the whole kingdom, and got more than 30,000 men under arms[113].

Already by the eighth of June he had hurried out a small force to meet Lefebvre Desnouettes at Tudela, the frontier town on the Ebro, which in the Middle Ages had been known as ‘the key of Aragon.’ This force, which consisted of 2,000 of his new levies, was placed under the command of his own elder brother the Marquis of Lazan, who had escaped from Madrid under the pretext that he would bring pressure to bear upon the Captain-general and induce him to submit to Murat. The marquis, though joined by[p. 145] 3,000 or 4,000 peasants and citizens of Tudela, was easily routed by the French column, and forced back to Mallen sixteen miles nearer to Saragossa. Lefebvre followed him, after having executed a certain number of the notables of Tudela and sacked the town. Reinforced by more of his brother’s new levies, Lazan offered battle again at Mallen, in a bad position, where his men had little protection against the enemy’s artillery and the charges of his Polish lancers. He was naturally routed with severe losses. But even then the Aragonese were not broken in spirit: Palafox himself marched out with the remainder of his new levies, some of whom had not been five days under arms. At Alagon, only seventeen miles from the gates of Saragossa, he drew up 6,000 infantry (of whom 500 were regulars) 150 dragoons and four guns, trying to cover himself by the line of the Canal of Aragon and some olive groves. It is hardly necessary to say that his artillery was overpowered by the fourteen pieces of the French, and that his infantry gave back when furiously assailed by the Poles. Palafox charged at the head of his two squadrons of dragoons, but was wounded in the arm and had his horse killed under him. His routed followers carried him back into the city, where the majority took refuge, while the more faint-hearted fled beyond it to Alcaniz and other points in Upper Aragon.

Elated by three easy victories, Lefebvre thought that there was nothing more to do but to enter Saragossa in triumph. He was much deceived: the citizens were standing at bay behind their flimsy defences, having recovered in a single night from the dismay caused by the arrival of the broken bands who had fought at Alagon. The military conditions were not unlike those which Moncey had to face in another region, a fortnight later: Saragossa like Valencia lies in an extensive plain, with its northern side washed by the waters of the Ebro, and its eastern by those of the shallow and fordable Huerba: but its southern and western fronts are exposed to attack from the open. It was surrounded by a brick wall of ten to twelve feet high, interrupted in several places by convents and barracks whose blank back-faces continued the line of the enceinte[114]. Inside the wall were the crowded lanes in which dwelt the 60,000 citizens, a tangle of narrow streets save the one broad Coso which intersects the place from east to west. The[p. 146] houses were mostly solid and lofty structures of brick and stone, with the heavy barred windows and doors usual in Spain. The strength, such as it was, of Saragossa consisted not in its outer shell, but in the closely packed houses, convents, and churches, each of which might serve at need as a small fortress. Many of them were solid enough to resist any form of attack save that of being battered by artillery. When barricades had been thrown across the lanes from side to side, each square of buildings would need to be assaulted and captured piecemeal. But none of the French officers who arrived in front of Saragossa on June 15, 1808, had any conception that the problem about to be presented to them was that of street-fighting carried on from house to house. There had been many sieges since the war of the French Revolution began, but none carried on in this manner. In Italy or Germany no one had ever heard of a city which tried, for want of bastions and curtains, to defend itself by barricades: such places always saved themselves by an obvious and blameless surrender.

But if a siege was coming, there was one position just outside the town which was clearly destined to play a chief part in it. Just across the Huerba lay a broad flat-topped hill, the Monte Torrero, which rose to the height of 180 feet, and overlooked all the south side of the place. It was such a splendid vantage-ground for siege-batteries, that the defenders were bound to hold it, lest it should fall into the power of the French. It should have been crowned by a strong detached fort, or even by an entrenched camp. But Palafox in the short time at his disposal had only been able to throw up a couple of open batteries upon it, and to loophole the extensive magazines and workshops of the Canal of Aragon, which were scattered over the summit of the hill, while the canal itself flowed, as a sort of outer defence, around its further foot.

Saragossa had two other outlying defences: the one was the Aljafferia, an old square castle with four towers at its corners, which had been the abode of Moorish emirs, and of Aragonese kings, but now served as the prison of the Inquisition. It lay a couple of hundred yards outside the western gate (Puerto del Portillo) of the city. It was a solid brick structure, but quite unsuited to resist a serious artillery attack. The second outwork was the suburb of San Lazaro beyond the Ebro: it was connected with Saragossa by a new and handsome bridge, known as the[p. 147] ‘Puente de Piedra,’ or ‘Stone Bridge.’ Cannon were mounted at its southern end so as to sweep its whole length.

On June 15, Lefebvre-Desnouettes appeared before the city, driving before him some Spanish outposts which he had met upon the way. He resolved at once to carry the place by storm, a task which, considering the weakness of its walls, did not seem impossible, and all the more so because the gates stood open, each defended only by an earthwork containing two or three guns. The French general, neglecting the Monte Torrero and its commanding slopes, attacked only the western front between the gate of Portillo, near the Ebro, and the gate of Santa Engracia, close to the banks of the Huerba. His French brigade assailed the northern and his Polish regiment the southern half of this long line of walls and buildings. His two field-batteries were run up into the fighting line, to batter the earthworks and to reply to the Spanish guns. The only reserve which he kept in hand consisted of his brigade of cavalry.

The resistance offered to Lefebvre was of the most irregular sort: Palafox himself was not present, and his second-in-command, Bustamante, seems to have done little in the way of issuing orders. The 6,000 half-trained levies which had fought at Alagon had not recovered their organization, and were hopelessly mixed in the line of defence with 4,000 or 5,000 armed citizens of all ages and classes who had gone to the walls, each parish under the charge of two or three local leaders, who paid little obedience to the commands of the regular officers.

The Captain-General himself had started out that morning at the head of 150 dragoons, and 200 infantry, all regulars, by the road beyond the Ebro. He had told his subordinates that he was intending to raise in Upper Aragon a force with which he would fall on Lefebvre’s line of communications, and so compel him to abandon his attack on the city. But there is no doubt that he had really conceived grave doubts as to the possibility of Saragossa defending itself, and intended to avoid being captured within its walls. He wished to have the power of continuing the struggle outside, in case the French should penetrate into the city. On the morning after the fight at Alagon, bruised and wounded, he was in a pessimistic frame of mind, as his resolve shows. But there is no occasion to brand him, as does Napier, with timidity: his previous and his subsequent conduct preclude such a charge. It was merely an error of judgement: the Captain-General should have[p. 148] stayed behind to defend his capital, and have sent his brother Lazan, or some other officer whom he could trust, to raise the country-side in the rear of the French[115]. His retirement might well have discouraged the Saragossans and led to deplorable results; but as a matter of fact, Lefebvre’s attack began so soon after he had ridden out over the bridge, that the news of his departure had not yet got abroad, and the populace were still under the impression that he was among them. It was not till the fighting was over that he was missed.

Lefebvre-Desnouettes before Saragossa was in exactly the same position as Moncey before Valencia, and acted in the same way, pushing forward a rather reckless attack on the city in full confidence that the Spaniards would not stand before an assault pressed home. He had, moreover, the advantages of being able to attack a wider front, of having no ditches and inundations to cramp his operations, and of dealing with walls even weaker than those of Valencia, and defended by artillery of which very few were pieces of heavy calibre.

The first attack was delivered in the most dashing, not to say foolhardy, style. At the gate of Santa Engracia a squadron of Polish lancers, who led the van, charged into and over the small battery which covered the ingress into the city. Their wild rush carried them right into the place, in spite of a dropping fire of musketry directed upon them from every house that they passed. Turning into a broad lane to the left, these headstrong horsemen rode forward, losing men at every step, till they were brought to a stand in the Plaza del Portillo, where the majority were shot down; a very few succeeded in escaping by the way along which they had come. The Polish infantry, which should have followed closely on the heels of the lancers, penetrated no further than the earthwork at the gate, where it got closely engaged with the Spaniards who held the neighbouring convent of Santa Engracia. Exposed in the open street to a heavy fire from behind walls and windows, the leading battalion gave way, and retired into the olive groves and buildings outside the gate.

[p. 149]

Meanwhile the French brigade of Lefebvre’s division attacked the gates of Portillo and the Carmen and the adjoining cavalry barracks. At the last-named post they scaled the walls, which were particularly low and weak at this point, and got into the city. But at the gates the batteries in the narrow ingress held them back. After a sharp skirmish, a general rush of peasants, soldiers, and citizens, swept out the invaders from the cavalry barracks, and the front of defence was restored. Lefebvre would have done well to pause before renewing his assault: but (like Moncey at Valencia) he was loth to believe that the enemy would face a persistent attempt to break in. He accordingly ordered both the columns to renew their attacks: for some time it seemed likely that he might succeed, for the French forced both the Carmen and the Portillo gates and reoccupied the cavalry barracks, while the Poles burst in for a second time at Santa Engracia. But it proved impossible to make any further advance into the city, where every house was full of musketeers and the narrow lanes were blocked with artillery, which swept them from end to end. When it became clear that the enemy were making no further progress, the Spaniards rallied behind the Bull-Ring on the Portillo front, and in the convent of Santa Engracia on the southern front, and swept out the decimated battalions of Lefebvre by a determined charge[116].

It is not surprising to find that the assailants had suffered very heavily in such a desperate attack on walls and barricades teeming with defenders worked up to a high pitch of patriotic frenzy. Lefebvre lost 700 men, and left behind him at the Portillo gate several guns which had been brought up too close to the place, and could not be dragged off under the dreadful musketry fire from the walls, and the flanking discharges from the neighbouring castle of Aljafferia. The Spaniards, fighting under cover except at the moment of their final charges, had suffered comparatively little: their loss is estimated at not much over 300 men. They might well be proud of their success: they had certainly showed a heroic spirit in fighting so obstinately after three crushing defeats in the open field. That a practically unfortified town should defend itself by street-fighting was a new idea: and that[p. 150] peasants and citizens (there were not 900 regulars in the place) should not only hold out behind walls, but execute desperate charges en masse, would till that day have been regarded as impossible by any soldier of Napoleon. Every thinking man in the French army must have looked with some dismay on the results of the fight, not because of the loss suffered, for that was a mere trifle, but because of the prospect of the desperate national resistance which had evidently to be faced.

Meanwhile, Lefebvre-Desnouettes retired for some thousands of yards from the city, and pitched his camp facing its western front. He sent pressing letters asking for reinforcements both to Madrid and to Bayonne, and attempted no offensive action for ten days. If he sent a formal summons of surrender to the Saragossans, it was to waste time and allow fresh troops to arrive, rather than with any hope that he could intimidate the citizens. He was himself more likely to be attacked during the next few days than to make any forward movement. But he was already beginning to receive reinforcements: on June 21 there arrived two battalions of the 2nd Regiment of the Vistula, and more troops were behind.

Palafox, on the other hand, received much unexpected encouragement from the combat of the sixteenth. On receiving the news of it at Belchite on the following morning, he sent back his brother, the Marquis de Lazan, giving him the command of the city, and bidding him tell the Saragossans that he would endeavour to raise the siege in a very few days. There was already a considerable body of insurgents in arms in South-western Aragon, under the Baron de Versage, who had raised at Calatayud two battalions of new levies[117], and gathered in some fugitives from the Spanish garrison of Madrid. Palafox ordered the baron to join him with every man that he could bring, and their two detachments met at Almunia on June 21, and from thence marched towards Saragossa by the road which leads down the valley of the Xalon by Epila. At the last-named place they were only fifteen miles from Lefebvre-Desnouettes’ camp, and were already threatening the French communications with Logro?o and Vittoria. But their army was still very small—no more than 550 regular infantry, 1,000 men of Versage’s new regiments, 350 cavalry, and a couple of thousand[p. 151] levies of all kinds, among whom were noted a company of eighty armed Capuchin friars and a body of mounted smugglers.

The French general had now to make up his mind whether he would raise the siege and fall upon Palafox with his whole army, or whether he would dare to divide his scanty resources, and maintain the attack on the city with one part, while he sent a containing force against the Captain-General’s bands. He resolved to take the latter course—a most hazardous one considering the fact that he had, even with his last reinforcements, not much more than 6,000 sound men in his camp. He dispatched the Polish Colonel Chlopiski with the first regiment of the Vistula, one French battalion, a squadron of lancers and four guns to hold back Palafox, while with the 3,000 men that remained he executed several demonstrations against outlying parts of the defences of Saragossa, in order to distract the attention of the citizens.

This very risky plan was carried out with complete success. While the Saragossans were warding off imaginary attacks, Chlopiski made a forced march and fell upon Palafox at Epila on the night of June 23-24. The Aragonese army was completely surprised and routed in a confused engagement fought in the dark. Several hundred were cut up, and the town of Epila was sacked: Palafox fell back in disorder towards Calatayud and the mountains, while Chlopiski returned to the siege.

The Captain-General, much disconcerted by this disaster, resolved that he would fight no more battles in the open, but merely reinforce the city with the best of his soldiers and resist behind its walls. So sending back Versage and his levies to the hills, he made an enormous detour with his handful of veteran troops and a few hundred irregulars, and re-entered Saragossa by the northern side, which still remained open. He had great difficulty in holding his followers together, for many (and especially his untrustworthy cavalry) wished to retire on Valencia and to abandon the struggle in Aragon. But by appealing to their patriotism—‘he would give every man who insisted on it a passport for Valencia, but those who loved him would follow him’—he finally carried off the whole force, and took somewhat over 1,000 men back to the besieged city [July 1].

During his absence the condition of affairs in Saragossa had been considerably altered. On the one hand the defences had been much improved: the gates had been strongly stockaded, and the[p. 152] walls had been thickened with earth and sandbags, and furnished with a continuous banquette, which had hitherto been wanting. On the other hand the French were beginning to receive reinforcements: on the twenty-sixth General Verdier arrived with three battalions of his division (the second of Bessières’ corps)[118] and two bataillons de marche, in all some 3,000 or 3,500 men. From this time forward small bodies of troops began to reach the besiegers at short intervals, including two more Polish battalions[119], one battalion of French regulars, two Portuguese battalions (the last of the unfortunate division which was on its way across Spain towards the Baltic), 1,000 National Guards of the Hautes Pyrénées and Basses Pyrénées, hastily sent across the frontier from Bayonne, and three squadrons of cavalry[120]. What was more important than the mere numbers was that they brought with them siege-guns, in which Lefebvre had hitherto been entirely deficient. These pieces came from the citadel of Pampeluna, and were part of those resources of which the French had so treacherously taken possession in the preceding February.

Verdier on his arrival superseded Lefebvre-Desnouettes, who was considerably his junior, and took charge of the siege. His first act was to develop an attack on the Monte Torrero, the hill in the suburbs, beyond the Huerba, which dominates, at a distance of 1,800 yards, the southern front of the city. The Spaniards had neither encircled it with continuous lines, nor crowned it with any closed work. It was protected only by two small batteries and some trenches covering the most obvious points of attack. The garrison was composed of no more than 500 men, half peasants, half regulars of the Regiment of Estremadura, of which three weak battalions had arrived from Tarrega on the previous day (June 27)[121]. Verdier sent three columns, each of one battalion, against the more accessible parts of the position, and drove out the small defending force with ease. His task was made lighter by a piece of casual luck: on the night before the assault the main powder-magazine of the Saragossans, situated in the Seminary,[p. 153] was ignited by the carelessness of a workman, and blew up, killing many persons and wrecking the Seminary itself and many houses in its vicinity. A few hours after this disaster had taken place, and while the whole city was busy in extinguishing the conflagration, the French attack was delivered; hence the original garrison got no help from within the walls. But its own conduct was deplorably weak: the colonel in command[122] headed the rush to the rear, a piece of cowardice for which he was imprisoned and (after the siege had been raised) was sent before a court-martial and shot.

On the evening of the twenty-eighth Verdier began to construct heavy breaching batteries on the slopes of the Monte Torrero, commanding all the southern side of the city. Others were thrown up on the south-western front, opposite the points which had been unsuccessfully assaulted twelve days before. On the thirtieth of June the works were armed with thirty siege-guns, four mortars, and twelve howitzers, which opened simultaneously on Saragossa at midnight, and continued to play upon the place for twenty-four hours, setting many houses on fire, and breaching the flimsy ramparts in half a dozen places. The old castle of the Aljafferia was badly injured, and the gates of Portillo and the Carmen knocked out of shape: there were also large gaps in the convent of the Augustinians, and in the Misericordia, whose back wall formed part of the enceinte. All the unarmed population was forced to take refuge in the cellars, or the more solidly built parts of the churches, while the fighting-men were trying to construct barricades behind the worst breaches, and to block up with sandbags, beams, and barrels all the lanes that opened upon them.

Palafox entered Saragossa on the morning of July 2, just in time to see Verdier launch his whole available infantry force upon the shattered western and southern fronts of the city. The assault was made under much more favourable conditions than that of June 16, since the strength of the storming columns was more than doubled, and the defences had been terribly mishandled by the bombardment. On the other hand the garrison was in no degree shaken in spirit: the fire of the last twenty-four hours had been much more dangerous to buildings than to men, and the results of the first assault had given the defenders a confidence which they had not felt on the previous occasion. Hence it came[p. 154] to pass that of the six columns of assault not one succeeded in making a permanent lodgement within the walls. Even the isolated castle of Aljafferia and the convent of San José, just outside the Porta Quemada, were finally left in the hands of the besieged, though the latter was for some hours held by the French. The hardest fighting was at the Portillo gate, where the assaulting battalions more than once reached the dilapidated earthwork that covered the ingress to the north-western part of the city. It was here that there occurred the well-known incident of the ‘Maid of Saragossa.’ The gunners at the small battery in the gate had been shot down one after another by the musketry of the assailants, the final survivors falling even before they could discharge the last gun that they had loaded. The infantry supports were flinching and the French were closing in, when a young woman named Agostina Zaragoza, whose lover (an artillery sergeant) had just fallen, rushed forward, snatched the lighted match from his dying hand, and fired the undischarged twenty-four-pounder into the head of the storming column[123]. The enemy was shaken by a charge of grape delivered at ten paces, the citizens, shamed by Agostina’s example, rushed back to reoccupy the battery, and the assault was beaten off. Palafox states that the incident occurred before his own eyes: he gave the girl a commission as sub-lieutenant of artillery, and a warrant for a life-pension: she was seen a year later by several English witnesses, serving with her battery in Andalusia[124].

[p. 155]

The fruitless attack of July 2 cost the French 200 killed and 300 wounded. The Saragossan garrison lost somewhat less, in spite of the bombardment, since they had been fighting under cover against enemies who had to expose themselves whenever they got near the wall. Verdier resolved for the future to shun attempts at escalade, and to begin a regular siege. He commenced on the third of July to construct parallels, for a main attack on the southern side of the place, and a secondary attack on the north-western. He also threw a detachment across the Ebro [July 11], to close the hitherto undisturbed access to the city through the suburb of San Lazaro and the stone bridge. The force which could be spared for this object from an army of no more than 12,000 or 13,000 men was not really sufficient to hold the left bank of the Ebro, and merely made ingress and egress difficult without entirely preventing it. On two or three occasions when considerable bodies of Spaniards presented themselves, the French could do no more than skirmish with them and try to cut off the convoys which they were bringing to the city. They could not exclude them, and for the whole remainder of the siege the communications of the Saragossans with the open country were never entirely closed[125].

By July 15, Verdier’s trenches were commencing to work up close to the walls, and the next ten days of the month were occupied in desperate struggles for the convents of San José, of the Capuchins and Trinitarians, which lie outside the city near the Carmen and Porta Quemada gates. By the twenty-fourth the French had occupied them, connected them with their approaches, and begun to establish in them breaching batteries. Another, but less powerful, attack was directed against the Portillo gate. The mortars and howitzers bombarded the city continuously from the first to the third. But it was not till the dawn of August 4 that the heavy guns were ready to begin their task of battering down the gates and walls of Saragossa. After five hours of steady firing the Spanish batteries were silenced, and several breaches had been made, mostly in or about the Convent of Santa Engracia, at the southernmost point of the city. The streets behind it had been terribly shattered by the previous bombardment, and many buildings[p. 156] destroyed, notably the central hospital, from which the Spaniards had to remove, under a terrible hail of shells, more than 500 sick and wounded, as well as a number of lunatics and idiots: the institution had been used as an asylum before the outbreak of the war. Many of these unfortunate creatures were destroyed by the besiegers’ fire[126], as were also no small number of the wounded and of their doctors and nurses.

Palafox and his brother the marquis remained near Santa Engracia, trying to encourage their followers to repair the barricades behind the breaches, and to loophole and strengthen those of the houses which still stood firm. But amid the dreadful and unceasing storm of projectiles it was hard to keep the men together, and most of the projected retrenchments were battered down before they could be finished. At two o’clock in the afternoon of the fourth, Verdier let loose his storming columns, composed of four Polish and nine French battalions[127]. They were directed in three bodies against three separate breaches, the easternmost in the[p. 157] Convent of Santa Engracia, the second at the gate of the same name, the third more to the left, in the wall near the gate of the Carmen. All three were successful in forcing their way into the city: the defences had been completely shattered, and at one point 300 continuous yards of the outer wall had fallen. The Spaniards clung for some time to the cloisters and church of Santa Engracia, but were at last expelled or exterminated, and 1,000 yards of the enceinte with the adjoining buildings were in the hands of the French.

It was at this moment, apparently, that Verdier sent in a parlementaire with the laconic note—‘Head Quarters, Santa Engracia. Capitulation?’ To which Palafox returned the well-known reply—‘Head Quarters, Saragossa. War to the knife[128].’

All through the afternoon of the fourth of August, the French slowly pushed their way up the streets which lead northward towards the Coso, the main thoroughfare of Saragossa. They could only get forward by storming each house, and turning each barricade that offered resistance, so that their progress was very slow. While inflicting terrible losses on the Spaniards, they were also suffering very heavily themselves. But they drove a broad[p. 158] wedge into the city, till finally they reached and crossed the Coso, halfway between the southern wall and the river. In the streets beyond the Coso their impetus seemed to have exhausted itself: many of the men were too tired to press forward any longer; others turned aside to plunder the churches and the better sort of houses[129]. Verdier tried to cut his way to the great bridge, so as to divide the defenders into two separate bodies, and was so far successful that many of the Spaniards began to troop off across the river into the suburb of San Lazaro. But he himself was wounded, his main column lost its way in the narrow side-streets, and the attack died down.

In the late afternoon there was almost a suspension of hostilities, and the firing slackened for a space. But at last the Aragonese, encouraged by the exhaustion of their enemies, began to resume the offensive. The fugitives who had crossed to the northern side of the Ebro were hustled together and driven back by their leaders, while a loaded gun was placed on the bridge to prevent their return. The garrison of the eastern front, which had not been seriously attacked, sent all the reinforcements that it could spare into the centre of the town. At dusk masses of Spaniards debouched from the neighbourhood of the two cathedrals, and began to assail the positions held by the French beyond the line of the Coso. The first charge into the open street is recorded to have been led by a monk[130] and sixteen peasants, every one of whom were killed or wounded; but endless reinforcements poured out of every lane, and the exhausted French began to lose ground. The fighting was of that deadly sort in which the question has to be settled, whether the defenders of the houses in a street can shoot down their assailants, exposed in the roadway, before the latter can burst into each separate dwelling and exterminate its garrison in detail. Often the French held the upper stories long after the Spaniards had seized the ground floor, and the staircases had to be stormed one after the other. It was natural that in such struggles the defenders should receive no quarter. Though the fight raged with many variations of fortune in all the central[p. 159] parts of the city, there was after a time no doubt that the Aragonese were gaining ground. The French detachments which had penetrated furthest into the place were gradually cut off and exterminated; the main bodies of the columns drew back and strengthened themselves in two large stone buildings, the convents of San Francisco and San Diego. At nightfall they retained only a wedge-like section of the city, whose apex near San Francisco just touched the southern side of the Coso, while its base was formed by the line of wall between the gates of Santa Engracia and the Carmen.

The French had lost nearly 2,000 men in the struggle: the engineer Belmas gives the total as 462 killed and 1,505 wounded[131], more than a fifth of the troops which had actually been engaged in the assault. Among the Saragossans, who before the street-fighting began had been subjected to a severe bombardment for many hours, the casualties must have been nearly as great. But they could spare combatants more easily than their enemies: indeed they had more men than muskets, and as each defender fell there was a rush of the unarmed to get possession of his weapon.

During the night of August 4-5 both sides, fatigued though they were, set to work to cover themselves with barricades and works constructed with the débris of ruined houses. In the morning both French and Spaniards had rough but continuous lines of defence, those of the latter circling round those of the former, with nothing but the width of a narrow street between them. Wherever there was anything approaching an open space cannon had been brought up to sweep it. Where the houses still stood firm, communications had been made between them by breaking holes through the party walls. In the streets the corpses of both sides lay thick, for under the deadly cross-fire no one dared venture out to remove them: in a day or two the sanitary conditions would be horrible.

Meanwhile both besiegers and besieged were too exhausted to undertake any more serious operations, and the fighting sank to little more than a desultory fusillade between enemies equally[p. 160] well protected by their defences. Such interest as there was in the operations of August 5-6 lay outside the walls of Saragossa. On the afternoon of the day of the great assault a column of Spanish troops from Catalonia—two line battalions and 2,000 or 3,000 new levies and armed peasants—arrived at Villamayor on the north of the Ebro, only seven miles from the city. It escorted a much-desired convoy of ammunition, for the supplies in the city were running very low. While the fighting was still raging in the streets Palafox rode out of the suburb of San Lazaro with 100 dragoons and joined this force. On the next morning (August 5) he skirmished with the French troops which lay beyond the Ebro, and passed into the city one veteran battalion and a few wagons of munitions. He then proposed to attack the detached French brigade (that of Piré) with his whole remaining force on the next day, in order to clear the northern front, and to send the rest of his convoy—no less than 200 wagons—into Saragossa. But on the same night he received news of the battle of Baylen and the surrender of Dupont’s army. Moreover, he was informed that a division of the army of Valencia, under Saint-March, was on the way to reinforce him. This induced him to halt for two days, to see whether the French would not raise the siege without further fighting.

Verdier had got the same intelligence at the same hour, with orders to be ready to retreat at a moment’s notice, and to avoid entangling himself in further engagements. He was preparing to withdraw, when on the seventh he received supplementary dispatches from Madrid, with directions to hold on for the present, and to keep the Saragossans occupied, without, however, compromising himself too much. Accordingly he resumed the bombardment, and began to throw into the city an immense number of shells: for he saw that when his retreat was definitely ordered, he would not be able to carry off with him the vast stores of munitions that he had accumulated in his camp.
Map of Saragossa

Enlarge  Saragossa.

Seeing that the French did not move, Palafox attacked the covering force on the left bank of the Ebro on August 8. His enemies were very inferior in numbers and had been told not to risk anything, considering the delicate state of affairs. Accordingly the relieving force crossed the river Gallego, pushed back Piré’s 2,000 men in a long skirmishing fight, and ultimately established themselves on ground just outside the suburb of San[p. 161] Lazaro: the convoy, under cover of the fighting, successfully entered the city over the great bridge. That night Verdier withdrew Piré’s brigade across the river, thus leaving the whole northern front of the place free from blockade. Clearly this could only mean that he was about to raise the siege, but for five days more he continued to ravage the central parts of the city with his bombs, and to bicker at the barricades with the Saragossans. But on the thirteenth the Spaniards noted that his camps seemed to be growing empty, and on the fourteenth a series of explosions told them that he was abandoning his siege works. Santa Engracia and the other points held inside the city were all destroyed on that day, and the ammunition which could not be carried off was blown up. The guns which had been pressed forward into the ruined streets were spiked and left behind, as it would have been impossible to extricate them under the Spanish fire. Of those in the outer batteries some were thrown into the canal, others disabled by having their trunnions knocked off, others merely spiked. Altogether no less than fifty-four pieces, all more or less injured, but many susceptible of repair, were left behind to serve as trophies for the Saragossans.

Finally Verdier withdrew by slow marches up the Ebro to Tudela, where he took post on August 17. He had lost in all over 3,500 men in his long-continued struggle with the heroic city. The Aragonese must have suffered at least as much, but the figures are of course impossible to verify. They said that their casualties amounted to no more than 2,000, but this must surely be an understatement, for Palafox says that by August 1 there were of his original 7,000 levies only 3,500 left under arms. Even allowing for heavy diminution by desertion and dispersion, this implies very serious losses in action, and these seven Aragonese battalions formed only a part of the garrison, which counted 13,000 men on August 13. Probably the unembodied citizens and peasants suffered in a still heavier proportion than troops which had received even a small measure of organization. If the whole losses came to 4,500 it would not be surprising—but nothing can be stated with certainty. Yet whatever were their sufferings, the Saragossans had turned over a new page in the history of the art of war. They had defended for two months an unfortified place, by means of extemporized barricades, retrenchments, and earthworks, and had proved their ability to resist even a formidable train of siege[p. 162] artillery. If the news of Dupont’s disaster had not arrived in time to save them, they would no doubt have succumbed in the end, as must any besieged place which is not sooner or later relieved from the outside. But meanwhile they had accomplished a rare feat: almost unaided by regular troops, almost destitute of trained artillerymen and engineers, they had held at bay a force which Napoleon at the commencement of the siege would have supposed to be equal to the task of conquering not only Aragon, but the whole eastern side of the Iberian Peninsula.

SECTION III: CHAPTER III
OPERATIONS IN THE NORTH: BATTLE OF MEDINA DE RIO SECO

While Lefebvre-Desnouettes and Verdier were making their long series of attacks on Saragossa, matters were coming to a head in the north-west of Spain. The army of Galicia had at last descended into the plains, and commenced to threaten the right flank of Bessières and the communications between Burgos and Madrid. This forward movement was due neither to the Galician Junta, nor to the officer whom they had placed in command of their army, but to the obstinate persistence of Cuesta, who had not in the least learnt the lesson of caution from his defeat at Cabezon, and was eager to fight a pitched battle with all the forces that could be collected in Northern Spain.

The resources at hand were not inconsiderable: in Galicia, or on the way thither from Portugal, were no less than thirty-nine battalions of regular infantry—though most of them were very weak: there were also thirteen battalions of embodied militia, some thirty guns, and a handful of cavalry (not more than 150 sabres). The Junta had placed in command, after the murder of the captain-general Filanghieri, a comparatively young general—Joachim Blake, one of those many soldiers of fortune of Irish blood who formed such a notable element in the Spanish army. When the insurrection broke out he had been merely colonel of the regiment named ‘the Volunteers of the Crown’: he had never had more than three battalions to manage before he found himself placed at the head of the whole Galician army. Though a most unlucky general—half a dozen times he seems to have been the victim of ill fortune, for which he was hardly responsible—Blake was in real merit far above the average of the Spanish commanders. He had neither the slackness nor the arrogance which were the besetting sins of so many of the Peninsular generals: and his dauntless courage was not combined with recklessness or careless over-confidence. He showed from the first very considerable[p. 164] organizing power: all his efforts were directed to the task of inducing the Junta and the people of Galicia to allow him to draft the crowds of recruits who flocked to his banner into the old regiments of the line and the militia, instead of forming them into new corps. With some trouble he carried his point, and was able to bring up to their full complement most of the old battalions: of new units very few[132] were created. When he took the field it was only the old cadres thus brought up to strength that accompanied him, not raw and unsteady troops of new organization.

After hastily concentrating and brigading his army at Lugo, Blake led them to the edge of the mountains which divide Galicia from the plains of Leon. It was his original intention to stand at bay on the hills, and force the French to attack him. With this object he occupied the passes of Manzanal, Fuencebadon, and Puebla de Sanabria, the only places where roads of importance penetrate into the Galician uplands [June 23]. His whole field force, distributed into four divisions and a ‘vanguard brigade’ of light troops, amounted to some 25,000 men fit for the field: in addition, 8,000 or 10,000 new levies were being organized behind him, but he refused—with great wisdom—to bring them to the front during his first movements.

On Blake’s left flank were other Spanish troops: the Junta of the Asturias had raised some 15,000 men: but these—unlike the Galician army—were utterly raw and untrained. Of old troops there was but one single militia battalion among them. The Junta had dispersed them in small bodies all along the eastern and southern side of the province, arraying them to cover not only the high road from Madrid and Leon to Oviedo, but every impracticable mule-path that crosses the Cantabrian Mountains. By this unwise arrangement the Asturian army was weak at every point: it was impossible to concentrate more than 5,000 men for the defence of any part of the long and narrow province. The fact was that the Junta looked solely to the defence of its own land, and had no conception that the protection of the Asturias should be treated as only a section of the great problem of the protection of the whole of Northern Spain.

While the Galicians and the Asturians were taking up this[p. 165] purely defensive attitude, they had forgotten to reckon with one factor in their neighbourhood. Right in front of them lay the old Captain-General of Castile, with the wrecks of the army that had been so signally routed at Cabezon. He had retired to Benavente on the Esla, and there had halted, finding that he was not pursued by Lasalle. Here he reorganized his scattered Castilian levies into three battalions, and raised three more in the province of Leon. He had still 300 or 400 regular cavalry, but not a single gun. Quite undismayed by his late defeat, he persisted in wishing to fight in the plain, and began to send urgent messages both to Blake and to the Juntas of Asturias and Galicia, begging them to send down their armies from the hills, and aid him in making a dash at Valladolid, with the object of cutting off Bessières’ communications with Madrid, and so disarranging the whole system of Napoleon’s plan for the conquest of Spain.

The Asturians, partly from a well-justified disbelief in Cuesta’s ability, partly from a selfish desire to retain all their troops for the defence of their own province, refused to stir. They sent the Captain-General a modest reinforcement, two battalions of the newly raised regiment of Covadonga, but refused any more aid. Instead, they suggested that Cuesta should fall back on Leon and the southern slope of the Asturian hills, so as to threaten from thence any advance of the French into the plains of Leon.

But the Galician Junta showed themselves less unyielding. Despite of the remonstrances of Blake, who was set on maintaining the defensive, and holding the passes above Astorga, they consented to allow their army to move down into the plain of Old Castile and to join Cuesta. After some fruitless remonstrances Blake moved forward with the bulk of his host, leaving behind him his second division to hold the passes, while with the other three and his vanguard brigade he marched on Benavente [July 5].

On July 10 the armies of Galicia and Castile met at Villalpando, and a brisk quarrel at once broke out between their commanders. Cuesta was for attacking the French at once: Blake pointed out that for an army with no more than thirty guns and 500 or 600 cavalry to offer battle in the plains was sheer madness. The Irish general had the larger and more effective army, but Cuesta was thirteen years his senior as lieutenant-general, and insisted on assuming command of the combined host in accordance with the[p. 166] normal rules of military precedence. After some fruitless resistance Blake yielded, and the whole Spanish army moved forward on Valladolid: all that Cuesta would grant on the side of caution was that the third Galician division, 5,000 strong, should be left as a reserve at Benavente. Even this was a mistake: if the two generals were to fight at all, they should have put every available man in line, and have endeavoured at all costs to induce the Asturians also to co-operate with them. They might have had in all for the oncoming battle 40,000 men, instead of 22,000, if the outlying troops had been collected.

A blow from the north-west was precisely what Napoleon at Bayonne and Savary at Madrid had been expecting for some weeks. Both of them were perfectly conscious that any check inflicted on Bessières in Old Castile would wreck the whole plan of invasion. So much of the marshal’s corps d’armée had been distracted towards Saragossa, that it was clearly necessary to reinforce him. From Madrid Savary sent up half of the troops of the Imperial Guard which had hitherto been in the capital—three battalions of fusiliers (first regiment) and three squadrons of cavalry[133]. Napoleon afterwards blamed him severely for not having sent more, saying that from the mass of troops in and about Madrid he might have spared another complete division—that of Gobert, the second division of Moncey’s corps. Without its aid the Emperor half-expected that Bessières might be checked, if the Galicians came down in full force[134]. He himself sent up from Bayonne nearly all the troops which were at that moment under his hand, ten veteran battalions just arrived from Germany, forming the division of General Mouton.

The reinforcements being hurried on to Bessières by forced marches, that general found himself on July 9 at the head of a force with which he thought that he might venture to attack Blake and Cuesta. If they had brought with them all their troops, and had called in the Asturians, it is probable that the marshal would have found himself too weak to face them: fortunately for him he had only five-ninths of the army of Galicia[p. 167] and Cuesta’s miserable levies in front of him. His own fighting force was formed of odd fragments of all the divisions which formed his corps d’armée: large sections of each of them were left behind to guard his communications with France, and others were before Saragossa. Bessières marched from Burgos with the brigade of the Imperial Guard: at Palencia he picked up Lasalle’s cavalry with half Mouton’s newly arrived division of veterans (the second brigade was left at Vittoria) and a small part of Merle’s division, which had been hastily brought over the mountains from Santander to join him. There was also present the larger half of Verdier’s division, of which the rest was now in Aragon with its commander[135].

On the evening of July 13, Lasalle’s light cavalry got in touch with the outposts of the Spaniards near Medina de Rio Seco,[p. 168] and reported that Blake and Cuesta were present in force. On the next morning Bessières marched before daybreak from Palencia, and just as the day was growing hot, discovered the enemy drawn up on rising ground a little to the east of the small town which has given its name to the battle. Blake had 15,000 infantry and 150 cavalry with twenty guns[136]; Cuesta 6,000 infantry and 550 cavalry, but not a single cannon. They outnumbered Bessières by nearly two to one in foot soldiery, but had little more than half his number of horse, and only two-thirds as many guns.

A more prudent general than Cuesta would have refused to fight at all with an army containing in its ranks no less than 9,000 recruits, and almost destitute of cavalry. But if fighting was to be done, a wise man would at any rate have chosen a good position, where his flanks would be covered from turning movements and inaccessible to the enemy’s very superior force of horsemen. The old Captain-General cared nothing for such caution: he had merely drawn up his army on a gentle hillside, somewhat cut up by low stone walls, but practicable for cavalry at nearly every point. His flanks had no protection of any kind from the lie of the ground: behind his back was the town of Medina de Rio Seco, and the dry bed of the Sequillo river, obstacles which would tend to make a retreat difficult to conduct in orderly fashion. But a retreat was the last thing in Cuesta’s thoughts.
Map of Medina de Rio Seco

Enlarge  Battle of Medina de Rio Seco. July 14, 1808.

Bad as was the position selected, the way in which it was occupied was still more strange. The Captain-General had divided his host into two halves, the one consisting of the first division of[p. 169] the army of Galicia and of the vanguard brigade, the other of the fourth Galician division and the raw ‘Army of Castile.’ Blake with the first-named force was drawn up in a short, compact formation, three lines deep, at the south-eastern front of the hill, the ‘Plateau of Valdecuevas,’ as it is called. His right looked down into the plain, his left, in the centre of the plateau, stood quite ‘in the air.’ But nearly a mile to his left rear, and quite out of sight, lay the other half of the army, just too far off to protect Blake’s exposed flank if it should be attacked, and in a very bad position for defending itself. Why Cuesta ranged his left wing (or second line, if it may so be called) low down on the reverse slope of the plateau, and in a place where it could not even see Blake’s corps, it is impossible to conceive. Tore?o hazards the guess that, in his arrogant confidence, he placed Blake where he would have to bear the stress of the battle, and might probably lose ground, intending to come up himself with the left wing and restore the fight when his colleague should be sufficiently humbled. Such a plan would not have been outside the scope of the old man’s selfish pride.

Bessières, marching up from the east, came in sight of the Spaniards in the early morning. He at once deployed his whole army, and advanced in battle array over the plain. In front was a slight cavalry screen of Lasalle’s chasseurs; next came Mouton’s division, deployed to the right, and Merle’s division, with Sabathier’s brigade, to the left of the country-road which leads, over the plateau, towards Medina de Rio Seco. The Imperial Guard, horse and foot, and the bulk of Lasalle’s cavalry brigade were in reserve behind the centre. On getting near the enemy’s position, Bessières soon discovered the two halves of the Spanish army and the broad gap which lay between them. His mind was at once made up: he proposed to contain Cuesta with a small force, and to fall upon and envelop Blake with the rest of his army before the Captain-General of Castile could come to his aid. This excellent plan was carried out to the letter, thanks to the incapacity of Cuesta.

Not far east of the plateau of Valdecuevas lay an isolated eminence, the mound of Monclin: on it the marshal drew up the greater part of his artillery (twenty guns) which began to batter Blake’s front line: the Galician batteries replied, and held their own though outnumbered by two to one. Then Sabathier’s eight[p. 170] weak battalions deployed and commenced a cautious attack upon Blake’s front: this was not to be pressed home for a time. Meanwhile Merle’s seven battalions pushed into the fight, continuing Sabathier’s line to the south-west and trying to envelop Blake’s southern flank. They forced the Galicians to throw back their right wing, and to keep continually extending it, in order to avoid being turned. The Spaniards fought not amiss, and for some hour or more the battle was almost stationary.

Meanwhile, far to the French right, Mouton’s five battalions were executing a cautious demonstration against Cuesta’s forces, across the northern folds of the plateau. The old general allowed himself to be completely occupied by this trifling show of attack, and made no movement to aid Blake’s wing. The gap between him and his colleague was not filled up. Then came the sudden development of Bessières’ plan: Sabathier and Merle were told to attack in earnest, and while Blake was deeply engaged with their fifteen battalions, Lasalle rode into the open space on the left of the Galicians, formed up the 22nd chasseurs à cheval at right angles to the Spanish line, and charged in furiously upon Blake’s flank. The unfortunate troops on whom the blow fell were deployed in line, and utterly unprepared for a cavalry shock from the side. The first battalion which received the attack broke at once and ran in upon the second[137]: in a few minutes Blake’s whole left wing fell down like a pack of cards, each corps as it fled sweeping away that next to it. The French infantry, advancing at the same moment, ran in with the bayonet, seized the Spanish guns, and hustled the Galicians westward along the plateau in a mob. Blake’s troops were only saved from complete destruction by the steadiness of a Navarrese battalion, which formed square to cover the retreat, and at the cost of one-third of its strength allowed the other corps to get a long start in their flight. They retired due west, and crossed the Sequillo to the south of the town of Rio Seco before they could be rallied.

It was now the turn of Cuesta to suffer. The moment that Blake was disposed of, Bessières marched over the hill towards the[p. 171] other half of the Spanish army: leaving some of Lasalle’s cavalry and Sabathier’s brigade to pursue the routed corps, he formed the whole of his remaining troops in a line, bringing up the reserve of the Imperial Guard to make its centre, while Mouton formed the right wing and the two brigades of Merle the left. Cuesta, outnumbered and attacked down hill, would have done wisely to retreat and to seek for shelter in and behind the town of Rio Seco in his immediate rear. But he had prepared a new surprise for the enemy; as they descended upon him they were astonished to see his front line, the eight battalions which formed the fourth Galician division, form itself into columns of attack and slowly commence to climb the hill with the object of attacking their right and centre. Meanwhile Cuesta’s handful of cavalry rode out on the northern end of the line and fell upon the skirmishers of Mouton’s division, whom it chased back till it was met and driven off by the three squadrons of the Imperial Guard.

The uphill charge of the fourth Galician division was a fine but an utterly useless display of courage. They were attacking nearly double their own numbers of victorious troops, who outflanked them on both wings and tore them to pieces with a concentric fire of artillery to which they could not respond. The regiments at each end of the line were soon broken up, but in the centre two battalions of picked grenadiers[138] actually closed with the French, captured four guns of the Imperial Guard, and forced back the supporting infantry of the same corps for a short space, till Bessières hurled upon them the three squadrons of the Guard-Cavalry, which broke them and swept them down hill again.

Seeing his attack fail, Cuesta bade his last reserve, the raw Castilian and Leonese levies, retreat behind the river and the town of Medina de Rio Seco, which they did without much loss, covered to a certain extent by the two Asturian battalions, the only part of Cuesta’s own force which was seriously engaged.

The ‘Army of Castile,’ therefore, had no more than 155 casualties, but the two Galician divisions had suffered heavily. They left behind them on the field nearly 400 dead, and over 500 wounded, with some 1,200 prisoners. The ten guns of Blake’s wing had all been captured, and with them several pairs of colours. In addition[p. 172] more than a thousand of the Galician recruits had dispersed, and could not be rallied. Altogether Blake’s army had lost over 3,000 men. The French, as might have been expected, had suffered comparatively little: they had 105 killed and 300 wounded, according to Foy; other historians give even smaller figures.

A vigorous pursuit might have done much further harm to the defeated Spaniards; but Bessières’ men had been marching since two in the morning, and fighting all through the mid-day. They were much fatigued, and their commander did not press the chase far beyond the river. But the town of Rio Seco was sacked from cellar to garret, with much slaying of non-combatants and outrages of all kinds[139], a fact very discreditable to the marshal, who could have stopped the plunder had he chosen.

The defeated generals met, a little to the west of the battle-field, and after a bitter altercation, in which Blake used the plainest words about Cuesta’s generalship, parted in wrath. The Galicians retired by the way they had come, and joined the division which had been left behind three days before; they then went back to the passes above Astorga, abandoning a considerable amount of stores at Benavente. Cuesta took the army of Castile to Leon, retiring on the Asturias rather than on Galicia.

Bessières’ well-earned victory was creditable to himself and his troops, but the way had been made easy for him by the astounding tactical errors of the Captain-General of Castile. The rank and file of the Spanish army had no reason to be ashamed of their conduct: it was their commander who should have blushed at the reckless way in which he had sacrificed his willing troops. Handled by Cuesta the best army in the world might have been defeated by inferior numbers.

The strategical results of the battle of Rio Seco were great and far-reaching. All danger of the cutting of the communications between Madrid and Bayonne was averted, and Napoleon, his mind set at rest on this point, could now assert that Dupont’s position in Andalusia was henceforth the only hazardous point in his great scheme of invasion[140]. It would clearly be a very long time before the army of Galicia would again dare to take the offensive, and meanwhile Madrid was safe, and the attempt to conquer Southern[p. 173] Spain could be resumed without any fear of interruption. Bessières, after such a victory, was strong enough not to require any further reinforcements from the central reserve in and about the capital.

The most obvious result of Rio Seco was that King Joseph was now able to proceed on his way to Madrid, and to enter the city in triumph. After receiving the homage of the Spanish notables at Bayonne, and nominating a ministry, he had crossed the frontier on July 9. But he had been obliged to stop short at Burgos, till Bessières should have beaten off the attack of Blake and Cuesta: his presence there had been most inconvenient to the marshal, who had been forced to leave behind for his protection Rey’s veteran brigade of Mouton’s division, which he would gladly have taken out to the approaching battle.

When the news of Medina de Rio Seco arrived at Burgos, the usurper resumed his march on Madrid, still escorted by Rey’s troops. He travelled by short stages, stopping at every town to be complimented by reluctant magistrates and corporations, who dared not refuse their homage. The populace everywhere shut itself up in its houses in silent protest. Joseph’s state entry into Madrid on July 20 was the culminating point of the melancholy farce. He passed through the streets with a brilliant staff, between long lines of French bayonets, and amid the blare of military music. But not a Spaniard was to be seen except the handful of courtiers and officials who had accepted the new government. The attempts of the French to produce a demonstration, or even to get the town decorated, had met with passive disobedience. Like Charles of Austria when he entered Madrid in 1710, Joseph Bonaparte might have exclaimed that he could see ‘a court, but no people’ about him. But he affected not to notice the dismal side of the situation, assumed an exaggerated urbanity, and heaped compliments and preferment on the small section of Afrancesados who adhered to him.

The usurper had resolved to give himself as much as possible the air of a Spanish national king. Of all his Neapolitan court he had brought with him only one personage, his favourite Saligny, whom he had made Duke of San Germano. The rest of his household was composed of nobles and officials chosen from among the herd which had bowed before him at Bayonne. There were among them several of the late partisans of King Ferdinand, of whom[p. 174] some had frankly sold themselves to his supplanter, while others (like the Duke of Infantado) were only looking for an opportunity to abscond when it might present itself. The first list of ministers was also full of names that were already well known in the Spanish bureaucracy. Of the cabinet of Ferdinand VII, Cevallos the minister of Foreign Affairs, O’Farrill at the War Office, Pi?uela at the ministry of Justice, were base enough to accept the continuation of their powers by the usurper. Urquijo, who took the Secretaryship of State, was an old victim of Godoy’s, who had once before held office under Charles IV. Mazarredo, who was placed at the ministry of Marine, was perhaps the most distinguished officer in the Spanish navy. But Joseph imagined that his greatest stroke of policy was the appointment as minister of the Interior of Gaspar de Jovellanos, the most prominent among the Spanish liberals, whose reputation for wisdom and patriotism had cost him a long imprisonment during the days of the Prince of the Peace. The idea was ingenious, but the plan for strengthening the ministry failed, for Jovellanos utterly refused to take office along with a clique of traitors and in the cabinet of a usurper. Yet even without him, the body of courtiers and officials whom Joseph collected was far more respectable, from their high station and old experience, than might have been expected—a fact very disgraceful to the Spanish bureaucrats.

In less troublous times, and with a more legitimate title to the crown, Joseph Bonaparte might have made a very tolerable king. He was certainly a far more worthy occupant of the throne than any of the miserable Spanish Bourbons: but he was not of the stuff of which successful usurpers are made. He was a weak, well-intentioned man, not destitute of a heart or a conscience: and as he gradually realized all the evils that he had brought on Spain by his ill-regulated ambition, he grew less and less satisfied with his position as his brother’s tool. He made long and untiring efforts to conciliate the Spaniards, by an unwavering affability and mildness, combined with a strict attention to public business. Unfortunately all his efforts were counteracted by his brother’s harshness, and by the greed and violence of the French generals, over whom he could never gain any control. It is a great testimony in his favour that the Spanish people despised rather than hated him: their more violent animosity was reserved for Napoleon. His nominal subjects agreed to regard him as a humorous character:[p. 175] they laughed at his long harangues, in which Neapolitan phrases were too often mixed with the sonorous Castilian: they insisted that he was blind of one eye—which did not happen to be the case. They spoke of him as always occupied with the pleasures of the table and with miscellaneous amours—accusations for which there was a very slight foundation of fact. They insisted that he was a coward and a sluggard—titles which he was far from meriting. He was, they said, perpetually hoodwinked, baffled, and bullied, alike by his generals, his ministers, and his mistresses. But they never really hated him—a fact which, considering the manner of his accession, must be held to be very much to his credit.

But the first stay of the ‘Intrusive King,’ as the Spaniards called him, in his capital, was to be very short. He had only arrived there on July 20: his formal proclamation took place on the twenty-fourth. He had hardly settled down in the royal palace, and commenced a dispute with the effete ‘Council of Castile’—which with unexpected obstinacy refused to swear the oath to him and to the constitution of Bayonne—when he was obliged to take to flight. On the twenty-fourth rumours began to be current in Madrid that a great disaster had taken place in Andalusia, and that Dupont’s army had been annihilated. On the twenty-eighth the news was confirmed in every particular. On August 1, the King, the court, and the 20,000 French troops which still remained in and about the capital, marched out by the northern road, and took their way towards the Ebro. This retreat was the result of a great council of war, in which the energetic advice of Savary, who wished to fight one more battle in front of the capital, with all the forces that could be concentrated, was overruled by the King and the majority of the generals. ‘A council of war never fights,’ as has been most truly observed.
SECTION III: CHAPTER IV
DUPONT IN ANDALUSIA: THE CAPITULATION OF BAYLEN

We left General Dupont at Andujar, on the upper course of the Guadalquivir, whither he had retired on June 19 after evacuating Cordova. Deeply troubled by the interruption of his communications with Madrid, and by the growing strength displayed by the Spanish army in his front, he had resolved that it was necessary to draw back to the foot of the Sierra Morena, and to recover at all costs his touch with the main French army in the capital. He kept sending to Murat (or rather to Savary, who had now superseded the Grand-Duke) persistent demands for new orders and for large reinforcements. Most of his messengers were cut off on the way by the insurgents, but his situation had become known at head quarters, and was engrossing much of Savary’s attention—more of it indeed than Napoleon approved. The Emperor wrote on July 13 that the decisive point was for the moment in Castile, and not in Andalusia, and that the best way to strengthen Dupont was to reinforce Bessières[141].

Such had not been Savary’s opinion: frightened at the isolation in which Dupont now lay, he sent to his assistance the second division of his corps, 6,000 men under General Vedel, all recruits of the ‘legions of reserve,’ save one single battalion of Swiss troops. The division was accompanied by Boussard’s cavalry, the 6th Provisional Dragoons, some 600 strong. Vedel made his way through La Mancha without difficulty, but on entering the Despe?a Perros defiles found his passage disputed by a body of insurgents—2,000 peasants with four antique cannon—who had stockaded themselves in the midst of the pass. A resolute attack scattered them in a few minutes, and on reaching La Carolina on the southern slope of[p. 177] the mountains Vedel got in touch with Dupont, who had hitherto no notice of his approach [June 27].

Instead of leaving the newly arrived division to guard the passes, Dupont called it down to join him in the valley of the Guadalquivir. With the assistance of Vedel’s troops he considered himself strong enough to make head against the Spanish army under Casta?os, which was commencing to draw near to Andujar. Keeping his original force at that town—a great centre of roads, but a malarious spot whose hospitals were already crowded with 600 sick,—he placed Vedel at Baylen, a place sixteen miles further east, but still in the plain, though the foot-hills of the Sierra Morena begin to rise just behind it. To assert himself and strike terror into the insurgents, Dupont ordered one of Vedel’s brigades to make a forced march to Jaen, the capital of a province and a considerable focus of rebellion. This expedition scattered the local levies, took and sacked Jaen, and then returned in safety to Baylen [July 2-3].

Meanwhile Casta?os was drawing near: he had now had a month in which to organize his army. Like Blake in Galicia, he had used the recruits of Andalusia to fill up the gaps in the depleted battalions of the regular army. But less fortunate than his colleague in the north, he had not been able to prevent the Juntas of Seville and Granada from creating a number of new volunteer corps, and had been obliged to incorporate them in his field army, where they were a source of weakness rather than of strength. His total force was some 33,000 or 34,000 men, of whom 2,600 were cavalry, for in this arm he was far better provided than was the army of the North. The whole was organized in four divisions, under Generals Reding, Coupigny, Felix Jones (an Irish officer, in spite of his Welsh name), and La Pe?a. In addition there was a flying brigade of new levies under Colonel Cruz-Murgeon, which was pushed forward along the roots of the mountains, at a considerable distance in front of the main body: it was ordered to harass Dupont’s northern flank and to cut his communications with Baylen and La Carolina.

With 16,000 or 17,000 men, including nearly 3,500 cavalry, Dupont ought to have been able to contain Casta?os, if not to beat him. The proportion of his forces to those of the enemy was not much less than that which Bessières had possessed at Medina de Rio Seco. But, unfortunately for himself and his[p. 178] master, Dupont was far from possessing the boldness and the skill of the marshal. By assuming not a vigorous offensive but a timid defensive along a protracted front, he threw away his chances. The line which he had resolved to hold was that of the Upper Guadalquivir, from Andujar to the next passage up the river, the ferry of Mengibar, eight miles from Baylen. This gave a front of some fifteen miles to hold: but unfortunately even when drawn out to this length the two divisions of Barbou and Vedel did not cover all the possible lines of attack which Casta?os might adopt. He might still march past them and cut them off from the defiles of the Morena, by going a little higher up the river and crossing it near Baeza and Ubeda. Dupont was wrong to take this line of defence at all: unless he was prepared to attack the army of Andalusia in the open, he should have retired to Baylen or to La Carolina, where he would have been able to cover the passes for as long as he might choose, since he could not have had either of his flanks turned.

Meanwhile he was gratified to hear that further reinforcements were being sent to him. Unreasonably disquieted about Andalusia, as Napoleon thought, Savary proceeded to send a third division to aid Dupont. This was Gobert’s, the second of Moncey’s corps: it started from Madrid not quite complete, and left strong detachments at the more important towns along the road through La Mancha. Though originally seventeen battalions strong, it reached the northern slope of the Sierra Morena with only ten. Savary had not intended it to go any further: he had told Dupont that it was to be used to cover his retreat, if a retreat became necessary, but not for active operations in Andalusia. But disregarding these directions Dupont commanded Gobert to cross the Morena and come down to join Vedel: this he did, bringing with him nine ‘provisional battalions[142]’ and the second provisional regiment of cuirassiers, perhaps 5,000 men in all. There were now over 20,000 French on the south side of the mountain, a force amply sufficient to deal with Casta?os and his 33,000 Andalusians [July 7]. But[p. 179] they were still widely scattered. Dupont lay at Andujar with 9,000 or 10,000 sabres and bayonets: Vedel was sixteen miles away at Baylen, with 6,000 men, of whom 2,000 under General Liger-Belair were pushed forward to the ferry of Mengibar. Gobert was at La Carolina, at the foot of the passes, with five battalions about him, and a sixth encamped on the summit of the defile. He had sent forward the remainder of his division (the four battalions of the sixth provisional regiment, and half the second provisional cuirassiers) to join Dupont at Andujar, so that he had not more than 2,800 bayonets and 350 cavalry with him.

Casta?os, meanwhile, had brought up his whole army, with the exception of the flying corps of Cruz-Murgeon, to a line close in front of Andujar: the heads of his columns were at Arjona and Arjonilla, only five miles from Dupont. On July 11 the Spanish generals held a council of war at Porcu?a, and drew out their plan of operations. Since the enemy seemed to be still quiescent, they resolved to attack him in his chosen position behind the river. Casta?os, in person—with the divisions of Jones and La Pe?a, 12,000 strong—undertook to keep Dupont employed, by delivering an attack on Andujar, which he did not intend to press home unless he got good news from his second and third columns. Meanwhile, six miles up the river, Coupigny with the second division, nearly 8,000 strong, was to attempt to cross the Guadalquivir by the ford of Villa Nueva. Lastly, Reding with the first division, the best and most numerous of the whole army, 10,000 strong, was to seize the ferry of Mengibar and march on Baylen. Here he was to be joined by Coupigny, and the two corps were then to fall upon the rear of Dupont’s position at Andujar, while Casta?os was besetting it in front. It was their aim to surround and capture the whole of the French division, if its general did not move away before the encircling movement was complete. Meanwhile the flying column of Cruz-Murgeon, about 3,000 strong, was to cross the Guadalquivir below Andujar, throw itself into the mountains in the north, and join hands with Reding and Coupigny behind the back of Dupont.

This plan, though ultimately crowned with success, was perilous in the highest degree. But Casta?os had seriously underestimated the total force of Dupont, as well as misconceived his exact position. He was under the impression that the main body of the French, which he did not calculate at more than 12,000 or 14,000 men,[p. 180] was concentrated at Andujar, and that there were nothing more than weak detachments at Mengibar, Baylen, or La Carolina. These, he imagined, could not stand before Reding, and when the latter had once got to the northern bank of the river, he would easily clear the way for Coupigny to cross. But as a matter of fact Vedel had 6,000 men at Mengibar and Baylen, with 3,000 more under Gobert within a short march of him. If the Spanish plan had been punctually carried out, Reding should have suffered a severe check at the hands of these two divisions, while Dupont could easily have dealt with Casta?os at Andujar. Coupigny, if he got across at Villa Nueva, while the divisions on each side of him were beaten off, would have been in a very compromised position, and could not have dared to push forward. But in this curious campaign the probable never happened, and everything went in the most unforeseen fashion.

On July 13 the Spanish plan began to be carried out, Reding marching for Mengibar and Coupigny for Villa Nueva. Casta?os kept quiet at Arjonilla, till his lieutenants should have reached the points which they were to attack. On the same day Dupont received the news of Moncey’s repulse before Valencia, and made up his mind that he must persevere in his defensive attitude, without making any attempt to mass his troops and fall upon the enemy in his front[143]. Just at the moment when his enemies were putting the game into his hands, by dividing themselves into three columns separated from each other by considerable gaps, he relinquished every intention of taking advantage of their fault.

On July 14 Reding appeared in front of the ferry of Mengibar, and pushed back beyond the river the outlying pickets of Liger-Belair’s detachment. He made no further attempt to press the French, but Dupont, disquieted about an attack on this point, ordered Gobert to bring down the remains of his division to Baylen, to join Vedel. Next morning the Spaniards began to develop their whole plan: Casta?os appeared on a long front opposite Andujar, and made a great demonstration against the position of Dupont, using all his artillery and showing heads of columns at several points. Coupigny came down to the river[p. 181] at Villa Nueva, and got engaged with a detachment which was sent out from Andujar to hold the ford. Reding, making a serious attempt to push forward, crossed the Guadalquivir at Mengibar and attacked Liger-Belair. But Vedel came up to the support of his lieutenant, and when the Swiss general found, quite contrary to his expectation, a whole division deployed against him, he ceased to press his advance, and retired once more beyond the river.

Nothing decisive had yet happened: but the next day was to be far more important. The operations opened with two gross faults made by the French: Dupont had been so much impressed with the demonstration made against him by Casta?os, that he judged himself hopelessly outnumbered at Andujar, and sent to Vedel for reinforcements. He bade him send a battalion or two, or even a whole brigade, if the force that he had fought at Mengibar seemed weak and unenterprising[144]. This was an error, for Casta?os only outnumbered the French at Andujar by two or three thousand men, and was not really to be feared. But Vedel made a worse slip: despising Reding overmuch, he marched on Baylen, not with one brigade, but with his whole division, save the original detachment of two battalions under Liger-Belair which remained to watch Mengibar. Starting at midnight, he reached Andujar at two on the afternoon of the sixteenth, to find that Casta?os had done no more than repeat his demonstration of the previous day, and had been easily held back. Cruz-Murgeon’s levies, which the Spanish general had pushed over the river below Andujar, had received a sharp repulse when they tried to molest Dupont’s flank. Coupigny had made an even feebler show than his chief at the ford of Villa Nueva, and had not passed the Guadalquivir.

But Reding, on the morning of the sixteenth, had woken up to unexpected vigour. He had forded the river near Mengibar, and fallen on Liger-Belair’s detachment for the second time. Hard pressed, the French brigadier had sent for succour to Baylen, whither Gobert had moved down when Vedel marched for Andujar. The newly arrived general came quickly to the aid of the compromised detachment, but he was very weak, for he had left a battalion at La Carolina and sent another with a squadron of cuirassiers to Li?ares, to guard against a rumoured movement of the Spaniards along the Upper Guadalquivir. He only brought with him three battalions and 200 cavalry, and this was not[p. 182] enough to contain Reding. The 4,000 men of the two French detachments were outnumbered by more than two to one; they suffered a thorough defeat, and Gobert was mortally wounded. His brigadier, Dufour, who took over the command, fell back on Baylen, eight miles to the rear. Next morning, though not pressed by Reding, he retired towards La Carolina, to prevent himself being cut off from the passes, for he credited a false rumour that the Spaniards were detaching troops by way of Li?ares to seize the Despe?a Perros.

Dupont heard of Gobert’s defeat on the evening of the sixteenth. It deranged all his plans, for it showed him that the enemy were not massed in front of Andujar, as he supposed, but had a large force far up the river. Two courses were open to him—either to march on Baylen with his whole army in order to attack Reding, and to reopen the communications with La Carolina and the passes, or to fall upon Casta?os and the troops in his immediate front. An enterprising officer would probably have taken the latter alternative, and could not have failed of success, for the whole French army in Andalusia save the troops of Belair and Dufour was now concentrated at Andujar, and not less than 15,000 bayonets and 3,000 sabres were available for an attack on Casta?os’ 12,000 men[145]. Even if Coupigny joined his chief, the French would have almost an equality in numbers and a great superiority in cavalry and guns. There cannot be the slightest doubt that the Spaniards[p. 183] would have suffered a defeat, and then it would have been possible to expel Reding from Baylen without any danger of interference from other quarters.

But, in a moment of evil inspiration, Dupont chose to deprive himself of the advantage of having practically his whole army concentrated on one spot, and determined to copy the error of the Spaniards by splitting his force into two equal halves. He resolved to retain his defensive position in front of Andujar, and to keep there his original force—Barbou’s infantry and Frésia’s horse. But Vedel with his own men, the four battalions from Gobert’s division which were at Andujar, and 600 cavalry, was sent off to Baylen, where he was directed to rally the beaten troops of Dufour and Liger-Belair, and then to fall upon Reding and chase him back beyond the Guadalquivir[146].

On the morning, therefore, of July 17 Vedel set out with some 6,000 men and marched to Baylen. Arriving there he found that Dufour had evacuated the place, and had hurried on to La Carolina, on the false hypothesis that Reding had pushed past him to seize the passes. As a matter of fact the Spaniard had done nothing of the kind: after his success at Mengibar, he had simply retired to his camp by the river, and given his men twenty-four hours’ rest. It was a strange way to employ the day after a victory—but his quiescence chanced to have the most fortunate[p. 184] effect. Vedel, on hearing that Dufour had hastened away to defend La Carolina and the passes, resolved to follow him. He was so inexcusably negligent that he did not even send a cavalry reconnaissance towards Mengibar, to find out whether any Spanish force remained there. Had he done so, he would have found Reding’s whole division enjoying their well-earned siesta! In the direction of La Carolina and the passes there was no enemy save a small flanking column of 1,800 raw levies under the Count of Valdeca?as, which lay somewhere near Li?ares.
Map of the battle of Baylen

Enlarge  Battle of Baylen July 19, 1808, at the moment of Dupont’s third attack.
Map of Andalusia

Enlarge  Part of Andalusia, between Andujar and the Passes. July 19, 1808.

On the night of the seventeenth, Vedel and his men, tired out by a long march of over twenty miles, slept at Guarroman, halfway between Baylen and La Carolina. Dufour and Liger-Belair had reached the last-named place and Santa Elena, and had found no Spaniards near them. On the morning of the eighteenth Vedel followed them, and united his troops to theirs. He had then some 10,000 or 11,000 men concentrated in and about La Carolina, with one single battalion left at Guarroman to keep up his touch with Dupont. The latter had been entirely deceived by the false news which Vedel had sent him from Baylen—to the effect that Reding and his corps had marched for the passes, in order to cut the French communications with Madrid. Believing the story, he forwarded to his subordinate an approval of his disastrous movement[147], and bade him ‘instantly attack and crush the Spanish force before him, and after disposing of it return as quickly as possible to Andujar, to deal with the troops of the enemy in that direction.’ Unfortunately, as we have seen, there was no Spanish corps at all in front of Vedel; but by the time that he discovered the fact it was too late for him to rejoin Dupont without a battle[148]. His[p. 185] troops were tired out with two night marches: there were no supplies of food to be got anywhere but at La Carolina, and he decided that he must halt for at least twelve hours before returning to join Dupont.

Meanwhile, on the morning of the eighteenth, Reding’s 9,500 men, of whom 750 were cavalry, had been joined by Coupigny and the second Andalusian division, which amounted to 7,300 foot and 500 horse. Advancing from Mengibar to attack Baylen, they found to their surprise that the place was unoccupied: Vedel’s rearguard had left it on the previous afternoon. Reding intended to march on Andujar from the rear on the next day, being under the full belief that Vedel was still with Dupont, and that the troops which had retired on La Carolina were only the fragments of Gobert’s force. For Casta?os and his colleagues had drawn up their plan of operations on the hypothesis that the enemy were still concentrated at Andujar.

Reding therefore, with some 17,000 men, encamped in and about Baylen, intending to start at daybreak on July 19, and to fall on Dupont from behind, while his chief assailed him in front. But already before the sun was up, musket-shots from his pickets to the west announced that the French were approaching from that direction. It was with the head and not with the rear of Dupont’s column that Casta?os’ first and second divisions were to be engaged, for the enemy had evacuated Andujar, and was in full march for Baylen.

On the night of the seventeenth Dupont had received the news that Vedel had evacuated Baylen and gone off to the north-east, so that a gap of thirty miles or more now separated him from his lieutenant. He had at first been pleased with the move, as we have seen: but presently he gathered, from the fact that Casta?os did not press him, but only assailed him with a distant and ineffective cannonade, that the main stress of the campaign was not at Andujar but elsewhere. The Spanish army was shifting[p. 186] itself eastward, and he therefore resolved that he must do the same, though he would have to abandon his cherished offensive position, his entrenchments, and such part of his supplies as he could not carry with him. Having made up his mind to depart, Dupont would have done wisely to start at once: if he had gone off early on the morning of the eighteenth, he would have found Reding and Coupigny not established in position at Baylen, but only just approaching from the south. Probably he might have brushed by their front, or even have given them a serious check, if he had fallen on them without hesitation.

But two considerations induced the French general to wait for the darkness, and to waste fourteen invaluable hours at Andujar. The first was that he hoped by moving at night to escape the notice of Casta?os, who might have attacked him if his retreat was open and undisguised. The second was that he wished to carry off his heavy baggage train: not only had he between 600 and 800 sick to load on his wagons, but there was an enormous mass of other impedimenta, mainly consisting of the plunder of Cordova. French and Spanish witnesses unite in stating that the interminable file of 500 vehicles which clogged Dupont’s march was to a very great extent laden with stolen goods[149]. And it was the officers rather than the men who were responsible for this mass of slow-moving transport.

It was not therefore till nine in the evening of the eighteenth that the French general thought fit to move. After barricading and blocking up the bridge of Andujar—he dared not use gunpowder to destroy it for fear of rousing Casta?os—he started on his night march. He had with him thirteen battalions of infantry and four and a half regiments of cavalry, with twenty-four guns, in all about 8,500 foot soldiers and 2,500 horse, allowing for the losses which he had sustained in sick and wounded during the earlier phases of the campaign[150]. His march was arranged as[p. 187] follows:—Chabert’s infantry brigade led the van: then came the great convoy: behind it were the four Swiss battalions under Colonel Schramm, which had lately been incorporated with the French army. These again were followed by Pannetier’s infantry brigade and Dupré’s two regiments of chasseurs à cheval. The rearguard followed at some distance: it was composed of two and a half regiments of heavy cavalry, placed under the command of General Privé, with the one veteran infantry battalion which the army possessed, the 500 Marines of the Guard, as also six compagnies d’élite picked from the ‘legions of reserve.’ From the fact that Dupont placed his best troops in this quarter, it is evident that he expected to be fighting a rearguard action, with Casta?os in pursuit, rather than to come into contact with Spanish troops drawn up across his line of march. He was ignorant that Reding and Coupigny had occupied Baylen on the previous day—a fact which speaks badly for his cavalry: with 2,500 horsemen about him, he ought to have known all that was going on in his neighbourhood. Probably the provisional regiments, which formed his whole mounted force, were incapable of good work in the way of scouting and reconnaissances.

The little town of Baylen is situated in a slight depression of a saddle-backed range of hills which runs southward out from the Sierra Morena. The road which leads through it passes over the lowest point in the watershed, as is but natural: to the north and south of the town the heights are better marked: they project somewhat on each flank, so that the place is situated in a sort of amphitheatre. The hill to the south of Baylen is called the Cerrajon: those to the north the Cerro del Zumacar Chico, and the Cerro del Zumacar Grande. All three are bare and bald, without a shrub or tree: none of them are steep, their lower slopes are quite suitable for cavalry work, and even their rounded summits are not inaccessible to a horseman. The ground to the west of them, over which the French had to advance, is open and level for a mile and a half: then it grows more irregular, and is thickly covered with olive groves and other vegetation, so that a force advancing over it is hidden from the view of a spectator on the hills above Baylen till it comes out into the open. The wooded ground is about two and a half miles broad: its western limit is the ravine of a mountain torrent, the Rumblar (or Herrumblar, as the aspirate-loving Andalusians sometimes call[p. 188] it). The road from Andujar to Baylen crosses this stream by a bridge, the only place where artillery can pass the rocky but not very deep depression.

It is necessary to say a few words about the ground eastward from Baylen, as this too was not unimportant in the later phases of the battle. Here the road passes through a broad defile rather than a plain. It is entirely commanded by the heights on its northern side, where lies the highest ground of the neighbourhood, the Cerro de San Cristobal, crowned by a ruined hermitage. The difference between the approach to Baylen from the west and from the east, is that on the former side the traveller reaches the town through a semicircular amphitheatre of upland, while by the latter he comes up a V-shaped valley cut through the hills.

Reding and Coupigny were somewhat surprised by the bicker of musketry which told them that the French had fallen upon their outposts. But fortunately for them their troops were already getting under arms, and were bivouacking over the lower slopes of the hills in a position which made it possible to extemporize without much difficulty a line of battle, covering the main road and the approaches to Baylen. They hastily occupied the low amphitheatre of hills north and south of the town. Reding deployed to the right of the road, on the heights of the Cerro del Zumacar Chico, Coupigny to its left on the Cerrajon. Their force was of a very composite sort—seventeen battalions of regulars, six of embodied militia, five of new Andalusian levies. The units varied hopelessly in size, some having as few as 350 men, others as many as 1,000. They could also dispose of 1,200 cavalry and sixteen guns. The greater part of the latter were placed in battery on the central and lowest part of the position, north and south of the high road and not far in front of Baylen. The infantry formed a semicircular double line: in front were deployed battalions near the foot of the amphitheatre of hills; in rear, higher up the slope or concealed behind the crest, was a second line in columns of battalions. The cavalry were drawn up still further to the rear. Finally, as a necessary precaution against the possible arrival of Vedel on the scene from La Carolina, Reding placed seven battalions far away to the east, on the other side of Baylen, with cavalry pickets out in front to give timely notice of any signs of the enemy in this quarter. These 3,500 men were quite out of the battle as long as Dupont was the only enemy in sight.

[p. 189]

Before it was fully daylight General Chabert and his brigade had thrust back the Spanish outposts. But the strength of the insurgent army was quite unknown to him: the morning dusk still lay in the folds of the hills, and he thought that he might possibly have in front of him nothing but some flying column of insignificant strength. Accordingly, after allowing the whole of his brigade to come up, Chabert formed a small line of attack, brought up his battery along the high road to the middle of the amphitheatre, between the horns of the Spanish position, and made a vigorous push forward. He operated almost entirely to the south of the road, where, opposite Coupigny’s division, the hill was lower and the slope gentler than further north.

To dislodge 14,000 men and twenty guns in position with 3,000 men and six guns was of course a military impossibility. But Chabert had the excuse that he did not, and could not, know what he was doing. His attempt was of course doomed to failure: his battery was blown to pieces by the Spanish guns, acting from a concentric position, the moment that it opened. His four battalions, after pushing back Coupigny’s skirmishing line for a few hundred yards, were presently checked by the reserves which the Spaniard sent forward. Having come to a stand they soon had to retire, and with heavy loss. The brigade drew back to the cover of the olive groves behind it, leaving two dismounted guns out in the open.

Behind Chabert the enormous convoy was blocking the way as far back as the bridge of the Rumblar. Five hundred wagons with their two or four oxen apiece, took up, when strung along the road, more than two and a half miles. Dupont, who rode up at the sound of the cannon, and now clearly saw the Spanish line drawn up on a front of two miles north and south of the road, realized that this was no skirmish but a pitched battle. His action was governed by the fact that he every moment expected to hear the guns of Casta?os thundering behind him, and to find that he was attacked in rear as well as in front. He accordingly resolved to deliver a second assault as quickly as possible, before this evil chance might come upon him. With some difficulty the Swiss battalions, Dupré’s brigade of light cavalry, and Privé’s dragoons pushed their way past the convoy and got into the open. They were terribly tired, having marched all night and covered fifteen miles of bad road, but their general threw them at once into the[p. 190] fight: Pannetier’s brigade and the Marines of the Guard were still far to the rear, at or near the bridge of the Rumblar.

Dupont’s second attack was a fearful mistake: he should at all costs have concentrated his whole army for one desperate stroke, for there was no more chance that 6,000 men could break the Spanish line than there had been that Chabert’s 3,000 could do so. But without waiting for Pannetier to come up, he delivered his second attack. The four Swiss battalions advanced to the north of the road, Chabert’s rallied brigade to the south of it: to the right of the latter were Privé’s heavy cavalry, two and a half regiments strong, with whom Dupont intended to deliver his main blow. They charged with admirable vigour and precision, cut up two Spanish battalions which failed to form square in time, and cleared the summit of the Cerrajon. But when, disordered with their first success, they rode up against Coupigny’s reserves, they failed to break through. Their own infantry was too far to the rear to help them, and after a gallant struggle to hold their ground, the dragoons and cuirassiers fell back to their old position. When they were already checked, Chabert and Schramm pushed forward to try their fortune: beaten off by the central battery of the Spanish line and its infantry supports, they recoiled to the edge of the olive wood, and there reformed.

The French were now growing disheartened, and Dupont saw disaster impending over him so closely that he seems to have lost his head, and to have retained no other idea save that of hurling every man that he could bring up in fruitless attacks on the Spanish centre. He hurried up from the rear Pannetier’s brigade of infantry, leaving at the bridge of the Rumblar only the single battalion of the Marines of the Guard. At eight o’clock the reinforcements had come up, and the attack was renewed. This time the main stress was at the northern end of the line, where Pannetier was thrown forward, with orders to drive Reding’s right wing off the Cerro del Zumacar Grande, while the other battalions renewed their assault against the Spanish centre and left. But the exhausted troops on the right of the line, who had been fighting since daybreak, made little impression on Coupigny’s front, and Reding’s last reserves were brought forward to check and hold off the one fresh brigade of which Dupont could dispose.

The fourth attack had failed. The French general had now but one intact battalion, that of the Marines of the Guard, which[p. 191] had been left with the baggage at the bridge over the Rumblar, to protect the rear against the possible advent of Casta?os. As there were still no signs of an attack from that side, Dupont brought up this corps, ranged it across the road in the centre of the line, and drew up behind it all that could be rallied of Chabert’s and Pannetier’s men. The whole formed a sort of wedge, with which he hoped to break through the Spanish centre by one last effort. The cavalry advanced on the flanks, Privé’s brigade to the south, Dupré’s to the north of the road. Dupont himself, with all his staff around him, placed himself at the head of the marines, and rode in front of the line, waving his sword and calling to the men that this time they must cut their way through [12.30 P.M.].

All was in vain: the attack was pressed home, the marines pushed up to the very muzzles of the Spanish cannon placed across the high road, and Dupré’s chasseurs drove in two battalions in Reding’s right centre. But the column could get no further forward: the marines were almost exterminated: Dupré was shot dead: Dupont received a painful (but not dangerous) wound in the hip, and rode to the rear. Then the whole attack collapsed, and the French rolled back in utter disorder to the olive groves which sheltered their rear. The majority of the rank and file of the two Swiss regiments in the centre threw up the butts of their muskets in the air and surrendered—or rather deserted—to the enemy[151].

At this moment, just as the firing died down at the front, a lively fusillade was heard from another quarter. Cruz-Murgeon’s light column, from the side of the mountains, had come down upon the Rumblar bridge, and had begun to attack the small baggage-guard[152] which remained with the convoy. All was up. Cruz-Murgeon was the forerunner of La Pe?a, and Dupont had not a man left to send to protect his rear. The battalions were all broken up, the wearied infantry had cast themselves down in the shade of the olive groves, and could not be induced even to rise to their feet. Most of them were gasping for water, which could not be got, for[p. 192] the stream-beds which cross the field were all dried up, and only at the Rumblar could a drink be obtained. Not 2,000 men out of the original 11,000 who had started from Andujar could be got together to oppose a feeble front to Reding and Coupigny. It was only by keeping up a slow artillery fire, from the few pieces that had not been silenced or dismounted, that any show of resistance could be made. When the attack from the rear, which was obviously impending, should be delivered, the whole force must clearly be destroyed.

Wishing at least to get some sort of terms for the men whom he had led into such a desperate position, Dupont at two o’clock sent his aide-de-camp, Captain Villoutreys, one of the Emperor’s equerries, to ask for a suspension of hostilities from Reding. He offered to evacuate Andalusia, not only with his own troops but with those of Vedel and Dufour, in return for a free passage to Madrid. This was asking too much, and if the Spanish general had been aware of the desperate state of his adversary, he would not have listened to the proposal for a minute. But he did not know that La Pe?a was now close in Dupont’s rear, while he was fully aware that Vedel, returning too late from the passes, was now drawing near to the field from the north. His men were almost as exhausted as those of Dupont, many had died from sunstroke in the ranks, and he did not refuse to negotiate. He merely replied that he had no power to treat, and that all communications should be made to his chief, who must be somewhere in the direction of Andujar. He would grant a suspension of arms for a few hours, while a French and a Spanish officer should ride off together to seek for Casta?os.

Dupont accepted these terms gladly, all the more so because La Pe?a’s division had at last reached the Rumblar bridge, and had announced its approach by four cannon-shots, fired at regular intervals, as a signal to catch Reding’s ear. It was with the greatest difficulty that the commander of the fourth Andalusian division could be got to recognize the armistice granted by his colleague; he saw the French at his mercy, and wanted to fall upon them while they were still in disorder. But after some argument he consented to halt. Captain Villoutreys, accompanied by the Spanish Colonel Copons, rode through his lines to look for Casta?os.

The Spanish commander-in-chief had displayed most blameworthy torpidity on this day. He had let Dupont slip away from[p. 193] Andujar, and did not discover that he was gone till dawn had arrived. Then, instead of pursuing at full speed with all his forces, he had sent on La Pe?a’s division, while he lingered behind with that of Felix Jones, surveying the enemy’s empty lines. The fourth division must have marched late and moved slowly, as it only reached the Rumblar bridge—twelve miles from Andujar—at about 2 p.m. It could easily have been there by 8 or 9 a.m., and might have fallen upon Dupont while he was delivering one of his earlier attacks on the Baylen position.

At much the same moment that Villoutreys and Copons reached Casta?os at Andujar, at about five o’clock in the afternoon, the second half of the French army at last appeared upon the scene. General Vedel had discovered on the eighteenth that he had nothing to fear from the side of the passes. He therefore called down all Dufour’s troops, save two battalions left at Santa Elena, united the two divisions at La Carolina, and gave orders for their return to Baylen on the following morning. Leaving the bivouac at five o’clock Vedel, with some 9,000 or 9,500 men, marched down the defile for ten miles as far as the village of Guarroman, which he reached about 9.30 or 10 a.m.[153] The day was hot, the men were tired, and though the noise of a distant cannonade could be distinctly heard in the direction of Baylen, the general told his officers to allow their battalions two hours to cook, and to rest themselves. By some inexplicable carelessness the two hours swelled to four, and it was not till 2 p.m. that the column started out again, to drop down to Baylen. An hour before the French marched, the cannonade, which had been growling in the distance all through the mid-day rest, suddenly died down. Vedel was in nowise disturbed, and is said to have remarked that his chief had probably made an end of the Spanish corps which had been blocking the road between them.

After this astonishing display of sloth and slackness, Vedel proceeded along the road for ten miles, till he came in sight of the rear of the Spanish position at Baylen. His cavalry soon brought him the news that the troops visible upon the hillsides were enemies: they consisted of the brigade which Reding had told off[p. 194] at the beginning of the day to hold the height of San Cristobal and the Cerro del Ahorcado against a possible attack from the rear. It was at last clear to Vedel that things had not gone well at Baylen, and that it was his duty to press in upon the Spaniards, and endeavour to cut his way through to his chief. He had begun to deploy his troops across the defile, with the object of attacking both the flanking hills, when two officers with a white flag rode out towards him. They announced to him that Dupont had been beaten, and had asked for a suspension of hostilities, which had been granted. La Pe?a’s troops had stayed their advance, and he was asked to do the same.

Either because he doubted the truth of these statements, or because he thought that his appearance would improve Dupont’s position, Vedel refused to halt, and sent back the Spanish officers to tell Reding that he should attack him. This he did with small delay, falling on the brigade opposed to him with great fury. Boussard’s dragoons charged the troops on the lower slopes of the Cerro del Ahorcado, and rode into two battalions who were so much relying on the armistice that they were surprised with their arms still piled, cooking their evening meal. A thousand men were taken prisoners almost without firing a shot[154]. Cassagnes’ infantry attacked the steep height of San Cristobal with less good fortune: his first assault was beaten off, and Vedel was preparing to succour him, when a second white flag came out of Baylen. It was carried by a Spanish officer, who brought with him De Barbarin, one of Dupont’s aides-de-camp. The general had sent a written communication ordering Vedel to cease firing and remain quiet, as an armistice had been concluded, and it was hoped that Casta?os would consent to a convention. The moment that his answer was received it should be passed on; meanwhile the attack must be stopped and the troops withdrawn.

Vedel obeyed: clearly he could do nothing else, for Dupont was his hierarchical superior, and, as far as he could see, was still a free agent. Moreover, De Barbarin told him of the very easy terms which the commander-in-chief hoped to get from Casta?os. If they could be secured it would be unnecessary, as well as risky, to continue the attack. For La Pe?a might very possibly have anni[p. 195]hilated the beaten division before Vedel could force his way to its aid, since horse and foot were both ‘fought out,’ and there was neither strength nor spirit for resistance left among them. Vedel therefore was justified in his obedience to his superior, and in his withdrawal to a point two miles up the La Carolina road.

Meanwhile Villoutreys, the emissary of Dupont, had reached the camp of Casta?os at Andujar[155] late in the afternoon, and laid his chief’s proposals before the Spaniard. As might have been expected, they were declined—Dupont was in the trap, and it would have been absurd to let him off so easily. No great objection was made to the retreat of Vedel, but Casta?os said that the corps caught between La Pe?a and Reding must lay down its arms. Early next morning (July 20) Villoutreys returned with this reply to the French camp.

Dupont meanwhile had spent a restless night. He had gone round the miserable bivouac of his men, to see if they would be in a condition to fight next morning, in the event of the negotiations failing. The result was most discouraging: the soldiers were in dire straits for want of water, they had little to eat, and were so worn out that they could not be roused even to gather in the wounded. The brigadiers and colonels reported that they could hold out no prospect of a rally on the morrow[156]. Only Privé, the commander of the heavy-cavalry brigade, spoke in favour of fighting: the others doubted whether even 2,000 men could be got together for a rush at the Spanish lines. When an aide-de-camp, whom Vedel had been allowed to send to his chief, asked whether it would not be possible to make a concerted attack on Reding next morning, with the object of disengaging the surrounded division, Dupont told him that it was no use to dream of any such thing. Vedel must prepare for a prompt retreat, in order to save himself; no more could be done.

At dawn, nothing having been yet settled, La Pe?a wrote to Dupont threatening that if the 1,000 men who had been captured[p. 196] by Vedel on the previous day were not at once released, he should consider the armistice at an end, and order his division to advance. The request was reasonable, as they had been surprised and taken while relying on the suspension of arms. Dupont ordered his subordinate to send them back to Reding’s camp. Casta?os meanwhile was pressing for a reply to his demand for surrender: he had brought up Felix Jones’s division to join La Pe?a’s in the early morning, so that he had over 14,000 men massed on the right bank of the Rumblar and ready to attack[157]. Dupont was well aware of this, and had made up his mind to surrender when he realized the hopeless demoralization of his troops. Early in the morning he called a council of war; the officers present, after a short discussion, drew up and signed a document in which they declared that ‘the honour of the French arms had been sufficiently vindicated by the battle of the previous day: that in accepting the enemy’s terms the commander-in-chief was yielding to evident military necessity: that, surrounded by 40,000 enemies, he was justified in averting by an honourable treaty the destruction of his corps.’ Only the cavalry brigadier Privé, refused to put his name to the paper, on which appear the signatures of three generals of division, of the officers commanding the artillery and engineers, of two brigadiers, and of three commanders of regiments.

After this formality was ended Generals Chabert and Marescot rode out from the French camp and met Casta?os. They had orders to make the best terms they could: in a general way it was recognized that the compromised division could not escape surrender, and that Vedel and Dufour would probably have to evacuate Andalusia and stipulate for a free passage to Madrid. The Spaniards were not, as it seems, intending to ask for much more. But while they were haggling on such petty points as the forms of surrender, and the exemption of officers’ baggage from search, a new factor was introduced into the discussion. Some irregulars from the Sierra Morena came to Casta?os, bringing with them as a prisoner an aide-de-camp of Savary[158]. They had secured his dispatch, which was a peremptory order to Dupont to evacuate Andalusia with all his three divisions, and fall back towards Madrid. This put a new face on affairs, for Casta?os saw that[p. 197] if he conceded a free retreat to Vedel and Dufour, he would be enabling them to carry out exactly the movement which Savary intended. To do so would clearly be undesirable: he therefore interposed in the negotiations, and declared that the troops of these two generals should not be allowed to quit Andalusia by the road which had been hitherto proposed. They must be sent round by sea to some port of France not immediately contiguous with the Spanish frontier.

Chabert and Marescot, as was natural, declaimed vehemently against this projected change in the capitulation, and declared that it was inadmissible. But they were answered in even more violent terms by the turbulent Conde de Tilly, who attended as representative of the Junta of Seville. He taunted them with their atrocities at the sack of Cordova, and threatened that if the negotiations fell through no quarter should be given to the French army. At last Casta?os suggested a compromise: he offered to let Dupont’s troops, no less than those of Vedel, return to France by sea, if the claim that the latter should be allowed to retreat on Madrid were withdrawn. This was conceding much, and the French generals accepted the proposal.

Accordingly Casta?os and Tilly, representing the Spaniards, and Chabert and Marescot, on behalf of Dupont, signed preliminaries, by which it was agreed that the surrounded divisions should formally lay down their arms and become prisoners of war, while Vedel’s men should not be considered to have capitulated, nor make any act of surrender. Both bodies of men should leave Andalusia by sea, and be taken to Rochefort on Spanish vessels. ‘The Spanish army,’ so ran the curiously worded seventh article of the capitulation, ‘guarantees them against all hostile aggression during their passage.’ The other clauses contain nothing striking, save some rather liberal permissions to the French officers to take away their baggage—each general was to be allowed two wheeled vehicles, each field officer or staff officer one—without its being examined. This article caught the eye of Napoleon, and has been noted by many subsequent critics, who have maintained that Dupont and his colleagues, gorged with the plunder of Cordova, surrendered before they needed, in order to preserve their booty intact. That they yielded before it was inevitable we do not believe: but far more anxiety than was becoming seems to have been shown regarding the baggage. This anxiety finds[p. 198] easy explanation if the Spanish official statement, that more than ￡40,000 in hard cash, and a great quantity of jewellery and silver plate was afterwards found in the fourgons of the staff and the superior officers, be accepted as correct[159].

The fifteenth clause of the capitulation had contents of still more doubtful propriety: it was to the effect that as many pieces of church plate had been stolen at the sack of Cordova, Dupont undertook to make a search for them and restore them to the sanctuaries to which they belonged, if they could be found in existence. The confession was so scandalous, that we share Napoleon’s wonder that such a clause could ever have been passed by the two French negotiators; if they were aware that the charge of theft was true (as it no doubt was), shame should have prevented them from putting it on paper: if they thought it false, they were permitting a gratuitous insult to the French army to be inserted in the capitulation.

While the negotiations were going on, Dupont sent secret orders to Vedel to abscond during the night, and to retreat on Madrid as fast as he was able. Chabert and Marescot had of course no knowledge of this, or they would hardly have consented to include that general’s troops in the convention. In accordance with his superior’s orders, and with the obvious necessities of the case, Vedel made off on the night of July 20-21, leaving only a screen of pickets in front of his position, to conceal his departure from the Spaniards as long as was possible. On the return of his plenipotentiaries to his camp on the morning of the twenty-first, Dupont learnt, to his surprise and discontent, that they had included Vedel’s division in their bargain with Casta?os. But as that officer was now far away—he had reached La Carolina at daybreak and Santa Elena by noon—the commander-in-chief hoped that his troops were saved.

The anger of the Spaniards at discovering the evasion of the second French division may easily be imagined. Reding, who was the first to become aware of it, sent down an officer into Dupont’s camp, with the message that if Vedel did not instantly return, he should regard the convention as broken, and fall upon the surrounded troops: he should give no quarter, as he considered that[p. 199] treachery had been shown, and that the armistice had been abused. Dupont could not hope to make a stand, and was at the enemy’s mercy. He directed his chief of the staff to write an order bidding Vedel to halt, and sent it to him by one of his aides-de-camp, accompanied by a Spanish officer. This did not satisfy Reding, who insisted that Dupont should write an autograph letter of his own in stronger terms. His demand could not be refused, and the two dispatches reached Vedel almost at the same hour, as he was resting his troops at Santa Elena before plunging into the passes.

Vedel, as all his previous conduct had shown, was weak and wanting in initiative. Some of his officers tried to persuade him to push on, and to leave Dupont to make the best terms for himself that he could. Much was to be said in favour of this resolve: he might have argued that since he had never been without the power of retreating, it was wrong of his superior to include him in the capitulation. His duty to the Emperor would be to save his men, whatever might be the consequences to Dupont. The latter, surrounded as he was, could hardly be considered a free agent, and his orders might be disregarded. But such views were far from Vedel’s mind: he automatically obeyed his chief’s dispatch and halted. Next day he marched his troops back to Baylen, in consequence of a third communication from Dupont.

On July 23 Dupont’s troops laid down their arms with full formalities, defiling to the sound of military music before the divisions of La Pe?a and Jones, who were drawn up by the Rumblar bridge. On the twenty-fourth Vedel’s and Dufour’s troops, without any such humiliating ceremony, stacked their muskets and cannon on the hillsides east of Baylen and marched for the coast. When the two corps were numbered it was found that 8,242 unwounded men had surrendered with Dupont: nearly 2,000 more, dead or wounded, were left on the battle-field; seven or eight hundred of the Swiss battalions had deserted and disappeared. With Vedel 9,393 men laid down their arms[160]. Not only did he deliver up his[p. 200] own column, but he called down the battalion guarding the Despe?a Perros pass. Even the troops left beyond the defiles in La Mancha were summoned to surrender by the Spaniards, and some of them did so, though they were not really included in the capitulation, which was by its wording confined to French troops in Andalusia. But the commanders of three battalions allowed themselves to be intimidated by Colonel Cruz-Murgeon, who went to seek them at the head of a few cavalry, and tamely laid down their arms[161].

The Spaniards had won their success at very small cost. Reding’s division returned a casualty list of 117 dead and 403 wounded, in which were included the losses of the skirmish of July 16 as well as those of the battle of the nineteenth. Coupigny lost 100 dead and 894 wounded. La Pe?a’s and Cruz-Murgeon’s columns, which had barely got into touch with the French when the armistice was granted, cannot have lost more than a score or two of men. The total is no more than 954. There were in addition 998 prisoners captured by Vedel when he attacked from the rear, but these were, of course, restored on the twentieth, in consequence of the orders sent by Dupont, along with two guns and two regimental standards.

Casta?os, a man of untarnished honour, had every intention of carrying out the capitulation. The French troops, divided into small columns, were sent down to the coast, or to the small towns of the Lower Guadalquivir under Spanish escorts, which had some difficulty in preserving them from the fury of the peasantry. It was necessary to avoid the large towns like Cordova and Seville, where the passage of the unarmed prisoners would certainly have led to riots and massacres. At Ecija the mob actually succeeded in murdering sixty unfortunate Frenchmen. But when the troops had been conducted to their temporary destinations, it was found that difficulties had arisen. The amount of Spanish shipping available would not have carried 20,000 men. This was a comparatively small hindrance, as the troops could have been sent off in detachments. But it was[p. 201] more serious that Lord Collingwood, the commander of the British squadron off Cadiz, refused his permission for the embarkation of the French. He observed that Casta?os had promised to send Dupont’s army home by water, without considering whether he had the power to do so. The British fleet commanded the sea, and was blockading Rochefort, the port which the capitulation assigned for the landing of the captive army. No representative of Great Britain had signed the convention[162], and she was not bound by it. He must find out, by consulting his government, whether the transference of the troops of Dupont to France was to be allowed.

On hearing of the difficulties raised by Collingwood, Casta?os got into communication with Dupont, and drew up six supplementary articles to the convention, in which it was stipulated that if the British Government objected to Rochefort as the port at which the French troops were to be landed, some other place should be selected. If all passage by sea was denied, a way by land should be granted by the Spaniards. This agreement was signed at Seville on August 6, but meanwhile the Junta was being incited to break the convention. Several of its more reckless and fanatical members openly broached the idea that no faith need be kept with those who had invaded Spain under such treacherous pretences. The newspapers were full of tales of French outrages, and protests against the liberation of the spoilers of Cordova and Jaen.

Matters came to a head when Dupont wrote to Morla, the Captain-General of Andalusia, to protest against further delays, and to require that the first division of his army should be allowed to sail at once [August 8]. He received in reply a most shameless and cynical letter[163]. The Captain-General began by declaring that there were no ships available. But he then went on to state that no more had been promised than that the Junta would request the British to allow the French troops to sail. He supposed that it was probable that a blank refusal would be sent to this demand. Why should Britain allow the passage by sea of troops who were destined to be used against her on some other point of the theatre of[p. 202] war? Morla next insinuated that Dupont himself must have been well aware that the capitulation could not be carried out. ‘Your Excellency’s object in inserting these conditions was merely to obtain terms which, impossible as they were to execute, might yet give a show of honour to the inevitable surrender.... What right have you to require the performance of these impossible conditions on behalf of an army which entered Spain under a pretence of alliance, and then imprisoned our King and princes, sacked his palaces, slew and robbed his subjects, wasted his provinces, and tore away his crown?’

After a delay of some weeks Lord Collingwood sent in to the Junta the reply of his government. It was far from being of the kind that Morla and his friends had hoped. Canning had answered that no stipulations made at Baylen could bind Great Britain, but that to oblige her allies, and to avoid compromising their honour, she consented to allow the French army to be sent back to France, and to be landed in successive detachments of 4,000 men at some port between Brest and Rochefort (i.e. at Nantes or L’Orient). It is painful to have to add that neither the Junta of Seville nor the Supreme Central Junta, which superseded that body, took any steps to carry out this project. Dupont himself, his generals, and his staff, were sent home to France, but their unfortunate troops were kept for a time in cantonments in Andalusia, then sent on board pontoons in the Bay of Cadiz, where they were subjected to all manner of ill usage and half-starved, and finally dispatched to the desolate rock of Cabrera, in the Balearic Islands, where more than half of them perished of cold, disease, and insufficient nourishment[164]. Vedel’s men were imprisoned no less than Dupont’s, and the survivors were only released at the conclusion of the general peace of 1814.

So ended the strange and ill-fought campaign of Baylen. It is clear that Dupont’s misfortunes were of his own creation. He ought never to have lingered at Andujar till July was far spent, but should either have massed his three divisions and fallen upon Casta?os, or have retired to a safe defensive position at Baylen or La Carolina and have waited to be attacked. He might have united something over 20,000 men, and could have defied every[p. 203] effort of the 35,000 Spaniards to drive him back over the Sierra Morena. By dividing his army into fractions and persisting in holding Andujar, he brought ruin upon himself. But the precise form in which the ruin came about was due less to Dupont than to Vedel. That officer’s blind and irrational march on La Carolina and abandonment of Baylen on July 17-18 gave the Spaniards the chance of interposing between the two halves of the French army. If Vedel had made a proper reconnaissance on the seventeenth, he would have found that Reding had not marched for the passes, but was still lingering at Mengibar. Instead, however, of sweeping the country-side for traces of the enemy, he credited a wild rumour, and hurried off to La Carolina, leaving the fatal gap behind him. All that followed was his fault: not only did he compromise the campaign by his march back to the passes, but when he had discovered his mistake he returned with a slowness that was inexcusable. If he had used ordinary diligence he might yet have saved Dupont on the nineteenth: it was his halt at Guarroman, while the cannon of Baylen were thundering in his ears, that gave the last finishing touch to the disaster. If he had come upon the battle-field at ten in the morning, instead of at five in the afternoon, he could have aided his chief to cut his way through, and even have inflicted a heavy blow on Reding and Coupigny. A careful study of Vedel’s actions, from his first passage of the Sierra Morena to his surrender, shows that on every possible occasion he took the wrong course.

But even if we grant that Vedel made every possible mistake, it is nevertheless true that Dupont fought his battle most unskilfully. If he had marched on the morning instead of the night of July 18, he probably might have brushed past the front of Reding and Coupigny without suffering any greater disaster than the loss of his baggage. Even as things actually fell out, it is not certain that he need have been forced to surrender. He had 10,000 men, the two Spanish generals had 17,000, but had been forced to detach some 3,500 bayonets to guard against the possible reappearance of Vedel. If Dupont had refused to waste his men in partial and successive attacks, and had massed them for a vigorous assault on the left wing of the Spaniards, where Coupigny’s position on the slopes of the Cerrajon was neither very strong nor very well defined, he might yet have cut his way through, though probably his immense baggage-train would have been lost. It is fair,[p. 204] however, to remember that this chance was only granted him because Casta?os, in front of Andujar, was slow to discover his retreat and still slower to pursue him. If that officer had shown real energy, ten thousand men might have been pressing Dupont from the rear before eight o’clock in the morning.

As it was Dupont mismanaged all the details of his attack. He made four assaults with fractions of his army, and on a long front. The leading brigades were completely worn out and demoralized before the reserves were sent into action. The fifth assault, in which every man was at last brought forward, failed because the majority of the troops were already convinced that the day was lost, and were no longer capable of any great exertions. It is absurd to accuse Dupont of cowardice—he exposed his person freely and was wounded—and still more absurd to charge him (as did the Emperor) with treason. He did not surrender till he saw that there was no possible hope of salvation remaining. But there can be no doubt that he showed great incapacity to grasp the situation, lost his head, and threw away all his chances.

As to the Spaniards, it can truly be said that they were extremely fortunate, and that even their mistakes helped them. Casta?os framed his plan for surrounding Dupont on the hypothesis that the main French army was concentrated at Andujar. If this had indeed been the case, and Dupont had retained at that place some 15,000 or 17,000 men, the turning movement of Reding and Coupigny would have been hazardous in the extreme. But the French general was obliging enough to divide his force into two equal parts, and his subordinate led away one of the halves on a wild march back to the passes. Again Reding acted in the most strange and unskilful way on July 17; after defeating Liger-Belair and Dufour he ought to have seized Baylen. Instead, he remained torpid in his camp for a day and a half: this mistake led to the far more inexcusable error of Vedel, who failed to see his adversary, and marched off to La Carolina. But Vedel’s blindness does not excuse Reding’s sloth. On the actual day of battle, on the other hand, Reding behaved very well: he showed considerable tenacity, and his troops deserve great credit. It was no mean achievement for 13,000 or 14,000[165] Spaniards, their ranks full of raw recruits[p. 205] and interspersed with battalions levied only five weeks before, to withstand the attack of 10,000 French, even if the latter were badly handled by their general. The Andalusians had good reason to be proud of their victory, though they might have refrained from calling Dupont’s Legions of Reserve and provisional regiments the ‘invincible troops of Austerlitz and Friedland,’ as they were too prone to do. They had at least succeeded in beating in the open field and capturing a whole French army, a thing which no continental nation had accomplished since the wars of the Revolution began.

NOTE

Sir Charles Vaughan, always in search of first-hand information, called on Casta?os and had a long conversation with him concerning the Convention. I find among his papers the following notes:—

‘Among other particulars of the surrender, General Casta?os stated that the French General Marescot had the greatest influence in bringing it about. The great difficulty was to persuade them [Marescot and Chabert] to capitulate for Vedel’s army as well as Dupont’s. A letter had been intercepted ordering Vedel back to Madrid, and another ordering Dupont to retire. This letter had considerable effect with the French: but the offer of carrying away their baggage and the plunder of the country was no sooner made, than the two generals desired to be permitted to retire and deliberate alone. After a few minutes they accepted the proposal. But General Casta?os, to make the article of as little value as possible, got them to insert the clause that the French officers should be allowed to embark all their baggage, &c., according to the laws of Spain. He well knew that those laws forbid the exportation of gold and silver. The consequence was that the French lost all their more valuable plunder when embarking at Puerto Santa Maria.’
SECTION IV  THE ENGLISH IN PORTUGAL CHAPTER I
THE OUTBREAK OF THE PORTUGUESE INSURRECTION

Down to the moment of the general outbreak of the Spanish insurrection Junot’s task in Portugal had not been a difficult one. As long as Spain and France were still ostensibly allies, he had at his disposition a very large army. He had entered Portugal in 1807 with 25,000 French troops, and during the spring of 1808 he had received 4,000 men in drafts from Bayonne, which more than filled up the gaps made in his battalions by the dreary march from Ciudad Rodrigo to Abrantes[166]. Of the three Spanish divisions which had been lent to him, Solano’s had gone home to Andalusia, but he had still the two others, Caraffa’s (7,000 strong) in the valley of the Tagus, and Taranco’s at Oporto. The last-named general died during the winter, but his successor, Belesta, still commanded 6,000 men cantoned on the banks of the Douro. The discontent of the Portuguese during the early months of 1808 showed itself by nothing save a few isolated deeds of violence, provoked by particular acts of oppression on the part of Junot’s subordinates. How promptly and severely they were chastised has been told in an earlier chapter. There were no signs whatever of a general rising: the means indeed were almost entirely wanting. The regular army had been disbanded or sent off to France. The organization of the militia had been dissolved. The greater part of the leading men of the country had fled to Brazil with the Prince-Regent: the bureaucracy and many of the clergy had shown a discreditable willingness to conciliate Junot by a tame subservience to his orders.

The Duke of Abrantes himself thoroughly enjoyed his Vice[p. 207]royalty, and still deluded himself into believing that he might yet prove a popular ruler in Portugal: perhaps he even dreamed of becoming some day one of Bonaparte’s vassal-kings. He persisted in the farce of issuing benevolent proclamations, and expressing his affection for the noble Portuguese people, till his master at last grew angry. ‘Why,’ he wrote by the hand of his minister Clarke, ‘do you go on making promises which you have no authority to carry out? Of course, there is no end more laudable than that of winning the affection and confidence of the inhabitants of Portugal. But do not forget that the safety of the French army is the first thing. Disarm the Portuguese: keep an eye on the disbanded soldiers, lest reckless leaders should get hold of them and make them into the nucleus of rebel bands.... Lisbon is an inconveniently large place: it is too populous, and its people cannot help being hostile to you. Keep your troops outside it, in cantonments along the sea-front’: and so forth[167]. Meanwhile financial exactions were heaped on the unfortunate kingdom to contribute to the huge fine which the Emperor had laid upon it: but there was evidently no chance that such a large sum could be raised, however tightly the screw of taxation might be twisted. Junot accepted, as contributions towards the ￡2,000,000 that he was told to raise, much confiscated English merchandise, church plate, and private property of the royal house, but his extortions did little more than pay for his army and the expenses of government. Portugal indeed was in a dismal state: her ports were blocked and her wines could not be sold to her old customers in England, nor her manufactures to her Brazilian colonists. The working classes in Lisbon were thrown out of employment, and starved, or migrated in bands into the interior. Foy and other good witnesses from the French side speak of the capital as ‘looking like a desert, with no vehicles, and hardly a foot-passenger in the streets, save 20,000 persons reduced to beggary and trying vainly to live on alms[168].’ The only activity visible was in the arsenal and dockyards, where Junot had 10,000 men at work restoring the neglected material of the artillery, and fitting out that portion of the fleet which had been in too bad order to sail for Brazil in the previous November.

The sudden outbreak of the Spanish insurrection in the last days of May, 1808, made an enormous change in the situation of the[p. 208] French army in Portugal. Before Junot had well realized what was happening in the neighbouring kingdom, his communications with Madrid were suddenly cut, and for the future information only reached him with the greatest difficulty, and orders not at all. The last dispatch that came through to him was one from the Emperor which spoke of the beginnings of the rising, and bade him send 4,000 men to Ciudad Rodrigo to hold out a hand to Bessières, and 8,000 to the Guadiana to co-operate in Dupont’s projected invasion of Andalusia[169]. These orders were dispatched in the last days of May; before they could be carried out the situation had been profoundly modified.

On June 6 there arrived at Oporto the news of the insurrection of Galicia and the establishment of the Provincial Junta at Corunna. The first thought of the new government in Galicia had been to call home for its own defence the division in northern Portugal. When its summons reached General Belesta, he obeyed without a moment’s hesitation. The only French near him were General Quesnel, the Governor of Oporto, his staff, and a troop of thirty dragoons which served as his personal escort. Belesta seized and disarmed both the general and his guard, and forthwith marched for Spain, by Braga and Valenza, with his prisoners. Before leaving he called together the notables of Oporto, bade them hoist the national flag, and incited them to nominate a junta to organize resistance against Junot. But he left not a man behind to aid them, and took off his whole force to join General Blake.

On receiving, on June 9, the news of this untoward event, Junot determined to prevent Caraffa’s troops on the Tagus from following the example of their countrymen. Before they had fully realized the situation, or had time to concert measures for a general evasion, he succeeded in disarming them. Caraffa himself was summoned to the quarters of the commander-in-chief, and placed under arrest before he knew that he was suspected. Of his regiments some were ordered to attend a review, others to change garrisons; while unsuspectingly on their way, they found themselves surrounded by French troops and were told to lay down their arms. All were successfully trapped except the second cavalry regiment, the ‘Queen’s Own,’ whose colonel rode off to Oporto with his two squadrons instead of obeying the orders sent him, and fractions of the infantry regiments of Murcia and Valencia who escaped to Badajoz[p. 209] after an ineffectual pursuit by the French dragoons. But 6,000 out of Caraffa’s 7,000 men were caught, disarmed, and placed on pontoons moored under the guns of the Lisbon forts, whose commanders had orders to sink them if they gave any trouble. Here they were destined to remain prisoners for the next ten weeks, till the English arrived to release them after the battle of Vimiero.

The imminent danger that Caraffa’s force might openly revolt, and serve as the nucleus for a general rising of the Portuguese, was thus disposed of. But Junot’s position was still unpleasant: he had only some 26,500 men with whom to hold down the kingdom: if once the inhabitants took arms, such a force could not supply garrisons for every corner of a country 300 miles long and a hundred broad. Moreover, there was considerable probability that the situation might be complicated by the appearance of an English expeditionary army: Napoleon had warned his lieutenant to keep a careful watch on the side of the sea, even before the Spanish insurrection broke out. All through the spring a British force drawn from Sicily was already hovering about the southern coast of the Peninsula, though hitherto it had only been heard of in the direction of Gibraltar and Cadiz. Another cause of disquietude was the presence in the Tagus of the Russian fleet of Admiral Siniavin: the strange attitude adopted by that officer much perplexed Junot. He acknowledged that his master the Czar was at war with Great Britain, and stated that he was prepared to fight if the British fleet tried to force the entrance of the Tagus. But on the other hand he alleged that Russia had not declared war on Portugal or acknowledged its annexation by the Emperor, and he therefore refused to land his marines and seamen to help in the garrisoning of Lisbon, or to allow them to be used in any way on shore. Meanwhile his crews consumed an inordinate amount of the provisions which were none too plentiful in the Portuguese capital.

Junot’s main advantage lay in the extreme military impotence of Portugal. That realm found its one sole centre in Lisbon, where a tenth of the population of the whole kingdom and half of its wealth were concentrated. At Lisbon alone was there an arsenal of any size, or a considerable store of muskets and powder. Without the resources of the capital the nation was absolutely unable to equip anything fit to be called an army. Oporto was a small place in comparison, and no other town in the kingdom had over 20,000[p. 210] souls. Almeida and Elvas, the two chief fortresses of the realm, were safe in the hands of French garrisons. The provinces might rise, but without lavish help from Spain or England they could not put in the field an army of even 10,000 men, for assemblies of peasants armed with pikes and fowling-pieces are not armies, and of field-artillery there was hardly a piece outside Lisbon, Elvas, and Almeida. Nor was there left any nucleus of trained soldiers around which the nation might rally: the old army was dissolved and its small remnant was on the way to the Baltic. The case of Spain and of Portugal was entirely different when they rose against Napoleon. The former country was in possession of the greater part of its own fortresses, had not been systematically disarmed, and could dispose—in Galicia and Andalusia—of large bodies of veteran troops. Portugal was without an army, an arsenal, a defensible fortress, or a legal organization—civil or military—of any kind.

It is necessary to remember this in order to excuse the utter feebleness of the Portuguese rising in June, 1808. Otherwise it would have seemed strange that a nation of over 2,000,000 souls could not anywhere produce forces sufficient to resist for a single day a column of 3,000 or 4,000 French soldiers.

The insurrection—such as it was—started in the north, where the departure of Belesta and his division had left the two provinces of Tras-os-Montes and Entre-Douro-e-Minho free from any garrison, French or Spanish. Oporto had been bidden to work out its own salvation by Belesta, and on the day of his departure (June 6), a junta of insurrection had been acclaimed. But there followed a curious interval of apathy, lasting for ten days: the natural leaders of the people refused to come forward: here, just as in Spain, the bureaucracy showed itself very timid and unpatriotic. The magistrates sent secret offers of submission to Junot: the military commandant, Oliveira da Costa, hauled down the national flag from the citadel of San Jo?o da Foz. The members of the insurrectionary junta absconded from the city or kept quiet[170]. It was only on the news that the neighbouring districts and towns had risen, that the people of Oporto threw themselves frankly into the rebellion. The rough mountain districts which[p. 211] lay to the east of them showed a much more whole-hearted patriotism: between the ninth and the twelfth of June the whole of the Tras-os-Montes took arms: one junta at Braganza nominated as commander the aged General Sepulveda, who had been governor of the district in the days of the Prince-Regent: another, at Villa Real on the Douro, also put in its claim and chose as its leader Colonel Silveira, an officer who was destined to see much service during the war of independence. Though the French were no further off than Almeida, the rival governors nearly came to blows, but the final insurrection of Oporto created a new power to which both consented to bow.

On June 18 the false report that a French column was drawing near Oporto so roused the multitude in that city that they broke loose from the control of the authorities, rehoisted the Portuguese flag, threw into prison Da Costa and many other persons suspected, rightly or wrongly, of a wish to submit to the enemy, and called for the establishment of a provisional government. Accordingly a ‘Supreme Junta of the Kingdom’ was hastily elected with the Bishop of Oporto at its head. This was a strange choice, for the aged prelate, Dom Antonio de Castro, though popular and patriotic, was neither a statesman nor an administrator, and had no notion whatever as to the military necessities of the situation. However, the other local juntas of Northern Portugal united in recognizing his authority. His colleagues started on the organization of an army with more zeal than discretion; they called out the militia which Junot had disbanded, and tried to reconstruct some of the old regular battalions, by getting together the half-pay officers, and the men who had been dismissed from the colours in December, 1807. But they also encouraged the assembly of thousands of peasants armed with pikes and scythes, who consumed provisions, but were of no military use whatever. In the seven weeks which elapsed before the coming of the English, the Supreme Junta had only got together 5,000 men properly equipped and told off into regular corps[171]. The fact was that they could provide arms for no more, Northern Portugal having always looked to Lisbon for its supplies. Field artillery was almost wholly wanting—perhaps a dozen guns in all had been found: of cavalry three[p. 212] skeleton regiments were beginning to be organized. But of half-armed peasantry, disguised under the name of militia, they had from 12,000 to 15,000 in the field.

The Supreme Junta also concluded a treaty of offensive and defensive alliance with the Galician Spaniards, from whom they hoped to get arms, and perhaps a loan of troops. Moreover they sent two envoys to England to ask for aid, and eagerly welcomed at Oporto Colonel Brown, a British agent with a roving commission, who did his best to assist in organizing the new levies. The command of the whole armed force was given to General Bernardino Freire, a pretentious and incapable person, who turned his very moderate resources to no profitable account whatever.

A few days later than the outbreak of the insurrection in the regions north of the Douro, there was a corresponding movement, but of a weaker kind, in the extreme south. On June 16 the small fishing-town of Olh?o in Algarve gave the signal for revolt: on the eighteenth Faro, the capital of the province, followed the example. General Maurin, the Governor of Algarve, was lying ill in his bed; he was made prisoner along with seventy other French officers and men, and handed over to the captain of an English ship which was hovering off the coast. The whole shore between the Sierra de Caldeir?o and the sea took arms, whereupon Colonel Maransin, Maurin’s second-in-command, resolved to evacuate the province. He had only 1,200 men, a battalion each of the 26th of the line and the Légion du Midi, and had lost his communications with Lisbon, wherefore he drew together his small force and fell back first on Mertola and then on Beja, in the Alemtejo. The insurgents whom he left behind him could do little till they had obtained muskets from Seville and Gibraltar, and made no attempt to follow the retreating column northwards.

Meanwhile Junot, even after he had succeeded in disarming Caraffa’s Spanish division, was passing through a most anxious time. In obedience to the Emperor’s orders he had sent a brigade under General Avril towards Andalusia, to help Dupont, and another under Loison to Almeida to open communications with Bessières. But these detachments had been made under two false ideas, the one that the troubles in Spain were purely local, the other that Portugal would keep quiet. Avril marched southward with 3,000 men, but, when his vanguard reached San Lucar on the Spanish border, he found Andalusian militia provided with artillery[p. 213] watching him across the Guadiana. He also learnt that a large force was assembling at Badajoz, and that Dupont had got no further than Cordova—more than 150 miles away. After some hesitation he retraced his steps till he halted at Estremoz, facing Badajoz. Loison had much the same experience: starting from Almeida he crossed the border and scared away the small Spanish garrison of Fort Concepcion: but when he drew near Ciudad Rodrigo and learnt that the place was strongly held, that all the kingdom of Leon was in revolt, and that Bessières was still far distant in Old Castile, he drew back to Almeida [June 12-15]. Returning thither he heard of the troubles in Northern Portugal, and resolved to march on Oporto, which was still holding back from open insurrection when the news reached him. He determined to hasten to that important city and to garrison it. Taking two battalions and a few guns, while he left the rest of his brigade at Almeida, he marched on Oporto, crossed the Douro at the ferry of Pezo-de-Ragoa, and began to move on Amarante [June 21]. But the moment that he was over the river, he found himself in the middle of the insurrection: among the mountains the peasantry began to fire from above on his long column, to roll rocks down the slopes at him, and to harass his baggage and rearguard. Seeing that he had only 2,000 men in hand, and that the whole country-side was up, Loison wisely returned to Almeida, which he regained by a circular march through Lamego and Celorico, dispersing several bands of insurgents on the way, for the rebellion had already begun to spread across the Douro into the hills of Northern Beira [July 1].

Lisbon in the meanwhile was on the verge of revolt, but was still contained by the fact that Junot held concentrated in and about it the main body of his army, some 15,000 men. On the Feast of Corpus Christi (June 16) the annual religious procession through the streets nearly led to bloodshed. This was the greatest festival of Lisbon, and had always led to the assembly of enormous crowds: Junot allowed it to be once more celebrated, but lined the streets with soldiers, and placed artillery ready for action in the main squares and avenues. While the function was in progress a senseless panic broke out among the crowd, some shouting that they felt a shock of earthquake (always a terror in Lisbon since the catastrophe of 1755), others that the English were landing, others that the soldiers were about to fire on the people. The frantic[p. 214] mob burst through the military cordon, the procession was broken up, the prelate who bore the Sacrament took refuge in a church, and the tumult grew so wild that the artillery were about to open with grape, thinking that they had to deal with a carefully prepared insurrection. A great and miscellaneous slaughter was only prevented by the coolness of Junot, who threw himself into the throng, prevented the troops from firing, cleared the street, prevailed on the clergy to finish the procession, and dispersed the multitudes with no loss of life save that of a few persons crushed or trampled to death in the panic.

But though this tumult passed off without a disaster, Junot’s position was uncomfortable. He had just begun to realize the real proportions of the insurrection in Spain, which had now completely cut him off from communication with his colleagues. He had only the vaguest knowledge of how Dupont and Bessières were faring: and the fact that large Spanish forces were gathering both at Ciudad Rodrigo and at Badajoz inclined him to think that affairs must be going ill in Castile and Andalusia. The long-feared English invasion seemed at last to be growing imminent: General Spencer’s division from Sicily and Gibraltar was at sea, and had showed itself first off Ayamonte and the coast of Algarve, then off the Tagus-mouth. Ignorant that Spencer had only 5,000 men, and that he had been brought near Lisbon merely by a false report that the garrison had been cut down to a handful, Junot expected a disembarkation. But Spencer went back to Cadiz when he learnt that there were 15,000 instead of 4,000 men ready to defend the capital.

Meanwhile the populace of Lisbon was stirred up by all manner of wild rumours: it was said that Loison had been surrounded and forced to surrender by the northern insurgents, that the Spanish army of Galicia was marching south, that an English corps had landed at Oporto. All sorts of portents and signs were reported for the benefit of the superstitious. The most preposterous was one which we should refuse to credit if it were not vouched for by Foy, and other respectable French authorities. A hen’s egg was found on the high-altar of the patriarchal church, with the inscription Morran os Franceses (‘Death to the French’) indented in its shell. This caused such excitement that Junot thought it worth while to show that a similar phenomenon could be produced on any egg by a skilful application of acids. When his chemists[p. 215] exhibited several branded in an equally convincing way with the words, Vive l’Empereur! the enthusiasm of the credulous was somewhat damped[172].

Recognizing that he could expect no further help from the French armies in Spain, and that the insurrection would certainly spread over every parish of Portugal that did not contain a garrison, Junot wisely resolved to concentrate the outlying fractions of his army, which lay exposed and isolated at points far from Lisbon. At a council of war, held on June 25, he laid before his chief officers the alternatives of evacuating Portugal and retiring on Madrid by the way of Badajoz, or of uniting the army in the neighbourhood of Lisbon and making an attempt to hold Central Portugal, while abandoning the extreme north and south. The latter plan was unanimously adopted: in the state of ignorance in which the generals lay as to what was going on at Madrid and elsewhere in Spain, the retreat by Badajoz seemed too hazardous. Moreover, it was certain to provoke Napoleon’s wrath if it turned out to have been unnecessary. Accordingly it was resolved to place garrisons in the fortresses of Elvas, Almeida and Peniche, to fortify Setuval on the peninsula opposite Lisbon, and to draw in all the rest of the troops to the vicinity of the capital. Dispatches to this effect were sent to Loison at Almeida, to Avril at Estremoz, to Maransin at Mertola, and to Kellermann, who was watching Badajoz from Elvas[173]. Many of the aides-de-camp who bore these orders were cut off by the insurgents[174], but in the end copies of each dispatch were transmitted to their destinations. In several instances the detached corps had begun to fall back on the Tagus, even before they received the command to do so.

This was the case with Maransin at Mertola, who, finding himself hopelessly isolated with 1,200 men in the centre of the insurrection, had marched on Lisbon via Beja. On June 26 he reached the latter place and found its ancient walls manned by a disorderly mass of citizens, who fired upon him as he drew near. But he stormed the town without much difficulty, cruelly sacked it, and resumed his march on Lisbon unharmed. This was not the first fighting that had occurred in the Alemtejo; four days before[p. 216] Avril had had to march from Estremoz to chastise the inhabitants of Villa Viciosa, who had taken arms and besieged the company of the 86th regiment which garrisoned their town. He scattered them with much slaughter, and, after the usual French fashion, plundered the little place from cellar to garret.

On receiving Junot’s orders, General Kellermann, who bore the chief command in the Alemtejo, left a battalion and a half[175]—1,400 men—in Elvas and its outlying fort of La Lippe. With the rest he retired on Lisbon, picking up first the corps of Avril and then that of Maransin, which met him at Evora. He then entered the capital, leaving only one brigade, that of Graindorge, at Setuval to the south of the Tagus [July 3].

Loison in the north did not receive his orders for a full week after they were sent out, owing to the disorderly state of the intervening country. But on July 4 he left Almeida, after making for it a garrison of 1,200 men, by drafting into a provisional battalion all his soldiers who did not seem fit for forced marching. He then moved for seven days through the mountains of Beira to Abrantes, skirmishing with small bands of insurgents all the way. At two or three places they tried to block his path, and the town of Guarda made a serious attempt to defend itself, and was in consequence sacked and partly burnt. Leaving a trail of ruined villages behind him, Loison at last reached Abrantes and got into communication with his chief. He had lost on the way 200 men, mostly stragglers whom the peasantry murdered: but he had inflicted such a cruel lesson on the country-side that his popular nickname (Maneta, ‘One-Hand’) was held accursed for many years in Portugal.

The withdrawal of the French troops from the outlying provinces gave the insurrection full scope for development. It followed close in the track of the retiring columns, and as each valley was evacuated its inhabitants hoisted the national flag, sent in their vows of allegiance to the Junta at Oporto, and began to organize armed bands. But there was such a dearth of military stores that very few men could be properly equipped with musket and bayonet. Junot had long before called in the arms of the disbanded militia, and destroyed them or forwarded them to Lisbon. In the southern provinces the lack of weapons was even worse than in the valley of the Douro: there was practically no armament except a few hundred muskets hastily borrowed from the Spaniards of Badajoz[p. 217] and Seville, and a small dép?t of cavalry equipment at Estremoz which Avril had forgotten to carry off. An insurrectionary junta for the Alemtejo was formed at Evora, but its general, Francisco Leite, could only succeed in equipping the mere shadow of an army. In the north things were a little better: the rising spread to Coimbra in the last week of June, and one of its first leaders, the student Bernardo Zagalo, succeeded in capturing the small coast-fortress of Figueira by starving out the scanty French garrison, which had been caught wholly destitute of provisions [June 27]. Bernardino Freire then brought up the 5,000 regular troops, which the Junta of Oporto had succeeded in getting together, as far as the line of the Mondego. But the insurrectionary area spread much further southward, even up to Leyria and Thomar, which lie no more than sixty-five miles from the capital. From these two places, however, the rebels were easily cleared out by a small expedition of 3,000 men under General Margaron [July 5]. Junot’s army in the second week of July held nothing outside the narrow quadrangle of which Setuval, Peniche, Abrantes, and Lisbon form the four points. But within that limited space there were now 24,000 good troops, concentrated and ready to strike a blow at the first insurrectionary force that might press in upon them.

But for a fortnight the Portuguese made no further move, and Junot now resolved to attack the insurgents who lay beyond the Tagus in the plains of the Alemtejo. His chief motive seems to have been the wish to reopen his communications with Elvas, and to keep the way clear towards Badajoz, the direction in which he would have to retreat, if ever he made up his mind to evacuate Lisbon and retire on Spain. Accordingly, on July 25, he sent out the energetic Loison at the head of a strong flying column—seven and a half battalions, two regiments of dragoons, and eight guns—over 7,000 men in all[176]. This force was directed to march on Elvas by way[p. 218] of Evora, the capital of the Alemtejo, and the seat of its new Junta. On July 29 Loison appeared before the walls of that city. To his surprise the enemy offered him battle in the open; General Leite had brought up such of his newly organized troops as he could collect—they amounted to no more than a battalion and a half of infantry and 120 horse; but to help him there had come up from Badajoz the Spanish Colonel Moretti with about the same number of foot, a regiment of regular cavalry (the ‘Hussars of Maria Luisa’), and seven guns[177]. In all the allies had under 3,000 men, but they were presumptuous enough to form a line of battle outside Evora, and wait for Loison’s attack. A mixed multitude of peasants and citizens, more of them armed with pikes than with fowling-pieces, manned the walls of the town behind them. Leite and his colleague should have drawn back their regulars to the same position: they might have been able to do something behind walls, but to expose them in the open to the assault of more than double of their own numbers of French troops was absurd.

Loison’s first charge broke the weak line of the allied army; the Spanish cavalry fled without crossing swords with the French, and General Leite left the field with equal precipitation. But the bulk of the infantry fell back on Evora and aided the peasantry to defend its ruined mediaeval walls. They could not hold out, however, for many minutes; the French forced their way in at four or five points, made a great slaughter in the streets, and ended the day by sacking the city with every detail of sacrilege and brutality. Foy says that 2,000 Spaniards and Portuguese fell; his colleague Thiébault gives the incredible figure of 8,000. Even the smaller number must include a good many unarmed inhabitants of Evora massacred during the sack. The French lost ninety killed and 200 wounded [July 29].

On the third day after the fight Loison marched for Elvas, and drove away the hordes which were blockading it. He was then preparing to push a reconnaissance in force against Badajoz, when he received from his commander-in-chief orders to return at once to Lisbon. The long-expected English invasion of Portugal had at last begun, for on August 1 Sir Arthur Wellesley was already[p. 219] disembarking his troops in Mondego Bay. Junot was therefore set on concentrating in order to fight, and Loison’s expeditionary force was too important a part of his army to be left out of the battle. Dropping the battalion of the Hanoverian Legion as a garrison at Santarem, Loison brought the rest of his 7,000 men to his commander’s aid.
SECTION IV: CHAPTER II
LANDING OF THE BRITISH: COMBAT OF ROLI?A

From the first moment when the Asturian deputies arrived in London, with the news of the insurrection in Northern Spain [June 4], the English Government had been eager to intervene in the Peninsula. The history of the last fifteen years was full of the records of unfortunate expeditions sent out to aid national risings, real or imaginary, against France. They had mostly turned out disastrous failures: it is only necessary to mention the Duke of York’s miserable campaign of 1799 in Holland, Stewart’s invasion of Calabria in 1806, and Whitelock’s disgraceful fiasco at Buenos Ayres in 1807. As a rule the causes of their ill success had been partly incapable leading, partly an exaggerated parsimony in the means employed. Considering the vast power of France, it was futile to throw ashore bodies of five thousand, ten thousand, or even twenty thousand men on the Continent, and to expect them to maintain themselves by the aid of small local insurrections, such as those of the Orange party in Holland or the Calabrian mountaineers. The invasion of Spanish South America, on the hypothesis that its inhabitants were all prepared to revolt against the mother-country—a fiction of General Miranda—had been even more unwise.

The ‘policy of filching sugar islands,’ as Sheridan wittily called it—of sending out expeditions of moderate size, which only inflicted pin-pricks on non-vital portions of the enemy’s dominions—was still in full favour when the Spanish War began. There was hardly a British statesman who rose above such ideas; Pitt and Addington, Fox and Grenville, and the existing Tory government of the Duke of Portland, had all persisted in the same futile plans. At the best such warfare resulted in the picking up of stray colonies, such as Ceylon and Trinidad, the Cape, St. Thomas, or Cura?ao: but in 1808 the more important oversea possessions of France and her allies were still unsubdued. At the worst the policy led to checks and disasters small or great, like Duckworth’s failure at[p. 221] Constantinople, the abortive Egyptian expedition of 1807, or the catastrophe of Buenos Ayres. Castlereagh seems to have been the only leading man who dared to contemplate an interference on a large scale in Continental campaigns. His bold scheme for the landing of 60,000 men in Hanover, during the winter of 1805-6, had been foiled partly by the hesitation of his colleagues, partly by the precipitation with which Francis II made peace after Austerlitz[178].

But the policy of sending small auxiliary forces to the Iberian Peninsula was quite a familiar one. We had maintained a few thousand men under Generals Burgoyne and Townsend for the defence of Portugal against Spain in 1762. And again in 1801 there had been a small British division employed in the farcical war which had ended in the Treaty of Badajoz. In the year after Austerlitz, when it seemed likely that Bonaparte might take active measures against Portugal, the Fox-Grenville ministry had offered the Regent military aid, but had seen it politely refused, for the timid prince was still set on conciliating the Emperor.

With so many precedents before them, it was natural that the Portland cabinet should assent to the demands of the Spanish deputies who appeared in London in June, 1808. The insurrection in the Iberian Peninsula was so unexpected[179] and so fortunate a chance, that it was obviously necessary to turn it to account. Moreover, its attendant circumstances were well calculated to rouse enthusiasm even in the breasts of professional politicians. Here was the first serious sign of that national rising against Bonaparte which had been so often prophesied, but which had been so long in coming. Even the Whigs, who had systematically denounced the sending of aid to the ‘effete despotisms of the Continent,’ and had long maintained that Napoleon was not so black as he was painted, were disarmed in their criticisms by the character of the Spanish rising. What excuse could be made for the treachery at Bayonne? And how could sympathy be refused to a people which, deprived of its sovereign and betrayed by its bureaucracy, had so gallantly taken arms to defend its national[p. 222] existence? The debates in the British Parliament during the middle days of June show clearly that both the Government and the Opposition had grasped the situation, and that for once they were united as to the policy which should be pursued. It is only needful to quote a few sentences from the speeches of Canning as Foreign Secretary, and Sheridan as Leader of the Opposition [June 15].

‘Whenever any nation in Europe,’ said Canning, ‘starts up with a determination to oppose that power which (whether professing insidious peace or declaring open war) is alike the common enemy of all other peoples, that nation, whatever its former relations with us may have been, becomes ipso facto the ally of Great Britain. In furnishing the aid which may be required, the Government will be guided by three principles—to direct the united efforts of both countries against the common foe, to direct them in such a way as shall be most beneficial to our common ally, and to direct them to such objects as may be most conducive to British interests. But of these objects the last shall never be allowed to come into competition with the other two. I mention British interests chiefly for the purpose of disclaiming them as any material part of the considerations which influence the British Government. No interest can be so purely British as Spanish success: no conquest so advantageous to England as conquering from France the complete integrity of the Spanish dominions in every quarter of the globe.’

Sheridan repeats the same theme in a slightly different key:—‘Hitherto Buonaparte has run a victorious race, because he has contended with princes without dignity, ministers without wisdom, and peoples without patriotism. He has yet to learn what it is to combat a nation who are animated with one spirit against him. Now is the time to stand up boldly and fairly for the deliverance of Europe, and if the ministry will co-operate effectually with the Spanish patriots they shall receive from us cordial support.... Never was anything so brave, so noble, so generous as the conduct of the Spaniards: never was there a more important crisis than that which their patriotism has occasioned to the state of Europe. Instead of striking at the core of the evil, the Administrations of this country have hitherto gone on nibbling merely at the rind: filching sugar islands, but neglecting all that was dignified and consonant to the real interests of the country. Now is the moment[p. 223] to let the world know that we are resolved to stand up for the salvation of Europe. Let us then co-operate with the Spaniards, but co-operate in an effectual and energetic way. And if we find that they are really heart and soul in the enterprise, let us advance with them, magnanimous and undaunted, for the liberation of mankind.... Above all, let us mix no little interests of our own in this mighty combat. Let us discard or forget British objects, and conduct the war on the principle of generous support and active co-operation.’

It may perhaps be hypercritical to point out the weak spot in each of these stirring harangues. But Canning protested a little too much—within a few weeks of his speech the British Government was applying to the Junta of Seville to allow them to garrison Cadiz, which was refused (and rightly), for in the proposal British interests peeped out a little too clearly. And Sheridan, speaking from vague and overcoloured reports of the state of affairs in the Peninsula, went too far when he extolled the unmixed generosity and nobility of the conduct of the Spaniards: mingled with their undoubted patriotism there was enough of bigotry and cruelty, of self-seeking and ignorance, to make his harangue ring somewhat false in the ears of future generations. Yet both Canning and Sheridan spoke from the heart, and their declarations mark a very real turning-point in the history of the great struggle with Bonaparte.

Fortunately for Great Britain, and for the nations of the Iberian Peninsula, we were far better prepared for striking a heavy blow on the Continent in 1808 than we had been at any earlier period of the war. There was no longer any need to keep masses of men ready in the south-eastern counties for the defence of England against a French invasion. There were no longer any French forces of appreciable strength garrisoned along the English Channel: indeed Castlereagh had just been planning a raid to burn the almost unprotected French flotilla which still mouldered in the harbour of Boulogne. Our standing army had recently been strengthened and reorganized by a not inconsiderable military reform. The system had just been introduced by which Wellington’s host was destined to be recruited during the next six years. Every year two-fifths of the 120,000 embodied militia of the United Kingdom were to be allowed to volunteer into the regular army, while the places of the volunteers were filled up by men raised by ballot from[p. 224] the counties. This sort of limited conscription worked well: in the year 1808 it gave 41,786 men to the line, and these not raw recruits, but already more or less trained to arms by their service in the militia. All through the war this system continued: the Peninsular army, it must always be remembered, drew more than half its reinforcing drafts from the ‘old constitutional force.’ Hence came the ease with which it assimilated its recruits. Meanwhile the embodied militia never fell short in establishment, as it was automatically replenished by the ballot. The result of these changes, for which Castlereagh deserves the chief credit, was a permanent addition of 25,000 men to the regular force available for service at home or in Europe.

In June, 1808, there chanced to be several considerable bodies of troops which could be promptly utilized for an expedition to Spain. The most important was a corps of some 9,000 men which was being collected in the south of Ireland, to renew the attack on South America which had failed so disastrously in 1807. The news of the Spanish insurrection had, of course, led to the abandonment of the design, and General Miranda, its originator, had been informed that he must look for no further support from England. In addition to this force in Ireland there were a couple of brigades in the south-eastern counties of England, which had been intended to form the nucleus of Castlereagh’s projected raid on Boulogne. They had been concentrated at Harwich and Ramsgate respectively, and the transports for them were ready. A still more important contingent, but one that lay further off, and was not so immediately available, was the corps of 10,000 men which Sir John Moore had taken to the Baltic. In June it became known that it was impossible to co-operate with the hairbrained King of Sweden, who was bent on invading Russian Finland, a scheme to which the British Ministry refused its assent. Moore, therefore, after many stormy interviews with Gustavus IV, was preparing to bring his division home. With the aid of Spencer’s troops, which had so long been hovering about Cadiz and Gibraltar, and of certain regiments picked out of the English garrisons, it was easily possible to provide 40,000 men for service in Spain and Portugal.

But a number of isolated brigades and battalions suddenly thrown together do not form an army, and though Castlereagh had provided a large force for the projected expedition to the Peninsula, it was destitute of any proper organization. With the[p. 225] expedition that sailed from Cork there was only half a regiment of cavalry, and the brigades from Harwich, Ramsgate, and Gibraltar had not a single horseman with them, so that there were actually 18,000 foot to 390 horse among the contingents that first disembarked to contend with Junot’s army. Transport was almost equally neglected: only the troops from Cork had any military train with them, and that they were provided with horses and vehicles was only due to the prescience of their commander, who had at the last moment procured leave from London to enlist for foreign service and take with him two troops of the ‘Royal Irish Corps of Wagoners.’ ‘I declare,’ wrote Wellesley, ‘that I do not understand the principles on which our military establishments are formed, if, when large corps are sent out to perform important and difficult services, they are not to have with them those means of equipment which they require, such as horses to draw artillery, and drivers attached to the commissariat[180].’ Without this wise inspiration, he would have found himself unable to move when he arrived in the Peninsula: as it was, he had to leave behind, when he landed, some of his guns and half his small force of cavalry, because the authorities had chosen to believe that both draft and saddle horses could readily be procured in Portugal. Such little contretemps were common in the days when Frederick Duke of York, with the occasional assistance of Mrs. Mary Ann Clark, managed the British army.

But the arrangements as to the command of the expedition were the most ill-managed part of the business. The force at Cork was, as we have already explained, under the orders of Sir Arthur Wellesley, the younger brother of the great viceroy who had so much extended our Indian Empire between 1799 and 1805. He was the junior lieutenant-general in the British army, but had already to his credit a more brilliant series of victories than any other officer then living, including the all-important triumph of Assaye, which had so effectually broken the power of the Mahrattas. In 1808 he was a Member of Parliament and Under-Secretary for Ireland, but Castlereagh (who had the most unbounded belief in his abilities, and had long been using his advice on military questions) had picked him out to command the expedition mustering at Cork. When its destination was changed from America to Spain, the Secretary for War still hoped to keep him in command, but the[p. 226] Duke of York and the War Office were against Wellesley[181]. There were many respectable lieutenant-generals of enormous seniority and powerful connexions who were eager for foreign service. None of them had Wellesley’s experience of war on a large scale, or had ever moved 40,000 men on the field: but this counted for little at head quarters. The command in Portugal was made over to two of his seniors. The first was Sir Hew Dalrymple, a man of fifty-eight, whose only campaigning had been with the Duke of York in Flanders thirteen years back. He had been Governor of Gibraltar since 1806, knew something of Spanish politics, and was now in active communication with Casta?os. The second in command was to be Sir Harry Burrard[182]: he was an old Guards officer who had served during the American rebellion, and had more recently commanded a division during the Copenhagen expedition without any special distinction. The third was Sir John Moore, and to being superseded by him Wellesley could not reasonably have objected. He was at this moment perhaps the most distinguished officer in the British service: he had done splendid work in the West Indies, Egypt, and the Netherlands. He had reorganized the light infantry tactics of the British army, and had won the enthusiastic admiration of all who had ever served under him for his zeal and intelligent activity. But Moore, like Wellesley, was to be placed under Dalrymple and Burrard, and not trusted with an independent command. At the present moment he was still far away in the Baltic, and was not expected to arrive for some time. Meanwhile Wellesley was allowed to sail in temporary charge of the expeditionary force, and still under the impression that he was to retain its guidance. His[p. 227] transports weighed anchor on July 12, and it was only on July 15 that the dispatch from Downing Street, informing him that he had been superseded by Dalrymple and Burrard, was drafted. It did not reach him till he had already landed in Portugal.

His political instructions had been forwarded as early as June 30. They were drawn up mainly on the data that the Asturian and Galician deputations had furnished to the ministry[183]. Both the Juntas had been unwise enough to believe that the national rising would suffice to expel the French—whose numbers they much underrated—from Spain. While empowering their envoys to ask for money, arms, and stores, they had ordered them to decline the offer of an auxiliary force. They requested that all available British troops might be directed on Portugal, in order to rouse an insurrection in that country (which was still quiet when they arrived in London), and to prevent the troops of Junot from being employed against the rear of the army of General Blake. In deference to their suggestions the British Government had sent enormous stores of muskets, powder, and equipment to Gihon and Ferrol, but directed Wellesley to confine his activity to Portugal. The Spaniards, with their usual inaccuracy, had estimated the total of Junot’s army at no more than 15,000 men. Misled by this absurd undervaluation, Castlereagh informed Wellesley that if he found that his own and Spencer’s forces sufficed for the reduction of Portugal, he might ‘operate against the Tagus’ at once. But if more men were required, an additional 10,000 bayonets would be provided from England, and the expeditionary force might meanwhile ask the leave of the Galician Junta to stop at Vigo—a halt which would have cost many weeks of valuable time. Wellesley himself was to choose a fast-sailing vessel and make for Corunna, where he was to confer with the Junta and pick up the latest information as to the state of affairs in the Peninsula.

In accordance with these instructions Sir Arthur preceded the bulk of his armament on the Crocodile, and reached Corunna in the short space of eight days [July 20]. He found the Galicians somewhat depressed by the disaster of Medina de Rio Seco, whose details they misrepresented in the most shameless fashion to their distinguished visitor. Bessières, they said, had lost 7,000 men and six guns, and although he had forced Blake and Cuesta to retreat on Benavente, those generals had still 40,000 troops under arms,[p. 228] and had no need of any auxiliary force. ‘The arrival of the British money yesterday has entirely renewed their spirits,’ wrote Wellesley, ‘and neither in them nor in the inhabitants of this town do I see any symptom of alarm, or doubt of their final success.’ This vainglorious confidence was supported by an infinity of false news: Lefebvre-Desnouettes was said to have been thrice defeated near Saragossa, and Dupont and his whole corps had been taken prisoners on June 22 in an action between Andujar and La Carolina—a curious prophecy, for it foresaw and placed a month too early the catastrophe of Baylen[184], which no reasonable man could have predicted. Almost the only correct information which was supplied to Wellesley was the news of the revolt of Oporto and the rest of Northern Portugal. It was clear that there was now an opening for the British army in that country, and as the Galicians continued to display their reluctance to receive any military aid, Sir Arthur went to sea again, joined his fleet of transports off Cape Finisterre, and bade them make for the mouth of the Douro. He himself put into Oporto, where he landed and interviewed the Bishop and the Supreme Junta. He found them in no very happy frame of mind: they had, as they confessed, only been able to arm 5,000 infantry and 300 cavalry, who lay under Bernardino Freire at Coimbra, and 1,500 men more for a garrison at Oporto. The rest of these levies consisted of 12,000 peasants with pikes, ‘and though the people were ready and desirous to take arms, unfortunately there were none in the country’—not even enough to equip the disbanded regulars. The Bishop expressed himself as much alarmed at the news of the disaster at Medina de Rio Seco, and his military advisers acknowledged that in consequence of that battle they had given up any hope of aid from Spain[185]. They asked eagerly for arms, of which the English fleet carried many thousand stand, and were anxious to see Wellesley’s troops landed. The place which they recommended for putting the army ashore was Mondego Bay, near Coimbra, where the mouth of the Mondego River furnishes an indifferent harbour, guarded by the fort of Figueira. That stronghold, it will be[p. 229] remembered, had been seized by the bold exploit of the student Zagalo; it was now garrisoned by 300 British marines, so that the disembarkation would be safe from disturbance by anything save the heavy Atlantic surf, which always beats against the western coast of Portugal. There was no other port available along the shore save Peniche, which was dangerously close to Lisbon, and guarded by a castle still in French hands. Nearer still to the capital, landing is just possible at Cascaes and a few other places: but there was no regular harbour, and Admiral Cotton agreed with Wellesley in thinking that it would be mad to attempt to throw troops ashore on a dangerous rock-bound coast in the midst of Junot’s cantonments. Mondego Bay was therefore appointed as the general place of rendezvous for the fleet, which had now begun to arrive opposite the mouth of the Douro.

As to the Portuguese troops, the Supreme Junta agreed that Bernardino Freire and his 5,000 men should go forward with the British army, while the new levies should blockade Almeida, and guard the frontier along the Douro against any possible advance on the part of Marshal Bessières from Castile. The Junta calculated that, if supplied with arms, they could put into the field from the three northern provinces of Portugal 38,000 foot and 8,000 horse—a liberal estimate, as they had, including their peasant levies, no more than 19,000 collected on July 25. They asked for weapons and clothing for the whole mass, and for a loan of 300,000 Cruzado Novas (about ￡35,000)—no very large sum considering the grants that were being made to the Spaniards at this time. Wellesley would only promise that he would arm the militia and peasantry who were lying along the Mondego in company with Freire’s regulars, ‘if he found them worth it[186].’ The Bishop undertook to forward from Oporto all the remounts for cavalry and all the draught-mules for commissariat purposes that he could get together. He thought that he could procure 150 of the former and 500 of the latter in six days.

On August 1, 1808, the disembarkation in Mondego Bay began, in the face of a heavy surf which rendered landing very dangerous, especially for the horses, guns, and stores. Many boats were upset and a few lives lost[187]; but the troops and their commander[p. 230] were in good spirits, for the news of the surrender of Dupont at Baylen on July 20 had reached them the day before the disembarkation began. Wellesley was convinced that General Spencer would have sailed from Andalusia to join him, the moment that this great victory made the presence of British troops in the south unnecessary. He was right, for Spencer, before receiving any orders to that effect, had embarked his men for Portugal and came into Mondego Bay on August 5, just as the last of the division from Cork had been placed on shore. It was therefore with some 13,000 men that Wellesley began his march on Lisbon[188]. But to his bitter disappointment the young lieutenant-general had just learnt that three commanders had been placed over his head, and that he might soon expect Dalrymple to arrive and assume charge of the army. Castlereagh’s dispatch of July 15, containing this unwelcome news, was delivered to Wellesley as he lay in Mondego Bay on the thirtieth, and he had to make all his arrange[p. 231]ments for disembarkation while suffering under this unexpected slight. Many men would have resigned under such a blow, and Wellesley with his unbounded ambition, his strong sense of his deserts, and his well-marked tendency to take offence[189] must have been boiling over with suppressed indignation. But he felt that to ask to be recalled, because he had been degraded from a commander-in-chief to a mere general of division, would be an unsoldierly act. To Castlereagh he merely wrote that ‘whether he was to command the army or to quit it, he would do his best to ensure its success, and would not hurry operations one moment in order to acquire credit before the arrival of his superiors[190].’

Meanwhile there were yet a few days during which he would retain the command, and it was in his power to start the campaign on the right lines, even if he was not to reap the reward of its success. His first eight days on shore (August 2-9), were spent in the organization of the commissariat of his army, which the Home Government had disgracefully neglected. Except the two troops of the Irish Wagon Train, which he had insisted on bringing with him, he had no transport at his disposal, and, as he wrote to Castlereagh, ‘the existence of the army depends upon the commissariat, and yet the people who manage it are incapable of managing anything out of a counting-house[191].’ All that could be got out of the country he utilized: the Bishop of Oporto had sent him a few horses which enabled him to raise his force of mounted men from 180 to 240[192], and to give some animals to the artillery[5], to add to those that had come from Ireland[193]. But though he succeeded in equipping his own three batteries, the two which Spencer brought from Andalusia had to be left behind on the Mondego for want of draught-horses[194]: the dismounted men of the 20th Dragoons had also to be dropped. For the commissariat the Bishop of Oporto had sent some mules, which were raised to a total of 500 by purchases in the country-side, while 300 bullock[p. 232]-carts were procured for the heavier stores by requisition from the neighbouring villages. It was only on the ninth that things were so far ready that the army could move forward. It was now divided into six small brigades under Generals Hill, Ferguson, Nightingale, Bowes, Catlin Crawfurd, and Fane: the third, fourth, and fifth brigades had only two battalions each, the other four had three[195].

Wellesley had resolved to advance by the coast-road on Lisbon, via Alcoba?a, Obidos, and Torres Vedras, and it was along the desolate shore ‘up to the knees in sand and suffering dreadfully from thirst[196],’ that his men made their first march of twelve miles to Lugar. The distance was moderate, but the troops had been so long cramped on shipboard that some of the regiments had fallen out of condition and left many stragglers.

The reasons which had determined Wellesley to take the coast route, rather than that which leads from the Mondego to Lisbon via Santarem, were, as he afterwards explained, partly a wish to keep in touch with the fleet for the purpose of obtaining supplies—for he found that the country could support him in wine and beef, but not in flour—and partly the fact that he had learnt that new reinforcements from England were likely to appear within a few days. The brigades from Harwich and Ramsgate, under Generals Acland and Anstruther, had sailed on July 19 and might be looked for at any moment. Sir John Moore, with the division from Sweden, was also reported to be on his way to the south, but could not be expected to arrive for some time. Having ascertained that the French force in Portugal was somewhat larger than he originally supposed, Sir Arthur wished to pick up the troops of Acland and Anstruther before giving battle. In this he was even wiser than he knew, for he still estimated Junot’s total disposable force at 18,000 men[197], while it was really 26,000. To have attacked[p. 233] Lisbon with no more than the 13,000 troops who had originally disembarked at the mouth of the Mondego would have been most hazardous.

Wellesley had at first intended to take on with him the whole of Bernardino Freire’s army. He had visited the Portuguese commander at Montemor Velho on the seventh, and had issued to his ally a supply of 5,000 muskets. Freire was anxious to persuade him to give up the coast route, and to throw himself into the interior on the side of Santarem. But the cogent reasons which compelled him to prefer the road which allowed him to keep in touch with the fleet, made him refuse to listen to this plan, and he invited the Portuguese general to transfer himself on to the same line. Freire so far submitted as to move to Leiria, where he met the British army on August 10. But here the two commanders came to hard words and parted. Freire, a self-willed and shifty man, was determined not to act in unison with Wellesley. Whether he wished to preserve his independent command, or whether he feared (as Napier hints) to oppose his raw levies to the French, even when supported by 13,000 British bayonets[198], he now showed himself utterly impracticable. He began by laying hands on all the stores of food in Leiria, though they had been promised to Wellesley. Then he made the absurd and impudent statement that he could only co-operate with his allies if Wellesley would undertake to provide rations for his 6,000 men. This proposal was all the more astounding because he had just been trying to persuade his colleague to move into the inland, by the statement that resources of every kind abounded in Estremadura, and that the whole British army could easily live upon the country-side! Wellesley’s men had now been subsisting for ten days on biscuit landed by the fleet, and it was ludicrous that he should be asked to take upon his shoulders the whole burden of feeding the Portuguese in their own country. Accordingly he utterly rejected the proposal, but he insisted that Freire should lend him some cavalry and light troops, and these he promised to maintain. The bulk of the Portuguese, therefore, remained behind at Leiria, their general being left free to take up, if he should choose, his favourite plan of marching on Santarem. But 260 horsemen—the skeletons of three old cavalry regiments—a battalion of Cazadores, and three weak line-regiments were placed at Wellesley’s disposition: they[p. 234] amounted to about 2,300 men[199], according to the Portuguese official figures, but the British commander repeatedly states that he saw no more than 260 horse and 1,600 infantry[200]; so it is probable that the regiments were somewhat under the estimate given by Freire. They were commanded by Colonel Trant, a British officer in the Portuguese service[201].

Turning once more into the road that skirts the coast, Wellesley marched on the thirteenth from Leiria, and reached Alcoba?a on the fourteenth. Here he got his first news of the French: a brigade under Thomières had occupied the village till the previous day, and he learnt that General Delaborde, with a weak division, was somewhere in his front, in the direction of Obidos and Roli?a.

Junot had received prompt information of the landing of the British in Mondego Bay; on the very day after it had commenced he was able to send orders to Loison to abandon his post in front of Badajoz and to march at once to join the main army. Meanwhile Delaborde was sent out from Lisbon on August 6 to observe and, if possible, contain Wellesley, till Junot should have concentrated his whole field-army and be ready to fight. He was told to expect Loison from the direction of Thomar and Santarem, and to join him as soon as was possible. For his rather hazardous task he was given no more than five battalions of infantry and a single[p. 235] regiment of chasseurs à cheval, with five guns[202]—not much more than 5,000 men.

Delaborde at first thought of making a stand, and compelling Wellesley to show his force, at Batalha near Alcoba?a, where John I had beaten the Spaniards, four and a half centuries ago, at the decisive battle of Aljubarotta. But, after examining the position, he found it so much surrounded by woods, and so destitute of good points of view, that he feared to be enveloped if he committed[p. 236] himself to a fight. Accordingly he drew back to Roli?a, leaving only a rearguard at Obidos to observe the approach of the British. At the same time he detached six companies of the 4th Swiss to garrison Peniche, thus reducing his available force to 4,350 men.

Wellesley, meanwhile, knowing himself to be close to the enemy, advanced steadily but with caution. He left behind his tents and other weighty baggage at Leiria, and moved forward with a lightly equipped army to Alcoba?a on the fourteenth, to Caldas on the fifteenth. On that day the first shot of the campaign was fired: four companies of the fifth battalion of the 60th and of the second battalion of the 95th Rifles discovered the French outposts at Brilos in front of Obidos, drove them in, and pursuing furiously for three miles, came on the battalion which formed Delaborde’s rearguard. This corps turned upon them, checked them with the loss of two[203] officers and twenty-seven men killed and wounded, and only retired when General Spencer led up a brigade to save the riflemen.

Next morning the French were discovered to have fallen back no further than Roli?a, where Delaborde had found the position that he had sought in vain at Batalha. The road from Caldas and Obidos towards Torres Vedras and Lisbon passes for some miles over a sandy plain enclosed on either flank by bold hills. The southern limit of the basin is a cross-ridge, which connects the other two: in front of it lies Roli?a, on the side-slope of an isolated eminence which overlooks the whole plain: a mile further south the road passes over the cross-ridge by a sort of gorge or defile, on the right hand of which is the village of Columbeira, while to its left rear lies that of Zambugeira. Though Delaborde had drawn up his men on the hill of Roli?a down in the plain, it was not this advanced position that he intended to hold, but the higher and steeper line of the cross-ridge, on either side of the defile above Columbeira. Here he had a short front, only three-quarters of a mile in length, scarped by precipitous slopes, and covered by thickets and brushwood, which served to mask the strength (or rather the weakness) of his division.

Discovering Delaborde drawn up on the isolated hill of Roli?a, where both his flanks could easily be turned, the British commander resolved to endeavour to envelop and surround him. He waited[p. 237] on the sixteenth till the rear of the army had come up, and marched at dawn on the seventeenth with his whole force—13,000 British and 2,000 Portuguese, drawn up in a crescent-shaped formation with the centre refused and the wings thrown far forward. On the right Colonel Trant, with three battalions of Portuguese infantry and fifty horse of the same nation, moved along the foot of the western range of heights, to turn the Roli?a position by a wide circular movement. On the left General Ferguson, with his own brigade, that of Bowes, and six guns, struck over the hills to get round the eastern flank of the French. In the centre the remainder of the army—four brigades of British infantry, 400 cavalry, half English and half Portuguese, with the battalion of Cazadores and twelve guns, advanced on a broad front in two lines, forming a most magnificent spectacle: ‘they came on slowly but in beautiful order, dressing at intervals to correct the gaps caused by the inequalities of ground, and all converging on the hill of Roli?a[204].’ Hill’s brigade formed the right, Fane’s the left, Nightingale’s the centre, while Catlin Crawfurd’s two battalions and the Cazadores acted as the reserve.

Delaborde had warned his men to be ready for a sudden rush to the rear the minute that the enveloping movement should grow dangerous. Waiting till the last possible moment, when Fane’s riflemen were already engaged with his tirailleurs, and Trant and Ferguson were showing on the flanks, he suddenly gave the order for retreat. His men hurried back, easily eluding the snare, and took post on the wooded heights above Columbeira a mile to the rear. Wellesley had to rearrange his troops for an attack on the second position, and half the morning had been wasted to no effect. He resolved, however, to repeat his original man?uvre. Trant and the Portuguese once more made a long sweep to the right: Ferguson’s column mounted the foot-hills of the Sierra de Baragueda and commenced a toilsome detour to the left[205]. In the centre two batteries formed up near a windmill on the northern slope of Roli?a hill and began to bombard the French position, while Fane’s brigade to the left on the main road, and Hill’s and Nightingale’s to the right deployed for the attack.

Wellesley had not intended to assault the Columbeira heights till the turning movements of Trant and Ferguson should be well[p. 238] developed. But, contrary to his intention, part of his centre pushed forward at once, and when it was engaged the other troops in the front line were sent up to its aid. The face of the hill was scarred by four ‘passes’ as Wellesley called them, or rather large ravines, up each of which some of the British troops tried to penetrate. On the extreme right the light companies of Hill’s brigade, supported by the first battalion of the 5th Regiment from the same brigade, delivered their attack up one gully. The second pass, just beyond the village of Columbeira, was assayed by the 29th from Nightingale’s brigade, with the 9th of Hill’s in support. The 82nd went towards the centre, while Fane’s two rifle battalions and the 45th tried the heights far to the left.

The 29th Regiment, urged on by the rash courage of its colonel, Lake, attacked some time before any other corps was engaged. It pushed up a narrow craggy pass, the bed of a dried-up mountain torrent, where in some places only two or three men abreast could keep their footing: the further that the battalion advanced, the more did the ravine recede into the centre of the enemy, and the 29th was soon being fired on from three sides. The right wing, which led, at last forced its way to the brow of the hill, and was able to deploy in a more or less imperfect way, and to commence its fire. In front of it were the few companies of the 4th Swiss, some of whom tried to surrender, calling out that they were friends, turning up their musket butts, and rushing in to shake hands with the British[206]. But before the 29th could fully recover its formation, it was fiercely charged from the rear: some of the French troops on the lower slopes of the position, finding themselves likely to be cut off, formed in a dense mass and rushed straight through the right wing of Colonel Lake’s regiment from behind, breaking it, killing its commander and capturing six officers and some thirty of its rank and file, whom they took back with them in triumph. The 29th reeled down the slope into a wood, where it reformed on its comparatively intact left wing, and then resumed the fight, aided by the 9th, its supporting regiment. About this moment the 5th and Fane’s rifles made other attacks on the two ends of the hostile line, but were at first checked. Delaborde and his brigadier,[p. 239] Brennier, had only four battalions on the ridge, as they had detached three companies of the 70th far to their right in the direction in which Ferguson was moving. But they held their ground very gallantly, waiting till the British skirmishers had begun to get a lodgement on the brow, and then charging each detachment as it tried to deploy, and forcing it down to the edge of the wood that covered the lower slopes. Three assaults were thus repulsed, but the British troops would not be denied—Wellesley wrote that he had never seen more gallant fighting than that of the 9th and the 29th[207]—and after each reverse formed up again and came on once more. After two hours of desperate struggles they made good their lodgement on the crest at several points: Ferguson’s troops (though they had lost their way and wasted much time) began to appear on the extreme left, and Delaborde then saw that it was time for him to go.

He retired by alternate battalions, two in turn holding back the disordered pursuers, while the other two doubled to the rear. His regiment of chasseurs à cheval also executed several partial charges against the British skirmishers, and lost its commander mortally wounded: the Portuguese cavalry refused to face them. In this way the French reached the pass behind Zambugeira, a mile to the rear, without any great loss. But in passing through this defile, they were forced to club together by the narrowness of the road, were roughly hustled by their pursuers, and lost three[208] of their guns and a few prisoners. The rest of the force escaped in some disorder to Cazal da Sprega, where Wellesley halted his men, seeing that it was now impossible to catch Delaborde’s main body. Two miles to the rear the French were rejoined by the three companies of the 70th Regiment which had been detached to the east. They then retreated to Montechique some fifteen miles from Lisbon, where they at last got news of Loison and Junot.

Delaborde had fought a most admirable rearguard action, holding on to the last moment, and escaping by his prompt man?uvres the very serious risk of being enveloped and captured by the forces of the English, who outnumbered him fourfold. But he had lost 600 men and three guns, while his assailants had only suffered to[p. 240] the extent of 474 killed, wounded, and prisoners[209], nearly half of whom were in the ranks of the 29th[210]. The French flattered themselves that they had somewhat shaken the morale of Wellesley’s men by their obstinate resistance: but this was far from being the case. The English had only put five and a half battalions[211] into the fighting line, and were proud of having turned the enemy out of such a position as that of Columbeira without engaging more than 4,600 men.

It is doubtful whether Delaborde should have fought at all: he was holding on in the hope that Loison’s division would come up and join him, but this junction was very problematical, as nothing had been heard of that general for many days. By fighting at Columbeira, Delaborde risked complete destruction for an inadequate end. It was true that if Loison was now close at hand Wellesley’s further advance might cut him off from Lisbon. But as a matter of fact Loison was still far away. He had reached Santarem on August 13, with his troops so tired by his long march from the Alemtejo, that he halted there for two days to rest them and allow his stragglers to come up. Marching again on the sixteenth, he was at Cercal, fifteen miles from Roli?a to the east, while Delaborde was fighting. He barely heard the distant cannonade, and rejoined the rest of the army at Torres Vedras, by a route through Cadaval and Quinta da Bugagliera, which crossed his colleague’s line of retreat at an acute angle [August 18].

It is true that if Wellesley had been accurately informed of Loison’s position on the seventeenth, he could have so man?uvred as to place himself directly between that general and Lisbon on the following day, by seizing the cross-roads at Quinta da Bugagliera. In that case Loison’s division could only have rejoined Junot by a perilous flank march through Villafranca and Saccavem, or by crossing the Tagus and moving along its eastern bank to the heights of Almada opposite the capital. But the English general’s object at this moment was not to cut off Loison, but to pick[p. 241] up a considerable reinforcement, of whose approach he had just heard. On the morning of the eighteenth the brigade of General Acland from Harwich had arrived off the Peniche peninsula, and its advent was reported to Wellesley, with the additional news that that of General Anstruther, which had sailed from Ramsgate, was close behind. It was all-important to get these 4,000 men ashore: they could not be landed at Peniche, whose fort was still in French hands, and the only other anchorage near was that of Porto Novo, at the mouth of the little river Maceira, twelve miles south of Roli?a. To cover their disembarkation Wellesley marched by the coast-road through Lourinh?o, and encamped on the heights of Vimiero. This movement allowed Loison, who moved by the parallel road more inland, to pass the English and reach Torres Vedras.

NOTE TO CHAPTER II

By far the best English account of Roli?a is that by Col. Leslie of the 29th, in his Military Journal, which was not printed till 1887 (at the Aberdeen University Press). He corrects Napier on several points. I have also found useful details in the letters (unpublished) of Major Gell, of the same regiment, which were placed at my disposition by Mr. P. Lyttelton Gell. Leslie and Gell agree that Colonel Lake led on his regiment too fast, contrary to Wellesley’s intentions. The narrative of Colonel Leach of the 2/95th is also valuable. The accounts of Landsheit of the 20th Light Dragoons, of Colonel Wilkie in Maxwell’s Peninsular Sketches (vol. i), and the anonymous ‘T.S.’ of the 71st (Constable, Edinburgh, 1828) have some useful points. Foy and Thiébault, the French narrators of the fight, were not eye-witnesses, like the six above-named British writers.
SECTION IV: CHAPTER III
VIMIERO

Junot much disliked leaving Lisbon: he greatly enjoyed his viceregal state, and was so convinced that to retain the capital was equivalent to dominating the whole of Portugal[212], that he attached an exaggerated importance to his hold on the place, and was very reluctant to cut down its garrison. But it was clearly necessary to support Delaborde and Loison, and at last he took his departure. As a preliminary precaution he resolved to deal a blow at the Alemtejo insurgents, who, emboldened by Loison’s retreat, were creeping nearer to the mouth of the Tagus, and showing themselves opposite Setuval. On August 11, five days after Delaborde had marched off, General Kellermann was sent out with two battalions and a few dragoons to drive off these hovering bands, a task which he executed with ease, giving them a thorough beating at Alcacer do Sal. Having cleared this flank Junot evacuated Setuval and his other outlying posts beyond the Tagus, and only retained garrisons at Forts Bugio and Trafaria, which command the entrance of the river, and on the heights of Almada, which face Lisbon across the ‘Mar de Palio.’ He put in a state of defence the old citadel which crowns the highest of the seven hills on which the city is built, and established a battalion in each of the suburban villages of Belem and Saccavem, another in Fort San Julian at the mouth of the Tagus, and two at Cascaes, in the batteries which command the only point where a disembarkation from the side of the Atlantic is barely possible. This excess of precaution was largely due to the fact that a small English convoy of transports, carrying the 3rd Regiment (the Buffs) from Madeira, had been seen off the mouth of the Tagus. The duke feared that this portended an attempt to throw troops ashore in the immediate vicinity of the capital, when he should have gone off to meet Wellesley.

Altogether Junot left seven battalions, not less than 6,500 men, in Lisbon and the neighbouring forts, a much greater number than[p. 243] was really required, for, as Napoleon afterwards observed, capitals wait, before declaring themselves, for events outside to cast their shadows before[213]. Knowing that a decisive blow given to the English would be the best way to keep the city quiet, the Duke of Abrantes would have been wise to cut down his garrisons round Lisbon to 3,000 men, however great the risk, and take every available man to meet Wellesley[214]. It is probable that his error,[p. 244] which no French general would have committed at a later period of the war, was due to that tendency to despise the fighting power of the British which was prevalent on the Continent all through the early years of the century.

Not the least of Junot’s troubles was the obstinate torpidity of the Russian admiral, Siniavin, whose 6,000 seamen and marines might have taken over the whole charge of Lisbon, if only their commander had been willing. The Russian had refused to take part in the war as long as only Portuguese were in the field, on the plea that his master had never declared war on the Prince-Regent or recognized the French annexation. But when the British had landed, Junot hoped to move him to action, for there was no doubt that Russia and the United Kingdom were technically at war. The Duke of Abrantes first tried to induce Siniavin to put out from the Tagus, to fall upon scattered British convoys, and to distract the attention of the blockading squadron under Cotton. But the reply that to sally forth into the Atlantic would probably mean destruction in two days by the British fleet was too rational to be overruled. Then Junot proposed that Siniavin should at least take charge of the pontoons containing the captive Spanish division of Caraffa: but this too was denied him, and he had to leave a battalion of Graindorge’s brigade to mount guard on the prisoners[215]. The Russians were perfectly useless to Junot, except in so far as their guns helped to overawe Lisbon, and presented a show of force to deter British vessels from trying to force the passage of the forts at the mouth of the Tagus. The fact was that Siniavin was not so much stupid as disaffected: he belonged to the party in Russia which was opposed to France, and he had perhaps received a hint from home that he was not expected to show too much zeal in supporting the projects of Napoleon.

On the night of August 15, Junot marched out of Lisbon at the head of his reserve, a very small force consisting of a battalion of the 82nd of the line, one of the two regiments of grenadiers, which he had created by concentrating the grenadier companies of the eighteen line battalions in his army[216], the 3rd provisional regiment[p. 245] of dragoons, a squadron of volunteer cavalry formed by the French inhabitants of Lisbon, and his reserve artillery—ten guns under General Taviel. He also took with him the reserve ammunition-train, a large convoy of food, and his military chest containing a million of francs in specie. On the morning of the seventeenth the troops had reached Villafranca, when a false report that the English were trying to land at Cascaes caused them to retrace their steps for some miles, and to lose half a day’s march. On learning that Lisbon and its neighbourhood were quiet, Junot returned to the front, and growing vexed at the slow march of the great convoy which the reserve was escorting, pushed on ahead, and joined Loison at Cercal. He heard the distant thunder of the guns at Roli?a in the afternoon, but was too far away to help Delaborde.

On the eighteenth Loison and Junot marched southward to Torres Vedras, and heard that Delaborde had fallen back so far that he was ten miles to their rear, at Montechique. He only came up to join them next day [August 19], and the reserve with its heavy convoy, much hampered by bad country roads in the Monte Junto hills, did not appear till the twentieth.

Junot had been much exercised in mind by the doubt whether Wellesley would march by the direct road on Lisbon through Torres Vedras and Montechique, or would continue to hug the shore by the longer route that passes by Vimiero and Mafra. Not knowing of the approach of Acland’s and Anstruther’s brigades, he was ignorant of the main fact which governed his adversary’s movements. But learning on the twentieth that the British were still keeping to the coast-road, by which they could in one more march turn his position at Torres Vedras, he determined to rush upon them with his united forces and give battle. At the last moment he resolved to draw a few more men from Lisbon, and called up a battalion of the 66th of the line, and another composed of four picked companies selected from the other corps of the garrison—a trifling reinforcement of 1,000 or 1,200 men, which arrived just too late for the fight at Vimiero.

The organization of the French army had been so much cut up by the numerous garrisons which Junot had thought fit to leave behind him, that although five of his six infantry brigades were more or less represented in his field-army, not one of them was complete. He accordingly recast the whole system, and arranged[p. 246] his force in two divisions under Delaborde and Loison, and a reserve brigade of Grenadiers under Kellermann. His cavalry on the other hand was intact: every one of the four regiments of Margaron’s division was present, and over and above them he had the squadron of French volunteers raised in Lisbon. He had also twenty-three guns: there should have been twenty-six, but Delaborde had lost three at Roli?a. The total of men present amounted to 10,300 foot and 2,000 horse, with 700 artillerymen and men of the military train[217], or about 13,000 in all.

[p. 247]

Hearing that Wellesley was stationary in Vimiero since the morning of the nineteenth, Junot determined to attack him at the[p. 248] earliest possible moment. He was ignorant that his adversary’s halt was due to the arrival of Anstruther and Acland, but knowing that more troops were expected from the sea he resolved to fight at once. The reserve and convoy joined him on the morning of the twentieth: the same night he marched under cover of the darkness and traversed the ten miles which separated him from the hostile position: at dawn he was close under it.

But Wellesley meanwhile had received his reinforcements, and was 4,000 men stronger than the Duke of Abrantes supposed. On the nineteenth Anstruther’s[218] brigade had accomplished its dangerous disembarkation, through the surf that beats upon the sandy shore north of the mouth of the Maceira. It had been a tedious business, many boats having been upset and some lives lost. On the afternoon of the twentieth the convoy that brought Acland’s brigade was got inshore, and the greater part of the men disembarked in the dusk in the actual mouth of the little river, and slept upon the beach. But some of them were still on shipboard on the morning of the twenty-first, and came too late for the battle of that day[219].

While covering this disembarkation Wellesley had taken up an excellent position on the heights of Vimiero, with the sea at his back. The surrounding country was pleasant, good water was forthcoming in abundance, and the neighbouring villages provided a considerable quantity of food. The region is both more fertile and better wooded than most of central Portugal. The only fault[p. 249] of the position was that it was one from which retreat would have been very difficult. But confident in himself and his men, and somewhat under-estimating the possible maximum of force that Junot could bring against him, Wellesley was thinking of nothing less than of retreat. If he had not been attacked on the twenty-first, he would himself have pushed on towards the enemy next day. He had now 16,778 British troops, besides Trant’s 2,000 Portuguese, and thought himself competent to cope with any force that Junot could collect.
Map of the battle of Vimiero

Enlarge  Battle of Vimiero. August 21, 1808.

The position of Vimiero consists of a well-marked line of heights sweeping from the north to the south-west, and cut through the centre by the narrow valley of the river Maceira, on which the village of Vimiero stands. The southern part of the range, which lies nearest the sea, is especially steep and formidable: the northern part, beyond the Maceira, is lower and broader: along its ridge runs a country road leading northward to Lourinh?o. But even here the position is very strong, for a ravine creeps along its eastern foot and acts as a sort of ditch to the broad ridge, or rather plateau, which the British army was holding. Its only accessible side is the north, where it sinks down into a rolling upland beyond the village of Ventosa. In the very centre of the position, well in front of the main ridge, just above the village of Vimiero, lies an isolated hill, well suited to serve as an outwork or first line of defence. It was partly occupied by vineyards and thickets, partly by open fields, and gave admirable cover for its defenders.

This hill Wellesley had chosen as the key of his position: on it were placed the two brigades of Fane and Anstruther, seven battalions in all. The high ridge running from behind it to the sea was held by the brigades of Hill, Bowes, Catlin Crawfurd, Nightingale, and Acland. That of Ferguson lay behind Vimiero, astride of the valley of the Maceira. Trant’s four battalions of Portuguese were near Ferguson, on the lower heights north of Vimiero, ready to act as a reserve to Fane and Anstruther. The handful of cavalry, 240 English and 260 Portuguese sabres, were in the low ground on the banks of the Maceira, close under Crawfurd’s position. Of the three batteries which Wellesley had been able to bring with him, six guns were on the projecting height with Anstruther, eight were on the high mountain south of Vimiero, and four were with the reserve.

[p. 250]

A glance at this order of battle shows that Wellesley expected to be attacked from the south, up the valley of the Maceira, and that he thought that the enemy’s plan would be to force his right-centre. Little or no provision is made against the plan which Junot actually adopted, that of assaulting the British left-centre and simultaneously turning their extreme left flank, while leaving the right unmolested. But the whole position was so short—it was less than three miles in length—that there was no difficulty in shifting troops rapidly from one end of it to the other, and, as the event showed, no risk whatever was run.

Wellesley was busy arranging his line of battle, when to his bitter disappointment he received the news that he was superseded, a calamity which he had been expecting to occur at any moment. Sir Harry Burrard had arrived from England at the tail of Acland’s convoy, and was now on board the sloop Brazen in Maceira Bay. Sir Arthur at once went off in a boat to greet him, and to give him an account of the condition in which affairs stood. Burrard heard him out, and then placed a strong embargo on any further offensive movement. He had learnt that Sir John Moore, with the division from the Baltic, was now off the Portuguese coast, and was resolved not to stir till those troops should have been landed. Being, as it seems, a leisurely sort of man, he resolved to sleep on board his ship for one night more, and to come ashore next morning—a resolve which cost him that chance of commanding a British army in a pitched battle which so many generals have in vain desired. Wellesley went back through the surf charged, for a short fifteen hours more, with the destinies of the army of Portugal[220].

[p. 251]

The French cavalry had been hovering around Vimiero all through the twentieth, and knowing that Junot was not far off,[p. 252] Sir Arthur had taken all precautions against being surprised. General Fane, in charge of the outposts, had pushed pickets of riflemen into the wooded heights that faced the British position on the northern bank of the Maceira[221]: vedettes of the 20th Light Dragoons were thrown out three or four miles to the front, and especially watched the Torres Vedras road. About midnight they began to hear the approach of the enemy; the rumbling of his guns and caissons over the wooden bridge of Villa Facaia travelled for miles through the still night air. In half an hour Wellesley was warned that the French were drawing near, and sent the order round all his brigades to be under arms and in line on their designated position an hour before daybreak[222].

But the enemy was late in appearing: Junot had halted on the near side of the bridge of Villa Facaia, four miles away, to rest his men after their night march and to allow them to cook their breakfast. It was not till nearly nine in the morning that dense clouds of dust rolling along the Torres Vedras road bore witness to the approach of the French. They were indistinctly visible, among woods and rolling upland, as they advanced with a broad front on each side of the village of Villa Facaia—a regiment of cavalry in front, then Loison on the left and Delaborde on the right side of the road, finally Kellermann’s grenadiers, the reserve of artillery, and the bulk of Margaron’s cavalry. The English were surprised to note that the columns showed as masses of dust colour, not of the customary dark blue. On account of the hot weather they had been provided with white linen frocks, and were wearing their uniform coats folded and buckled over their knapsacks[223].

Wellesley had been expecting to see the great column swerve to its left, and approach him along the valley of the Maceira, by Cunhados and Sobreiro Curvo. But instead of so doing Junot continued his progress northward, till he had completely marched past the English right wing, and only fronted and deployed when he had got on a level with Vimiero. After driving off the small[p. 253] pickets of English riflemen who still lay out in the woods a mile in front of Fane’s brigade[224], the French began to form a line of battle whose southern end was opposite Wellesley’s centre. But at the same time the cavalry advance-guard was noted riding far away to the north, toward Carrasqueira and Praganza, and it was clear that infantry were following them. Obviously there was going to be an attempt to turn the English position at its northern end, on the comparatively gentle slopes along the Lourinh?o road.

Junot after reconnoitring the British position in a somewhat perfunctory fashion, had resolved to leave alone the formidable heights occupied by the right wing, and to try to storm the low hill in front of Vimiero with his main body, while he turned Wellesley’s left with a secondary column. This detachment was composed of the 3rd provisional regiment of dragoons, and Brennier’s brigade, the same four battalions which had fought so handsomely at Roli?a. But the moment that Wellesley had seen that his right flank was safe, and that his left was about to be attacked, he rapidly changed his line of battle. Ferguson, from behind Vimiero, started to march north. Behind him followed three of the four brigades which had occupied the hills above the sea. Only Hill was still left on the crest to the south-west of Vimiero; Bowes, Nightingale, and Acland—six battalions in all, taking with them six guns—dropped down into the valley of the Maceira, crossed it behind Vimiero, and marched along the Lourinh?o road parallel with Brennier’s movement on the opposite side of the valley. In rear of these troops, and nearer the sea, Catlin Crawfurd and the Portuguese also moved northward, and took up a position near Ribamar, where they covered the flank of the other corps and were in a good position for preventing any movement of the French on the extreme north-west. Junot caught a glimpse of the extensive transference of troops to the left which his adversary was making, and struck with a sudden fear lest Brennier might be overwhelmed, sent off another brigade—Solignac’s of Loison’s division—to support him. He would have been much wiser had he kept these three battalions in hand to support his main attack, and merely directed Brennier to demonstrate against the British left without pressing his attack home. His last movement had divided his army into two halves, separated from each other by a gap of nearly two miles: for the main attack he had only kept eight and[p. 254] a quarter battalions, three regiments of cavalry and seventeen guns, while seven battalions, one regiment of cavalry, and six guns had gone off on the turning movement. How long their flank march was to be he had not calculated, for, not discerning the steepness of the ravine at the foot of the British position, he had not realized that Brennier and Solignac would have to take a vast sweep to the north in order to cross it. As a matter of fact they got completely out of touch with him and, what was worse, with each other. Their diversion did not begin till the main battle was nearly over[225].

Meanwhile the French general deployed the second brigades of his two divisions, Charlot’s of Loison’s, and Thomières’ of Delaborde’s, only four and a quarter battalions in all, as a first line for the attack on Vimiero. Kellermann’s four battalions of grenadiers in a second line were for the moment held back, as was the cavalry and the reserve artillery. But seven guns went forward with the first line. The French came on in their usual style, a thick line of tirailleurs, supported by battalion columns close in their rear. Fane and Anstruther were very comfortably placed for repelling the attack: the latter had drawn up the 52nd and 97th in line on the slope of the hill, partly hidden by a dip in the ground and largely covered by vines and brushwood: the 9th and 43rd were in open column to the rear, ready to act as a reserve. Fane had got most of the riflemen of the 60th and 95th out in front, at the foot of the hill, in a very thick skirmishing line: only a few companies of them were in reserve along with the 50th (the famous ‘dirty half-hundredth’) at the head of the slope. In consequence of the order which Junot had adopted, Thomières’ two battalions were opposed to Fane, and Charlot’s brigade to Anstruther on the southern half of the hill. In each quarter the course of the fight was much the same: the French tirailleurs pushed up the slope among the brushwood and vineyards, slowly driving the riflemen before them. Then, as they drew near the crest, the two English brigadiers suddenly let loose their formed battalions upon the assailants. There was one fierce volley from the six guns on the hill top, and then the 97th charged Charlot’s men in front, while the 52nd swerved round and took them in flank. One[p. 255] smashing discharge at ten paces blew to pieces the heads of the columns of the 32nd and 82nd, which crumpled up in hopeless disorder and rolled down to the foot of the hill, pursued by their assailants. A few moments later Fane dashed the 50th and the reserve companies of his rifles against Thomières’ troops, and sent them flying down the slope in equal disorder. They could not be rallied till they had got out of musketry range, and the seven guns which they had brought forward with them were all captured: Delaborde and Charlot were wounded: the commander of the 82nd was killed[226].

Junot’s first attack had failed, but his spirit was not yet broken: he called up half his reserve of grenadiers, two battalions under Colonel St. Clair, and sent them against the hill on the same point, while the débris of the two wrecked brigades were rallied and pushed forward in support. Eight guns under Foy (the historian in after-years of the war), were brought out from the artillery reserve and pushed to the front. The second attack, however, failed even more disastrously than the first: the grenadiers, attacking on a narrow front and a single point, were blown to pieces by the converging fire of the 52nd, the 97th, and Fane’s two rifle battalions, as well as by the battery on the hill, which having no longer any British skirmishers in front of it had a free field. It was here, as Wellesley’s dispatches show, that shrapnell shell, a recent invention of the British colonel of that name, was first used, and with the most effective results. St. Clair’s battalions climbed halfway up the hill, but could do no more, and finally gave way, bearing back with them their half-rallied supports. The fight was rolling down the slope into the pine-wood at its foot, when Junot made his last desperate stroke. His only infantry reserve was now the 1st Regiment of Grenadiers, two battalions under Colonel Maransin. He resolved to throw them into the fight pour en finir, as he said to his chief of the staff, but they ‘made a finish of it’ in a way very different from his intention. This time the assailants, led by General Kellermann in person, made not for the front of the hill, but for the gap between it and the heights to the north, trying to turn Fane’s flank and to penetrate into the village of Vimiero by coasting round the foot of the higher ground. There were at first[p. 256] no troops directly opposed to the column, but soon the grenadiers found themselves under fire from both flanks. On the southern side Anstruther took from his reserve the 43rd, which had not yet fired a shot, and threw it into the cemetery of Vimiero, from whence it descended on the left flank of the leading battalion of grenadiers. On the northern side a new force intervened: General Acland on the heights along the Lourinh?o road had been acting as the reserve of Wellesley’s left wing: he was not needed there, and seeing Kellermann’s attack threatening to break in between himself and Anstruther, took action on his own responsibility. Marching a little southward along the ridge, he sent his two companies of the 95th Rifles, and the light companies of his two line-battalions to fall on the right flank of the grenadiers. At the same time he turned upon them the fire of two field-guns which were in reserve near his brigade.

The double flank attack cost Kellermann many men, and brought his column to a standstill, but he held his ground for some time, till the 43rd closed in upon him at the eastern end of Vimiero village. Both French and English were in great disorder, the houses and enclosure-walls having broken up their formation. There was a furious hand-to-hand fight, volleys were interchanged at the distance of five yards, and both sides used the bayonet freely. At last the grenadiers gave way and retired sullenly towards their original position: they had lost many men, but so had the 43rd, who from a weak battalion of 700 men had forty killed and seventy-nine wounded.

All along the line the French were now falling back, and Junot brought up a regiment of dragoons to cover the retreat of the disordered masses. Wellesley now resolved to make use of his handful of cavalry: close behind Vimiero there were drawn up the 240 sabres of the 20th Light Dragoons, with 260 Portuguese horsemen in two squadrons on their flanks[227]. ‘Now, Twentieth, now is the time!’ cried Wellesley, lifting his cocked hat, and Colonel Taylor wheeled his regiment from behind the sheltering hill and dashed at the retreating Frenchmen. The two Portuguese squadrons started level with him, but after going a few hundred yards and receiving a shot or two, they broke, fell into disorder, and finally galloped to the rear amid the hoots of Anstruther’s[p. 257] brigade. But the 20th rode at the French dragoons who stood in their path, burst through them, and then plunged among the flying infantry, sabring them to right and left and taking many prisoners. They could not be stayed till they had hewn their way through the fugitives, to the place where Junot himself sat watching the rout of his men. The charge had been pushed beyond all reasonable bounds, for the men were mad with excitement and would not halt. But as they rode up the French hill they were checked by a stone wall, and at the same time charged by the two reserve regiments of Margaron’s horse. It was a wonder that the headstrong troopers were not annihilated, but the larger part returned in safety to the English lines, leaving behind them their colonel[228] and twenty men slain, twenty-four wounded, and eleven prisoners.

We must now turn to the northern part of the battle-field, where the main stress of the fighting did not begin till the engagement round Vimiero was nearly over. This was the result of the reckless way in which Junot had sent his flanking brigades to attack over unexplored ground. When Brennier reached the point at which he would naturally have wheeled inward to climb the slopes along the Lourinh?o road, he came upon the deep and rugged valley of Toledo, the steepness of whose slopes he did not realize till he had almost reached its brink. Having guns with him, the French brigadier thought the obstacle impassable, and turned northward again in a long sweep by the village of Carrasqueira, the 3rd Dragoons still heading his march. In this wide flanking movement he passed quite out of sight of the British.

But Solignac, with the second brigade which Junot had told off for the northern diversion, was not so cautious. He too came upon the ravine; but instead of turning it he sought out its least precipitous point and passed it near its head, underneath the farm of Ventosa. Having crossed, he deployed his three battalions, brought up his right shoulder, and ascended the gentle slope. By this movement he was devoting his brigade to destruction. On the hill above he could see only the thin line of British skirmishers, but[p. 258] hidden behind the crest was the main body of Wellesley’s right wing, the seven battalions of Ferguson, Nightingale, and Bowes. They had long watched the approach of the French, and were lying down in battle order. In front were Ferguson’s three regiments, the 36th, 40th, and 71st, and one of Nightingale’s, the 82nd. A couple of hundred yards to the rear was the second line, the 29th of Nightingale’s brigade, and the 6th and 32nd, which formed Bowes’ command. Acland and Catlin Crawfurd were a mile away in different directions, but not too far to have been called in if necessary.

When Solignac’s men reached the brow of the hill, the four British battalions in the front line rose up and marched to meet them. Their long array completely overlapped at both ends the advancing columns and their screen of light troops[229], At the distance of one hundred yards all the four regiments directed a converging volley on the French, which almost swept away the tirailleurs and shook terribly the supporting masses. Then they reloaded and advanced in silence on the enemy, who were shouting, firing irregularly, and endeavouring to deploy, with their officers all in front. For troops in such disorder the near approach of the majestic two-deep line of 3,300 bayonets was too much. They wavered and fled northward along the summit of the ridge, carrying with them their commander, Solignac, desperately wounded. The British pursued, halting at intervals to pour a volley into the retreating masses, and picking up on the way many prisoners, and also the three guns which the enemy had laboriously dragged up the hill.

The pursuit was stopped by an unexpected development. General Brennier had heard from afar the heavy musketry fire which told him that his supporting brigade was engaged. He was now on the summit of the heights, having at last accomplished his long flank march. Pushing hastily forward, he came to the edge of a saddle-backed depression in the ridge, and had the spectacle of the fight at his feet. The 36th and 40th were engaged in driving the wrecks of Solignac’s men back in a north-westerly direction, while the 71st and 82nd, halted around the captured guns, were resting and reforming their ranks. Without a moment’s hesitation, Brennier threw his four battalions upon the two regiments that[p. 259] lay beneath him. He had taken them by surprise; attacked diagonally by fresh troops, and charged by the two squadrons of dragoons that accompanied the French, they reeled back in some disorder and abandoned the guns that they had taken. But they rallied in a moment, and returned to the fight aided by the 29th[230], the reserve regiment of Nightingale’s brigade. There was heavy firing for a moment, but very soon Brennier’s troops broke and fled up the slope which they had just descended. Their flight was covered by the dragoons, who suffered severely in holding off the pursuers, losing many officers, among them the young Arrighi, a kinsman of the Bonaparte family. Brennier was left on the field wounded and a prisoner, and not only did his men lose the guns which they had just recaptured, but they also left behind the three which had accompanied their own column. Their hurried retreat was accelerated by the fire of a half-battery, brought up from the reserve, which played upon them with effect till they had plunged down into the ravine and regained their original position on the opposite heights.

All the fighting here had been done by Ferguson’s and Nightingale’s five battalions. Bowes’ brigade did not fire a shot or lose a man, and Catlin Crawfurd and the Portuguese were only beginning to approach the scene of action when Brennier’s column broke up and fled. The main honours of the fight must be given to the 71st and 82nd, who lost respectively 112 and 61 men out of the total of 272 casualties suffered in this part of the action.

Two and a half hours after the battle began the French, both in the north and the south of the field, were retiring in confusion. The British were awaiting eagerly the order for a general advance—especially Ferguson, who, with the 36th and 40th, had got part of Solignac’s brigade pinned into an angle of the hills, from which they could not easily escape when attacked. But instead of the order to advance there came a prohibition to move, and the French were allowed to withdraw unmolested. The stream of fugitives from Brennier’s and Solignac’s fight joined that from the centre; then both shook themselves together and formed up in more or less order on the heights. The reserve artillery under Hulot and Prost (Foy had been wounded) kept up a distant and ineffective fire towards the hill of Vimiero, more to put heart into their own[p. 260] infantry by the noise of their guns than in any hope of harming the English. Margaron’s cavalry showed a front behind them, and the two belated battalions from Lisbon, which arrived about noon, were sent to the front and displayed on the edge of the heights to make some show of force. But the French would not have stood a serious attack: every single unit of their infantry had been deeply engaged and had suffered a thorough defeat. More than half their guns (thirteen out of twenty-three) had been captured. The cavalry was in better case, though two of its regiments had suffered severely, yet it could not by itself have resisted the attack of the victorious British. A vigorous push would have sent the whole mass reeling backward, not on Torres Vedras or Lisbon—for these roads would have been barred to them when Wellesley advanced—but on the rugged path, over the spurs of the Sierra da Baragueda, which leads to Santarem.

But while the French were striving to rally and to form a new front, the leaden hand of Sir Harry Burrard was laid upon the British army. That leisurely person had only landed on the morning of the twenty-first, and the battle was in full progress before he rode up from the beach to Vimiero. He had the grace not to interfere with the movements of troops which Wellesley had already ordered; but when the victory was won, and his subordinate rode up to him crying, ‘Sir Harry, now is your time to advance, the enemy is completely beaten, and we shall be in Lisbon in three days[231],’ he refused to listen. The army, he said, had done enough for one day, and he intended to wait for the arrival of Sir John Moore and the division from the Baltic before making any further move. Greatly disconcerted by this stolid opposition, Wellesley launched forth into argument: the French army, as he pointed out, was now so placed that it had lost control of its line of retreat on Torres Vedras and Lisbon. Hill’s intact brigade, and those of Fane and Anstruther had but to advance a mile or so, and the French were irretrievably cut off from their base of operations. At the same time the five brigades of the left wing, of which those of Bowes and Crawfurd were absolutely intact, might so hustle and press the retreating enemy that he could never rally. At this moment arrived an aide-de-camp from Ferguson, who begged to be allowed to go on: ‘a column of broken troops 1,500 to 2,000 strong had in their confusion got into a hollow, and could be cut off from[p. 261] their main body by a movement in advance of his brigade[232].’ The enemy had lost all their artillery, were retiring in the utmost confusion, none of them save the cavalry were regularly formed, and it was his hope that he might be allowed to continue to go forward. Burrard still remained obdurate, though Wellesley pointed out to him that he had nine thousand fresh troops in hand, that every soldier had a day’s food cooked in his haversack, that the ammunition reserve was ready to move, and that, with twelve days’ provisions in the camp and an ample store of munitions, he had it in his power to march forward both rapidly and with complete security[233]. But all these arguments were of no effect. The slow and cautious Burrard chose to believe that Junot might still have a large and intact reserve, that his cavalry was too dangerous to be meddled with, and that the dispersion of the British brigades (there were more than three miles between Hill’s extreme right and Ferguson’s extreme left) would make a general advance a very dislocated and hazardous business[234]. He utterly refused to listen to any further discussion, and, as the French were now in full retreat and disappearing over the eastern horizon, ordered the troops back to camp. They returned with colours flying and bands playing, dragging the captured French guns, and with a considerable column of prisoners in their midst. But every one, from Generals Spencer and Ferguson down to the youngest private, was utterly puzzled at the tame and inconsequent end to such a glorious day.

The losses had been very moderate—four officers and 131 men killed, thirty-seven officers and 497 men wounded, two officers and forty-nine men missing. Of the total of 720 no less than 573 were from the ten battalions of Fane’s, Anstruther’s, and Ferguson’s brigades. Those of Hill, Bowes, and Catlin Crawfurd did not return a single casualty. The handful of prisoners were mainly supplied by the 20th Light Dragoons, and by the two rifle battalions, whose pickets had been driven in at the commencement of the fight[235]. The French losses were very different: both Foy[p. 262] and Thiébault acknowledge a total of 1,800, and this may be taken as a minimum: of these some 300 or 400 were unwounded prisoners. Delaborde and three brigadier-generals—Charlot, Brennier, and Solignac—as well as Colonels Foy and Prost of the artillery, were wounded. Two battalion commanders were killed, a third and the disabled Brennier were prisoners. Men and officers were alike disheartened: every single corps present had been engaged: even the squadron of volunteer cavalry had been in action against Taylor’s dragoons: more than half the guns had been lost, and the officers who brought back those that remained asked themselves in wonder how they had ever been permitted to get away[236]. But at least they were unmolested in their retreat: using the two battalions that had just come up from Lisbon as his rearguard, Junot retired unharmed, but full of despair, on Torres Vedras. It was not till early on the next morning that the last stragglers of his scattered army drifted in to join the main body.

SECTION IV: CHAPTER IV
THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA

For only one single day did the incubus of Burrard rest upon the British army in Portugal, though that day was one on which he succeeded in changing a decisive victory, which might have laid a whole kingdom at his feet, into an ordinary successful defensive action. He had stopped Wellesley’s triumphant march at noon on August 21; early on the morning of the twenty-second Sir Hew Dalrymple appeared in Maceira Bay, disembarked, and took over the command. He naturally began his tenure of control by interviewing his two predecessors, whose divergent views as to the situation and its requirements were laid before him. He was an old man, and unpractised in the field: he had only seen war in the wretched Flanders campaign of 1793-4. His prejudice was in favour of caution, and he was not slow to let it be seen that he regarded Wellesley’s actions in the past, and still more his plans for the future, as rash and hazardous. ‘On the first interview that I had with Sir Hew Dalrymple,’ said Wellesley at the Court of Inquiry in the following winter, ‘I had reason to believe that I did not possess his confidence: nay more, that he was prejudiced against any opinions which I should give him[237].’ The veteran’s ill-concealed hostility was, we cannot doubt, mainly due to an unhappy inspiration of Castlereagh, who had sent him a letter bidding him ‘take Sir Arthur Wellesley into his particular confidence, as he had been, for a length of time past, in the closest habits of communication with His Majesty’s ministers with respect to the affairs of Spain.’ He was also directed ‘to make the most prominent use of him which the rules of the service would permit[238].’ Such a letter very naturally caused Dalrymple to look upon the young lieutenant-general as a sort of emissary from the Government, sent to overrule his plans and curb his full power of command. He was inclined, consciously or unconsciously, to entertain a strong[p. 264] prejudice against anything that Wellesley might recommend: and we cannot doubt that the latter, always stiff and haughty, was at this moment in a state of suppressed fury at the foiling of his plans by Burrard on the preceding day. Probably, in his own cold way, he let his indignation appear, and Dalrymple may have been glad of an excuse for repressing him.

The plan which Wellesley had drawn up for the conduct of the campaign, and which he now urged upon his chief, is detailed in the proceedings of the Court of Inquiry. He had hoped to get Sir John Moore’s division, whose arrival was just reported, sent to Santarem, to cut off any attempt of Junot to escape out of the Lisbon peninsula by following the road along the right bank of the Tagus: the Portuguese were to be brought up to assist. Meanwhile the army which had fought at Vimiero was to turn the position of Torres Vedras, on which the enemy had retired, by marching along the sea-coast by the route that leads to Mafra. If Junot let them march past him, he would infallibly lose Lisbon; for they could, by forcing the pace, arrive in the capital as soon as he. If he abandoned Torres Vedras, and fell back on Mafra or Montechique as soon as he saw them moving, he would have to fight a second battle on the twenty-third or twenty-fourth, with an army which had been gravely demoralized by the events of Roli?a and Vimiero, and which could not receive much succour from Lisbon: for the populace of that city, when apprised of the defeat of the French, would undoubtedly have burst into insurrection, and would have required for its repression every man of the 5,000[239] troops who had been left to hold it down. There was a third possibility, that Junot, on hearing that the English were marching past his flank, might have hastened from Torres Vedras to attack their line of march by one of the cross-roads (such as that from Torres Vedras to Puente de Roll), which cut down to the Atlantic coast. But Wellesley had convinced himself that this chance would not occur: he reckoned, very rightly, on the exhaustion of the enemy on the day after such a crushing blow as Vimiero. As a matter of fact, on the morning of the twenty-second, at the moment when the head of the British column, if it had marched, would have been outflanking their position, Junot[p. 265] and those of his generals who were not hors de combat were sitting in council of war at Torres Vedras, with despair in their souls, and resolving to ask for terms on which to evacuate Portugal. Kellermann was just about to ride in to the English lines to open negotiations[240]. The idea of an ‘offensive return’ by the French was in the head of the cautious Burrard[241]: but not in that of Wellesley, who had made up his mind ‘that they would act in Portugal as they did in Egypt: they tried their strength once in the field, and having failed they would have continued to retreat till they could have got into safety. I do not believe that any corps could have fallen on the flank of our march on the twenty-third.’ The only course open to the French, in his opinion, was to throw over any idea of holding the capital, withdraw its garrison, and cross the Tagus at Saccavem or Villafranca, or Santarem, by means of the ships which lay in the river, and the large fleet of barges which is always to be found in and near Lisbon. Having passed the Tagus they might cut their way through the insurgents of the Alemtejo, disperse the Spanish levies about Elvas and Badajoz, and press north through Estremadura to join Bessières[242]. This very idea did for a moment flash through the brains of some of Junot’s council of war at Torres Vedras: but there lay on their minds, like a nightmare, the remembrance of their awful march through the Estremaduran mountains in the preceding autumn. If, journeying unopposed from Ciudad Rodrigo to Lisbon, they had been nearly starved in that wilderness, what would be their fate if they had to cut their way through an insurrection, with the English army hanging on their heels? The most hopeful could only say that perhaps half the army might struggle through to Old Castile.

Wellesley’s arguments to Dalrymple had no further effect than to induce that general to make up his mind that the troops should march not on the twenty-second but on the twenty-third, and not on Mafra but on Torres Vedras. Sir John Moore’s division was to be brought down at once to Maceira Bay, to join the main army, and not to be sent (as Wellesley had urged) to Santarem. With[p. 266] the aid of this reinforcement Dalrymple hoped to be strong enough to force back Junot into Lisbon. The resolve meant fatal delay: Moore did not begin to disembark till August 25, and his last men did not get ashore till August 30. On that day only could Junot have been attacked seriously, and meanwhile he would have obtained nine days in which to fortify his positions and to place Lisbon in a thorough state of defence. The consequences entailed would have been a long siege, the probable devastation of the Portuguese capital, and the protraction of operations into November and December. Even then there would still have been Elvas and Almeida to be recaptured[243].

But things were not destined to take this course. Dalrymple was busy drafting his orders for the movement of the next day on Torres Vedras, when an alarm ran through the camp that the French were at hand, and the whole force flew to arms. This rumour was caused by the folly of a Portuguese cavalry officer, whose vedettes had seen French horsemen in the distance; he imagined an army on the move and reported its approach. What he had really seen was General Kellermann, with two squadrons of dragoons as his escort, bearing the white flag, and about to propose to the British commander-in-chief the evacuation of Portugal by the French army under a convention.

We have already mentioned the fact that on the early morning of the twenty-second, Junot had called together at Torres Vedras a council of war composed of all his surviving generals—Loison, Kellermann, Delaborde (who attended though suffering from two severe wounds), Thiébault, the chief of the staff, Taviel, the commander of the artillery, Col. Vincent, the chief engineer, and Trousset, the chief commissary at Lisbon. Junot’s spirits were very low: he began by explaining that he had only fought at Vimiero to save the honour of the French arms, not because he hoped for victory—a statement which will not bear investigation in the light of his previous dispatches and letters[244]. The British, he said, were expecting huge reinforcements from the sea: Freire was now moving on Obidos, another Portuguese corps on Santarem: the reports of the state of public opinion in Lisbon were most alarming. Under these circumstances, ought the army to try the fortune of battle a second time? And if it must, what plan[p. 267] should be adopted? If it could not, what alternative remained? When such was the spirit of the leader, it was easy to foresee the replies of his subordinates. The army, they soon resolved, had done its best in the most honourable fashion, but it was not ready for another fight. Indeed the stragglers had not yet finished pouring into Torres Vedras, and the wearied rearguard which covered them had only reached the defile in front of the town two hours after midnight[245]. The army, unmolested as it was, did not get into fighting trim again till two days after Vimiero. On the twenty-second it was still in a state of complete disorganization: if Dalrymple had marched on Mafra he would not have found a man in his path.

Having resolved that the army was not ready for another battle, the council of war had three alternatives before it: to fall back to cover Lisbon on the positions of Mafra and Montechique; to evacuate Lisbon, cross the Tagus, and make for Elvas; or to try to negotiate with the British. The decision was soon made in favour of the third: Lisbon, without regular fortifications, and swarming with a discontented populace, would be a mere snare for the army. The retreat via Elvas on Old Castile would mean the slow but certain destruction of the whole corps[246]. For it was now known that Joseph Bonaparte had evacuated Madrid, and that Burgos was probably the nearest point where a French force was to be found. Not one of the officers present had the heart to make a serious proposal for such a retreat. It only remained to try whether Dalrymple was open to receive an offer: if he could be tempted by the prospect of receiving Lisbon with all its magazines and riches intact, he might allow the French army to return under safe conduct to their own land. Kellermann, who could understand English, more or less, and was considered a skilful diplomatist, was charged with the negotiations. He rode out of Torres Vedras between ten and eleven in the morning with his escort, charged with ample powers to treat. As he passed the rearguard in the pass, four miles outside the town, he told the officer in command that he was going to visit the English ‘to see if he could get the army out of the mousetrap[247].’

[p. 268]

By two o’clock Kellermann was conferring with the English commander—he was astonished to find that it was Dalrymple and not Wellesley. The reception that he met was an agreeable surprise to him. Dalrymple showed his pleasure at the broaching of the idea of a convention in the most undisguised fashion. The fact was that he was very glad to avoid the possible dangers of an immediate advance and a second fight. He called in Burrard and Wellesley to the interview, and from his unguarded ‘asides’ to them, Kellermann soon learnt that Moore had not yet landed, and that till he was ashore Dalrymple did not feel safe. This gave the Frenchman a confidence which he had not at first possessed, and he at once assumed an air of self-reliance which he had been far from showing when he rode out of Torres Vedras. Instead of merely trying to save the army at all costs, he began to haggle about details, and to speak about the possibility of resuming hostilities—the last thing in the world that he really desired[248].

There was no doubt that a convention by which Portugal and all its fortresses could be recovered without the necessity of firing another shot was an eminently desirable thing. Wellesley did not hesitate a moment in advising his superiors to take the offer. Burrard had given away the certainty of recapturing Lisbon yesterday: Dalrymple, by delaying his advance, had on this very morning sacrificed the second chance (a much less brilliant one, it must be confessed) of ending the campaign by a single blow. If Junot’s proposals were rejected and hostilities were resumed, there lay before the British army either a siege of Lisbon, which could not fail to ruin the city, or a long stern-chase after the French, if they should resolve to cross the Tagus and march off through the Alemtejo. No doubt it would sound better in the ears of the British public if the surrender or destruction of Junot’s army could be reported. But as a matter of practical expediency, the recovery of Lisbon and all its wealth unharmed was worth far more than the capture of a French army at the cost of much time, many lives, and the ruin of the Portuguese capital. The loss of 25,000 soldiers would be nothing to Napoleon, who disposed of more than half a million men: the blow to his pride would be almost as great if he lost Portugal by a convention as if he lost it by a capitulation. As a matter of fact he was much incensed at Junot, and would have dealt hardly with him if Dupont had not[p. 269] drawn off his wrath by failing in an even more disastrous fashion[249].

After hearing what Kellermann had to say, the three English generals withdrew into an inner room, and after a very short discussion agreed to treat. They told their visitor that he might have a forty-eight hours’ suspension of hostilities at once, and that they would open negotiations on the general base that Junot and his army should be allowed to evacuate Portugal by sea without any of the forms of capitulation, and be returned to their own country on British ships. The details would take much discussion: meanwhile they invited Kellermann to dine with them and to settle the main lines of the Convention before he returned to his commander. There was a long post-prandial debate, which showed that on two points there was likely to be trouble; one was the way in which Siniavin’s Russian fleet in the Tagus was to be treated: the other was how much the French should be allowed to carry away with them from Portugal. Kellermann said that he asked for no more than their ‘military baggage and equipments,’ but he seemed to have a large idea of what came under these headings[250].

Meanwhile the terms of the suspension of hostilities were successfully drafted; the line of the Zizandre river was to be fixed as that of demarcation between the two hosts. Neither of them was to occupy Torres Vedras: Dalrymple undertook to get the armistice recognized by Freire and the other Portuguese generals in the field. They were not to advance beyond Leiria and Thomar. The garrisons at Elvas, Almeida, Peniche, and elsewhere were to be included in the Convention, unless it should turn out that any of them had surrendered before August 25—which as a matter of fact they had not. The Russian fleet in the Tagus was to be treated as if in a neutral port. This last clause was much objected to by Wellesley, who found also several minor points in the agreement of which he could not approve. But by the directions of[p. 270] Dalrymple he signed the suspension of arms after a protest; his superior had told him that it was ‘useless to drive the French to the wall upon points of form[251].’

The subsequent negotiations for a definite convention occupied seven days, from August 23 to 30. On the first-named day Junot evacuated Torres Vedras, according to the stipulations of the agreement made by Kellermann. He retired to the line of hills behind him, establishing Loison’s division at Mafra and Delaborde’s at Montechique. Dalrymple, on the other hand, moved his head quarters forward to Ramalhal, a position just north of Torres Vedras, and only nine miles from Vimiero. In this respect he profited less than the French from the suspension of hostilities: it is true that he got leisure to disembark Moore’s troops, but Junot gained the much more important advantage of a safe retreat to a good position, and of leisure to strengthen himself in it. It must not be supposed, however, that he was in a comfortable situation; Lisbon was seething with suppressed rebellion. The news of French victories, which had been published to quiet the people, had soon been discovered to be nothing more than an impudent fiction. At any moment an insurrection might have broken out: the garrison and the mob were alike in a state of extreme nervous tension, which took shape on the one side in assassinations, and on the other in wanton firing at every person who approached a sentinel, or refused to stand when challenged by a patrol.

The negotiations for a definitive convention suffered several checks. At one moment it seemed likely that the Portuguese army might give trouble. General Freire arrived at Ramalhal in a state of high wrath, to protest that he ought to have been made a party to the suspension of hostilities. There was, as Napier remarks, more plausibility than real foundation in his objection[252], for his motley army had taken no part whatever in the operations that had brought Junot to his knees. But he could make a distinct point when he asked by what authority Dalrymple had given promises as to his neutrality in the agreement with Kellermann, or laid down lines which he was not to pass. Freire was all the bolder because his levies were now being strengthened by the forces from Oporto which the Bishop had lately raised, while a small Spanish brigade under the Marquis of Valladares, lent by[p. 271] the Galician Junta, had come down as far as Guarda. But he contented himself with protests, without committing any definite act that might have rendered the Convention impossible.

A more dangerous source of possible rupture was the view of the situation taken by Sir Charles Cotton, the admiral in command of the British blockading squadron off the mouth of the Tagus. As Wellesley had foreseen, the naval men were determined to secure the possession of the Russian ships of Siniavin. Cotton refused to entertain the proposal that such a force should be allowed a free departure from Lisbon, as if from a neutral port, and should be given a long start before being pursued. He had held the Russians under blockade for many a weary month, and was not going to abandon his hold upon them. Why should the French evacuation of Portugal place Siniavin in a better position than he had ever occupied before? The admiral declared that he saw no reason why the Russians should be included in the Convention at all. If there was going to be any agreement made with them, he should conduct it himself, treating directly with Siniavin instead of through a French intermediary.

Sir Hew Dalrymple was forced to report to the French commander these objections of the admiral. It seemed possible for a moment that the difficulty would not be got over, and that war must recommence. Wellesley strongly advised his chief to try the game of bluff—to announce to Junot that operations would be resumed at the end of the stipulated forty-eight hours, as Sir Charles Cotton had objected to the terms of the armistice, but that he was prepared to take into consideration any new proposals which might be made to him before the interval of two days expired[253]. Such a firm policy, he thought, would induce the French to yield the point—all the more because Junot and Siniavin were known to be on very bad terms. But Dalrymple would not accept this plan. He merely reported the admiral’s proposals to Junot, without any intimation that the resumption of hostilities must result from their rejection. This move placed the power of playing the game of brag in the Frenchman’s hands. Seeing that Dalrymple did not seem to desire to break off negotiations, he assumed an indignant tone, and began to talk of his determination not to concede an inch, and of the harm that he could do if he were forced to fight. ‘The English might take away the half-drafted convention: he[p. 272] would have none of it. He would defend Lisbon street by street: he would burn as much of it as he could not hold, and it should cost them dear to take from him what remained[254].’ At the same time he made a final proposal to Siniavin, that he should put ashore his 6,000 seamen and marines, to take part in the defence of Lisbon on the land side. This was only part of the game of bluff, and intended for the benefit of the English rather than of Siniavin, for Junot knew perfectly well, from the latter’s previous conduct, that he was bent on playing his own hand, and would not fire a single shot to help the French.

All Junot’s desperate language was, in fact, no more than a device to squeeze better terms out of Dalrymple. The actual point on which the argument grew hot was a mere pretext, for the Russian admiral utterly refused to assist the French, and intimated that he should prefer to conclude a separate convention of his own with Sir Charles Cotton. Clearly it was not worth while for the Duke of Abrantes to risk anything on behalf of such a torpid ally.

Accordingly the Convention was reduced to a definitive form between August 27 and 30. Colonel George Murray, the quartermaster-general, acted as the British negotiator, while Kellermann continued to represent Junot. The details were settled in Lisbon, where Murray took up his residence, sending back frequent reports to his superior officer at Ramalhal. Dalrymple and Cotton carried their point in that no allusion whatever was made to the Russians in the document. Junot found a salve for his injured pride by remembering that he had slipped a mention of Napoleon as ‘Emperor of the French,’ into the text of the suspension of hostilities[255]: in this he thought that he had won a great success, for the British Government had hitherto refused to recognize any such title, and had constantly irritated its adversaries by alluding to the master of the Continent as ‘General Bonaparte,’ or the ‘actual head of the French executive.’

The terms of the Convention need close study[256]: it comprised twenty-two articles and three supplementary paragraphs of addenda. The first article provided that the French should surrender Lisbon[p. 273] and the Portuguese fortresses in their existing condition, without harming or dismantling them. The second and third granted the army of Junot a safe departure by sea in English vessels: they were not to be considered prisoners of war, might take their arms and baggage, and were to be landed at any port between Rochefort and L’Orient. The fourth, fifth, and sixth articles attempted to define the property which the French might take away—their horses, their guns of French calibre (but not any that they might have found in the Portuguese arsenals), with sixty rounds for each piece, their wagons, their military chest, in short, ‘all their equipment, and all that is comprehended under the name of property of the army.’ It was found, later on, that these paragraphs had been too loosely worded, and gave much endless occasion for disputes. The next six articles settled the manner in which the departing army was to embark, and the order in which each of the strongholds that it evacuated was to be given up to the British. The thirteenth and fourteenth articles arranged for the appointment of commissaries by each side, to deal with disputed points in the Convention, and added the curious clause that ‘where a doubt arose as to the meaning of any article, it should be explained favourably to the French army.’

But the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth articles were the most objectionable part of the Convention. It was true that they secured that no more taxes or contributions were to be raised by Junot, and that undischarged fines which he had laid on the Portuguese should be regarded as cancelled. But they also provided that French civilians in Portugal might either depart with the army, or, if they preferred it, might be allowed to remain behind unmolested, and have a year in which to dispose of their property. This might perhaps pass: not so, however, the ensuing clause, which provided that Portuguese subjects should not be rendered accountable for their political conduct during the French occupation: all who had taken service with the usurping government were to be placed under the protection of the British, and to suffer no injury in person or property. They were also to be granted liberty to depart with the French army if they chose.

The five remaining articles were unimportant. The eighteenth secured the release of Caraffa and the rest of Junot’s Spanish prisoners, and provided that in return the few French officers of the army of Portugal, whom the Spaniards had captured at Oporto and Elvas, should be liberated. The twenty-first permitted Junot[p. 274] to send one of his aides-de-camp directly to France to carry the news of the Convention, so that preparations might be made for the reception of the troops[257].

Three unimportant supplementary articles were added below the signatures of Murray and Kellermann: one stipulated that French civilian prisoners in the hands of the English and Portuguese should be released, another that Junot’s army should subsist on its own magazines till it embarked, a third that the British should permit the entry of provisions into Lisbon, now that the Convention had been concluded.

Such was the celebrated agreement which was destined to gain a most unhappy notoriety in England under the name of the ‘Convention of Cintra,’ a designation which it is hard to understand, for it was first sketched at Torres Vedras, and was discussed and ratified at Lisbon. The only connexion which it had with Cintra was that Dalrymple’s dispatch to the British Government, enclosing the document in its latest form, was dated from that pleasant spot in the environs of Lisbon. But it would perhaps be pedantic to give any other name to such a well-known document, than that under which it has been known for the last ninety-three years.

After a careful investigation of the details of this famous agreement, the conclusion at which the impartial student will probably arrive is that while on the military side it was justifiable, it presented grave political faults. In order to recover Lisbon with its arsenals, its forts and its shipping, all intact, Dalrymple might without serious blame have granted even more to the French. By the Convention he saved, not only the wealth of the capital, and the lives of the troops who must have fallen in storming it, but, most important of all, time. If he had but known the value of that commodity, he might have been in Madrid at the head of all his British troops by October 1, or even earlier. ‘I do not know what Sir Hew proposes to do,’ wrote Wellesley the morning after the Convention was signed, ‘but if I were in his situation I would have 20,000 men in Madrid in less than a month from this day[258]’ But the importance of time was never realized by the old commander-in-chief: he was superseded long before his army had[p. 275] even moved up to the Portuguese frontier. Looking, therefore, at the Convention in the broadest aspect, we hold that its military advantages entirely outweighed those which might have been secured by a prolongation of hostilities. But this conclusion does not mean that there were not points in the military part of the agreement that might have been modified with advantage.

It is when we turn to the political section of the Convention that we light upon grave faults and mistakes on the part of Dalrymple. The first and foremost was that he signed the document without previously submitting certain portions of it to the Portuguese government. In the sixteenth and seventeenth articles the British general took upon himself to grant certain favours both to French civilians resident in Portugal, and to Portuguese subjects who had taken service under Junot, which he had no authority to concede. These were points which concerned not the British army but the Portuguese civil administration, and should not have been decided without a consultation with our allies, and a permission from them to make terms on their behalf. The sixteenth article allowed Frenchmen resident in Lisbon to remain there for a year after the Convention, if they did not chose to leave the country with Junot and his troops. To permit subjects of the hostile power to remain in Lisbon for so long was, of course, most distasteful to the Portuguese government, which was naturally desirous of expelling at once, according to the ordinary customs of war, a body of persons many of whom had made themselves the partners and instruments of Junot’s peculations, and who for the next twelve months would serve as spies and purveyors of intelligence to the French Emperor. Nothing more than the leave to quit Lisbon in Junot’s wake should have been secured to them, unless the Junta of Regency gave its consent. The seventeenth article is even more objectionable: a considerable portion of the bureaucracy of Portugal had been weak and criminal enough to acquiesce in the French usurpation, and to make themselves the tools of the Duke of Abrantes. It was natural that their countrymen should feel deeply indignant with them; and their lot was likely to be so hard that it was but rational and humane to give them leave to quit the kingdom. But considering that they had deserved very ill of the state, it was surely wrong for the British general to promise to take them under his special protection, and to guarantee them against injury to their persons or property. He had no power to grant them an amnesty for their[p. 276] past ill-doing; that could be given only by the Portuguese government. When the latter resumed its ordinary functions at Lisbon, it was absurd that it should be prevented, by the Convention, from taking into consideration the cases of such of these unpatriotic persons as it might wish to deal with. When, therefore, Kellermann broached to Dalrymple the sixteenth and seventeenth articles, the latter should have refused to accept them without a reference to the Junta at Oporto. He might have granted both the French and the Portuguese satellites of Junot a free passage out of Portugal, with such of their goods as they could carry, but more than this he could not rationally concede on his own authority.

It was fortunate, therefore, that the practical harm done did not turn out to be very great. Both the aliens and the natives covered by these two clauses were so perfectly aware of their own unpopularity in Lisbon, that they absconded almost en masse. The populace of the capital had given them fair warning of what they might expect, for not only were they threatened and insulted in the streets whenever they were out of sight of a French sentry, but unknown hands posted on the walls lists of houses to be sacked and individuals to be hung as soon as Junot’s army should have sailed. The watchwords, ‘Death to the French’ and ‘Death to the traitors,’ were muttered even under the muzzles of the cannon, which had been trained on all the main streets, to keep down the insurrection for the few days which had to elapse before the embarkation. The invaders, therefore, had to take away with them a very large body of civilian dependants, headed by the Comte de Novion, a French émigré, who, after being hospitably entertained in Lisbon for many years, had shown his gratitude by accepting the post of head of Junot’s police—a capacity in which he had much odd business to transact.

But besides Articles XVI and XVII of the Convention there were other clauses to which Dalrymple should not have given his assent without consulting the representatives of his allies. Almeida was being blockaded by a mass of Portuguese militia, and Elvas, a few days after the treaty had been signed, was attacked by a Spanish force sent out from Badajoz by Galluzzo, the Captain-General of Estremadura. No British soldier had yet been seen within a hundred miles of either fortress. What was to be done if the generals of the besieging troops refused to abide by an agreement which they had not been asked to sign, and which had[p. 277] not even been laid before their respective governments ere it was definitively ratified? A grave crisis, as we shall find, was created by Dalrymple’s neglect to foresee this difficulty. His conduct all through the days of negotiation was very strange; not only did he make no proper attempt to communicate with the Portuguese authorities, but he actually left his own government uninformed of his proceedings for a fortnight. He failed to send them any dispatch to announce the armistice of August 22, and only forwarded that detailing the Convention of August 30 on the fourth day of the succeeding month.

Dalrymple’s main reason for leaving the Portuguese out of the negotiations was that the Junta at Oporto had not yet been formally recognized as the legitimate government of Portugal[259]. Wellesley, no doubt, had conferred with the Bishop, given him arms and munitions, procured from him food and draught animals, and asked his advice, but the British ministry had not yet acknowledged the existence of any regular executive in Portugal. This being so, Dalrymple thought himself justified in acting as if there were none in being; and it cannot be denied that thereby he saved himself much present trouble, at the cost of future friction. All, therefore, that he did was to inform the Junta’s agent at the British head quarters, one Pinto da Souza, that he was negotiating with Junot for the evacuation of Lisbon, and that he was open to receive any observations which the Junta might make. The same announcement was made to Bernardino Freire, who had ridden over to Ramalhal[260] to complain that he and his army were not mentioned in the armistice of August 22. Both Freire and the Junta were treated as persons whose opinions it was useful to obtain, not as constituted authorities whose consent to the definitive convention was necessary in order to make it binding. Dalrymple tried to cover himself during the subsequent inquiry by maintaining that the Convention was purely military, and concerned the French and English armies alone: but this plea cannot seriously be put forward in face of Articles XV, XVI, and XVII, all of which are concerned with problems of civil government, which would arise after the French army should have embarked. Each[p. 278] of these articles clearly required the ratification of some proper Portuguese authority to make it valid.

Both the Bishop of Oporto and General Freire were deeply wounded by the way in which Dalrymple ignored their status—the prelate more justly than the soldier, for he had done his best to assist the British army, while Freire by his captious and impracticable behaviour had been more of a hindrance than a help. The Bishop charged the representative of the Supreme Junta in London to complain to the British Government as to the behaviour of their generals, denouncing not only their neglect to make the Junta a party to the Convention, but also the terms of that document, which were stated to be far too favourable to Junot. Owing to Dalrymple’s extraordinary delay in apprising the ministry of the details of the treaty, the Bishop’s excited denunciations of the agreement had currency for nearly a fortnight, before any one in England knew what exactly had been granted to Junot, or how far the Junta was justified in its wrath.
SECTION IV: CHAPTER V
THE FRENCH EVACUATE PORTUGAL

The Convention of Cintra being once signed, the difficulties which were bound to arise from the unwisdom of some of its articles were not long in showing themselves. Indeed the first fortnight of September turned out to be a very critical time.

The Portuguese authorities were furious: Dalrymple found the greatest trouble in preventing the insurgents of the Alemtejo, who had gathered opposite the mouth of the Tagus under the Conde de Castro Marim[261], from attacking the French detachments in the forts on the left bank. Their commander protested against the Convention, and actually appealed to Admiral Cotton to repudiate it: fortunately he was content to confine his opposition to words. But there was much more trouble at Elvas: the Junta of Estremadura did not object to the settlement, and liberated the French prisoners who were in its hands, according to the proposal in the eighteenth article. But Galluzzo, the Captain-General of that province, showed himself much more disobliging. He refused to call off the troops under his lieutenant De Arce, who were beleaguering Elvas, and behaved in the most dictatorial manner within Portuguese territory, raising not only requisitions of food but contributions of money. He even seized, at Campo Mayor, the military chest of the Portuguese general Leite, who commanded the wrecks of the force that had been beaten at Evora by Loison in July[262]. His detestable behaviour had the good effect of throwing the natives of the country on the English side, and Leite welcomed the arrival of troops from Lisbon, which enabled him to protest with effect against the misdoings and plunderings of the Spaniards. De Arce’s troops were doing no real good: they only maintained[p. 280] a distant and futile bombardment of the citadel of La Lippe, in which the garrison of Elvas had taken refuge. The French commandant, Girod de Novillars, laughed their efforts to scorn, and refused to listen to the proposals for a capitulation which they kept pressing upon him. In spite of orders from the Junta of Seville, bidding him abandon the siege and march for Madrid with his army, Galluzzo persisted in his ridiculous proceedings till nearly the end of September. It was only when Dalrymple moved up to the neighbourhood first the 20th Regiment, and then two whole brigades under Sir John Hope, that the Captain-General drew off his men and retired into Spanish territory [September 25]. Then Girod and his garrison, which was mainly composed of the 4th Swiss Regiment, were able to march to Lisbon under British escort and embark for France. They did not sail till October 9, so long had Galluzzo’s freaks delayed them.

The garrison of Almeida departed about the same time: they had maintained themselves without difficulty against the Portuguese insurgents, but duly yielded up the place on the arrival of British troops. They were marched down to Oporto under an escort of 200 men, a force so weak that it nearly led to a disaster. For the mob of Oporto, under the pretext that church plate and other public plunder was being carried off by the French, fell upon them as they were embarking and nearly made an end of them. It required all the exertions of the escort, the Bishop of Oporto, and Sir Robert Wilson—who was then on the spot organizing his well-known ‘Lusitanian Legion’—to prevent the populace from boarding the transports and slaying the whole of the French battalion. The baggage of the departing troops was seized and plundered, and they barely succeeded in escaping with their lives[263].

Meanwhile, long before the garrisons of Elvas and Almeida had been brought down to the coast, Junot and the main body of his army had departed. The commander-in-chief himself had sailed on September 13, the first division of his army on the fifteenth, the rest between that day and the thirtieth. The last weeks of the French occupation of Lisbon had been most uncomfortable for all parties concerned. The populace was seething with discontent,[p. 281] assassinating isolated soldiers, and threatening a general rising. The French were under arms day and night, with cannon trained down every street and square. Unpopular officers, such as Loison, could not stir from their quarters without a large escort. Sullen at their defeat, and still more angry at having to abandon the heaps of plunder which they had amassed, the French were in a most disobliging mood in their dealings with the Portuguese, and in a less degree with the English. The main source of irritation was the very necessary measures which had to be taken for searching the baggage of the departing army. A commission had been formed, consisting of Kellermann on the one side and General Beresford and Lord Proby on the other, to settle in all disputed cases what was military equipment and legitimate personal property, and what was not. The English commissioners discovered the most astounding hoards of miscellaneous goods among the bags and boxes of the invaders[264]. The conduct of most of the French officers, from the commander-in-chief downwards, was most disgraceful. A few examples may suffice: Junot, by the twenty-first article of the Convention, had been granted leave to send a single officer to France with news for the Emperor. This officer, his aide-de-camp Lagrave, took with him for his general’s private profit the most valuable set of books in the Royal Library of Lisbon, fourteen volumes of a manuscript Bible of the fifteenth century, illustrated with miniatures by the best Florentine artists—a gift to King Emanuel from one of the Renaissance popes. Junot’s widow afterwards sold it to the French government for 85,000 francs. Lagrave, having started before the commissioners had begun to work, got off with his boxes unsearched. But other interesting items were discovered in the baggage of the Duke of Abrantes—one was ￡5,000 worth of indigo in fifty-three large chests, another was a quantity of valuable specimens of natural history from the public museum. General Delaborde was found to be in possession of a large collection of sacred pictures which had adorned Lisbon churches. Scattered through the baggage of many officers was a quantity of church plate—apparently part of the property seized[p. 282] to pay the war contributions which Napoleon had imposed on Portugal: but it had in some mysterious way passed from public into private possession[265]. In the military chest were gold bars to the value of 1,000,000 francs which had come from the same source, but the paymaster-general tried to get them out of the country without paying the numerous accounts owed by his department to private individuals in Lisbon. They were not discharged till this individual, one Thonnellier, had been put under arrest, and threatened with detention after the rest of the army should have sailed[266]. Another most scandalous proceeding discovered by the commissioners was that Junot, after the signature of the Convention, had broken open the Deposito Publico, the chest of the Supreme Court of Lisbon, which contained moneys whose rightful ownership was in dispute between private litigants. He took from it coin to the value of ￡25,000, which was only wrung out of him with the greatest difficulty. Even after a vast amount had been recovered, the French sailed with a military chest containing pay for three months ahead for the whole army, though they had entered Portugal penniless. For a general picture of their behaviour it may suffice to quote the report of the British commissioners. ‘The conduct of the French has been marked by the most shameful disregard of honour and probity, publicly evincing their intention of departing with their booty, and leaving acknowledged debts unpaid. Finally they only paid what they were obliged to disgorge.... Unmindful of every tie of honour or justice, the French army has taken away a considerable sum in its military chest, still leaving its debts unpaid to a very large amount[267].’

It was no wonder that the resentment of the Portuguese was so great that the last French who embarked could only get away under the protection of British bayonets, and that many of those who straggled or lingered too long in remote corners of the town lost their lives. The wild fury of the Lisbon mob surprised the British officers who were charged with the embarkation[268]: they[p. 283] knew little of what had been going on in the capital for the last nine months, and could not understand the mad rage displayed against the garrison.

But finally the last French bayonet disappeared from the streets of Lisbon, and the populace, with no object left on which to vent their fury, turned to illuminations, feasts, and the childish delights of fireworks. They did not show themselves ungrateful to the army of liberation; all the British officers who have described the first weeks after the evacuation of Lisbon, bear witness to the enthusiasm with which they were received, and the good feeling displayed by their allies[269]. It was only in the highest Portuguese quarters that dissatisfaction was rampant: the Bishop of Oporto, General Freire, and the Monteiro Mor, had all suffered what they considered an insult, when their consent was not asked to the Convention of Cintra, and made no secret of their anger against Dalrymple. But it does not seem that their feelings affected any large section of the people.

The French army embarked for its native soil still 25,747 strong. It had entered Portugal in the previous November with a strength of nearly 25,000, and had received during the spring of 1808 some 4,500 recruits: in the month of May, before hostilities began, its full force had been 26,594[270]. Of this total 20,090 were under arms at the moment that the Convention was signed, 3,522 were in hospital, sick or wounded: 916 were prisoners in the hands of the English or the Portuguese. There remain, therefore, some 4,500 men to be accounted for: these, however, were not all dead. More than 500 had deserted and taken service with the British before the embarkation: they came, almost without exception, from the ranks of the three foreign battalions which had been serving with Junot, the 1st Hanoverians and the 2nd and 4th Swiss[271]. As the total force of these corps had been only 2,548, it is clear that about one man in five deserted. This was natural in the case of the Germans, who were old subjects of George III, and most unwilling recruits to the French army, but the equally well-marked defection[p. 284] of the Swiss is very notable. Most of the latter were enlisted for the 5th Battalion of the 60th Rifles, while the Hanoverians joined their countrymen in the ranks of the King’s German Legion[272]. The real deficit, then, in Junot’s army was about 4,000 men: this represents the total loss of life by the fights of Roli?a and Vimiero, by the numerous combats with the Portuguese, by the stragglers cut off during the forced marches of July and August, and by the ordinary mortality in hospital. It must be considered on the whole a very moderate casualty list: Junot’s corps, when it re-entered Spain to serve once more under the Emperor, was still 22,000 strong. It would have been even a trifle higher in numbers if a transport carrying two companies of the 86th Regiment had not foundered at sea, with the loss of every man on board.

It is necessary to give some account of the fate of Siniavin’s Russian squadron, before dismissing the topic of the evacuation of Portugal. The admiral, as we have already had occasion to state, had steadfastly refused to throw in his lot with Junot and to join in the Convention of Cintra. He preferred to make an agreement of his own with Sir Charles Cotton. It was a simple document of two articles: the first provided that the nine sail of the line and one frigate, which formed the Russian fleet, should be given up, sent to England, and ‘held as a deposit’ by his Britannic majesty, to be restored within six months of a peace between Great Britain and Russia. The second was to the effect that Siniavin, his officers and crews, should be sent back to Russia on English ships without being in any way considered prisoners of war, or debarred from further service.

Admiral Cotton, it is clear, regarded the ships as important and the crews as worthy of small attention. It was profitable to Great Britain to keep down the number of vessels in the power of Napoleon, though now that the Danish fleet was captured, and the Spanish fleet transferred to the other side of the balance, there could be no longer any immediate danger of the French taking the offensive at sea. The easy terms of release granted to the personnel of the Russian squadron suggest that the British admiral had determined to reward its commander for his persistent refusal to help Junot. It almost appears that Cotton looked upon Siniavin[p. 285] as a secret friend, and treated him accordingly. Milder terms could hardly have been devised, for the moment that the harbour-forts of Lisbon were surrendered to the British, the Russians must obviously be made prisoners, since they could not get out of the river. It is probable that the two admirals thoroughly understood each other’s mind, and that the Russian was undisguisedly pleased at the disaster of his detested French allies.

The most pressing necessity in Portugal, after the French had departed, was the construction of a new national government, for it was clear that the Supreme Junta at Oporto represented in reality only the northern provinces of the realm, and could not be accepted—as its president, the Bishop, suggested—as a permanent and legitimate executive for the whole kingdom. Constitutionally speaking, if one may use such a phrase when dealing with a country like Portugal, the only body which possessed a clear title of authority was the Council of Regency, which Prince John had nominated nine months before, on the eve of his departure for Brazil. But this council had long ceased to act; its members were dispersed; several had compromised themselves by submitting to the French and taking office under Junot; and its composition gave no promise of vigorous action for the future. If a choice must be made between the Junta at Oporto, which was active and patriotic, though perhaps too much given up to self-assertion and intrigue, and the effete old Regency, there could be no doubt that the former possessed more claims to the confidence of the Portuguese nation and its English allies. But it was not necessary to adopt either alternative in full: Wellesley, who had already got a firm grip upon the outlines of Portuguese politics, advised Dalrymple to invite the old Regency, with the exception of those members who had compromised themselves with the French, to reassemble, and to bring pressure upon them to co-opt to the vacant places the Bishop of Oporto and the other prominent members of the Junta. This proposal would have secured legality of form (since the old Regency would theoretically have continued to exist), while introducing new and vigorous elements of undoubted patriotism into the body[273]. But Dalrymple preferred to reinstate, by a proclamation of his own, those members of the Regency who had never[p. 286] wavered in their allegiance to Prince John [Sept. 18]. He called upon all public bodies and officials in the realm to obey this reconstituted executive. Here was an undoubted mistake; it was wounding to Portuguese pride to see the central governing body of the kingdom created by the edict of an English general: Dalrymple should surely have allowed the Regents to apprise the nation, by a proclamation of their own, that they had resumed their former functions. However, they fell in with Wellesley’s plans so far as to co-opt the Bishop of Oporto as a colleague, though refusing any places to the rest of his Junta. The whole body now consisted of three original members, the Conde de Castro Marim (otherwise known as the Monteiro Mor), Francisco Da Cunha, and Xavier de Noronha, of two persons chosen from a list of possible substitutes, which the Prince-Regent had left behind, Joam de Mendon?a and General Miguel Forjas Coutinho, and of two co-opted members, the Bishop and the Conde das Minas, an old nobleman who had shown a very determined spirit in resisting Junot during the days of his power.

On the reconstitution of the Regency the Junta of Oporto, with more self-denial than had been expected, dissolved itself. The minor juntas in the Algarve, the Alemtejo, and the Tras-os-Montes followed its example, and Portugal was once more in possession of a single executive, whose authority was freely recognized throughout the kingdom. Unfortunately it turned out to be slow, timid, and divided into cliques which were always at variance with each other.

We have already seen that owing to various causes of delay, of which Galluzzo’s preposterous proceedings at Elvas were the most prominent, the last French troops did not quit Portugal till September had expired, and that Junot himself and the main body of his army had only begun to leave on the fifteenth of that month. It would have been impossible for Dalrymple to advance into Spain till the French had left Lisbon, however urgently his presence might have been required. But it would perhaps have proved feasible to push forward towards the Spanish frontier a considerable part of his army, and to make preparations for the movement of the whole towards Madrid or Salamanca as soon as the evacuation should be complete. Dalrymple, however, was as leisurely as the generals of the old days before the Revolutionary War. He kept his troops cantoned about Lisbon, only pushing forward two brigades towards Elvas in order to bring Galluzzo to[p. 287] reason, and dispatching the 6th Regiment as a garrison to Almeida. He seems to have been quite as much interested in the administration of Portugal as in the further prosecution of the war in Spain. We find him much busied in the reconstruction of the Portuguese government and army, reviewing and rearming the Spanish division of Caraffa before shipping it off to Catalonia [Sept. 22], and spending a great deal of time over the redistribution into brigades and divisions of his army, which had now swelled to something like 35,000 men, by the arrival of Moore’s force and certain regiments from Madeira, Gibraltar, and England. He was also engaged in endeavours to organize a proper commissariat for this large body of men, a hard task, for every brigade arrived in the same state of destitution as to means of transport as had those which landed with Wellesley at Mondego Bay on the first of August. But in all his actions there was evident a want of vigour and of purposeful resource, which was very distressing to those of his subordinates who were anxious for a rapid and decisive advance towards the main theatre of war in Spain.

No one felt this more clearly than Wellesley, whose views as to his commander’s competence had never changed since that hour on the morning of August 22, when Dalrymple had refused to march on Mafra, and had decided to delay his advance till the advent of Moore. Since then he had offered his advice on several points, and had almost always seen it refused. Dealing with the disputed details of the Convention of Cintra, he had spoken in favour of meeting the French demands with high-handed decision: hence he was vexed by Dalrymple’s tendency towards weakness and compromise. One of his special grievances was that he had been ordered to sign the armistice of August 22 as representing the British army, although he had privately protested against its details[274]. His unofficial letters home during the first half of September are full of bitter remarks on the weakness of the policy that had been adopted, and the many faults of the Convention[275]. Seeing that warlike operations appeared[p. 288] likely to be postponed for an indefinite time, he at last asked and obtained leave to return to England, after declining in somewhat acid terms an offer made to him by Dalrymple that he should go to Madrid, to concert a plan for combined operations with Casta?os and the other Spanish generals. ‘In order to be able to perform the important part allotted to him,’ he wrote, ‘the person sent should possess the confidence of those who employ him, and be acquainted with their plans, the means by which they hope to carry them into execution, and those by which they intend to enable the Spanish nation to execute that which will be proposed to them. I certainly cannot consider myself as possessing these advantages[276].’ Wellesley also refused another and a less tempting offer of a mission to the Asturias, for the purpose of seeing what facilities that province would offer as the base of operations for a British army. He was not a ‘draftsman,’ he wrote, or a ‘topographical engineer,’ and he could not pretend to describe in writing the character of such a region. In short he was set on going home, and would not turn from his purpose. But before leaving Portugal he wrote two remarkable letters. One was to Sir John Moore, the third in command of the army, telling him that he regarded him as the right person to take charge of the British forces in the Peninsula, and would use every effort with the ministers to get the post secured to him. ‘It is quite impossible that we can go on as we are now constituted: the commander-in-chief must be changed, and the country and the army naturally turn their eyes to you as their commander[277].’ The second and longer was a letter to his patron Castlereagh, in which he laid down his views as to the general state of the war in Spain, and the way in which the British army could be best employed. It is a wonderful document, as he foretells in it all the disasters that were about to befall the Spaniards from their reckless self-confidence. The only real fighting-force that they possessed was, he said, the army of Casta?os: the rest, with the possible exception of Blake’s Galicians, were ‘armies of peasantry,’ which could not be relied upon to meet the French in the field. Though they might on some occasions fight with success[p. 289] in their own mountains, ‘yet in others a thousand French with cavalry and artillery will disperse thousands of them.’ They would not, and indeed could not, leave their native provinces, and no officer could calculate upon them for the carrying out of a great combined operation. How then could the British army of Portugal be best employed to aid such allies? The only efficient plan, Wellesley concludes, would be to place it upon the flank and rear of any French advance to Madrid, by moving it up to the valley of the Douro, and basing it upon Asturias and Galicia. Posted in the kingdom of Leon, with its ports of supply at Gihon, Corunna, and Ferrol, it should co-operate with Blake, and hang upon the right flank of the French army which was forming upon the line of the Ebro. The result would be to prevent the invaders from moving forward, even perhaps (here Wellesley erred from ignorance of the enemy’s numbers) to oblige them to retire towards their own frontier. But Bonaparte could, unless occupied by the affairs of Central Europe, increase his armies in Spain to any extent. The moment that he heard of an English force in the field, he would consider its destruction as his first object, and so multiply his numbers in the Peninsula that the British commander would have to give back. ‘There must be a line of retreat open, and that retreat must be the sea.’ Accordingly, Sir Arthur recommended that the Asturias should be made the ultimate base, and the transports and stores sent to its port of Gihon[278].

This letter was different in its general character from the other reports which Castlereagh was receiving: most of the correspondents of the Secretary for War could write of nothing but the enthusiastic patriotism of the Spaniards and their enormous resources: they spoke of the French as a dispirited remnant, ready[p. 290] to fly, at the first attack, behind the line of the Pyrenees. It is therefore greatly to the credit of Castlereagh that he did not hesitate to pin his faith upon Wellesley’s intelligence, and to order the execution of the very plan that he recommended. It was practically carried out in the great campaign of Sir John Moore, after the collapse of the Spanish armies had justified every word that Sir Arthur had written about them.

Wellesley sailed from Lisbon on September 20, and reached Plymouth on October 4. On his arrival in England he was met with news of a very mixed character. On the one hand he was rejoiced to hear that both Dalrymple and Burrard had been recalled, and that Sir John Moore had been placed in command of the British forces in the Peninsula. He wrote at once to the latter, to say that there could be no greater satisfaction than to serve under his orders, and that he would return at once to Spain to join him: ‘he would forward with zeal every wish’ of his new commander[279]. It was also most gratifying to Wellesley to know that the dispatch of September 25, by which Moore was given the command of the army of Portugal, directed him to move into Northern Spain and base himself upon the Asturias and Galicia, the very plan which formed the main thesis of the document that we have been discussing. There can be no doubt that Castlereagh had recognized the strategical and political verities that were embodied in Wellesley’s letter, and had resolved to adopt the line therein recommended.
SECTION IV: CHAPTER VI
THE COURT OF INQUIRY

There was another and a less pleasant surprise in store for Wellesley when he landed at Plymouth. He learnt that if he himself disliked the armistice of August 22, and the Convention of Cintra, the British public had gone far beyond him, and was in a state of frantic rage concerning them. To his anger and amazement he also learnt that he himself was considered no less responsible for the two agreements than were Dalrymple and Burrard. The fact that the former had told him to set his signature opposite to that of Kellermann on the document signed at Vimiero, had misled the world into regarding him as the negotiator and framer of the armistice. ‘Every whisperer who disliked the name of Wellesley[280]’—and Sir Arthur’s brother, the Governor-General, had made it very unpopular in certain quarters—was busy propagating the story that of the three generals who had lately commanded in Portugal, each one was as slack and supine as the others.

The wave of indignation which swept across England on the receipt of the news of the Convention of Cintra is, at this distance of time, a little hard to understand. Successes had not been so plentiful on the Continent during the last fifteen years, that an agreement which gave back its liberty to a whole kingdom need have been criticized with vindictive minuteness. But the news of Baylen had set the public mind on the look-out for further triumphs, and when the dispatches which gave an account of Roli?a and of Vimiero had come to hand, there had been a confident expectation that the next news received would be that Junot’s army had been scattered or captured, and that Lisbon had been set free. Then came a gap of thirteen days, caused by Dalrymple’s strange fit of silence. The only intelligence that reached London in this interval was the Bishop of Oporto’s letter of protest against the armistice, in which, without giving any definite details about that agreement,[p. 292] he denounced it as insulting to Portugal and unworthy of England. The public was prepared, therefore, to hear that something timid and base had been done, when Dalrymple’s dispatch of September 3, enclosing the Convention of Cintra, came to hand. It was easy to set forth the terms of that treaty in an odious light. Junot, it was said, had been beaten in the field, he was completely isolated from all the other French armies, and his surrender must have followed in a few days, if the British generals had only chosen to press their advantage. Instead of this, they preferred to let him return to France with the whole of his troops, and with most of his plunder. He was not even compelled to release a corresponding number of British prisoners in return for the freedom secured to his army. In fact, his position was much better after than before his defeat at Vimiero, for the Convention granted him a quiet and safe return home with his force intact, while, even if he had won some success in battle, the best that he would have been able to secure himself would have been a retreat on Northern Spain, through the midst of great dangers. Excitable politicians and journalists used the most exaggerated language, and compared the Convention with that of Kloster Seven, and the conduct of the generals who had not pressed the campaign to its logical end with Admiral Byng’s shirking before Minorca. Caricatures were issued showing Dalrymple, Burrard, and Wellesley sporting the white feather, or hanging from three gibbets as traitors[281]. Nor was Admiral Cotton spared: he was denounced in bitter terms for taking the Russian ships as ‘deposits,’ when he should have towed them into Spithead as prizes: moreover the repatriation of the Russian crews was asserted to be a deadly blow at our unfortunate ally the King of Sweden.

The rage against the Convention was not confined to any one class or faction in the state. If some Whigs tried to turn it into the shape of an attack on the government, there were plenty of Tories who joined in the cry, begging their leaders in the ministry to dismiss and punish the three unpopular generals. A number of public meetings were held with the object of forcing the hands of the Duke of Portland and his colleagues, but the most prominent part in the agitation was taken by the Corporation of London.[p. 293] Recalling the old days of Wilkes and Beckford, they resolved that the Lord Mayor, with a deputation of Sheriffs, Aldermen, and Common-Councillors, should present a petition to the King begging him to order ‘an inquiry into this dishonourable and unprecedented transaction, for the discovery and punishment of those by whose misconduct and incapacity the cause of the kingdom and its allies has been so shamelessly sacrificed.’

Accordingly such a petition was laid before the King on October 12. Its terms are worth a moment’s attention, as they show very clearly the points on which popular indignation had been concentrated. ‘The treaty,’ it states, ‘is humiliating and degrading, because after a signal victory, by which the enemy appears to have been cut off from all means of succour or escape, we had the sad mortification of seeing the laurels so nobly acquired torn from the brows of our brave soldiers, and terms granted to the enemy disgraceful to the British name.... By this ignominious Convention British ships are to convey to France the French army and its plunder, where they will be at liberty immediately to recommence their active operations against us and our allies. And the full recognition of the title and dignity of Emperor of France[282], while all mention of the Government of Portugal is omitted, must be considered as highly disrespectful to the authorities of that country.’ There was another clause denouncing the sending back of the Russian sailors, but not so much stress was laid on this point. Finally the King is asked ‘in justice to the outraged feelings of a brave, injured, and indignant people, whose blood and treasure have been thus expended,’ to cause the guilty persons to be punished.

King George III replied to these flowers of oratory by a short speech which displays admirably that power of getting an occasional lucid glimpse of the obvious in which he was by no means deficient. He was fully sensible, he said, of the loyalty and good intentions of the City of London, but he wished the deputation to remember that to pronounce judgement without previous trial and investigation was hardly consonant with the principles of British justice. He was always ready to institute an inquiry when the honour of the British arms was in question: and the interposition of the[p. 294] City of London was not necessary to induce him to set one on foot in this case, when the hopes and expectations of the nation had been so much disappointed.

It was not, however, till seventeen days later that his majesty’s formal orders for the summoning of a Court of Inquiry ‘to investigate into the late Armistice and Convention concluded in Portugal, and all the circumstances connected therewith,’ were communicated to the Commander-in-Chief. Dalrymple and Burrard, both of whom had now returned to England, were directed to hold themselves in readiness to present themselves before the court, and Wellesley, for the same reason, was directed to abandon his project of going back to the Peninsula in order to serve under Sir John Moore.

The members of the celebrated Court of Inquiry, which commenced its sittings on November 14, 1808, were seven in number, all general officers of great respectability and advanced years, men more likely, for the most part, to sympathize with caution than with daring. The president was Sir David Dundas, the author of a celebrated drill-book which had long been the terror of young officers: the other members were Lord Moira, Lord Heathfield[283], the Earl of Pembroke, and Generals Craig, Sir G. Nugent, and Nicholls. Not one of them has left behind a name to be remembered, save indeed Lord Moira, who, as Lord Rawdon in the old American War, had won the victory of Hobkirk’s Hill, and who was destined to be the next Viceroy of India and to make the name of Hastings famous for a second time in the East.

The court began its sittings on November 14, and did not terminate them till December 22. In the great hall of Chelsea Hospital, where its proceedings were held, there was much warm debate. As the details of the Campaign of Portugal were gradually worked out, not only by the cross-examination of Dalrymple, Burrard, and Wellesley, but by that of many of the other officers of rank who had been in Portugal—Spencer, Acland, Ferguson, Lord Burghersh, and others—the points on which the verdict of the court must turn gradually became clear. They were six in number:—Had Burrard been justified in preventing Wellesley from pursuing the French at the end of the battle of Vimiero? Had Dalrymple erred in refusing to take Wellesley’s advice to march[p. 295] on Mafra the next morning? Should Kellermann’s offer of an armistice have been accepted on the twenty-second, and, if so, were the terms granted him too favourable? Lastly, was the Convention of Cintra itself justifiable under the existing circumstances, and were all its articles reasonable and proper? Much evidence was produced for and against each view on every one of these topics. On the first two Wellesley practically impeached Burrard and Dalrymple for unwarrantable slackness and timidity. He was so much in love with his own bold plans that his superior’s caution appeared to him contemptible. He stood up to them and cross-questioned them with an acidity and a complete want of deference that seemed very reprehensible to military men steeped in the old traditions of unquestioning deference to one’s senior officers. Sir Walter Scott, who followed the inquiry with great interest, called him ‘a haughty devil,’ but expressed his admiration for him at the same moment[284]. It is curious to find that Wellesley showed less anger with Burrard, whose caution on the afternoon of the twenty-first really wrecked his plan of campaign, than with Dalrymple. The latter had snubbed him on his first arrival, had persistently refused him his confidence, and would not state clearly to the court that the armistice, though it bore Wellesley’s name, had not been drawn up or approved in detail by him. Of the numerous minor witnesses who were examined, all who had served at Roli?a and Vimiero spoke on Wellesley’s side: Spencer and Ferguson were especially strong in their statements. The fact was that they were intensely proud of their two fights, and looked upon Burrard as the man who had prevented them from entering Lisbon in triumph after capturing Junot and his whole host. So strong was this feeling that the brigadiers and field-officers of the eight brigades that fought at Vimiero had presented Wellesley with a handsome testimonial—a service of plate worth ￡1,000—as a sort of mark of confidence in him, and of protest against those who had stayed his hand.

On the other hand, Burrard and Dalrymple urged all the justifications of caution. Each had arrived at a crisis, the details of which could not be properly known to him from sheer want of time to master them. Each acknowledged that Wellesley had vehemently pressed him to strike boldly and promptly, but thought that he had not been justified in doing so till he had made out for[p. 296] himself the exact situation of affairs. Burrard pleaded that Junot might have possessed reserves unknown to him, which might have changed the fortune of the fight if a headlong pursuit had been ordered. Wellesley had told him that none such existed (and this turned out to have been the fact), but he himself had not seen any clear proof of it at the time[285]. Dalrymple went even further, and stated that he had considered the whole conduct of the campaign, from the landing in Mondego Bay till the battle of Vimiero, terribly rash[286]. If he had permitted the army to march on Mafra on the twenty-second, the French from Torres Vedras might have taken him in the flank as he passed through a very difficult country, and the most disastrous results might have ensued. He was positive that nothing hazardous ought to have been attempted, and that it was necessary to wait for Sir John Moore’s division before pressing the French to extremity.

With regard to the armistice and the Convention, all the three generals, when defending themselves, agreed that they were wise and justifiable. To clear the French out of Portugal without further fighting, and to recover Lisbon and all its resources intact, were ends so important that it was well worth while to sacrifice even the practical certainty of capturing all Junot’s army, after a resistance that might have been long and desperate. But as to the wisdom of certain clauses and articles, both in the document of August 22 and that of August 30, there was considerable difference of opinion. Wellesley proved that he had opposed many details of each agreement, and that he was in no way responsible for the final shape taken by them. He only assented to the general proposition that it was right to let the French army depart under a convention, rather than to force it to a capitulation. He considered that Dalrymple had yielded far too much, from his unwillingness to ‘drive Junot into a corner.’

On December 22 the Court of Inquiry issued its report. It was a very cautious and a rather inconclusive document. But its main point was that nothing had been done in Portugal which called for the punishment of any of the parties concerned: ‘On a consideration of all the circumstances, we most humbly submit our opinion that no further military proceeding is necessary,’ i.e. there was no ground for a court-martial on any one of the three British generals. As to[p. 297] Burrard’s refusal to pursue the French on the afternoon of Vimiero, there were ‘fair military grounds’ for his decision: the court omitted to say whether the decision itself was right or wrong. ‘It could not pronounce with confidence whether or not a pursuit could have been efficacious.’ As to the halt on the following day, for which Dalrymple no less than Burrard was responsible, ‘under the extraordinary circumstances that two new commanding generals arrived from the ocean and joined the army within the space of twenty-four hours, it is not surprising that the army was not carried forward until the second day after the action, from the necessity of the generals becoming acquainted with the actual state of things, and of their army, and proceeding accordingly.’ Finally, as to the Convention, ‘howsoever some of us may differ in our sentiments respecting its fitness in the relative situation of the two armies, it is our unanimous declaration that unquestionable zeal and firmness appear to have been exhibited throughout both by Sir Hew Dalrymple, Sir Harry Burrard, and Sir Arthur Wellesley.’ There was a special compliment inserted for Wellesley’s benefit, to the effect that his whole action, from the landing in Mondego Bay down to the battle of Vimiero, was ‘highly honourable and successful, and such as might have been expected from a distinguished officer.’

Such a report amounted to a plain acquittal of all the three generals, but it left so much unsaid that the Government directed the Commander-in-Chief to require from the members of the court their decision as to whether the armistice of the twenty-second and the Convention of the thirtieth were advisable, and, if they were advisable, whether their terms were proper, and honourable. On the twenty-seventh the court returned its answer: there was, this time, no unanimous report, but a series of written opinions, for the members of the body differed from each other on many points. As to the armistice, six members replied that they approved of it, one, but he the most distinguished of the seven—Lord Moira—said that he did not. On the question as to the definitive Convention there was more difference of opinion: Dundas, Lord Heathfield, Craig, and Nugent thought it fair and reasonable; Lord Moira, the Earl of Pembroke, and Nicholls considered it as unjustifiable, considering the relative situations of the two armies. The two last-named officers added short explanatory notes to their opinions, while Lord Moira subjoined to his a long and elaborate argument,[p. 298] a document which does not seem in the least to deserve the slighting reference made to it by Napier[287]. It is very sensible in its general drift. Lord Moira contended that while on August 22 there was no reason why an armistice should not have been concluded, yet the paper drawn up by Kellermann contained clauses that limited unduly the demands which the British commander might make in the subsequent Convention. Dalrymple ought, before conceding them, to have reflected that Junot’s anxious and hurried offer of terms betokened demoralization. If the French had been pressed, and a confident and haughty answer returned to their envoy, Junot would have accepted any conditions that might be imposed upon him. His army was in such a state of disorder and dismay that it was most unlikely that he would have tried either to burn Lisbon or to retreat across the Alemtejo. Moreover, the contention that the deliverance of Portugal was the one object of the expedition, and that it was duly secured by the Convention, was a mistake. Lord Moira wished to point out that our armies were sent forth, not only to emancipate Portugal, but also to destroy the forces and lower the prestige of France by every means in their power. By forcing Junot to a capitulation, or by making the terms of the Convention more stringent, a much greater blow might have been dealt to Bonaparte’s reputation. As an instance of what might have been done, he suggested that some remote and inconvenient landing-place—Belle Isle for example—might have been imposed upon the French troops, or they might have been compelled to engage not to serve for some specified time against England and her allies.

The Court of Inquiry had thus delivered its last opinion. But the matter of the Convention was not even yet at an end. The ministry resolved to inflict a rebuke on Dalrymple, not for his military action, on which they completely accepted the verdict of the seven generals, but for his political action in allowing the Articles XV, XVI, and XVII to be inserted in the Convention. These, it will be remembered, were the clauses which conceded certain privileges to the French inhabitants of Lisbon, and to the Portuguese who had compromised themselves by taking service under Junot. The Duke of York, as commander-in-chief, was[p. 299] ordered to convey to Dalrymple ‘His Majesty’s disapprobation of those articles in the Convention in which stipulations were made affecting the interests and feelings of the Spanish and Portuguese nations[288].’ It was to be impressed upon Sir Hew that it was most improper and dangerous to admit into a military convention articles of such a description, which (especially when carelessly and incautiously framed) might lead to the most injurious consequences. Furthermore, Dalrymple was to be gravely censured for his extraordinary delay in not sending the news of the armistice of the twenty-second till September 3, whereby ‘great public inconvenience’ had been caused.

It cannot be denied that these rebukes were well deserved: we have already pointed out that the three articles to which allusion is made were the only part of the Convention for which no defence is possible. It is equally clear that it was the thirteen days’ gap in the information sent home which gave time for the rise and development of the unreasoning popular agitation against the whole agreement made with Junot.

As to the verdict of the court, it does substantial justice to the case. There existed ‘fair military reasons’ for all that Burrard and Dalrymple had done, or left undone. In a similar way ‘fair military reasons’ can be alleged for most of the main slips and errors committed during any campaign in the Napoleonic War—for Dupont’s stay at Andujar, or for Murray’s retreat from Tarragona, or for Grouchy’s operations on June 17 and 18, 1815. It would be unjust to punish old and respectable generals for mere errors of judgement, and inability to rise to the height of the situation. Burrard and Dalrymple had sacrificed the most brilliant possibilities by their torpid caution, after refusing to listen to Wellesley’s cogent arguments for bold action. But their conduct had resulted neither from cowardice nor from deliberate perversity. The blame must rest quite as much on the government, which had entrusted the expedition to elderly men unaccustomed to command in the field, as on those men themselves. And as to the details of the armistice and Convention, we may well accept Wellesley’s verdict, that the gain secured by the rescue of Lisbon with all its wealth intact, and by the prompt termination of the campaign, fully justified the resolve not to drive Junot to extremity.

But there was an unexpressed corollary to the verdict of the[p. 300] court which the ministry fully realized, and upon which they acted. Burrard and Dalrymple, with their ‘fair military reasons,’ must never again appear in the field. It was not by such men that Bonaparte would be foiled and Spain emancipated, and so they were relegated to home service and quiet retirement for the rest of their lives. Wellesley, on the other hand, was marked out as a man of energy, resource, and determination, eminently fit to be employed again. Within four months of the termination of the proceedings of the Court of Inquiry he was once more in command of the British army in the Peninsula.

SECTION V  THE STRUGGLE IN CATALONIA CHAPTER I
DUHESME’S OPERATIONS: FIRST SIEGE OF GERONA (JUNE-JULY, 1808)

There is still one corner of the Iberian Peninsula whose history, during the eventful summer months of 1808, we have not yet chronicled. The rugged and warlike province of Catalonia had already begun that heroic struggle against its French garrison which was to endure throughout the whole of the war. Far more than any other section of the Spanish nation do the Catalans deserve credit for their unswerving patriotism. Nowhere else was the war maintained with such resolution. When the struggle commenced the French were already masters by treachery of the chief fortresses of the land: the force of Spanish regular troops which lay within its borders was insignificant: there was no recognized leader, no general of repute, to head the rising of the province. Yet the attack on the invaders was delivered with a fierceness and a persistent energy that was paralleled in no other quarter of the Peninsula. For six years marshal after marshal ravaged the Catalan valleys, sacked the towns, scattered the provincial levies. But not for one moment did the resistance slacken; the invaders could never control a foot of ground beyond the narrow space that was swept by the cannon of their strongholds. The spirit of the race was as unbroken in 1813 as in 1808, and their untiring bands still held out in the hills, ready to strike at the enemy when the least chance was offered. Other provinces had equal or greater advantages than Catalonia for protracted resistance: Biscay, the Asturias, and Galicia were as rugged, Andalusia far more populous, Valencia more fertile and wealthy. But in none of these was the struggle carried on with such a combination of energy and persistence as in the Catalan hills. Perhaps[p. 302] the greatest testimony that can be quoted in behalf of the people of that devoted province is that Napier, bitter critic as he was of all things Spanish, is forced to say a good word for it. ‘The Catalans,’ he writes, ‘were vain and superstitious; but their courage was higher, their patriotism purer, and their efforts more sustained than those of the rest. The somatenes were bold and active in battle, the population of the towns firm, and the juntas apparently disinterested[290].’ No one but a careful student of Napier will realize what a handsome testimonial is contained in the somewhat grudging language of this paragraph. What the real credit due to the Catalans was, it will now be our duty to display.

It will be remembered that in the month of February the French general Duhesme had obtained possession of the citadel and forts of Barcelona by a particularly impudent and shameless stratagem[291]. Since that time he had been lying in the city that he had seized, with his whole force concentrated under his hand. Of the 7,000 French and 5,000 Italian troops which composed his corps, all were with him save a single battalion of detachments which had been left behind to garrison Figueras, the fortress close to the French frontier, which commands the most important of the three roads by which the principality of Catalonia can be entered.

Duhesme believed himself to be entirely secure, for of Spanish regular troops there were barely 6,000 in all scattered through the province[292], and a third of these were Swiss mercenaries, who, according to the orders of Bonaparte, were to be taken at once into the French service. That there was any serious danger to be feared from the miqueletes of the mountains never entered into the heads of the Emperor or his lieutenant. Nor does it seem to have occurred to them that any insurrection which broke out in Cata[p. 303]lonia might be immediately supported from the Balearic Isles, where a heavy garrison was always kept, in order to guard against any descent of the British to recover their old stronghold of Port Mahon[293]. If Napoleon had realized in May that the Spanish rising was about to sweep over the whole Peninsula, he would not have dared to leave Duhesme with such a small force. But persisting in his original blunder of believing that the troubles which had broken out were merely local and sporadic, he was about to order Duhesme to make large detachments from a corps that was already dangerously weak.

The geography of Catalonia, as we have had occasion to relate in an earlier chapter, is rather complicated. Not only is the principality cut off by its mountains from the rest of Spain—it faces towards the sea, while its neighbour Aragon faces towards the Ebro—but it is divided by its numerous cross-ranges into a number of isolated valleys, between which communication is very difficult. Its coast-plain along the Mediterranean is generally narrow, and often cut across by spurs which run down from the mountains of the inland till they strike the sea. Except on the eastern side of the principality, where it touches Aragon in the direction of Lerida, there is no broad expanse of level ground within its borders: much the greater part of its surface is upland and mountain.

Catalonia may be divided into four regions: the first is the district at the foot of the Eastern Pyrenees, drained by the Fluvia and the Ter. This narrow corner is called the Ampurdam; it contains all the frontier-fortresses which protect the province on the side of France. Rosas commands the pass along the sea-shore, Figueras the main road from Perpignan, which runs some twenty miles further inland. A little further south both these roads[p. 304] meet, and are blocked by the strong city of Gerona, the capital of all this region and its most important strategical point. South of Gerona a cross-range divides the Ampurdam from the coast-plain of Central Catalonia; the defile through this range is covered by the small fortified town of Hostalrich, but there is an alternative route from Gerona to Barcelona along the coast by Blanes and Arens de Mar.

The river-basin of Central Catalonia is that of the Llobregat, near whose estuary Barcelona stands. Its lower course lies through the level ground along the coast, but its upper waters and those of its tributaries drain a series of highland valleys, difficult of access and divided from each other by considerable chains of hills. All these valleys unite at the foot of the crag of Montserrat, which, crowned by its monastery, overlooks the plain, and stands sentinel over the approach to the upland. In the mountains behind Montserrat was the main stronghold of the Catalan insurrection, whose rallying-places were the high-lying towns of Manresa, Cardona, Berga, and Solsona. Only three practicable roads enter the valleys of the Upper Llobregat, one communicates by the line of Manresa and Vich with the Ampurdam; a second goes from Manresa via Cervera to Lerida, and ultimately to the plains of Aragon; the third is the high-road from Barcelona to Manresa, the main line of approach from the shore to the upland. But there is another route of high importance in this section of Catalonia, that which, starting from Barcelona, avoids the upper valleys, strikes inland by Igualada, crosses the main watershed between the coast and the Ebro valley below Cervera, and at that place joins the other road from Manresa and the Upper Llobregat, and continues on its way to Lerida and the plains of Aragon. This, passing the mountains at the point of least resistance, forms the great trunk-road from Barcelona to Madrid.
Map of Catalonia

Enlarge  Catalonia.

The third region of the principality is the coastland of Tarragona, a district cut off from the coastland of Barcelona by a well-marked cross-ridge, which runs down from the mountains to the sea, and reaches the latter near the mouth of the Llobregat. The communication between the two maritime districts is by two roads, one passing the cross-ridge by the defile of Ordal, the other hugging the beach and finding its way between the hills and the water’s edge by Villanueva de Sitjas. The coastland of Tarragona is not drained by a single river of considerable volume, like the[p. 305] Llobregat, but by a number of small streams such as the Francoli and the Gaya, running parallel to each other and at right angles to the coast. Each is separated from the next by a line of hills of moderate height. The southern limit of this region is the Ebro, whose lower course is protected by the strong fortress of Tortosa. Its main line of internal communication is the great coast-route from Barcelona to Tarragona, and from Tarragona to the mouth of the Ebro. Its touch with Aragon and Central Spain is maintained by a good road from Tarragona by Montblanch to Lerida.

The fourth and last region of Catalonia is the inland, which looks not towards the Mediterranean but to the Ebro and Aragon. It is drained by the Segre, an important stream, which after being joined by its tributaries, the Noguera and the Pallaresa, falls into the Ebro not far to the south of Lerida. The tracts around that town are flat and fertile, part of the main valley of the Ebro. But the head-waters of the Segre and its affluents flow through narrow and difficult mountain valleys, starting in the highest and wildest region of the Pyrenees. They are very inaccessible, and served by no roads suitable for the use of an army. Hence, like the upper valley of the Llobregat, they served as places of refuge for the Catalan insurgents when Lerida and the flat country had been lost. The only place of importance in these highlands is the remote town of Seu d’ Urgel[294], a mediaeval fortress near the sources of the Segre, approached by mule-paths only, and quite lost in the hills.

Catalonia, then, is pre-eminently a mountain land, and one presenting special difficulties to an invader, because it has no central system of roads or valleys, but is divided into so many heterogeneous parts. Though not fertile, it was yet rich, and fairly well peopled when compared with other regions of Spain[295]. Its wealth came not from agriculture but from commerce and manufactures. Barcelona, a city of 180,000 souls, was the greatest Mediterranean port of Spain: on each side of it, along the coast, are dozens of large fishing-villages and small harbour-towns, drawing their living from the sea. Of the places which lay farther back from the water there were many which made an ample profit from[p. 306] their manufactures, for Catalonia was, and still remains, the workshop of Spain. It is the only province of the kingdom where the inhabitants have developed industries on a large scale: its textile products were especially successful, and supplied the whole Peninsula.

More than any other part of Spain, Catalonia had suffered from the war with England and the Continental System. The closure of its ports had told cruelly upon its merchants and manufacturers, who were fully aware that their sufferings were the logical consequence of the French alliance. They had, moreover, a historic grudge against France: after encouraging them to revolt in the seventeenth century, the Bourbons had then abandoned them to the mercies of the King of the Castilians. In the great war of the Spanish Succession, Catalonia had taken sides against France and Don Philip, and had proclaimed Charles of Austria its king—not because it loved him, but because it hated the French claimant. Even after the Peace of Utrecht the Catalans had refused to lay down their arms, and had made a last desperate struggle for provincial independence. It was in these wars that their miqueletes[296] had first made their name famous by their stubborn fighting. These bands were a levy en masse of the population of military age, armed and paid by their parishes, not by the central government, which could be called out whenever the principality was threatened with invasion. From their liability to turn out whenever the alarm-bell (somaten) was rung, they were also known as somatenes. The system of the Quinta and the militia ballot, which prevailed in the provinces under the crown of Castile, had never been applied to the Catalans, who gloried in the survival of their ancient military customs. The somatenes had been called out in the French war of 1793-5, and had done good service in it, distinguishing themselves far more than the troops of the line which fought on the frontier of the Eastern Pyrenees. The memories of that struggle were still fresh among them, and many of the leaders who had won a name in it were still fit for service. In Catalonia then, more than in any other corner of Spain, there were all the materials at hand for a vigorous popular insurrection, even though the body of regular troops in the principality[p. 307] was insignificant. The Catalans rose to defend their provincial independence, and to recover their capital, which had been seized so shamelessly by the trickery of Duhesme. They did not concern themselves much with what was going on in Aragon and Valencia, or even in Madrid. Their fight with the invader forms an episode complete in itself, a sort of underplot in the great drama of the Peninsular War, which only touches the main struggle at infrequent intervals. It was not affected by the campaigns of Castile, still less had it any noticeable influence on them. It would be equally possible to write the history of the war in Catalonia as a separate treatise, or to compile a general history of the war in which Catalonia was barely mentioned.

When the echoes of the cannon of the second of May went rolling round Spain, they stirred up Catalonia no less than the other provinces which lie at a distance from the capital. The phenomena which appeared in the South and the West were repeated here, in much the same sequence, and at much the same dates, as elsewhere. But the rising of the Catalans was greatly handicapped by the fact that their populous and wealthy capital was occupied by 12,000 French troops. Barcelona could not set the example to the smaller places, and for some time the outburst was spasmodic and local. The chief focus of rebellion was Lerida, where an insurrectionary Junta was formed on May 29. At Tortosa the populace rose a few days later, and murdered the military governor, Santiago de Guzman, because he had been slow and reluctant to place himself at their head. On June 2 Manresa, in the upper valley of the Llobregat, followed their example, and from it the flame of insurrection spread all over the central upland. In Barcelona itself there were secret meetings, and suspicious gatherings in the streets, on which Duhesme had to keep a watchful eye. But the main preoccupation of the French general was that there were still several thousand Spanish troops in the town, who might easily lead the populace in an émeute. He had got rid of one regiment, that of Estremadura, in May: he gave it orders to march to Lerida, where the magistrates and people refused to receive it within their walls, dreading that it might not be ready to join in their projected rising. This was a vain fear, for the corps readily took its part in the insurrection, and marched to join Palafox at Saragossa. But there still remained in Barcelona a battalion each of the Spanish and the Walloon Guards, and the cavalry regiment[p. 308] of Borbon, some 2,500 men in all. To Duhesme’s intense satisfaction, these troops, instead of keeping together and attacking the French garrison when the news of the revolt reached them, began to desert in small parties. Far from attempting to compel them to stay by their colours, Duhesme winked at their evasion, and took no notice of their proceedings, even when a whole squadron of the Borbon Regiment rode off with trumpets sounding and its officers at its head. Within a few days the greater part of the Spanish troops had vanished, and when Duhesme was directed by his master to disarm them, there were very few left for him to deal with. These scattered remnants of the Guard Regiments drifted in small bands all over Catalonia, some were found at Gerona, others at Tarragona, others at Rosas. Nearly 400 went to Aragon and fought under Palafox at Epila: another considerable body joined the Valencian insurgents[297]. But these two strong veteran battalions never were united again, or made to serve as a nucleus for the Catalan levies[298].

Saved from the peril of a rising of the Spanish regiments in Barcelona, Duhesme had still the insurrection of the province on his hands. But he was not left free to deal with it according to his own inspirations. By the last dispatch from Napoleon which reached him before the communications with Madrid and Bayonne were cut, a plan of campaign was dictated to him. The Emperor ordered him to chastise the insurgents of Lerida and Manresa, without ceasing to keep a strong grip on Barcelona, and on the line of touch with France through Figueras. But, as if this was not enough to occupy his small army of 12,000 or 13,000 men, he was to provide two strong detachments, one of which was to co-operate with Moncey in Valencia, and the other with Lefebvre-Desnouettes in Aragon. A glance at the Emperor’s instructions is enough to show how entirely he had misconceived the situation, and how thoroughly he had failed to realize that all Spain was up in arms. The first detachment, 4,000 strong, was to march on Lerida, and to enter Aragon along the line of the Ebro. It was then[p. 309] to move on Saragossa to join Lefebvre. The second detachment, also 4,000 strong, was to move on Valencia via Tortosa, join Marshal Moncey, and finally occupy the great naval arsenal of Cartagena. With the 5,000 men that remained Duhesme was to hold down Barcelona and Central Catalonia, while keeping open the line of communications with Figueras and Perpignan.

Either Duhesme was as blind to the real state of affairs as his master, or he considered that unquestioning obedience was his first duty. He told off the two columns as directed, only cutting down their strength a little, so as not wholly to ungarnish Barcelona. For the Valencian expedition he told off General Chabran, with the best brigade in his army, three veteran French battalions of the 7th and 16th of the line[299]. With this force he sent his single brigade of French cavalry, two regiments under General Bessières (the brother of the Duke of Istria). The whole amounted to 2,500 foot and 600 horse. For the attack on Lerida, he had to send out troops of more doubtful value—all foreigners, for there were no more French to be spared. General Schwartz was given one Swiss, two Neapolitan, and one Italian battalion[300], with no more than a single squadron of cavalry, for his march was to lie over a very[p. 310] mountainous country. His whole force was 3,200 strong. To the general directions given by Napoleon, Duhesme added some supplementary orders of his own. Chabran was to pass by Tarragona, leave a battalion in its citadel, and take as a compensation the two battalions of Wimpfen’s Swiss Regiment, which was to be incorporated in the French army. It was expected that he would get into touch with Marshal Moncey when he should reach Castellon de la Plana. Schwartz, on the other hand, was told to march by the mountain road leading to Manresa, in order to punish the inhabitants of that town for their rebellion. He was to fine them 750,000 francs, and to destroy a powder-mill which they possessed. He was then to march on Lerida, from which he was to evict the insurrectionary Junta: the city was to pay a heavy war-contribution, and to receive a garrison of 500 men. With the rest of his brigade Schwartz was to join the French forces before Saragossa, not later than June 19.

Schwartz started from Barcelona on June 4: a tempest forced him to wait for a day at Martorel, in the coast-plain, but on the sixth he reached the pass of Bruch, at whose foot the roads from Igualada and from Manresa join. Here he met with opposition: the news of his approach had spread all up the valley of the Llobregat, and the somatenes of the upland towns were hurrying forward to hold the defile by which the high-road from Barcelona climbs into the upper country. At the moment when the invaders, marching in the most careless fashion, were making their way up the hill, only the levy of Manresa was in position. They were a mere handful, 300 or 400 at most, and many were destitute of muskets. But from the cover of a pine-wood they boldly opened fire upon the head of Schwartz’s column. Surprised to find himself attacked, the French general deployed a battalion and drove the somatenes out of their position: they retired in great disorder up the hill towards Manresa. Schwartz followed them with caution, under the idea that they must be the vanguard of a larger force, and that there were probably regular troops in support, further along the defile. In this he was wrong, but the retreating Manresans received reinforcements a few miles behind the place of the first skirmish. They were joined by the levies of San Pedor and other villages of the Upper Llobregat, marching forward to the sound of the single drum that was to be found in the upland. The peasants ensconced themselves in the rocks and bushes on either side of the[p. 311] road, and again offered battle. Schwartz took their opposition much too seriously, extended a long front of tirailleurs against them, but did not push his attack home. Soon other bands of somatenes from the direction of Igualada began to gather round his left flank, and it seemed to him that he would soon be surrounded and cut off from his line of communications with Barcelona. His regiments were raw and not of the best quality: the Neapolitans who composed more than half his force passed, and with reason, as the worst troops in Europe. He himself was a cavalry officer who had never held independent command before, and was wholly unversed in mountain warfare. Reflecting that the afternoon was far spent, that he was still twelve miles from Manresa, and that the whole country-side was on the move against him, he resolved to abandon his expedition. Instead of hurling his four battalions upon the somatenes, who must have been scattered to the winds if attacked by such superior numbers, he drew back, formed his men in a great square, with the cavalry and guns in the middle, and began a retreat across the more open parts of the defile. The Spaniards followed, pressing in the screen of tirailleurs by which the square was covered, and taking easy shots into the solid mass behind them. After six miles of marching under fire, Schwartz’s Swiss and Italians were growing somewhat demoralized, for nothing could be more harassing to raw and unwilling troops than such a retreat. At last they found their way blocked by the village of Esparraguera, where the inhabitants barricaded the streets and opened a hot fire upon the front face of the square. Seeing his men hesitate and break their ranks, Schwartz hastily bade them scatter right and left and pass round the village without attempting to storm it. This device succeeded, but when the two halves of the column reunited beyond Esparraguera, they were in such disorder that there was no means of stopping them. The whole streamed into Martorel in a confused mass at nightfall, after a retreat whose incidents remind the military reader, in every detail, of the rout of the British troops in the march to Lexington, on the first day of the old American War of 1775.

When he reached the plains Schwartz was able to retire unharmed to Barcelona, having saved three of his four guns[301] and lost no very[p. 312] large proportion of his men. But he had suffered the disgrace of being worsted by inferior numbers of undisciplined peasantry, and brought his troops back in a state of demoralization, which was very discouraging to the rest of the garrison of the Catalonian capital. Duhesme, instead of taking him to task, fully approved of his retreat, on the ground that if he had pushed on for Manresa and Lerida he would probably have lost his whole brigade. Realizing at last the true strength of the insurrection, and learning that the somaten was sounding in every village, and that the peasantry were flocking together in thousands, Duhesme determined to concentrate his whole force, and sent orders to Chabran to abandon his Valencian expedition and return at once to Barcelona. He was probably quite right in his resolve, though Chabran’s retreat was the determining fact that ruined Moncey’s campaign in the province south of the Ebro. The Emperor had sketched out the whole plan of operations on false premises, and when the new military situation had developed itself, it would have been absurd for his lieutenants to carry out his original orders in blind and servile obedience.

Chabran’s column had reached Tarragona when it received Duhesme’s letters of recall. It had started on June 4, and found the coastland still quiet, the insurrection not having yet spread downwards from the hills. On arriving at Tarragona Chabran took possession of the citadel, and issued orders to the two battalions of Wimpfen’s Swiss Regiment, which formed the garrison of the place, to prepare to march with him against Valencia. The Swiss officers showed no alacrity in falling in with this plan. They were not animated by the patriotic fury which had carried away the rest of the Spanish regular troops into the insurgent camp. On the other hand they felt no enthusiasm at the idea of joining the French in an attack on their late employers. They were deferring obedience to the orders of the French general on various futile pleas, when the news of Schwartz’s defeat at Bruch reached Tarragona. Directed to return in haste and to rejoin Duhesme, General Chabran marched off on June 9, leaving Wimpfen’s mercenaries behind: they would not follow him, and declared in favour of the insurgent Junta at Lerida the moment that his back was turned. The retreating French column had to brush aside several considerable bands of somatenes, which tried to arrest its progress, for the coastland had taken arms after the[p. 313] combat of Bruch, and its levies hoped to treat Chabran as their compatriots of the upland had treated Schwartz. But the three veteran French battalions were of tougher material than the Neapolitans and Italians who had been routed on the sixth, and successfully cut their way back to Barcelona. They were aided by the unwisdom of the insurgents, who, instead of trying to defend the difficult defile of Ordal, came down into the plain. When they attacked Chabran at Vendrell and Arbos, they were charged by his cavalry and scattered to the winds with heavy loss. The French, when the actions were over, sacked with every circumstance of brutality all the villages which lay along their path[302]. On June 11 they got into touch with Duhesme’s outposts, and on the twelfth re-entered Barcelona.

The whole of the ‘Army of the Eastern Pyrenees’ was now reunited under its commander’s hand, and Duhesme thought himself strong enough to punish the peasantry of the Upper Llobregat for their victory at Bruch. On the fourteenth Chabran, with his own brigade and the Swiss and Italians of Schwartz, marched from Martorel to assault once more the pass which the uplanders had defended so well eight days before. But the woods and rocks of Bruch were now manned by many thousands of somatenes: all Central Catalonia had sent its levies thither, and they were supported by 400 regulars from Lerida and four pieces of artillery. After feeling the position, and directing against it at least one serious attack, Chabran drew back and refused to press on the action—apparently influenced by the manifest reluctance of Schwartz’s troops to advance, no less than by the strength of the ground. After losing nearly 400 men he retired to the plain and marched back to Barcelona [June 15].

Duhesme had a more pressing business in hand than the chastisement of the mountaineers of the Upper Llobregat. He had now learnt, by the fact that couriers from France had ceased to arrive, that his communications with Figueras and Upper Catalonia had been cut, and it was absolutely necessary that they should be reopened. This was to prove a harder task than he imagined: the somatenes were now up in every valley as far as the French frontier; they had driven into the citadel of Figueras the weak battalion of detachments that had been left to hold that[p. 314] town, and some of the bolder spirits were feeling their way through the Pyrenean recesses to commence raids on Roussillon. Such alarm was felt at Perpignan that the general commanding the district had begun to call out the national guards, for he had no regulars at his disposal save a few hundred men of details and detachments, who were waiting to go forward to join their regiments in Duhesme’s corps. But all this was unknown at Barcelona, and it was with very little conception of the difficulties before him that Duhesme resolved to march on Gerona and reopen the main road to France. He told off for this service one half of the infantry battalions which composed his army—the Italian division of Lecchi, consisting of the brigades of Schwartz and of Milosewitz, the latter of which had hitherto remained in garrison at Barcelona, and had not taken part in the futile attacks on the defile of Bruch. He also took with him nearly the whole of his cavalry, four French and three Italian squadrons of cuirassiers and chasseurs, and a battery of eight guns. This gave him a formidable force of 5,900 men[303], about half of the total strength of his corps when the losses suffered at Bruch and elsewhere are deducted.

Duhesme had resolved to march on Gerona by the comparatively easy road along the sea-coast, rather than by the alternative route which passes further inland by the valley of the Besos and the town of Hostalrich. Even in the lowland, however, he found the somatenes prepared to oppose him. At the castle of Mongat,[p. 315] only six miles outside Barcelona, he met the first swarm 8,000 or 9,000 strong. They had procured a few guns, which they had mounted so as to sweep the road, and lay in disorderly masses along the crest of a rising ground. Duhesme, amusing them in front by a false attack, sent a strong column to turn their right flank: seeing themselves likely to be enveloped, the peasants fled after a short skirmish, in which they suffered considerable loss. Pushing onward, Duhesme arrived that same afternoon at the large open town of Mataro, a place of 20,000 souls given over to the manufacture of glass and cotton goods. The populace had hastily barricaded the outlets of the streets with carts and piles of furniture, and discharged two or three cannon against the approaching enemy. But Milosewitz’s Italian brigade easily burst through the feeble defences and took Mataro by storm. Its attempt at resistance was considered by Duhesme to justify its sack, and he granted the plunder of the town to his men, who only moved on the next day after having thoroughly robbed every dwelling of its portable goods and murdered a considerable number of the inhabitants. The French army of Catalonia was the most motley and undisciplined force of all the imperial hosts in Spain, and for that reason it was by far the most cruel and brutal in its behaviour to the natives, who had not as yet justified any such treatment by their manner of conducting the war. Any ferocity which they showed from this time onward was a well-deserved revenge for what they had suffered.

Leaving Mataro on the eighteenth, Duhesme arrived before Gerona on the twentieth, after burning most of the villages on the road, in revenge for the constant molestation which he suffered from the somatenes. He found the city placed in a state of defence, so far as was possible in the case of an old-fashioned fortress called upon to stand a siege at ten days’ notice. There was a small regular garrison, the Irish regiment of Ultonia, under its two lieutenant-colonels, O’Donovan and O’Daly: but this corps only counted 350 bayonets. In addition there were a few trained artillerymen, and the armed citizens of the town, not more than 2,000 in all, for Gerona had but 14,000 inhabitants. The place lies on either side of the small stream of the O?a, just above its confluence with the river Ter. On the south bank is the main part of the town, straggling up the side of a steep hill, which is crowned at its eastern end by an ancient citadel, known (like those[p. 316] of several other Catalonian towns) by the name of Monjuich. Further westward, along the crest of this hill, lie three other forts, those of the Constable, Queen Anne, and the Capuchins. These, like the citadel, are detached works, not connected by any line of wall but only by a ditch. The town, which is completely commanded by the four forts, has no protection on the south side of the O?a but a mediaeval wall, destitute of a ditch and not more than twenty feet high. But on the other side of the river, the northern suburb, known as the Mercadal, having no line of outlying heights to protect it, had been fortified in the style of Vauban with a regular front of five bastions, though, like the fortifications of the city, it was without a ditch.

Duhesme had no battering-train, and his force of 5,900 men was insufficient to invest the whole circumference of the city of Gerona and its forts. But, like Moncey before Valencia, he was resolved to make an attempt to storm the city by escalade, or by battering in its gates. He left alone the citadel and the line of works on the hill, only sending a single battalion to demonstrate against the fort of the Capuchins. His real attack was directed against the sole point where the old enceinte of the city is not fully protected by the forts, the gate of the Carmen, on the very brink of the O?a. In no very honourable spirit, he sent in one of his aides-de-camp, with a white flag, to demand the surrender of Gerona, and while that officer was conferring with the governor and the local Junta, suddenly launched his column of assault against the gate, hoping to catch the Spaniards off their guard. The attack was a failure: the heavy guns from the forts above silenced the French field-artillery which tried to batter in the gate. Then Duhesme sent forward a storming party, with artillerymen at its head bearing petards with which to blow open the entrance: but the heavy musketry-fire from the walls laid low the head of the column, and the rest swerved, and fell back to get under cover. A feeble demonstration beyond the O?a against the bastions of Santa Clara and San Francisco had not even the desired effect of distracting the attention of the defenders of the Carmen Gate.

Seeing his attack foiled, Duhesme sent in at dusk a second flag of truce, inviting the Junta of Gerona to send out deputies to confer with him on certain points which he was desirous of submitting to them. The Catalans were simple enough to comply[p. 317] with his offer: they would have been wiser to avoid all negotiations with such an enemy. For this parley was only intended to cover a second assault. Seeing that he could not hope to batter his way into the place by means of his light field-artillery, Duhesme was preparing a great escalade under cover of the night. The point which he chose for it was the bastion of Santa Clara, on the centre of the low front of the Mercadal, beyond the O?a. He collected a quantity of ladders from the neighbouring villages, and told off for the assault the three battalions of the brigade of Schwartz.

At ten o’clock[304] the Italians crept up beneath the ramparts, where the citizens on guard do not seem to have kept a good look out, and delivered their attack. But these raw troops, moving in the darkness, made many mistakes: the chief one was that many of the ladder-party went astray among the water-courses and field-walls, so that the provision of ladders proved insufficient. The garrison of the bastion, however, had been taken completely by surprise, and allowed the head of the column to escalade the twenty-foot wall with no more hindrance than a few musket-shots. The Neapolitan Colonel Ambrosio and the leading files had actually mounted, and driven back the citizens to the gorge of the bastion, when there arrived reinforcements, a company of the Regiment of Ultonia, which charged with the bayonet, drove the Italians back, and hurled them over the rampart. An Irish lieutenant, Thomas Magrath, and a Carmelite friar seized and overturned the ladders, at the cost of the life of the former. When the garrison began firing down into the mass of assailants crowded at the foot of the wall, and the neighbouring bastion commenced to discharge a flanking fire of artillery, the Italians broke and fled. A second attempt at an escalade, made two hours later at another bastion, failed even more lamentably, for the garrison were on the alert and detected the assailants before they drew near the walls.

Convinced that he was too weak to take Gerona without siege-artillery, Duhesme broke up his camp and fled under cover of the night, marking his retreat by a third insincere attempt to open[p. 318] negotiations with the garrison. He hastily made off by the same road by which he had come, and returned to Barcelona by forced marches, dropping on the way one of his Italian brigades at Mataro [June 24]. In the whole expedition he had lost 700 men[305].

So ended the first attempt on Gerona, to the great credit of its gallant defenders, and more especially to that of the weak Irish regiment which had borne the brunt of the fighting. Duhesme’s whole campaign bore a singular resemblance to that which Moncey was making at the same moment in Valencia, and, like it, was wrecked on the initial blunder of supposing that Spanish towns, defended by a population in a high state of patriotic enthusiasm, could be carried by escalade without any proper preparation by artillery. French generals soon got to know their adversaries better: the same levies that could be easily scattered in the open field were formidable under cover of stone walls.

On returning to Barcelona, Duhesme found that the insurgents of Central Catalonia had drawn close to the capital in his absence. Eight or ten thousand somatenes had come down to the line of the Llobregat, had broken its bridges, had entrenched themselves opposite its fords, and were preparing to blockade Barcelona. They had brought up a considerable number of guns taken from the batteries on the coast, which had so long kept watch upon the English. But of regular troops there were only a few present—a mixed body of 400 men from Lerida, and some small remnants of the old Spanish garrison of Barcelona. The command seems to have been held by Juan Baget, a lawyer of Lerida, who had been named colonel of miqueletes by the Junta of his native town. Duhesme was determined not to be deprived of his hold on the coast-plain by this tumultuary army. On the thirtieth he sallied out from Barcelona with Goulas’s French brigade and three of Lecchi’s Italian battalions, accompanied by the cuirassiers of Bessières. Though the line of the Llobregat is marked by steep banks, and though a considerable number of guns were mounted behind it, the position was too long and too much exposed to be capable of defence by undisciplined bands of mountaineers. While the Italians menaced its front, Goulas and Bessières forded the river and turned the flank of the Catalans. Chased out from the villages[p. 319] of San Boy and Molins de Rey by a sweeping charge, they were pursued across the plain, stripped of all their artillery, and forced to take refuge in their old positions along the edge of the mountains of Montserrat, after losing a considerable number of men.

Less successful was another stroke against the insurgents which Duhesme endeavoured to deal five days later. General Chabran, with the Italian brigade that had been left at Mataro, a regiment of French cavalry and a field-battery, moved out to clear the hills above the coast, and to sweep the valley of the Besos. He had before him the somatenes of the regions about Vich, Hostalrich, and Santa Coloma, under Francisco Milans, a half-pay lieutenant-colonel, who had been placed at their head by the local Junta. Chabran forced his way for some distance inland till he reached Granollers, always harassed but never seriously attacked by the insurgents. Milans, who showed all through his career a real genius for guerilla warfare, had ordered his levies never to stand when pressed, but to hang about the enemy’s line of march, cut off his pickets and scouting parties, and fall upon the baggage-train which trailed at the rear of his column. These tactics were perfectly successful: having reached Granollers after a most toilsome march, Chabran refused to push further among the mountains, turned back, and retreated to Mataro, accompanied home by the somatenes, who pursued him to the very outskirts of the town, and cut off his stragglers and many of his baggage animals [July 4].

The moment that the Catalan insurrection grew serious, Duhesme had sent repeated appeals for help to the Emperor: the land route to Perpignan being cut, he had to use small vessels which put out to sea at night, risked capture by the English ships lying off the coast, and when fortunate reached the harbours of Collioure or Port-Vendres, just beyond the Pyrenees. Napoleon looked upon the Catalonian war as a very small matter, but he was fully resolved that Duhesme must be succoured. Accordingly he determined to concentrate a division at Perpignan, but he refused to allot to it any of his veteran French troops. He swept together from the Southern Alps and Piedmont a most heterogeneous body of 7,000 or 8,000 men, even worse in quality than the motley army which he had entrusted to Duhesme. The command was entrusted to a capable officer, General Reille, one of the Emperor’s aides-de-camp, who was told to advance and relieve Figueras, after which he was to stretch out his hand to Duhesme, who would push[p. 320] northward to meet him. His improvised army consisted of two battalions of recruits just levied in the lately annexed duchy of Tuscany, and constituting the nucleus of a new regiment with the number 113, of a battalion of national guards, some mobilized gendarmerie, a battalion of the ‘Legion of Reserve of the Alps’ from Grenoble, five ‘battalions of detachments,’ and the single battalion which formed the contingent of the little republic of the Valais[306]. The cavalry comprised two squadrons of Tuscan dragoons, and two escadrons de marche of French cuirassiers and chasseurs. There seem to have been no more than two batteries of artillery allotted to the force[307]. Reille was informed that other troops from Italy would ultimately arrive at Perpignan, but that they were not to be expected till the end of July or the beginning of August. For the relief of Figueras and the opening up of communications with Duhesme he must depend on his own forces.

Travelling with commendable rapidity, Reille arrived at Perpignan on July 3. Of all the detachments that were marching to join him he found that nothing had yet reached the frontier but the local national guards and gendarmerie, the two Tuscan[p. 321] battalions, a company of the 2nd Swiss Regiment, and artillerymen enough to serve a couple of guns. With no more than the Tuscans and the Swiss, less than 1,600 men in all, he marched on Figueras on July 5, dispersing on the way some bands of somatenes, who tried to oppose him at the passage of the Muga. He threw a convoy into the place and strengthened its garrison, but could do no more, for all the country beyond Figueras was up in arms, and his raw Italian recruits could hardly be kept to their colours. Indeed he was forced to make them march in solid columns whenever he moved them, for when ordered to deploy they always fell into disorder, and tried to make off to the rear[308].

But by July 11 Reille had begun to receive many of the drafts and detachments which the Emperor was pouring into Perpignan, and having now three or four thousand men disposable, he resolved to strike a blow at Rosas, the small seaport town which blocks the coast-road from Perpignan to Barcelona. Marching through the plains of the Ampurdam he reached his objective, an insignificant place with a dilapidated outer entrenchment and a citadel of some small strength. It was defended by no more than 400 miqueletes, and had but five guns on its land-front. But the little garrison showed a bold face, and when Reille proceeded to invest Rosas he found himself attacked from the rear by four or five thousand somatenes levied by Don Juan Claros, a retired infantry captain who had called to arms the peasantry of the coast. They beset the besiegers so fiercely that Reille resolved to abandon the investment, a determination which was assisted by the sight of a British line-of-battle ship[309] landing marines to strengthen the garrison. Accordingly he cut his way back to Figueras on the twelfth, harassed all the way by the bands of Claros, who killed or took no less than 200 of his men[310]. Rosas was to defy capture for some months more, for Reille’s next effort was, by his master’s direction, devoted to a more important object—the clearing of the great road from Perpignan to Barcelona, and the opening up of communications with Duhesme.
SECTION V: CHAPTER II
THE STRUGGLE IN CATALONIA (JULY-AUGUST, 1808): THE SECOND SIEGE OF GERONA

For the first six weeks of the war in Catalonia Duhesme and Reille had been opposed only by the gallant somatenes. Of the handful of regular troops who had been stationed in the principality when the insurrection broke out, the greater part had drifted off to the siege of Saragossa, or to the struggle in the south. Only the Irish regiment at Gerona, and certain fragments of the disbanded battalions of the Guards from Barcelona had aided the peasantry in resisting the invader. The success of the Catalans, in hemming in Duhesme and checking Reille’s advance, is all the more notable when we reflect that their levies had not been guided by any central organization, nor placed under the command of any single general. The Junta at Lerida had done little more than issue proclamations and serve out to the somatenes the moderate amount of munitions of war that was at its disposition. It had indeed drawn out a scheme for the raising of a provincial army—forty tercios of miqueletes, each 1,000 strong, were to be levied and kept permanently in the field. But this scheme existed only on paper, and there were no means of officering or arming such a mass of men. Even as late as August 1, there were only 6,000 of them embodied in organized corps: the mass of the men of military age were still at their own firesides, prepared to turn out at the sound of the somaten, whenever a French column appeared in their neighbourhood, but not ready to keep the field for more than a few days, or to transfer their service to the more distant regions of the principality. The direction of these irregular bands was still in the hands of local leaders like Claros, Milans, and Baget, who aided each other in a sufficiently loyal fashion when they had the chance, but did not obey any single commander-in-chief, or act on any settled military plan. Their successes had been due to their own untutored intelligence and courage, not to the carrying out of any regular policy.

This period of patriotic anarchy was now drawing to an end;[p. 323] regular troops were beginning to appear on the scene in considerable numbers, and the direction of the military resources of Catalonia was about to be confided to their generals. The change was not all for the better: during the whole struggle the Spaniards showed themselves admirable insurgents but indifferent soldiers. After one more short but brilliant period of success, the balance of fortune was about to turn against the Catalans, and a long series of disasters was to try, but never to subdue, their indomitable and persevering courage.

We have already shown that the only body of regular troops available for the succour of Catalonia was the corps of 10,000 men which lay in the Balearic Islands. That these thirteen battalions of veterans had not yet been thrown ashore in the principality was mainly due to the over-caution of the aged General Vives, the Captain-General at Palma, to whom the charge of the garrisons of Majorca and Minorca was committed[311]. He had a deeply rooted idea that if he left Port Mahon unguarded, the English would find some excuse for once more making themselves masters of that ancient stronghold, where the union Jack had waved for the greater part of the eighteenth century. Even the transparent honesty of Lord Collingwood, the veteran admiral of the Mediterranean fleet, could not reassure him. It was only when strong pressure was applied to him by his second in command, the Marquis del Palacio, governor of Minorca, and when he had received the most explicit pledges from Collingwood concerning the disinterested views of Great Britain, that he consented to disgarnish Port Mahon. His mind was only finally made up, when the Aragonese and Catalan battalions of his army burst out into open mutiny, threatening to seize shipping and transport themselves to the mainland without his leave, if any further delay was made [June 30]. A fortnight later Vives permitted Del Palacio, with the greater part of the Balearic garrisons, to set sail for the seat of war. The Aragonese regiment landed near Tortosa, and marched for Saragossa: but the bulk of the expeditionary force, nearly 5,000 strong, was put ashore in Catalonia between July 19 and 23.

Meanwhile affairs in the principality had taken a new turn.[p. 324] Duhesme had remained quiet for six days after Chabran’s check at Granollers, though his position at Barcelona grew daily more uncomfortable, owing to the constant activity of the somatenes. But when he learnt that Reille’s vanguard had reached Figueras, and that he might expect ere long to be aided by a whole division of fresh troops from the north, he resolved to renew his attack on Gerona, the fortress which so completely blocked his communications with France. Sending messages by sea to bid his colleague meet him under the walls of that place, he sallied out from Barcelona, on July 10, with the larger half of his army. This time he took with him the French brigades of Goulas and Nicolas only, leaving Barcelona to the care of Lecchi and the foreign troops. He felt that the situation was too grave for him to trust the fate of Catalonia to the steadiness of Lombard or Neapolitan regiments. So leaving four Italian and one Swiss battalion, 3,500 men in all, in the Barcelona forts, he marched for Gerona with seven French battalions, a regiment of Italian cavalry, and twenty-two guns, of which ten were heavy siege-artillery. At Mataro he picked up Chabran, who had been resting there since his check at Granollers on July 4, and incorporated with his expedition the Italian battalions which that officer had with him, as well as a regiment of French cavalry. This gave him a total force of some 7,000 men[312]; yet his march was slow and difficult. Milans with the somatenes of the upland was always hanging upon his left flank, and Lord Cochrane with two British frigates followed him along the coast, bombarding his columns whenever the road came within cannon-shot of the sea. At Arens de Mar Duhesme halted for no less than five days, either from sheer indecision as to the advisability of proceeding with his project, or because he was[p. 325] waiting for definite news of Reille. At last he made up his mind: two routes meet at Arens, the main chaussée from Barcelona to Gerona via Tordera, and a cross-road which seeks the same end by a detour through the small hill-fortress of Hostalrich. The three battalions of Goulas’s brigade were sent by this latter path, with orders to endeavour to seize the place if they could. The main column, with the battering-train, followed the high-road. Goulas found Hostalrich too strong for him: it was garrisoned by 500 miqueletes under Manuel O’Sullivan, a captain of the Regiment of Ultonia, who gallantly held their own against an attempt at escalade. The French brigadier thereupon abandoned the attack, crossed the mountains, and joined his chief before Gerona on July 22. Duhesme meanwhile had been harassed for three days by the somatenes of Milans, and, though he always drove them off in the end, had lost much of his baggage, and an appreciable number of men, before he reached the banks of the Ter. On the day after he was rejoined by Goulas he forced the passage of that river and took post before Gerona. On the next morning [July 24] he was rejoiced to meet with the vanguard of Reille’s division descending from the north. That general had started from Figueras two days before, with all the fractions of his motley force that had reached the front, two Tuscan battalions, the Swiss from the Valais, three French bataillons de marche, the two ‘Provisional Battalions of Perpignan,’ and some other improvised units, with a total strength of some 6,500 men. He established his head quarters at Puente Mayor to the north of the city, on the right bank of the Ter, while Duhesme placed his at Santa Eugenia on the left bank. There were good and easy communications between them by means of two fords, and the bridge of Salt, a little further from Gerona, was also available.

Thirteen thousand men seemed enough to make an end of an old-fashioned fortress like Gerona, held by a garrison which down to the first day of the siege counted no more than 400 regular troops—that same Irish regiment of Ultonia which had stood out against Duhesme’s first attack in June. It was fortunate for the defenders that at the very moment of the arrival of the French they received a powerful reinforcement. The light infantry regiment named the 2nd Volunteers of Barcelona, 1,300 strong, entered the city on the night of July 22[313], slipping between the heads of Duhesme’s and[p. 326] Reille’s columns. This corps had formed part of the garrison of Minorca: instead of being landed at Tarragona with the rest of Del Palacio’s troops, it was dropped at San Feliu, the nearest port on the coast to Gerona, and had just time to reach that place before its investment was completed.

Duhesme had resolved to avoid for the future the fruitless attempts at escalade, which had cost him so many men during his first siege of Gerona, and to proceed by the regular rules of poliorcetics. He had with him a battering-train more than sufficient to wreck the ancient walls of the city: accordingly he opened a secondary attack on the lower town on the left of the O?a, but turned the greater part of his attention to the citadel of Monjuich. If this work, which from its lofty hill commands the whole city, were once mastered, the place could not hold out for a day longer. By this arrangement the charge of the main attack fell to Reille, and Duhesme himself undertook only the demonstration against the Mercadal. The French began by establishing themselves on the lower slopes of the tableland of which Monjuich occupies the culminating point. They found shelter in three ruined towers which the garrison was too weak to occupy, and raised near them three batteries with six heavy guns and two howitzers, which battered the citadel, and also played upon certain parts of the town wall near the gate of San Pedro. The batteries in Duhesme’s section of the siege-lines consisted only of mortars and howitzers, which shelled and several times set fire to the Mercadal, but could make no attempt to open breaches in its walls.

The siege-approaches of the French before Gerona were conducted with an astonishing slowness: it was not till sixteen days after they had established themselves on the slopes round Monjuich, that they began to batter it in a serious fashion [Aug. 12]. This delay was partly due to the steepness of the ground up which the guns had to be dragged, partly to the necessity for sending to Figueras for extra artillery material, which could only be brought slowly and under heavy escort to the banks of the Ter. But Duhesme’s slackness, and the want of skill displayed by his engineer officers, were responsible for the greater portion of the delay. Moreover the investment of Gerona was so badly managed, that not only did the garrison keep up a regular communication[p. 327] at night with the chiefs of the somatenes who lay out on the hills to the west, but convoys repeatedly left and entered the town in the dark, without meeting a single French picket or patrol.

This delay of a fortnight in pressing the attack on Gerona led to two important results. The first was that the news of the capitulation of Baylen reached both camps, producing grave discouragement in the one, and a disposition for bold action in the other. The second was that Del Palacio and the troops from Minorca had time granted to them to prepare for interference in the siege. The marquis had landed at Tarragona on July 23, with all his division, save the regiment sent to St. Feliu and the Aragonese battalion which had been directed on Tortosa. Immediately on his arrival the insurrectionary Junta of Catalonia transferred itself from Lerida to Tarragona and elected Del Palacio Captain-General of the principality. Thus a real central authority was established in the province, and a single military direction could at last be given to its armies. The new Captain-General was well-intentioned and full of patriotism, but no great strategist[314]. His plan was to press Barcelona with the bulk of his regular forces, so that Lecchi might be compelled to call for instant help from Duhesme, while a small column under the Conde de Caldagues was to march on Gerona, not so much with the hope of raising the siege, as to aid the somatenes of the Ampurdam in harassing the investing force and throwing succours into the city[315].

Accordingly the main body of Del Palacio’s army, the regiments of Soria, Granada, and Borbon, with Wimpfen’s two Swiss battalions from Tarragona, marched on the Llobregat, drove in Lecchi’s outposts, and confined him to the immediate environs of Barcelona. The somatenes came to give help in thousands, and a cordon of investment was established at a very short distance from the great city. On the seaside Lord Cochrane, with the Impérieuse and Cambrian frigates, kept up a strict blockade, so that Lecchi, with his insufficient and not too trustworthy garrison of 3,500 Swiss and Italian troops, was in a most uncomfortable position. If it had not been that Barcelona was completely commanded by the impregnable citadel of Monjuich, he could not[p. 328] have maintained his hold on the large and turbulent city. His last outpost was destroyed on July 31: this was the strong castle of Mongat, six miles out on the coast-road from Barcelona to Mataro. It was held by a company of Neapolitans, 150 men with seven guns. Attacked on the land-side by 800 miqueletes under Francisco Barcelo, and from the sea by the broadside of the Impérieuse, the Italian officer in command surrendered to Lord Cochrane, in order to save his men from massacre by the Catalans. Cochrane then blew up the castle, and destroyed the narrow coast-road on each side of it by cuttings and explosions[316], so that there was no longer any practicable route for guns, horses, or wagons along the shore. Thus hemmed in, Lecchi began to send to Duhesme, by various secret channels, appeals for instant aid, and reports painting his situation in gloomy but not much exaggerated colours. He asserted that the somatenes were pushing their incursions to within 600 yards of his advanced posts, and that there were now 30,000 Catalans in arms around him. If he had said 10,000 he would have been within the limits of fact.

On August 6 the Captain-General, after carefully arranging his troops in the positions round Barcelona, sent off Caldagues to harass Duhesme in the north. This enterprising brigadier-general was given no more than four companies of regulars, three guns, and 2,000 miqueletes from the Lerida district under their colonel, Juan Baget. Marching by the mountain road that goes by Hostalrich, and picking up many recruits on the way, he established himself on the fourteenth at Castella, in the hills that lie between Gerona and the sea. Here he was met by all the somatenes of Northern Catalonia, under their daring leaders, Milans and Claros.

The investment of Gerona was so badly managed, that when the news of Caldagues’ approach was received, two colonels (O’Donovan of the Ultonia Regiment and La Valeta of the Barcelona Volunteers) were able to penetrate the French lines and to confer with the commander of the army of succour. These two officers were really conducting the defence, for the titular governor, Bolivar, seems to have been a nonentity[317], who exercised no influence on the course[p. 329] of events. At a council of war which they attended, it was resolved to try a stroke which was far bolder than anything that the Captain-General had contemplated when he sent Caldagues northward. The relieving force was to attack from the rear Reille’s troops on the heights before Monjuich, while at the same time every man that could be spared from the garrison was to be flung on the breaching batteries from the front. Duhesme’s army in the plain beyond the O?a was to be left alone: it was hoped that the whole business would be over before he could arrive at the spot where the fate of battle was to be decided. There were somewhat over 8,000 men disposable for the attack: 1,000 regulars and four hundred miqueletes were to sally out of Gerona: Caldagues could bring up 7,000 more, all raw levies except the four companies of old troops that he had brought from Tarragona. He had also five field-guns. As Duhesme and Reille had 13,000 men, of whom 1,200 were cavalry, it was a daring experiment to attack them, even though their forces were distributed along an extensive line of investment.

A bold and confident general, placed in Duhesme’s position, would not have waited to be attacked in his trenches. The moment that he heard of the approach of Caldagues, he would have drawn off half his battalions from the siege, and have gone out to meet the relieving army, before it could get within striking distance of Gerona. But Duhesme was not in the mood for adventurous strokes: he was chilled in his ardour by the news of the disaster of Baylen: he was worried by Lecchi’s gloomy reports; and he had been pondering for some days whether it would not be well to raise the siege and march off to save Barcelona. But the ravages which his bombardment was producing in the beleaguered city, and the fact that a breach was beginning to be visible in the walls of Monjuich, induced him to remain before the place, hoping that it might fall within the next few days. If this was his determination, he should at least have made preparations to receive Caldagues: but no attempt whatever appears to have been made to resist an attack from without.

On the morning of August 16, the Spaniards struck their blow. Between nine and ten o’clock in the morning, the 1,400 men of the garrison deployed from behind the cover of the citadel, and charged down upon the trenches and batteries of the besiegers[318]. They[p. 330] completely swept away the battalion of the 5th Legion of Reserve, which was furnishing the guard of the trenches, captured the siege-guns, and set fire to the fascines of the batteries. Then pushing on, they drove off the Swiss battalion of the Valais, and the two Tuscan battalions of the 113th Regiment, pressing them down hill towards Reille’s head quarters at Puente Mayor. The French general rallied them upon the 1st Régiment de Marche, which formed his reserve at this point of the line, and mounting the slope retook some of the works which had been lost. But at this moment Caldagues’ whole army appeared upon the heights, pressing forward in four columns with great confidence. The sight of these multitudes checked Reille, who hastily drew back, evacuated Puente Mayor and withdrew to the other bank of the Ter. Duhesme, on his side, abandoned all his outlying positions and concentrated his whole force in front of the village of Santa Eugenia.

The Catalans were wise enough not to descend into the plain, where Duhesme’s cavalry and guns would have had a free hand. Caldagues refrained from passing the Ter, and merely drew up his army on the slopes above Puente Mayor, ready to receive battle. But the expected attack never came; Duhesme held back all the afternoon, and then fled away under cover of the darkness. His losses in the fighting on the hills had not been heavy—seventy-five killed and 196 wounded—but his spirit was broken. He would not risk an assault on such a strong position with his motley and somewhat demoralized army. For a moment he thought of leading his whole force back to Reille’s base at Figueras: but the reflection that in this case Lecchi would probably be destroyed, and he himself be made responsible for the loss of Barcelona by the Emperor, deterred him from such a cowardly move. Bidding Reille take the northern road and keep open the communications with France, he drew off the rest of his army to the south to rejoin his Italian comrades. The move was made with some panic and precipitation: the remaining siege-guns were buried in a perfunctory fashion, and some stores destroyed. Then Duhesme marched away over the mountains, pursued by the somatenes of Milans; while Reille retired across the plains of the Ampurdam, and had a fairly easy journey to Figueras. Claros, who tried to harass his retreat, never dared to close in upon him in the open country, fearing his cavalry and guns. Far more toilsome was the lot of Duhesme’s column, which had to march for twenty miles through very broken ground, chased[p. 331] by the levies of Milans, to whom the whole district was familiar. When he reached the sea at Malgrat he found that his troubles were only growing worse. The somatenes hung on his right flank, while Lord Cochrane’s frigate the Impérieuse followed him on the left hand, giving him a broadside whenever his march lay within cannon-shot of the beach. Moreover, the peasants had been cutting and blasting away the road under Cochrane’s direction; and at each point where one of these obstructions had been made, it was necessary to drag the guns and wagons of the column across almost impassable hillsides[319]. Finding that he was making no appreciable progress, and that his men were growing utterly demoralized, Duhesme at last took a desperate step. He blew up his ammunition, burnt his baggage, cast his field-guns into the sea, and fled away by hill-tracks parallel with the shore. After long skirmishing with the somatenes he reached Mongat, where Lecchi came out to his aid with 1000 men and a battery—all that could be spared from the depleted garrison of Barcelona. There the Catalans stayed their pursuit, and Duhesme’s harassed battalions poured back into the city, sick of mountain warfare, half-starved, and carrying with them nothing but what they brought in on their backs [August 20]. As a fighting force for offensive operations they were useless for some weeks, and all that their general could do was to hold for foraging purposes as much of the open ground about Barcelona as he could manage to retain. Nothing more could be essayed till Napoleon should vouchsafe to send heavy reinforcements to Catalonia, for the purpose of reopening the severed communications with France.

Two obvious criticisms on these operations in the month of August must be made. The first is that Del Palacio might probably have destroyed Duhesme’s whole army, if, instead of sending out his lieutenant Caldagues with a handful of regulars and 2,000 miqueletes, he had marched on Gerona with his entire force, the 5,000 old troops from Port Mahon and the whole of the local levies of Central Catalonia. Lecchi was so weak in Barcelona that a few thousand somatenes could have kept him in check, for he dared not ungarnish the city. If the Captain-General had thrown every man into the struggle at Gerona, it seems certain that Duhesme must either have been annihilated or have fled away with Reille to Figueras, abandoning Barcelona to its inevitable fate.

The second comment is equally obvious: Duhesme’s generalship[p. 332] was even worse than that of Del Palacio. Since the Spaniards came against him not with the whole army of Catalonia, but with a mere detachment of 7,000 somatenes, he should have formed a covering force of 5,000 men, and have fallen upon them while they were still at some distance from Gerona. Instead of doing this, he allowed them to encamp for three days unmolested at Castella, a village no more than five miles distant from Reille’s outposts. There they concerted their operations with the garrison, and fell upon the investing force at the moment that suited them best. It is the extraordinary apathy or neglect displayed by Duhesme that justifies Caldagues’ bold stroke at the French lines. Finding the enemy so torpid, he might well venture an assault upon them, without incurring the charge of rashness of which Napier finds him guilty[320]. In other circumstances it would have been mad for the Spaniard, who had no more than 7,000 somatenes, to attack a French army 13,000 strong. But seeing Duhesme so utterly negligent—and his army strung out on a long front of investment, without any covering force—Caldagues was quite justified in making the experiment which turned out so successfully. Duhesme tried to extenuate his fault, by giving out that he had been about to abandon the siege even before he was attacked, and that he had orders from Bayonne authorizing such a step. But we may be permitted to join his successor St. Cyr in doubting both the original intention and the imperial authorization[321]. There is at least no trace of it in the correspondence of Napoleon, who as late as August 23, seven days after the fight outside Gerona, was under the impression that Reille’s division alone might suffice to capture the city, though he was prepared if necessary to support him with other troops. On the seventeenth of the same month, the day on which Duhesme began his disastrous retreat on Barcelona, Napoleon had already made up his mind to supersede him, and had directed St. Cyr, with two fresh divisions, to take post at Perpignan. But in the orders given to the new commander in Catalonia there is no sign that the Emperor had acquiesced in the raising of the siege of Gerona, though it may perhaps be deduced from a later dispatch that he had not disapproved of the strengthening of Lecchi’s garrison at Barcelona by the withdrawal of Chabran’s division from the leaguer[322].

[p. 333]

Meanwhile Napoleon had recognized that even with Reille’s reinforcements, Catalonia was not adequately garrisoned, and on August 10 had directed 18,000 fresh troops upon the principality. These, moreover, were not the mere sweepings of his dép?ts, like Reille’s men, but consisted of two strong divisions of old troops; Souham’s was composed of ten French battalions from Lombardy, Pino’s of 10,000 men of the best corps of the army of the kingdom of Italy[323]. A little later the Emperor resolved to send one division more, Germans this time, to Catalonia. Instead of the 13,000 men whom he had originally thought sufficient for the subjugation of the province, he had now set aside more than 40,000 for the task, and this did not prove to be one man too many. No better testimonial could be given to the gallant somatenes, than that they had forced the enemy to detach so large a force against them. Nor could any better proof be given of the Emperor’s fundamental misconception of the Spanish problem in May and June, than the fact that he had so long been under the impression that Duhesme’s original divisions would be enough to subdue the rugged and warlike Catalan principality.

Before Souham, Pino, and the rest could arrive on the scene, many weeks must elapse, and meanwhile we must turn back to the main course of the war in Central Spain, where the condition of affairs had been profoundly modified by the results of the Capitulation of Baylen.
SECTION VI  THE CONSEQUENCES OF BAYLEN CHAPTER I
THE FRENCH RETREAT TO THE EBRO

While dealing with the operations of the French armies in the various provinces of Spain, we have observed that at every point the arrival of the news of Dupont’s disaster at Baylen produced notable results. It was this unexpected intelligence that drove the intrusive king out of Madrid within a week of his arrival, and ere the ceremonial of his proclamation had been completed. It brought back Bessières from the Esla to the Arlanzon, and raised the siege of Saragossa. Knowing of it Junot summoned his council of war at Torres Vedras with a sinking heart, and Duhesme lacked the confidence to try the ordeal of battle before Gerona. Beyond the Pyrenees its influence was no less marked. Napoleon had imagined that the victory of Rio Seco had practically decided the fate of the Peninsula, and at the moment of Baylen was turning his attention to Austria rather than to Spain. On July 25, five days after Dupont had laid down his arms, he was meditating the reinforcement of his army in Germany, and drafting orders that directed the garrisons of northern France on Mainz and Strasburg[324]. To a mind thus preoccupied the news of the disaster in Andalusia came like a thunderclap. So far was the Spanish trouble from an end, that it was assuming an aspect of primary[p. 335] importance. If Austria was really intending mischief, it was clear that the Emperor would have two great continental wars on his hands at the same moment—a misfortune that had never yet befallen him. It was already beginning to be borne in upon him that the treachery at Bayonne had been a blunder as well as a crime. Hence came the wild rage that bursts out in the letters written upon the days following that on which the news of Baylen reached him at Bordeaux. ‘Has there ever, since the world began,’ wrote Bonaparte to Clarke, his minister of war, ‘been such a stupid, cowardly, idiotic business as this? Behold Mack and Hohenlohe justified! Dupont’s own dispatch shows that all that has occurred is the result of his own inconceivable folly.... The loss of 20,000 picked men, who have disappeared without even inflicting any considerable loss on the enemy, will necessarily have the worst moral influence on the Spanish nation.... Its effect on European politics will prevent me from going to Spain myself.... I wish to know at once what tribunal ought to try these generals, and what penalty the law can inflict on them for such a crime[325].’ A similar strain runs through his first letter to his brother Joseph after the receipt of the news—‘Dupont has soiled our banners. What folly and what baseness! The English will lay hands on his army[326]. Such events make it necessary for me to go to Paris, for Germany, Poland, Italy, and all, are tied up in the same knot. It pains me grievously that I cannot be with you, in the midst of my soldiers[327].’ In other letters the capitulation is ‘a terrible catastrophe,’ ‘a horrible affair, for the cowards capitulated to save their baggage,’ and (of course) ‘a machination paid for with English gold[328]. These imbeciles are to suffer on the scaffold the penalty of this great national crime[329].’ The Emperor[p. 336] did well to be angry, for the shock of Baylen was indeed felt to every end of Europe. But he should have blamed his own Macchiavellian brain, that conceived the plot of Bayonne, and his own overweening confidence, that launched Dupont with 20,000 half-trained conscripts (not, as he wrote to Clarke, with vingt mille hommes d’élite et choisis) on the hazardous Andalusian enterprise.

Meanwhile he had to face the situation: within a few hours of the moment when Villoutreys placed Dupont’s dispatch in his hands, he had so far got over the first spasms of his wrath that he was able to dictate a general plan for the reconcentration of his armies[330]. We have compared the French forces in Spain to a broad wedge, of which the point, directed against the heart of the insurrection, was formed by the three divisions of Dupont’s corps. This point had now been broken off; but the Emperor, still clinging to the idea of the wedge, wished to preserve Madrid and to form in and about it a new army fit for offensive operations. With this force he would strike at the insurgents of Andalusia and Valencia when they marched on the capital, while Bessières in the[p. 337] valley of the Douro, and Verdier in the valley of the Ebro were still to preserve a forward position, and shield the army of the centre from the flank attacks of the Galicians and the Aragonese. The troops left around Madrid at the moment of the disaster of Baylen were parts of the three divisions of Moncey’s corps[331], one of Dupont’s, and the brigade which had escorted Joseph Napoleon from Burgos, together with 3,000 horse—a total of about 23,000 men. Bonaparte judged that this was not enough to resist the combined attack of Casta?os and of the Valencians and Murcians of Saint March and Llamas. Accordingly he intended that Bessières should lend the King two brigades of infantry—a deduction from his force which would compel him to fall back from Leon into Old Castile[332]—and that Verdier should spare a brigade from the army in front of Saragossa[333], though it was none too strong for the task before it. Six battalions from the reserve at Bayonne were to make a forced march to Madrid to join the King. Thus reinforced up to 35,000 men, the corps at Madrid would be able, as the Emperor supposed, to make head against any combination of Spanish troops that could possibly be brought against it.

But all these arrangements were futile. Bonaparte at Bordeaux was separated from his brother at the Retiro by so many miles that his orders were grown stale before they reached their destination. His scheme was made out on August 2, but on the preceding day King Joseph and his whole army had evacuated Madrid. The terror of Baylen was upon them, and they were expecting every moment to find themselves attacked by Casta?os, who was as a matter of fact celebrating triumphal feasts at Seville. With a[p. 338] haste that turned out to be altogether unnecessary, Moncey’s corps, escorting the King, his court, and his long train of Spanish refugees, crossed the Somosierra and did not halt till they reached Aranda de Duero, in the plains of Old Castile. Napoleon was forced to make other plans in view of this retreat, whose moral consequences were hardly inferior in importance to those of Dupont’s capitulation. For both the Spanish nation and the courts of Europe looked upon the evacuation of Madrid as marking the complete downfall of Napoleon’s policy, and portending a speedy retirement of the invaders behind the Pyrenees. It is certain that if the spirit of Joseph and his advisers had been unbroken, they might have clung to the capital till the reinforcements which the Emperor was hurrying to their aid had arrived. It is probable that the 35,000 men, of whom Savary and Moncey could then have disposed, might have held Casta?os in check till the army from the Rhine had time to come up. Yet there is every excuse for the behaviour of the French commanders, for they could not possibly have known that the Spaniards would move with such astonishing slowness, or that they would refrain from hurling every available man on Madrid. And as a matter of fact the evacuation of the capital turned out in the end to be advantageous to Napoleon, for it inspired his adversaries with a foolish self-confidence which proved their ruin. If they had been forced to fight hard in New Castile, they would have been obliged to throw much more energy into the struggle, and could not have slackened their efforts under the false impression that the French were absconding in dismay to Bayonne.

When Bonaparte learnt that his brother had fled from Madrid and crossed the passes into Old Castile, he was forced to draw out a wholly different scheme from that which he had sketched on August 2. The King, he wrote, with Moncey’s corps, must take post at Aranda, where the Douro is crossed by the high-road from France to Madrid. His army should be strengthened to a force of 30,000 men: meanwhile Bessières and Verdier must protect his flanks. The former with 15,000 men should take Valladolid as his head quarters and guard against any attempt of Blake to resume the offensive. As to Verdier, since he had been instructed to abandon the siege of Saragossa—a grave blunder—he must be drawn back as far as Tudela on the Middle Ebro. From that point he would easily be able to ‘contain’ the tumultuary army[p. 339] of Palafox. If the Spaniards showed signs of pressing in on any part of the front, the King, Verdier, or Bessières—as the case might demand—must not hang back, but endeavour to shatter the vanguard of any advancing force by a bold stroke. At all costs the war must not be waged in a timid style—in short, to adopt a well-known military axiom, ‘the best defensive would be a vigorous local offensive[334].’ Meanwhile it should be known that enormous reinforcements were in march from the Rhine and the Elbe. This was indubitably correct, for on August 5 the 1st and 6th Corps of the ‘Grand Army,’ and two divisions of heavy cavalry, had been sent their orders to break up from their garrisons and set out for Spain[335]. The Viceroy of Italy and the Princes of the Confederation of the Rhine had also been directed to send large contingents to the Peninsula: the troops from Italy were to move on Perpignan and strengthen the army of Catalonia; those from the German states were to march on Bayonne and join the main army[336]. Somewhat later the Emperor directed still further masses of men to be drawn off from Germany, namely Marshal Mortier with the 5th Corps and two more divisions of dragoons[337], while the whole of the Imperial Guard came down from Paris on the same errand[338]. There were still nearly 100,000 of the old army left in Spain[339], and the reinforcements would amount to 130,000 more, a force which when united would far surpass both in numbers and in quality any army that the Spaniards would be able to get together in the course of the next two months.

It was from Rochefort and on August 5 that Napoleon sent off his orders to his brother to stay his retreat at Aranda de Duero, and to keep Bessières at Valladolid and Verdier at Tudela. Once more the distances of space and time were too much for him. Before the dispatch from Rochefort came to hand, Joseph and Savary had already abandoned Aranda: they left it on the sixth and by the ninth were at Burgos. At that city they were met by Bessières, who according to the King’s orders had fallen back from[p. 340] the Esla to the Arlanzon. Napoleon’s elaborate scheme for the maintenance of the line of the Douro had thus fallen through, as completely as his earlier plan for the defence of Madrid. Seeing that his orders were clearly out of date, Moncey and Bessières[340] agreed that they might be disregarded. The next line suitable for an army acting on the defensive was that of the Ebro, and to the banks of that river the dispirited army of France now withdrew.

The head quarters were established at Miranda: the troops of Bessières and Moncey were massed at that place and at Logro?o, with a strong detachment across the Ebro at Pancorbo, and some cavalry lying out as far as Burgos: Verdier’s army, after finally raising the siege of Saragossa, fell back on Milagro, the point where the Aragon falls into the Ebro. Thus some 70,000 men were concentrated on a comparatively short and compact front, covering the two great roads which lead to France by Vittoria and by Pampeluna. Against any frontal attack from the direction of Madrid the position was very strong. But a glance at the map shows that the flanks were not properly protected: there was nothing to prevent Blake from turning the extreme right by an advance into Biscay, or to prevent Palafox from turning the extreme left by a march on Pampeluna via Tafalla or Sanguesa. If either of these moves were made by a powerful force, the army on the Ebro would be compelled either to abandon its positions in order to go in pursuit, or else to leave them occupied by a detachment insufficient to resist a serious attack along the line of the high-road from Madrid. Both those operations were ultimately taken in hand by the Spaniards, but it was at too late an hour, when the reinforcements from Germany had begun to arrive, and when ample means were at the disposal of the French generals for repulsing flank attacks, without drawing off men from the line of the Ebro. The astounding slowness of the Spaniards, and the lamentable want of union between the commanders of the various provincial armies, ruined any chance that there might have been of success. The troops of King Joseph were safely installed in their defensive positions by August 15. On that day the leading columns of the Spanish army had only just arrived at Madrid. It was not till a month later that the number of troops brought forward to the line of the Ebro approached the total strength of the host of the intrusive King. The offensive operations of Blake[p. 341] and Palafox did not commence till the second half of September, when the columns of the ‘Grand Army’ were already drawing near to the Pyrenees, and all possible chance of success had long gone by. They were not developed till October, when the counter-stroke of the French was fully prepared. From August 15 down to the day of the battle of Zornoza (October 31) there are two months and a half of wasted time, during which the Spaniards did nothing more than stir up an ineffectual rising in Biscay and gradually push to the front scattered corps whose total did not amount to much more than 100,000 men. The troops of Bonaparte on the other hand—now under the orders of Jourdan, who arrived at Miranda on August 25[341]—had little to do but to ward off the feeble attempts to cut their communications in Biscay, and to incorporate, brigade by brigade, the numerous reinforcements which kept marching in from Bayonne. For even ere the three veteran corps from Germany came to hand, there was a continuous stream of troops pouring across the Pyrenees. Most important, perhaps, of all the arrivals was that of Marshal Ney, the toughest and most resolute of all the Emperor’s fighting-men, who brought with him a spirit of enterprise and confidence which had long been wanting in the army of Spain[342].
SECTION VI: CHAPTER II
CREATION OF THE ‘JUNTA GENERAL’

On August 1, Madrid had seen the last of the French: yet it was not till the thirteenth that the Spanish troops appeared before the gates of the capital. Even then it was not the victorious army of Andalusia which presented itself, but only the Valencian corps of Llamas, a mere division of 8,000 men, which would not have dared to push forward, had it not known that Joseph Bonaparte and all his train were now far on their way towards the Ebro. During the thirteen days which elapsed between his departure and the arrival of the Valencians there was a curious interregnum in Madrid. It took some time to convince the populace and the local authorities that the hated invaders were really gone, and that they were once more their own masters. Nothing reflects the state of public opinion better than the Madrid Gazette: down to August 1, it shows the hand of a French editor; ‘His Majesty’ means King Joseph, and all the foreign intelligence is coloured with French views. On August 2 the foreign influence begins to disappear, and we note a very cautious and tentative proclamation by the old ‘Council of Castile.’ That effete body, shorn by the French of most of its prominent members, had repeatedly yielded to the orders of Murat and Savary: it had carried out many decrees of the new executive, yet it had never actually recognized the legality of King Joseph’s accession. Indeed at the last moment it had striven, by feeble methods of evasion and delay, to avoid committing itself to this final step. But we may guess that, had there been no Baylen, the Council would finally have made up its mind to ‘swallow the pill’—if we may use once more Murat’s characteristic phrase. However, the flight of Joseph had saved it from being forced to range itself on the side of the traitors, and its members were able to stay behind in Madrid without fearing for their necks. In their first manifesto there is not a word that could have offended Savary, if he had returned the next day. It preaches the necessity of calm, order, and quiet: no one must stir up mobs, compromise the public[p. 343] safety, or vex his respectable neighbours[343]. The rest of the paper on this and the two following days is filled up with essays on geography and political economy, lists of servants seeking places, and colourless foreign news many weeks old. Such piteous stuff was not likely to keep the people quiet: on August 4 a mob assembled, broke open the house of Don Luis Viguri (one of Godoy’s old confidants), murdered him, and dragged his body through the streets. Fearing that they too might be considered Afrancesados the Council published a second proclamation of the most abject kind. The ‘melancholy instance of insubordination’ of the previous day causes them ‘intolerable sorrow’ and is ‘unlikely to tend to public felicity.’ The loyal and generous citizens ought to wait for the working of the law and its ministers, and not to take the execution of justice into their own hands. The clergy, the local officials, every employer of labour, every father of a family, are begged to help to maintain peace and order. Then comes a page of notices of new books, and a short paper on the ethics of emigration! Of Ferdinand VII or Joseph I, of politics domestic or foreign, there is not a word. Two days later the Council at last makes up its mind, and, after a week of most uncomfortable sitting on the fence, suddenly bursts out into an ‘Address to the honourable and generous people of the capital of Spain,’ in the highest strain of patriotism: ‘Our loved King is in chains, but his loyal subjects have risen in his name. Our gallant armies have achieved triumphs over “the invincibles of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Jena.” All Europe stands surprised at their rapid victories. These fellow citizens of ours, crowned with the laurels of success, will soon be with us. Meanwhile the Council must beg the patriotic citizens of Madrid to abstain from riot and murder, and to turn their energies into more useful channels. Let them prostrate themselves before the altar in grateful thanks to God, and make preparations to receive and embrace the oncoming bands of liberators.’ Domestic intelligence becomes for the future a list of French atrocities, and of (sometimes apocryphal) victories in the remoter corners of Spain[344]. Foreign intelligence is served up with an English rather[p. 344] than a French flavour. The arsenal of ‘Volovich[345]’ is shipping scores of cannon and thousands of muskets for the use of the brave Spaniards, the treasures of Great Britain are to be poured into the hands of the insurrectionary Juntas, and so forth. All this comes a little late: the good intentions of the Council would have been more clear if they had been expressed on August 2 instead of August 7, when the French were still at Buitrago, rather than when they were far away beyond Aranda de Duero[346].

It is really astonishing to find that the Council made a bid for power, and attempted to assume the pose of a senate of warm-hearted patriots, after all its base servility to Murat and Savary during the last six months. Its president, Don Arias Mon y Velarde, actually had the audacity to write a circular-note to the various provincial Juntas of Spain, proposing that, as a single central government must obviously be established, they should send representatives to Madrid to concert with the Council on means of defence, and lend it the aid of their influence and authority. That such a discredited body should attempt to assume a kind of presidential authority over the local Juntas who had raised and directed the insurrection was absurd. The replies which were returned were of the most uncompromising kind: the Galician Junta taunted the Council with having been ‘the most active instrument of the Usurper.’ Palafox, speaking for Aragon, wrote that it ‘was a corporation which had not done its duty.’ The active and ambitious Junta of Seville wished to accuse the Council before the face of the Spanish people ‘of having subverted the fundamental laws of the realm, of having given the enemy every facility for seizing the domination of Spain, of having lost all legal authority and become null and void, and of being suspected of deliberate treason of the most atrocious sort possible.’ The Valencians voted that ‘no public body of any kind ought to enter into correspondence with the Council of Castile, or[p. 345] come to any understanding with it[347].’ All these rebuffs to the Council were well deserved, and it is clear that the provincial Juntas were entirely justified in their action. But it is to be feared that there lay at the bottom of their hearts not merely honest indignation at the impudent proposal that had been laid before them, but a not unnatural desire to cling as long as possible to their existing power and authority. In many of the provinces there was shown a most unworthy and unwise reluctance to proceed at once to the construction of a single governing body for Spain, even when the proposal was put forward not by a discredited corporation like the Council, but by men of undoubted patriotism.

The credit of starting a serious agitation for the erection of a ‘Supreme Junta’ must be given to the Murcians, whose councils were guided by the old statesman Florida Blanca, a survivor from the days of Charles III. As far back as June 22 they had issued a proclamation setting forth the evils of provincial particularism, and advocating the establishment of a central government. None of the other Juntas ventured openly to oppose this laudable design, and some of them did their best to further it. But there were others who clung to power, and were determined to surrender it at as late a date as they could manage. The Junta of Seville was far the worst: that body—as we have had occasion to mention in another place—was largely in the hands of intriguers, and had put forth unjustifiable claims to domination in the whole southern part of the realm, even usurping the title of ‘Supreme Junta of Spain and the Indies[348].’ In their desire for self-aggrandizement they took most unjustifiable steps: they suppressed Florida Blanca’s Murcian proclamation, lest it might stir up an agitation in Andalusia in behalf of the establishment of a central government[349]. But this was a comparatively venial sin: their worst act was to stay the march of Casta?os on Madrid after Baylen. The pretext used was that they wished to welcome the victorious general and his army with triumphal entries and feasts of rejoicing—things entirely out of place, so long as the French were still holding the capital of the realm. To his own entire dissatisfaction Casta?os was dragged back to Seville, there to display the captured guns and flags of the French, and to be received with salvos fired by patriotic[p. 346] ladies who had learnt the drill of the artilleryman[350]. But he soon found to his disgust that the Junta was really aiming at the employment of his troops not for national purposes but for their own aggrandizement. They wished to speak with 40,000 men at their back, and were most reluctant to let the army pass the Sierra Morena, lest it should get out of their control. Their most iniquitous design was to overawe by armed force their neighbours, the Junta of Granada, who refused to recognize them as a central authority for Andalusia, and had given their assent to the Murcian proposal for the prompt formation of a national government. They were actually issuing orders for a division to march against the Granadans, when Casta?os—though a man of mild and conciliatory manners—burst out in wrath at the council board. Springing up from his chair and smiting the table a resounding blow, he exclaimed, ‘Who is the man that dares bid the troops march without my leave? Away with all provincial differences: I am the general of the Spanish nation, I am in command of an honourable army, and we are not going to allow any one to stir up civil war[351].’ Conscious that the regiments would follow the victor of Baylen, and refuse obedience to mere civilians, the Junta dropped their suicidal project. But they turned all their energy into devising pretexts for delaying the march of the army on Madrid. Their selfishness was undisguised: when Casta?os begged for leave to march on the capital without further delay[352], the Conde de Tilly (the most intriguing spirit among all the politicians of Seville) responded with the simple question, ‘And what then will become of us?’ He then moved that the Junta of Andalusia should concern itself with Andalusia and Portugal alone, and not interfere in what went on beyond the Sierra Morena. This proposal was a little too strong even for the narrow-minded particularists of the Junta: but though they let Casta?os go, they contrived excuses for delaying the march of the greater part of his army. He did not get to Madrid till August 23, more than a month after Baylen, and then brought with him only the single division of La Pe?a, about 7,000 strong. The other three[p. 347] divisions, those of Reding, Jones, and Coupigny, did not cross the Sierra Morena for many weeks after, and some of the troops had not even left Andalusia at the moment when the French resumed offensive operations in October. On various specious pretences the Junta detained many regiments at Seville and Cadiz, giving out that they were to form the nucleus of a new ‘army of reserve,’ which was still a mere skeleton three months after Baylen had been fought. If we compare the Andalusian army-list of November with that of July, we find that only seven new battalions[353] had joined the army of Casta?os in time to fight on the Ebro. It is true that a new division had been also raised in Granada, and sent to Catalonia under General Reding, but this was due to the energy of the Junta of that small kingdom, which was far more active than that of Seville. Andalusia had 40,000 men under arms in July, and no more than 50,000 at the beginning of November, though the Junta had promised to have at least thirty reserve battalions ready before the end of the autumn, and had received from England enormous stores of muskets and clothing for their equipment.

In the northern parts of Spain there was almost as much confusion, particularism, and selfishness as in the south. The main sources of trouble were the rivalry of the Juntas of Asturias and Galicia, and the extravagant claims of the aged and imbecile Cuesta, in virtue of his position as Captain-General of Castile. It will be remembered that in June insurrectionary Juntas had been established at Leon and Valladolid, the former purporting to represent the kingdom of Leon, the latter the kingdom of Old Castile. Each had been under the thumb of Cuesta, who looked upon them as nothing more than committees established under his authority for the civil government of the provinces of the Douro. But the disaster of Medina de Rio Seco destroyed both the power and the credit of the Captain-General. Flying before the French, the Juntas took refuge in Galicia, where they settled down at Ponferrada for a few days, and then moved to Lugo, whither the Junta of Galicia came out to meet them. The three bodies, joining in common session, chose as their president Don Antonio Valdes, the Bailiff of the Knights of Malta, who was one of the representatives of Castile. They claimed to be recognized as the supreme civil[p. 348] government of Northern Spain, but their position was weakened by two mischances. The Asturian Junta refused to have anything to do with them, and persisted in remaining sovereign within the borders of its own principality. Even more vexatious was the conduct of Cuesta: though he was wandering in the mountains with only three or four thousand raw levies—the wrecks of Rio Seco—he refused to recognize any authority in the three federated Juntas, and pretended to revoke by his proclamation any powers vested in those of Castile and Leon. The fact was that he knew that they would lend support to his military rival Blake, and not to himself. He feigned to regard the Captains-General and the old Audiencias, or provincial tribunals, as the sole legitimate powers left in the kingdom, and to consider the Juntas as irregular assemblies destitute of any valid authority. In what a scandalous form he translated his theories into action, we shall soon see. Meanwhile he refused to co-operate with the troops of Galicia, and made no attempt to follow the retreating French. All his efforts were directed to increasing the numbers of the mass of raw levies which he called the ‘Army of Castile.’ But from the whole of the provinces over which he claimed authority he had only succeeded in scraping together 12,000 men by the middle of September, though as far as population went they represented nearly a sixth of the people of Spain.

The want of any central executive for directing the armies of the patriots had the most disastrous results. By September 1 Casta?os and Llamas had not more than 20,000 men at Madrid. Galluzzo’s army of Estremadura, which ought to have joined them long before, was still employed in its futile siege of Elvas. Cuesta was hanging back in Castile, as jealous of Casta?os as he had been of Blake. The only armies which were in touch with the French were Palafox’s troops on the Ebro and the Valencian division of Saint March, which the Junta of Valencia (showing more patriotism than most of their colleagues) had pushed up to Saragossa to aid the Aragonese. Blake, with the powerful army of Galicia, had descended to Astorga when Bessières retreated to Burgos. But from Astorga he advanced most cautiously, always clinging to the southern slope of the Cantabrian hills, in order to avoid the plains, where the cavalry of the French would have a free hand. It was not till September 10 that he had concentrated his main body at Reynosa, near the sources of the Ebro, where he was at last near enough to the front to be able to commence operations.

[p. 349]

The whole month of August, it is not too much to say, was lost for military purposes because Spain had not succeeded in furnishing itself with a central government or a commander-in-chief. It had been wasted in constitutional debates of the most futile kind. To every one, except to certain of the more selfish members of the Juntas, it was clear that a way must be found out of the existing anarchy. Three courses seemed possible: one was to appoint a Regent, or a small Council of Regency, and to entrust to him (or to them) the conduct of affairs. The second was to summon the Cortes, the old national parliament of Spain. The third was to establish a new sort of central government, by inducing each of the existing Juntas to send deputies, with full powers of representation, to sit together as a ‘Supreme Central Junta’ for the whole realm. The project of appointing a Regent had at first many advocates: it occurred to both Casta?os and Palafox, and each (as it chanced) pitched upon the same individual as most worthy of the post[354]. This was the Archduke Charles of Austria, the sole general in Europe who had won a military reputation of the first class while contending with the French. He would have been an excellent choice—if only he could have been secured. But it did not take much reflection to see that if Austria allowed her greatest captain to accept such a post, she would involve herself in instant war with Bonaparte, and if such a war broke out the Archduke would be wanted on the Danube rather than upon the Ebro. There was no other name likely to command general confidence. Some spoke of the Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo[355], the last prince of the Spanish royal house who remained in the realm. But he was an insignificant and incapable person, and much discredited by his dallyings with Murat in the days before the insurrection had begun. Clearly he would be no more than a puppet, worked by some astute person behind the viceregal throne. Other names suggested were those of the young Dom Pedro of Portugal (son of the Prince-Regent John), and of Prince Leopold, the son of Ferdinand IV of Sicily. The former was a grandson, the latter a nephew of Charles IV. Both therefore were near to the throne, but both were foreigners, young, untried in matters of state, and utterly unknown to the Spaniards. Dom Pedro’s claims were not[p. 350] strongly pushed, but the Sicilian court made a strenuous attempt to forward those of Prince Leopold. Their ambassador in London tried to enlist the support of the English Government for him: but Canning and Castlereagh were anxious to avoid any appearance of dictating orders to Spain, and firmly refused to countenance the project. Before their reply came to hand, King Ferdinand (or rather that old intriguer, his spouse, and her son-in-law the Duke of Orleans) sent the prince to Gibraltar, on a man-of-war which they had obtained from Mr. Drummond, the British minister at Palermo. By lending his aid to the plan this unwise diplomat almost succeeded in compromising his government. But most fortunately our representatives in Spain nipped in the bud this intrigue, which could not have failed to embroil them with the Juntas, none of whom had the least love for the Sicilian house. When the Thunderer arrived at Gibraltar [August 9] Sir Hew Dalrymple—then just on the eve of starting for Portugal—refused to allow the prince to land, or to distribute the proclamations which he had prepared. These were the work of Leopold’s brother-in-law, Louis Philippe of Orleans, who had accompanied him from Palermo with the design of fishing in troubled waters, a craft of which he was to show himself in later days a past master. If Leopold should become regent, Orleans intended to be the ‘power behind the throne.’ Dalrymple detained the two princes at Gibraltar, and when he was gone Lord Collingwood[356] took the same attitude of hostile neutrality. Tired of detention, Louis Philippe after a few days sailed for London, in the vain hope of melting the hearts of the British Cabinet. The Sicilian prince lingered some time, protesting against the fashion in which he was treated, and holding secret colloquies with deputations which came to him from many quarters in which the Junta of Seville was detested. But there was no real party in his favour. What benefit could come to Spain from the election of a youth of nineteen, whose very name was unknown to the people, and who could help them neither with men nor with money, neither with the statesmanship that comes from experience, nor with the military capacity that must be developed on the battle-field? After remaining long enough in Spanish waters to lose all his illusions, Prince[p. 351] Leopold returned to his mother in Sicily[357]. There had never been any foundation for a persistent rumour that he was to be made co-regent along with the Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo and the Conde de Montijo. Not even the least intelligent members of the Juntas would have consented to hand over the rule of Spain to this strange triumvirate—an imbecile, a boy, and a turbulent intriguer. There was about as much chance that another vain project might be carried out—an invitation to General Dumouriez to take command of all the Spanish armies. Yet this plan too was seriously brought forward: the Frenchman would not have been unwilling, but the Spanish officers, flushed with their recent successes, were not the kind of people to welcome a foreign leader, and one whose last military exploit had been to desert his own army and go over to the enemy.

Much more specious, at first sight, than any project for the establishment of a regency, was the proposal mooted in many quarters for the summoning of the Cortes—whose name recalled so many ancient memories, and was connected with the days of constitutional freedom in the Middle Ages. But not only had the Cortes been obscured by the long spell of autocracy under the Hapsburg and Bourbon kings, but it was by its very constitution unsuited to represent a nation seeking for a new and vigorous executive. It was full of mediaeval anomalies: for example the Asturias had never been represented in it, but had possessed (like Wales in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries) separate governmental machinery of its own. This might have been altered without much difficulty, but it was more fatal that the distribution of seats in the lower estates represented an archaic survival. Many decayed towns in Castile sent members to the Cortes, while on the other hand the warlike and populous province of Galicia had only one single vote. To rearrange the representation on a rational basis would take so long, and cause so much provincial jealousy, that it was recognized as practically impossible.

There remained therefore only the third plan for creating a supreme government in Spain—that which proposed that the various existing Juntas should each send deputies to some convenient spot, and that the union of these representatives should constitute a central authority for the whole realm. This scheme was not so clearly constitutional as the summoning of the Cortes[p. 352] would have been, nor did it provide for real unity of direction in so complete a way as would have been secured by the appointment of a single Regent. But it had the practical advantage of conciliating the various provincial Juntas: though they sacrificed their local sovereignty, they obtained at least the power of nominating their own masters. In each of them the more active and ambitious members hoped that they might secure for themselves the places of delegates to the new supreme assembly. Accordingly the Juntas were induced, one after another, to consent to the scheme. Public opinion ran so strongly in favour of unity, and the existing administrative chaos was so clearly undesirable, that it was impossible to protest against the creation of a Supreme Central Junta. Some of the provinces—notably Murcia, Valencia, and Granada—showed a patriotic spirit of self-abnegation and favoured the project from the first. Even Galicia and Seville, where the spirit of particularism was strongest, dared not openly resist the movement. There were malcontents who suggested that a federal constitution was preferable to a centralized one, and that it would suffice for the provinces to bind themselves together by treaties of alliance, instead of handing themselves over to a newly created executive. But even in Aragon, where federal union with Castile seemed more attractive to many than complete incorporation, the obvious necessity for common military action determined the situation[358]. Every province of Spain at last adhered to the project for constructing a Supreme Central Junta. Even the narrow-minded politicians at Seville had to assume an attitude of hearty consent. But their reluctance peeped out in the suggestion which they made that the Junta should meet, not at Madrid, but at Ciudad Real or Almagro in La Mancha, places convenient to themselves, but obscure and remote in the eyes of inhabitants of Asturias or Galicia. Their aversion to Madrid was partly caused by its remoteness from their own borders, but much more by jealousy of the Council of Castile, which still hung together and exercised local authority in the capital. Other Juntas showed their aversion for the Council in the same way, and ultimately the place selected for the gathering of the new government was the royal residence of Aranjuez, which stands to Madrid much as do Versailles or Windsor to Paris and London. This choice was an[p. 353] obvious mistake: the central government of a country loses in dignity when it does not reside in the national capital. It seems to distrust its own power or its legality, when it exiles itself from its proper abode. At the best it casts a slur on the inhabitants of the capital by refusing to trust itself among them. Madrid, it is true, is not to Spain what Paris is to France, or London to England: it is a comparatively modern place, pitched upon by Philip II as the seat of his court, but destitute of ancient memories. Nevertheless, it was at least infinitely superior to Aranjuez as a meeting-place. On geographical or strategical grounds they are so close that no advantage accrues to one that does not belong to the other. But for political reasons the capital was distinctly preferable to the almost suburban palace[359]. If the existence of the Council of Castile so much disturbed the Junta, it would have been quite possible to dissolve that discredited body. No one would have made any serious effort in its favour, even in the city of its abode.
SECTION VI: CHAPTER III
THE ‘JUNTA GENERAL’ IN SESSION

The provincial Juntas, when once they had consented to sacrifice their local sovereignty, made no great delay in forwarding their representatives to the chosen meeting-place at Aranjuez. The number of deputies whom they sent to the Supreme Central Junta was thirty-five, seventeen provincial Juntas each contributing two, and the Canary Islands one. The Biscayan provinces, still wholly in the possession of the French, had no local body to speak for them, and could not therefore choose deputies. The number thus arrived at was not a very convenient one: thirty-five is too few for a parliament, and too many for an executive government. Moreover proportional representation was not secured; Navarre and the Balearic Islands were given too much weight by having two members each. Andalusia, having eight deputies for its four Juntas of Seville, Jaen, Granada, and Cordova, was over-represented when compared with Galicia, Aragon, and Catalonia, which had each no more than two. The quality of the delegates was very various: among the most notable were the ex-ministers Florida Blanca and Jovellanos, who represented respectively the better sides of the Conservative and the Liberal parties of Spain—if we may use such terms. The former, trained in the school of ‘benevolent despotism’ under Charles III, was a good specimen of the eighteenth-century statesman of the old sort—polite, experienced, energetic, a ripe scholar, and an able diplomat. But he was eighty years old and failing in health, and his return to active politics killed him in a few months. Jovellanos, a somewhat younger man[360], belonged in spirit to the end rather than the middle of the eighteenth century, and was imbued with the ideas of liberty and constitutional government which were afloat all over Europe in the early days of the French Revolution. He represented modern liberalism in the shape which it took in Spain. For this reason he had suffered[p. 355] many things at the hands of Godoy, and emerged from a long period of imprisonment and obscurity to take his place in the councils of the nation. Unhappily he was to find that his ideas were still those of a minority, and that bureaucracy and obscurantism were deeply rooted in Spain.

Of the other members[361] of the Supreme Junta, the Bailiff Valdez and Francisco Palafox, fresh from his brother’s triumphs at Saragossa, were perhaps the best known. Among the rest we note a considerable number of clergy—two archbishops, a prior, and three canons—but not more than might have been expected in a country where the Church was so powerful. Military men were not so strongly represented, being only five in number, and three of these were militia colonels. The rest were mainly local notables—grandees, marquises, and counts predominated over mere commoners. Some of them were blind particularists, and a few—like the disreputable Conde de Tilly—were intriguers with doubtful antecedents. The whole body represented Spain well enough, but Spain with her weaknesses as well as her strong points. It was not a very promising instrument with which to achieve the liberation of the Peninsula, or to resist the greatest general in Europe. Considered as a government of national defence, it had far too little military knowledge: a haphazard assembly of priests, politicians, and grandees is not adapted for the conduct of a war of independence. Hence came the incredible blindness which led it to refuse to appoint a single commander-in-chief, and the obstinacy with which it buried itself in constitutional debates of the most futile sort when Napoleon was thundering at the gates of Spain.

The meeting of the Supreme Junta was fixed for September 25, but long ere that date came round the military situation was assuming new developments. The first modification in the state of affairs was caused by the abortive attempt of the Basque provinces to free themselves. The news of Baylen had caused as great a stir in the northern mountains as in the south or the east of Spain. But Biscay, Guipuzcoa, and Alava had considerable French garrisons, and the retreat of Joseph Bonaparte to the Ebro only increased the number of enemies in their immediate neighbourhood. It would have been no less patriotic than prudent for these provinces to delay their insurrection till it had some chance of proving useful[p. 356] to the general scheme of operations for the expulsion of the French from Spain. If they could have waited till Blake and Casta?os had reached the Ebro, and then have taken arms, they might have raised a most dangerous distraction in the rear of the French, and have prevented them from turning all their forces against the regular armies. But it was mad to rise when Blake was still at Astorga, and Casta?os had not yet reached Madrid. It could not have been expected that the local patriots should understand this: but grave blame falls on those who ought to have known better. The Duke of Infantado, who was acting under Blake, and Colonel Doyle, the English representative at that general’s head quarters, did their best to precipitate the outbreak in Biscay. They promised the Biscayan leaders that a division from Asturias should come to their aid, and that English arms and ammunition should be poured into their harbours[362]. At the first word of encouragement all Biscay took arms [August 6]: a great mass of insurgents collected at Bilbao, and smaller bands appeared along the line of the mountains, even as far as Valcarlos on the very frontier of France. But no external aid came to them: the Asturians—averse to every proposal that came from Galicia—did not move outside their own provincial boundary, and no other Spanish army was within striking distance. Bessières was able, at his leisure, to detach General Merlin with 3,000 men to fall on Bilbao. This brigade proved enough to deal with the main body of the Biscayan insurgents, who after a creditable fight were dispersed with heavy loss—1,200 killed, according to the French commander’s dispatch [August 16]. Bilbao was taken and sacked, and English vessels bringing—now that it was too late—5,000 stand of arms for the insurgents, narrowly escaped capture in its harbour. All along the line of the Basque hills there was hanging and shooting of the leaders of the abortive rising[363]. The only result of this ill-advised move was that Bessières was warned of the danger in his rear, and kept a vigilant eye for the future on the coastland. The Biscayans, as was natural, were much discouraged at the way in which they had been left in the lurch by their fellow countrymen, and at the inefficacy of their own unaided efforts. They were loth to rise a second time.

It was not till twenty days had passed since the fall of Bilbao[p. 357] that the first attempts at combined action were made by the Spanish generals. On September 5 there met at Madrid a council of war, composed of Casta?os, Cuesta, the Valencian General Llamas, and the representatives of Blake and Palafox—the Duke of Infantado and Calvo de Rozas, intendant-general of the army of Aragon. These officers met with much suppressed jealousy and suspicion of each other. The Duke had his eye on Cuesta, in accordance with the instructions of Blake. Casta?os and Cuesta were at daggers drawn, for the old Captain-General had just proposed a coup d’état against the Junta to the Andalusian, and had been repulsed with scorn[364]. The representative of the army of Aragon had been charged to see that no one was put above the head of Palafox. When the meeting opened, Cuesta proposed that it should appoint a single general to direct all the forces of Spain. The others demurred: Cuesta was much their senior in the army-list, and they imagined—probably with truth—that he would claim the post of commander-in-chief for himself, in spite of the memories of Cabezon and Rio Seco. They refused to listen to his arguments, though it was certain that unity of command was in every way desirable. Nor was any disposition shown to raise Casta?os to supreme authority, though this was the obvious step to take, as he was the only general of Spain who had won a great battle in the open field. But personal and provincial jealousy stood in the way, and Casta?os himself, though not without ambition, was destitute of the arts of cajolery, and made no attempt to push his own candidature for the post of commander-in-chief. Perhaps he hoped that the Supreme Junta would do him justice ere long, and refrained for that reason from self-assertion before his colleagues. Nothing, therefore, was settled on September 5, save a plan for common operations against the French[p. 358] on the Ebro. Like all schemes that are formed from a compromise between the views of several men, this was not a very brilliant strategical effort: instead of providing for a bold stroke with the whole Spanish army, at some point on the long line between Burgos and Milagro, it merely brought the insurgent forces in half-a-dozen separate columns face to face with the enemy. Blake, with his own army and the Asturians, was to be asked to concentrate near Reynosa, at the sources of the Ebro, and to endeavour to turn Bessières’ flank and penetrate into Biscay[365]. He would have 30,000 men, or more, but not a single complete regiment of cavalry. Next to him Cuesta was to operate against the front of Bessières’ corps, with his ‘Army of Castile,’ eight or nine thousand raw levies backed by about 1,000 horse. He undertook to make Burgo de Osma his point of starting. More to the east, Casta?os was to gather at Soria the four divisions of the army of Andalusia, but at present he had only that of La Pe?a in hand: the Junta of Seville was detaining the rest. Still more to the right, Llamas with his 8,000 Valencians and Murcians was to march on Tudela. Lastly Palafox, with the army of Aragon and the Valencian division of Saint March, was to keep north of the Ebro, and turn the left flank of Moncey’s corps by way of Sanguesa: he could bring about 25,000 men into line, but there were not more than five or six regular battalions among them; the rest were recent levies. When the army of Estremadura should come up (it was still about Elvas and Badajoz), it was to join Casta?os; and it was hoped that the English forces from Portugal might also be directed on the same point.

But meanwhile only 75,000 men were available in the first line; and this force, spread along the whole front from Reynosa to Sanguesa, and acting on wide external lines, was not likely to make much impression on the French. The numbers of the invaders were considerably greater than those of the patriot-armies. Jourdan had 70,000 men by September 1, and was being reinforced every day by fresh battalions, though the three corps from Germany were still far off. Before the Spaniards could move he appreciably outnumbered them, and he had the inestimable advantage of holding a comparatively short front, and of being able to concentrate on any point with far greater rapidity than was possible to his adversaries. Even had they thrown all their forces on one single point, the French, always using the ‘interior lines,’ could have[p. 359] got together in a very short time. The only weak point, indeed, in the French position was that Bessières’ vanguard at Burgos was too far forward, and in some peril of being enveloped between Blake and Cuesta. But this detachment, as we shall see, was ere long drawn back to the Ebro.

Before the campaign began the Spaniards obtained one notable advantage—the removal of Cuesta from command, owing to his own incredible arrogance and folly. It will be remembered that he regarded the Juntas of Leon and Castile as recalcitrant subordinates of his own, and had declared all their acts null and void. When they proceeded, like the other Juntas, to elect representatives for the meeting at Aranjuez, he waited till the deputies of Leon were passing near his camp, and then suddenly descended upon them. Don Antonio Valdez, the Bailiff of the Maltese Knights, and the Vizconde de Quintanilla, were arrested by his troopers and shut up in the castle of Segovia. He announced that they should be tried by court-martial, for failing in obedience to their Captain-General. This astonishing act of presumption drew down on him the wrath of the Supreme Junta, which was naturally eager to protect its members from the interference of the military arm. Almost its first act on assembling was to order him to appear at Aranjuez and to suspend him from command. Cuesta would have liked to resist, but knowing that his own army was weak and that Blake and Casta?os were his bitter enemies, he had to yield. He came to Aranjuez, and was superseded by General Eguia. Valdez and Quintanilla were immediately released, and took their seats in the Supreme Junta.

The sessions of that body had begun on September 25. Twenty-four members out of the designated thirty-five had assembled on that day, and after a solemn religious ceremony had re-proclaimed Ferdinand VII, and elected Florida Blanca as their President. They then proceeded to nominate a Cabinet, chosen entirely from outside their own body. Don Pedro Cevallos was to be Minister of Foreign Affairs: he had served Ferdinand VII in that capacity, but had smirched his reputation by his submission to Bonaparte after the treachery at Bayonne. However, his ingenious justification[366][p. 360] of his conduct, and his early desertion of King Joseph, were allowed to serve as an adequate defence. Don Antonio Esca?o was Minister of Marine, Don Benito Hermida Minister of Justice, Don Francisco de Saavedra Minister of the Interior. The most important place of all, that of Minister of War, was given to an utterly unknown person, General Antonio Cornel, instead of to any of the officers who had distinguished themselves during the recent campaigns. He was to be aided by a supreme council of war, consisting of six members of the Junta, three of whom were civilians without any military knowledge whatever. No intention of appointing a commander-in-chief was shown, and the Minister of War corresponded directly with all the generals in charge of the provincial armies. Nothing could have been more ill judged; from the want of a single hand at the helm all the oncoming operations were doomed to inevitable failure. The supreme direction was nominally entrusted to the obscure war-minister and his councillors, really it lay with the generals in the field, who obeyed orders from head quarters only just as much as they chose. Each played his own game, and the result was disaster.

A glance at the subjects which were discussed by the members of the Junta, during its first weeks of session, suffices to show the short-sightedness of their policy, and their utter inability to grasp the situation. They should have remembered that they were a government of national defence, whose main duty was the expulsion of the French from the soil of Spain. But military subjects furnished the smallest portion of their subjects of debate. They published indeed a manifesto to the effect that they intended to levy an army of 500,000 foot, and 50,000 horse—a much greater force than Spain in her most flourishing days could have raised or maintained. But this paper army was never seen in the field: less than a third of the number were under arms at the moment in December when the Junta had to fly from Aranjuez, before the advancing legions of Napoleon. Nor was it likely that a great army could be raised, equipped, and disciplined, while the central government was devoting the greater part of its attention to futilities. The most cruel comment on its work lies in the fact that its troops were ill furnished, badly armed, and half starved, at the moment when the provinces were doing their best to provide equipment, and every port in Spain was gorged with cannon, muskets, munitions, and stores sent from England—a great part[p. 361] of them destined to fall into the hands of the French. Partly from want of experience, but still more from want of energy, the Junta failed to use the national enthusiasm and the considerable resources placed at its disposal.

When we look at the main topics of its debates we begin to understand its failures. A good deal of time was spent in voting honorary distinctions to its own members. The President was to be addressed as ‘his highness,’ the Junta as a corporation was ‘its majesty,’ if we may use the ludicrous phrase. Each member became ‘his excellency’ and received the liberal salary of 120,000 reals (￡1,200), besides the right of wearing on his breast a gold plaque with an embossed representation of the eastern and western hemispheres. There was a good deal of dispensing of places and patronage in the army and the civil service among relatives and dependencies of ‘their excellencies,’ but not more perhaps than happens in other countries in war-time when a new government comes in. At least the changes led to the getting rid of a good many of Godoy’s old bureaucrats. The real fault of the Junta lay in its readiness to fall into factions, and fight over constitutional questions that should have been relegated to times of peace. Among the thirty-five members of the Junta a clear majority were, like their president, Florida Blanca, Spaniards of the old school, whose ideas of government were those of the autocratic sort that had prevailed under Alberoni and Charles III. They looked upon all innovations as tinged with the poison of the French Revolution and savouring of Jacobinism and infidelity. On the other hand there was a powerful minority, headed by Jovellanos and including Martin de Garay, the secretary of the Junta, the Marquis of Campo Sagrado, Valdes, Calvo de Rozas, and others, who held more modern views and hoped that the main result of the war would be to make Spain a constitutional monarchy of the English type. How far this dream was from realization was shown by the fact that among the first measures passed through the Supreme Junta were ordinances allowing the Jesuits (expelled long since by Charles III) to return to Spain, recreating the office of Inquisitor-General, and suspending the liberty of the press. Such measures filled the liberal section in the Junta with despair, by showing the narrow and reactionary views of the majority. But the greater part of the time spent in session by ‘its majesty’ was wasted on purely constitutional questions.[p. 362] Firstly there was a long polemic with the Council of Castile, whose hatred for the Junta took the form of starting doubts as to the legality of its constitution[367]. It suggested that all constitutional precedents were against a body so numerous as thirty-five persons taking charge of the governance of the realm. Former councils of regency had been composed of three or five members only, and there was no legal authority for breaking the rule. The Council suggested that the only way out of the difficulty would be to call the Cortes, and that assembly would at once supersede the authority of the Supreme Junta. Instead of arguing with the Council of Castile, the new government would have done well to arrest or disperse that effete and disloyal body; but it chose instead to indulge in a war of manifestos and proclamations which led to nothing. To find the supreme government consenting to argue about its own legality was not reassuring to the nation. Moreover, Jovellanos and his followers spent much time in impressing on their colleagues that it was their duty to appoint a regency, and to cut down their own unwieldy numbers, as well as to provide machinery for the summoning of the Cortes at some not too distant date. To be reminded that they were no permanent corporation, but a temporary committee dressed in a little brief authority, was most unpleasant to the majority. They discussed from every point of view the question of the regency and the Cortes, but would not yield up their own supremacy. Indeed they proposed to begin legislation on a very wide basis for the reform of the constitution—business which should rather have been left to the Cortes, and which was particularly inappropriate to the moment when Napoleon was crossing the Pyrenees. The great manifesto of the Junta [October 26] sets forth its intentions very clearly. ‘The knowledge and illustration of our ancient and constitutional laws; the changes which altered circumstances render necessary in their re-establishment; the reforms necessary in civil, criminal, and commercial codes; projects for improving public education; a system of regulated economy for the collection and distribution of the public revenue ... are the subjects for the investigation of wise and thoughtful men. The Junta will form different committees, each entrusted with a particular department, to whom all writings on matters of government and administration may be addressed. The exertions of each contributing to give[p. 363] a just direction to the public mind, the government will be enabled to establish the internal happiness of Spain[368].’ From another official document we learn that ‘among the most grave and urgent objects of the attention of the Central Junta will be the encouragement of agriculture, the arts, commerce, and navigation[369].’

Clearly nothing could be more inappropriate and absurd than that this government of national defence should turn its attention to subjects such as the reform of national education, or the encouragement of the arts. It is equally certain that if it should propose to ‘consider the changes necessary in our ancient laws,’ it would be going beyond its competence; for such business belonged only to a permanent and properly constituted national assembly, such as the Cortes. This was not the time for constitutional debates, nor was the Central Junta the body that should have started them. All their energies should have been devoted to the war. But misled as to the situation by the long quiescence of the French army on the Ebro, they turned their minds to every topic that should have been avoided, and neglected the single one that should always have been before their eyes. It was in vain that Calvo de Rozas, the Aragonese deputy, and a few more, tried to keep their colleagues to the point. The majority fell to debating on the subjects on which the despotic and the liberal theories of government clash, and spent themselves on discussions that were as heated as they were futile. Meanwhile the time that should have been turned to account was slipping away, and the army was not being reinforced. A glance at the field-states of the Spanish troops, comparing those of August 1 with those of November 1, sufficiently proves this. The provinces which had been recovered by the retreat of the French to the Ebro were not doing their duty. The wide and populous regions of Old Castile and Leon had sent 4,600 men to Rio Seco in July: in October they had less than 12,000 under arms[370]. From New Castile there seem to have[p. 364] been raised nothing more than four battalions of Madrid Volunteers, a weak cavalry regiment, and two battalions of Cazadores de Cuenca and Tiradores de Castilla: at any rate no troops but these are to be found recorded in the lists of the armies that fought in October, November, and December, 1808. Even allowing that New Castile may have supplied recruits to its own corps of embodied militia serving with the Andalusian army[371], it is clear that, with a population of 1,200,000 souls, it ought to have done much more in raising new regiments. And this was the district in whose very midst the Junta was sitting! What little was done in Madrid seems to have been mainly the result of private enterprise: the Gazette for October is full of voluntary donations of horses, saddlery, and money, for the equipment of a corps of dragoons for the army of Old Castile, and of similar gifts received by Calvo de Rozas for the army of Aragon. But there are no signs of requisitions by the government for the purpose of raising an army of New Castile, which could certainly have been done. The kingdom with its five provinces ought to have given 40,000 men instead of 4,000: for Asturias, with only 370,000 souls, had raised 13,000: Aragon with 650,000 had placed no less than 32,000 levies in the field: and Estremadura with 420,000 had sent to the front 12,000 men by October, while keeping 10,000 more of undrilled recruits in its dép?ts[372]. New Castile, as we have already had occasion to remark, had 1,200,000 inhabitants, and yet had only added to its original five battalions of militia six more of volunteers, and a single regiment of horse, at the moment when Napoleon’s armies came flooding across the Ebro. The Central Junta’s authority in Andalusia or Galicia was much limited by the survival of the ambitious local Juntas. But in Leon and the two Castiles there was, when once Cuesta had been got out of the way, no rival power[p. 365] in the field. No one was to blame but the central government, if the full resources of those regions were not utilized in September, October, and November. The English representatives at Madrid saw all this, and did their best to stir up the Junta. But it was not likely that mere foreigners would succeed, where Casta?os and the other more energetic Spanish officers had failed. Already in October the situation appeared most unpromising: ‘We have made repeated representations,’ wrote Mr. Stuart, the British minister, ‘and I have given in paper after paper, to obtain something like promptitude and vigour: but though loaded with fair promises in the commencement, we scarcely quit the members of the Junta before their attention is absorbed in petty pursuits and in wrangling, which impedes even the simplest arrangements necessary for the interior government of the country.... In short, we are doing what we can, not what we wish: and I assure you we have infamous tools to work with[373].’ Exactly the same impression is produced by a study of the dispatches of Lord William Bentinck, our military representative at Madrid, and of the diary of Sir Charles Vaughan, who carefully attended and followed the debates of the Central Junta at Aranjuez. It was clear to any dispassionate observer that time was being wasted, and that the best was not being done with the available material.

This was all the more inexcusable because the nation was thoroughly in earnest, and prepared to make any sacrifices. The voluntary contributions made both by provinces and by individuals were astounding when the poverty of Spain is taken into consideration[374]. It was the energy and will to use them on the part of the leaders that was wanting. Moreover, England was pouring in supplies of all sorts: before November 16 she had sent at least 122,000 muskets and other military equipment of all kinds to the value of several hundred thousand pounds. Before the same date she had forwarded 4,725,000 dollars in hard cash[375], and Mr. Frere, the newly appointed minister, brought another million to Corunna.

[p. 366]

Instead of utilizing every possible resource the government went on debating about things unessential, as if the war had been ended at Baylen. It would neither conduct the new campaign itself, nor appoint a single commander-in-chief to conduct it in its behalf. With absolute truth Colonel Graham wrote from the head quarters of the Army of the Centre that ‘the miserable system established by the Junta was at the bottom of all misfortunes. I pitied poor Casta?os and poor Spain, and came away disgusted to the greatest degree[376].’
SECTION VI: CHAPTER IV
AN EPISODE IN THE BALTIC

It will be remembered that one of Napoleon’s preliminary measures, in his long campaign against the freedom of Spain, had been the removal of the flower of her army to the shores of the Baltic. In the spring of 1807 the Marquis of La Romana, with fourteen battalions of infantry and five regiments of cavalry, all completed to war strength, had marched for Hamburg. After wintering in the Hanseatic towns, Mecklenburg, and Swedish Pomerania, this corps had been moved up early in 1808 into Denmark[377]. It is clear that there was no military object in placing it there. The Danish fleet was gone, carried off by Lord Cathcart’s expedition in the previous September, and there was no probability that the English would return for a second visit, when they had completely executed their plan for destroying the naval resources of Denmark. France and Sweden, it is true, were still at war, but King Gustavus was so much occupied by the defensive struggle against the Russians in Finland, that it was unlikely that he would detach troops for an objectless expedition against the Danes. On the other hand the Anglo-Swedish fleet was so completely dominant in the Baltic and the Sound, that there was no possibility of launching an expedition from Denmark against Southern Sweden. Even between the various islands at the mouth of the Baltic, where the water-distances are very short, troops could only be moved at night, and with infinite precautions against being surprised on the passage by English frigates. Gothenburg and the other harbours of South-western Sweden served as convenient ports of call to the British squadron told off for the observation of the Cattegat, the two Belts, and the Sound. Nothing could be done against Sweden, unless indeed a frost of[p. 368] exceptional severity might close the waterway between Zealand and Scania. Even then an attempt to make a dash at Helsingborg or Malm? would involve so many difficulties and dangers that few generals would have cared to risk it.

La Romana’s corps formed part of an army under Marshal Bernadotte, whose sphere of command extended all over the south-western shores of the Baltic, and whose head quarters were sometimes at Schleswig and sometimes at Lübeck or Stralsund. He had considerable French and Dutch contingents, but the bulk of his force consisted of 30,000 Danes. In preparation for Napoleon’s scheme against the Spanish Bourbons, La Romana’s forces had been carefully scattered between Jutland and the Danish Isles, so that there was no large central body concentrated under the Marquis’s own hand. The garrisons of the Spanish regiments were interspersed between those of Danish troops, so that it would be difficult to get them together. In March, 1808, when the Emperor had at last shown his hand by the treacherous seizure of Pampeluna, Barcelona, and Figueras, the troops of La Romana were cantoned as follows. Six battalions were in the island of Zealand, mainly in and about the old royal residence of Roeskilde[378]. Four battalions and two cavalry regiments were in Fünen, the central island of the Danish group, and with them La Romana himself, whose head quarters were at Nyborg[379]. One battalion lay in the island of Langeland, close to the south coast of Fünen[380]. In the mainland of Jutland were three cavalry regiments and three battalions of infantry[381], quartered in the little towns at the southern end of the Cattegat—Fredericia, Aarhuus, and Randers. In Zealand the 4,000 Spaniards were under the eyes of the main Danish army of observation against Sweden. In Fünen La Romana’s 4,500 horse and foot were cantoned in small detachments, while a solid body of 3,000 Danes garrisoned Odense in the centre of the island, separating the Spanish regiments one from another. In Langeland, along with the Catalonian light battalion, were a company of French grenadiers and about 800 Danes. The troops in Jutland were mixed up with a brigade of Dutch light[p. 369] cavalry and some Danish infantry. Napoleon’s own provident eye had been roving round Denmark, and he had himself given the orders for the dislocation of the Spanish corps in the fashion that seemed best calculated to make any common action impossible. To keep them in good temper he had recently raised the pay of the officers, and announced his intention of decorating La Romana with the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour. Bernadotte, by his desire, displayed the greatest confidence in his auxiliaries, and took a troop of the cavalry regiment Del Rey as his personal escort while moving about in Denmark[382].

In spite of all this, the Marquis and his officers began to grow uneasy in April, 1808, for the stream of dispatches and letters from Spain, which had been reaching them very regularly during the winter, began to dry up in the spring. When the first communication from the new ministry of Ferdinand VII reached La Romana he found that it contained a complaint that the home government had received no reports from the expeditionary force since January, and that fifteen separate dispatches sent to him from Madrid had failed to get any answer. The fact was that Napoleon had been systematically intercepting every document which the war minister at one end of the line, and the Marquis at the other, had been committing to the French post[383]. The last dispatch had only come to hand because such an important announcement as that of the accession of King Ferdinand had been sent by the hands of a Spanish officer, whom Bonaparte or Fouché had not thought proper to arrest, though they had intercepted so much official correspondence. The Emperor himself had sent orders to Bernadotte that the news of the revolution at Aranjuez should be kept as long as possible from the Marquis and his troops[384]: and so it came to pass that only a very few days after the events of March 19 became known in Denmark, there followed the deplorable intelligence of the treachery of Bayonne and of the Madrid insurrection of May 2. These tidings produced the same feelings in Nyborg and Fredericia that they had caused at Seville or Corunna. But on the shores of the Baltic, further north than any Spanish troops had ever been before, the expeditionary corps felt itself helpless and surrounded by enemies. Yet as Joseph O’Donnell, then one of La Romana’s[p. 370] staff, observed: ‘The more they tried to persuade us that Spain was tranquil, and had settled down to enjoy an age of felicity under Napoleon, the more clearly did we foresee the scenes of blood, strife, and disaster which were to follow these incredible events[385].’

On June 24 there reached Nyborg the intelligence which showed the whole of Napoleon’s schemes completed: it was announced to La Romana that Joseph Bonaparte had been proclaimed King of Spain, and he was ordered to transmit the news to his troops, and to inform them in General Orders that they were now serving a new master. The only commentary on this astonishing information which the Spanish officers could procure consisted of the nauseous banalities of the Moniteur concerning the ‘regeneration of Spain.’

A very few days later the first ray of hope shone upon the humbled and disheartened general. One of the earliest ideas of the British Government, on hearing of the Spanish insurrection, had been to open communications with the troops in Denmark. Casta?os, in his first interview with the Governor of Gibraltar, had expressed his opinion that they would strike a blow for liberty if only they were given the chance. The fleet of Sir Richard Keates so completely commanded the Baltic that it would be possible to rescue the Spanish expeditionary force, if only it were willing and able to cut its way to the coast. But it was necessary to find out whether the Marquis was ready to risk his neck in such an enterprise, and whether he could depend on the loyalty of his troops.

To settle this all-important question some agent must be found who would undertake to penetrate to La Romana’s head quarters, a task of the most uninviting kind, for it was quite uncertain whether the Spaniard would eagerly join in the plan, or whether he would make up his mind to espouse the cause of Napoleon, and hand over his visitor to the French police. To find a man who knew the Continent well enough to move about without detection, and who would take the risk of placing himself at La Romana’s mercy, in case his offers were refused, did not seem easy. But the right person was pitched upon by Sir Arthur Wellesley just before he sailed for Portugal. He recommended to Canning a Roman Catholic priest of the name of James Robertson. This enterprising ecclesiastic was a Scot who had spent most of his life in a monastery at Ratisbon, but had lately come to England and was acting as[p. 371] tutor in the house of an English Catholic peer. He had some time before offered himself to Wellesley as a man who knew Germany well, and was prepared to run risks in making himself useful to the Government[386].

Under the belief that the Spaniards were still quartered in the Hanse towns and Holstein, Canning sent for Robertson and asked him whether he would undertake this dangerous mission to Northern Germany. The priest accepted the offer, and was dispatched to Heligoland, where Mr. Mackenzie, the British agent in this lately seized island, found him a place on board a smuggling vessel bound for the mouth of the Weser. He was safely landed near Bremerhafen and made his way to Hamburg, only to find that the Spaniards had been moved northward into the Danish isles. This made the mission more dangerous, as Robertson knew neither the country nor the language. But he disguised himself as a German commercial traveller, and laid in a stock of chocolate and cigars—things which were very rare in the North, as along with other colonial produce they were proscribed by the Continental System, and could only be got from smugglers. It was known that the Spanish officers felt deeply their privation of the two luxuries most dear to their frugal race, so that it seemed very natural that a dealer in such goods should attempt to find a market among them.

Getting to Nyborg without much difficulty, the priest took his fate in his hands, and introduced himself to La Romana with a box of cigars under one arm and a dozen packets of chocolate under the other. When they were alone, he threw himself on the Marquis’s confidence, owning that he was a priest and a British subject, not a German or a commercial traveller. The Spaniard was at first suspicious and silent, thinking that he had to deal with an agent provocateur of the French Government, who was trying to make him show his hand. Robertson had no written vouchers for his mission—they would have been too dangerous—but had been given some verbal credentials by Canning, which soon convinced La Romana of his good faith. The Marquis then owned that he was disgusted with his position, and felt sure that Napoleon had plotted the ruin of Spain, though what exactly had happened at Bayonne he had not yet been able to ascertain. Robertson next laid before him Canning’s offer—that if the expeditionary[p. 372] force could be concentrated and got to the coast, the Baltic fleet should pick it up, and see that it was landed at Minorca, Gibraltar, the Canaries, in South America, or at any point in Spain that the Marquis might select.

La Romana asked for a night to talk the matter over with his staff, and next day gave his full consent to the plan, bidding the priest pass the word on to Sir Richard Keates, and discover the earliest day on which transports could be got ready to carry off his men. Robertson tried to communicate with a British frigate which was hovering off the coast of Fünen, but was arrested by Danish militiamen while signalling to the ship from a lonely point on the beach. His purpose was almost discovered, and he only escaped by a series of ingenious lies to the militia colonel before whom he was taken by his captors. Moving further south, he again tried to get in touch with Sir Richard Keates, and this time succeeded. The news was passed to London, and transports were prepared for the deliverance of the Spaniards. Canning also sent to Fünen an agent of the Asturian Junta, who would be able to give his countrymen full news of the insurrection that had taken place in June.

Meanwhile La Romana had sounded his subordinates, and found them all eager to join in the plan of evasion, save Kindelan, the brigadier-general commanding the troops in Jutland, who showed such unpatriotic views that the officer sent to confer with him dropped the topic without revealing his commission. The plan which the Marquis had formed was rather ingenious: Bernadotte was about to go round the garrisons in his command on a tour of inspection. It was agreed that under the pretext of holding a grand field-day for his benefit, all the scattered Spanish troops in Fünen should be concentrated at Nyborg. The regiments in Zealand and Jutland were to join them, when the arrival of the British fleet should be reported, by seizing the Danish small craft in the harbours nearest to them, and crossing over the two Belts to join their commander.

An unfortunate contretemps, however, interfered to prevent the full execution of the scheme. Orders came from Paris that all the Spanish troops were to swear allegiance to Joseph Bonaparte, each corps parading at its head quarters for the purpose on July 30 or 31. This news caused grave disorders among the subordinate officers and the men, who were of course in complete[p. 373] ignorance of the plan for evasion. La Romana and his councillors held that the ceremony had better be gone through—to swear under compulsion was not perjury, and to refuse would draw down on the Spanish corps overwhelming numbers of Danes and French, so that the whole scheme for escape would miscarry. Accordingly the troops in Jutland and Fünen went through the ceremony in a more or less farcical way—in some cases the men are said to have substituted the name Ferdinand for the name Joseph in their oath, while the officers took no notice of this rather startling variation.

But in Zealand things went otherwise: the two infantry regiments of Guadalajara and Asturias, when paraded and told to take the oath, burst out into mutiny, drove off those of their own officers who tried to restrain them, killed the aide-de-camp of the French General Fririon, who was presiding at the ceremony, and threatened to march on Copenhagen. Next day they were surrounded by masses of Danish troops, forced to surrender, disarmed, and put in confinement in small bodies at various points in the island [August 1].

This startling news revealed to Bernadotte the true state of feeling in the Spanish army, and he wrote to La Romana to announce that he was about to visit the Danish Isles in order to inquire into the matter. Fortunately there came at the same moment news from England that the time for escape was at hand. On August 4, only three days after the mutiny at Roeskilde, the brigantine Mosquito, having on board Rafael Lobo (the emissary of the Asturian deputies), reached the Baltic, and communicated by night with some of the Spanish officers on the island of Langeland. The British fleet had sailed, and the time for action had arrived.

Accordingly La Romana gave the word to the officers in each garrison to whom the secret had been entrusted. On August 7, the troops in Fünen concentrated, and seized the port of Nyborg: the Danes were completely taken by surprise, and no resistance was made save by a gallant and obstinate naval officer commanding a brig in the harbour. He fired on the Spaniards, and would not yield till an English frigate and five gunboats ran into the port and battered his vessel to pieces.

On August 8 the troops in Jutland struck their blow: the infantry regiment of Zamora at Fredericia seized a number of[p. 374] fishing-vessels, and ferried itself over into Fünen with no difficulty. General Kindelan, the only traitor in the camp, had been kept from all knowledge of what was to happen: when he saw his troops on the move, and received an explanatory note from La Romana putting him in possession of the state of affairs, he feigned compliance in the plan, but disguised himself and fled to the nearest French cantonment, where he gave enemy a full account of the startling news. The cavalry regiments Infante and Del Rey had the same luck as their comrades of Zamora: they seized boats at Aarhuus, and, abandoning their horses, got across unopposed to Fünen. Their comrades of the regiment of Algarve were less lucky: they were delayed for some time by the indecision of their aged and imbecile colonel: when Costa, their senior captain, took command and marched them from Horsens towards the port of Fredericia, it was now too late. A brigade of Dutch Hussars, warned by Kindelan, beset them on the way and took them all prisoners. Costa, seeing that the responsibility would fall on his head, blew out his brains at the moment of surrender.

Romana had concentrated in Fünen nearly 8,000 men, and was so strong that the Danish general at Odense, in the centre of the island, dared not meddle with him. On August 9, 10, and 11 he passed his troops over to the smaller island of Langeland, where the regiment of Catalonia had already disarmed the Danish garrison and seized the batteries. Here he was safe, for Langeland was far out to sea, and he was now protected from the Danes by the English warships which were beginning to gather on the spot. A few isolated men from Zealand, about 150 in all, succeeded in joining the main body, having escaped from their guards and seized fishing-boats: but these were all that got away from the regiments of Asturias and Guadalajara, the mutineers of July 31.

For ten days Langeland was crammed with 9,000 Spanish troops, waiting anxiously for the expected British squadron. On the twenty-first, however, Admiral Keates appeared, with three sail of the line and several smaller craft. On these and on small Danish vessels the whole army was hastily embarked: they reached Gothenburg in Sweden on August 27, and found there thirty-seven large transports sent from England for their accommodation. After a long voyage they reached the Spanish coast in safety, and the whole expeditionary corps of the North, now 9,000 strong, was concentrated at Santander by October 11. The infantry was[p. 375] sent to take part in the second campaign of General Blake. The dismounted cavalry were ordered to move to Estremadura, and there to provide themselves with horses. La Romana himself was called to Madrid to interview the Junta, so that his troops went to the front under the charge of his second in command, the Count of San Roman, to take part in the bloody fight of Espinosa.
SECTION VII  NAPOLEON’S INVASION OF SPAIN CHAPTER I

FRENCH AND SPANISH PREPARATIONS

While the Supreme Junta was expending its energy on discussing the relative merits of benevolent despotism and representative government, and while Casta?os fretted and fumed for the moving up of reinforcements that never arrived, the French Emperor was getting ready to strike. It took many weeks for the veteran divisions from Glogau and Erfurt, from Bayreuth and Berlin, to traverse the whole breadth of the French Empire and reach the Pyrenees. While they were trailing across the Rhineland and the plains of France, well fêted and fed at every important town[387], their master employed the time of waiting in strengthening his political hold on Central Europe. We have seen that he was seriously alarmed at the possibility of an Austrian war, and alluded to it in his confidential letters to his kinsfolk. But the court of Vienna was slow to stir, and as August and September slipped by without any definite move on the Danube, Bonaparte began to hope that he was to be spared the dangerous problem of waging two European wars at the same time. Meanwhile he assumed an arrogant and blustering tone with the Austrian Government, warning them that though he was withdrawing 100,000 men from Germany, he should replace them with new levies, and was still strong enough to hold his own[388]. Metternich gave prudent and[p. 377] evasive answers, and no immediate signs of a rupture could be discerned. But to make matters sure, the Emperor hastened to invite his ally the Emperor Alexander of Russia to meet him at Erfurt. The ostensible object of the conference was to make a final effort to induce the British Government to accept terms of peace. Its real meaning was that Bonaparte wished to reassure himself concerning the Czar’s intentions, and to see whether he could rely upon the support of Russia in the event of a new Austrian war. There is no need to go into the details of the meeting (September 27 to October 14), of the gathering of four vassal kings and a score of minor princes of the Confederation of the Rhine to do homage to their master, of the feasts and plays and reviews. Suffice it to say that Napoleon got what he wanted, a definite promise from the Czar of an offensive and defensive alliance against all enemies whatsoever: a special mention of Austria was made in the tenth clause of the new treaty[389]. In return Alexander obtained leave to carry out his designs against Finland and the Danubian principalities: his ally was only too glad to see him involved in any enterprise that would distract his attention from Central Europe. The Emperor Francis II hastened to disarm the suspicions of Napoleon by sending to Erfurt an envoy[390] charged with all manner of pacific declarations: they were accepted, but the acceptance was accompanied by a message of scarcely concealed threats[391], which must have touched the court of Vienna to the quick. Strong in his Russian alliance, Bonaparte chose rather to bully than to cajole the prince who, by the strangest of chances, was destined within eighteen months to become his father-in-law. The quiet reception given to his hectoring dispatches showed that, for the present at least, nothing need be feared from the side of Austria. The Emperor’s whole attention could be turned towards Spain. After telling off a few more regiments for service beyond[p. 378] the Pyrenees, and giving leave to the princes of the Confederation of the Rhine to demobilize their armies, he left Erfurt [October 14] and came rushing back across Germany and France to Paris; he stayed there ten days and then started for Bayonne, where he arrived on the twentieth day after the termination of the conference [November 3].

Meanwhile the ostensible purpose of that meeting had been carried out, by the forwarding to the King of England of a joint note in which France and Russia offered him peace on the basis of Uti Possidetis. It was a vague and grandiloquent document, obviously intended for the eye of the public rather than for that of the old King. The two Emperors expatiated on the horrors of war and on the vast changes made of late in the map of Europe. Unless peace were made ‘there might be greater changes still, and all to the disadvantage of the English nation.’ The Continental System was working untold misery, and the cessation of hostilities would be equally advantageous to Great Britain and to her enemies. King George should ‘listen to the voice of humanity,’ and assure the happiness of Europe by consenting to a general pacification.

Though well aware of the hollowness of these protestations, which were only intended to throw on England the odium of continuing the war, the British Cabinet took them into serious consideration. The replies to the two powers were carefully kept separate, and were written, not in the name of the King (for the personal appeal to him was merely a theatrical device), but in that of the ministry. To Russia a very polite answer was returned, but the question on which the possibility of peace rested was brought straight to the front. Would France acknowledge the existing government of Spain as a power with which she was prepared to treat? Canning, who drafted the dispatch, was perfectly well aware that nothing was further from the Emperor’s thoughts, and could not keep himself from adding an ironical clause, to the effect that Napoleon had so often spoken of late of his regard for the dignity and welfare of the Spanish people, that it could not be doubted that he would consent. The late transactions at Bayonne, ‘whose principles were as unjust as their example was dangerous to all legitimate sovereigns,’ must clearly have been carried through without his concurrence or approbation.

The reply to France was still more uncompromising. ‘The[p. 379] King,’ it said, ‘was desirous for peace on honourable terms. The miserable condition of the Continent, to which allusion had been made, was not due to his policy: a system devised for the destruction of British commerce had recoiled on its authors and their instruments.’ But the distress even of his enemies was no source of pleasure to the King, and he would treat at once, if the representatives of Sweden, Portugal, Sicily, and Spain were admitted to take part in the negotiations. It was to be specially stipulated that the ‘Central Junta of Government’ at Madrid was to be a party to any treaty of peace.

The two British notes brought the replies from St. Petersburg and Paris that Canning expected. Count Romanzoff, writing for the Czar, could only state that his master had acknowledged Joseph Bonaparte as King of Spain, and could not recognize the existence of any other legal authority in that kingdom. But if this point (the only really important one) could be got over, the Russian Government was ready to treat on a basis of Uti Possidetis, or any other just and honourable terms. The French reply was, as was natural, couched in very different language. Napoleon had been irritated by Canning’s sarcastic allusions to the failure of the Continental System: he thought the tone of the British note most improper and insulting—‘it comes from the same pen which the English ministry employs to fabricate the swarm of libels with which it inundates the Continent. Such language is despicable, and unworthy of the imperial attention[392].’

Considering the offensive and bullying tone which Bonaparte was wont to use to other powers—his note written to Austria a few days before was a fair example of it—he had little reason to be indignant at the epigrams of the English minister. Yet the latter might perhaps have done well to keep his pen under control, and to forget that he was not writing for the Anti-Jacobin, but composing an official document. Even though Napoleon’s offer was hollow and insincere, it should have been met with dry courtesy rather than with humorous irony.

Of course Bonaparte refused to treat the Spaniards as a free and equal belligerent power. He had declared his brother King of Spain, and had now reached that pitch of blind autolatry in which he regarded his own fiat as the sole source of legality. In common honour England could not abandon the insurgents; for[p. 380] the Emperor to allow his brother’s claim to be ignored was equally impossible. In his present state of mind he would have regarded such a concession to the enemy as an acknowledgement of disgraceful defeat. It was obvious that the war must go on, and when the Emperor suggested that England might treat with him without stipulating for the admission of the Junta as a party to the negotiations[393], he must have been perfectly well aware that he was proposing a dishonourable move which the ministry of Portland could not possibly make. His suggestions as to a separate treaty with England on the basis of Uti Possidetis were futile: he intended that they should be declined, and declined they were. But he had succeeded in his end of posing before the French nation and the European powers as a lover of peace, foiled in his devices by the unbending arrogance of Great Britain. This was all that he had desired, and so far his machinations attained their object[394].

Long before the English replies had been sent off to Champagny and Romanzoff, the much-delayed campaign on the Ebro had commenced. All through the months of August and September the French had behaved as if their adversaries were acting on proper military principles, and might be expected to throw their whole force on the true objective point. Jourdan and his colleagues had no reason to foresee that the Spanish Government would launch out into the hideous series of blunders which, as a matter of fact, were committed. That no commander-in-chief would be appointed, that the victorious troops of Baylen would be held back for weeks in Andalusia, that no strenuous effort would be made to raise new[p. 381] armies in Leon and the two Castiles, were chances that seemed so improbable that King Joseph and his advisers did not take them into consideration. They expected that the Spaniards would mass the armies of Andalusia, Estremadura, Castile, and Aragon, and endeavour to turn their left flank on the side of Sanguesa and Pampeluna, or that (the other rational course) they would send the Asturians, the Andalusians, and the Castilians to join Blake, and debouch down the line of the Upper Ebro, from Reynosa on to Vittoria and Miranda. In the first case 70,000, and in the latter case 80,000 men would be flung against one flank of the French position, and it would be necessary to concentrate in hot haste in order to hold them back. But, as a matter of fact, the Spanish forces did not even come up to the front for many weeks, and when they did appear it was, as we have seen, not in the form of one great army concentrated for a stroke on a single point, but as a number of weak and isolated columns, each threatening a different part of the long line that lay along the Ebro from Miranda to Milagro. When feeble demonstrations were made against so many separate sections of his front, Jourdan supposed that they were skilful feints, intended to cover some serious attack on a weak spot, and acted accordingly, holding back till the enemy should develop his real plan, and refusing to commit himself meanwhile to offensive operations on a serious scale. It must be confessed that the chaotic and inconsequent movements of the Spaniards bore, to the eye of the observer from the outside, something like the appearance of a deep plan. On August 27 the Conde de Montijo, with a column of the Aragonese army, felt his way up the Ebro as far as the bridge of Alfaro, nearly opposite the extreme left flank of the French at Milagro. When attacked by Lefebvre-Desnouettes at the head of a few cavalry and a horse-battery, the Spanish general refused to stand, and retreated on Tudela. Marshal Moncey then pressed him with an infantry division, but Montijo again gave back. The French thought that this move must be a mere diversion, intended to attract their attention to the side of Aragon, for Montijo had acted with such extreme feebleness that it was unnatural to suppose that he was making anything but a feint. They were quite wrong however: Palafox had told the count to push as far up the Ebro as he could, without any thought of favouring operations by Blake or Casta?os, the former of whom was at this moment not far in front of Astorga, while the latter was still at Madrid. Montijo[p. 382] had given way simply because his troops were raw levies, and because there were no supports behind him nearer than Saragossa. It was to no effect, therefore, that King Joseph, after the fighting in front of Alfaro and Tudela, moved his reserves up the river to Miranda, thinking that the real attack must be coming from that side. There was no real attack intended, for the enemy had not as yet brought any considerable force up to the front.

It was not till nearly three weeks later that the Spaniards made another offensive move. This time Blake was the assailant. On September 10 he had at last concentrated the greater part of his army at Reynosa—the centre of roads at the source of the Ebro, of which we have already had to speak on several occasions. He had with him four divisions of the army of Galicia, as well as a ‘vanguard brigade’ and a ‘reserve brigade’ of picked troops from the same quarter. Close behind him were 8,000 Asturians under General Acevedo. The whole came to 32,000 men, but there were no more than 400 cavalry with the corps—a fact which made Blake very anxious to keep to the mountains and to avoid the plains of Old Castile[395]. He had left behind him in Galicia and about Astorga more than 10,000 men of new levies, not yet fit to take the field. There were also some 9,000 Asturians in similar case, held back within the limits of their own principality[396].

In the elaborate plan of operations which had been sketched out at Madrid on September 5, it will be remembered that Blake’s army was intended to co-operate with those of Casta?os and of Eguia. But he paid no attention whatever to the promises which his representative, Infantado, had made in his name, and executed an entirely different movement: there was no commander-in-chief to compel him to act in unison with his colleagues. The Castilian and Estremaduran armies were not ready, and Casta?os had as yet only a feeble vanguard facing the enemy on the Central Ebro, his rear divisions being still far back, on the road from Andalusia. Blake neither asked for nor received any assistance whatever from his colleagues, and set out in the most light-hearted way to attack 70,000 French with his 32,000 Galicians and Asturians.

His plan was to threaten Burgos with a small portion of his[p. 383] army, while with the main body he marched on Bilbao, in order to rouse Biscay to a second revolt, and to turn the right flank of the French along the sea-shore. Accordingly he sent his ‘vanguard’ and ‘reserve’ brigades towards Burgos, by the road that passes by O?a and Briviesca, while with four complete divisions he moved on Bilbao. On the twentieth his leading column turned out of that town General Monthion, who was in garrison there with a weak brigade of details and detachments.

Here at last, as it seemed to Joseph Bonaparte and to Jourdan, was the long-expected main attack of the Spaniards. Accordingly they concentrated to their right, with the object of meeting it. Bessières evacuated Burgos and drew back to the line of the Upper Ebro. He there replaced the King’s reserve, and the incomplete corps that was forming at Miranda and Vittoria under the command of Marshal Ney: thus these troops became available for operations in Biscay. Ney, with two small infantry divisions, marched on Bilbao by way of Durango: Joseph, with the reserve, followed him. But when the Marshal reached the Biscayan capital, the division of Blake’s army[397], which had occupied it for the last six days, retired and took up a defensive attitude in the hills above Valmaceda, twenty miles to the west. Here it was joined by a second division of the Galician army[398], and stood fast in a very difficult country abounding in strong positions. Ney therefore held back, unwilling to attack a force that might be 30,000 strong (for all that he knew) with the 10,000 men that he had brought. Clearly he must wait for King Joseph and the reserve, in case he should find that Blake’s whole army was in front of him.

But the King and his corps failed to appear: Bessières had sent to inform him that Blake, far from having moved his whole army on to Bilbao, had still got the bulk of it in positions from which he could march down the Ebro and attack Miranda and Vittoria. This was to a certain extent true, for the first and second divisions of the Galician army were now at Villarcayo, on the southern side of the Cantabrian hills, a spot from which they could march either northward to Bilbao or eastward to Miranda. Moreover, Blake’s ‘reserve’ and ‘vanguard’ brigades were still about Frias and O?a, whither they had been pushed before the French evacuated Burgos.[p. 384] Bessières, therefore, had much to say in favour of his view, that the point of danger was in the Ebro valley and not in Biscay. King Joseph, convinced by his arguments, left Ney unreinforced, and took post with the 6,000 men of the central reserve at Vittoria. His conclusion that Bilbao was not the true objective of the Spaniards was soon confirmed by other movements of the enemy. The feeble columns of Casta?os were at last showing on the Central Ebro, and Palafox was on the move on the side of Aragon.

Under the idea that all Blake’s Biscayan expedition had been no more than a feint and a diversion, and that the real blow would be struck on the Ebro, Jourdan and the King now directed Ney to come back from Bilbao and to take up his old positions. The Marshal obeyed: leaving General Merlin with 3,000 men in the Biscayan capital, he returned with 7,000 bayonets to La Guardia, on the borders of Alava and Navarre. His old head quarters at Logro?o, beyond the Ebro, had been occupied by the head of one of Casta?os’s columns. He did not attack this force, but merely encamped opposite it, on the northern bank of the river [October 5][399].
Map of part of northern Spain

Enlarge  Part of Northern Spain.

It is now time to review the position and forces of the Spanish armies, which were at last up in the fighting line. Blake’s 32,000 Asturians[400] and Galicians were divided into two masses, at Valmaceda and Villarcayo, on the two sides of the Cantabrian hills. They were within three marches of each other, and the whole could be turned either against Biscay or against Vittoria, as the opportunity might demand. But between Blake and the central divisions of the Spanish army there was a vast gap. This, at a later period of the campaign, was filled up by bringing forward the 12,000 men of the Estremaduran army to Burgos: but this force, insufficient as it was for the purpose, had not reached the front: in the middle of October it had not even arrived at Madrid[401]. There seems to have been at Burgos nothing more than a detached battalion or two, which had occupied the place when Bessières drew back towards the Ebro[402]. Of all the Spanish forces, the nearest organ[p. 385]ized corps on Blake’s right consisted of the main body of this same army of Castile. This division, for it was no more, consisted of about 10,000 or 11,000 men: it contained a few regular corps (Regiment of Cantabria, a battalion of Grenadiers, the Leon Militia) which had been lent to it by the army of Andalusia, and twelve raw Leonese and Castilian battalions, of the new levy which Cuesta had raised. There were also some 800 cavalry with it. The commander was now Pignatelli, for Eguia (who had originally been told off to the post) had fallen sick. This small and inefficient force was at Logro?o on the Central Ebro, having taken possession of that place when it was evacuated by Marshal Ney in the last week of September. A little further down the river lay the 2nd Division of the army of Andalusia, which, under the orders of Coupigny, had taken a creditable part in the battle of Baylen. Released by the Junta of Seville in September, it had at last gone forward and joined Casta?os. But it was somewhat changed in composition, for three of its original fourteen battalions had been withdrawn[403] and sent to Catalonia, while three new Andalusian corps had replaced them. Its commander was now General Grimarest, Coupigny having been told off to another sphere of duty. The division numbered about 6,000 bayonets, with 400 or 500 cavalry, and a single battery. It occupied Lodosa, on the north bank of the Ebro, some twelve miles down-stream from Logro?o. Quite close to its right there lay at Calahorra the 4th Division of the army of Andalusia, under La Pe?a—a somewhat stronger force—about 7,500 foot, with 400 horse and two batteries. The only remaining division of Casta?os’ ‘Army of the Centre’ consisted of the Murcian and Valencian corps under Llamas. This had entered Madrid 8,000 strong on August 13, but one of its regiments had been left behind at Aranjuez to guard the Junta. It now consisted of no more than 7,000 men, and lay at Tudela, in close touch with La Pe?a’s Andalusians. The total, therefore, of Casta?os’ army in the second half of October did not amount to more than 31,000 foot and 3,000 horse. The 1st and 3rd divisions of the Andalusian army, long detained beyond the Morena by the Junta of Seville, were but just commencing to arrive at Madrid:[p. 386] of their 15,000 men less than half reached the front in November, in time to take their share in the rout of Tudela. Even these were not yet at Casta?os’ disposition in October[404].

The right wing of the Spanish army of the Ebro consisted of the raw and half-organized masses composing the army of Aragon. Palafox had succeeded in getting together a great body of men from that loyal province, but he had not been able to form them into a force fit to take the field. Owing to the way in which Aragon had been stripped of regular troops before the commencement of the war, there was no solid body round which the new levies could be organized, and no supply of trained officers to drill or discipline the thousands of eager recruits. It would seem that in all no less than 32,000 were raised, but no force in any degree approaching these numbers took the field. Every village and every mountain valley had contributed its partida or its company, but with the best of wills Palafox had not yet succeeded in incorporating all these small and scattered units into regiments and brigades. Many of them had not even been armed: very few had been properly clothed and equipped. Nevertheless no fewer than thirty-nine battalions in a state of greater or less organization were in existence by the end of October. They varied in strength to the most extraordinary degree: many were no more than 300 strong[405], one or two were enormous and ran up to 1,300 or 1,400 bayonets. Of the whole thirty-nine battalions only three belonged to the old regular army, and these corps—whose total numbers only reached 2,350 men—had been largely diluted with raw recruits[406]. Of the remainder some belonged to the tercios who had taken arms in June, and had served through the first siege of Saragossa, but a large number had only been raised after Verdier had retired from before the city in August. It would seem that[p. 387] the total of Palafox’s Aragonese, who went to the front for the campaign of October and November, was about 12,000 men. The rest were left behind at Saragossa, being not yet organized or equipped for field service.

But Palafox had also in his army troops which did not belong to his native kingdom. These were the Murcians and Valencians of Saint March and O’Neille, who after taking part in the campaign against Moncey, had not marched with Llamas to Madrid, but had turned off to aid in raising the siege of Saragossa. Saint March had brought with him fourteen battalions and a cavalry regiment, O’Neille had with him three more infantry corps. The total of their force reached 11,200 bayonets and 620 sabres. Adding these to the best of his own Aragonese levies, Palafox sent out 23,000 men: of these only about 800 were cavalry[407]. A force such as this, backed by the mass of unorganized levies at Saragossa, was barely sufficient to maintain a defensive position on the frontiers of Aragon. But the Junta, with great unwisdom, came to the conclusion that Palafox was strong enough not only to hold his own against the French in his immediate front, but to spare some troops to reinforce the army of Catalonia. By their orders he told off six battalions—some 4,000 men—who were placed under the command of his brother, the Marquis of Lazan, and dispatched to Lerida with the object of aiding the Captain-General of Catalonia to besiege Duhesme in Barcelona.

Nor was this the only force that was drawn off from the main theatre of the war in order to take part in helping the Catalans, who had hitherto proved quite strong enough to help themselves. The Junta directed Reding, the victor of Baylen, to take command[p. 388] of all the Granadan troops in the army of Andalusia, and lead them to Tortosa with the object of joining Lazan. With Reding there marched nearly 15,000 men[408]: to raise this force all the regiments belonging to the kingdom of Granada had been drafted out from the 1st and 2nd Divisions of Casta?os’ army, which were thus mutilated before they reached the Ebro. To those comparatively veteran troops were added eight new battalions of raw levies—the regiments of Baza, Almeria, Loxa, and Santa Fé. Starting on their long march from Granada on October 8, the head of Reding’s column had only reached Murcia on October 22, and was thus hopelessly distant from any point where it could have been useful when the campaign began[409]. Nor was this the last detachment which the Junta directed on Catalonia: it sent thither part of the prisoners from Lisbon, whom the Convention of Cintra had delivered—3,500 of the men who had once formed the division of Caraffa. Laguna, who now held the command, landed from English transports at La Rapita near Tortosa on October 25, and marched from thence on Tarragona[410].

It is safe to say that of these 23,000 men transferred to Catalonia from Aragon, Granada, and Portugal, every man ought to have been pushed forward to help Casta?os on the Ebro, and not distracted to the side-issue at Barcelona. It was mad to send them thither when the main force facing Jourdan and King Joseph did not yet amount to 75,000 men. Catalonia, with such small aid as the Balearic Islands could give, was strong enough to defend herself against the motley hordes of Duhesme and Reille.

At the moment when the feeble offensive of Casta?os and Palafox began, on the line of the Ebro, the French had some 65,000 men ranged opposite them[411], while a reserve of 10,000 was formed at[p. 389] Bayonne, and the leading columns of the ‘Grand Army’ from Germany were only ten or twelve marches away. Napoleon had, by a decree issued on September 7, recast the form of his army of Spain. It was in the future to consist of seven army corps. The 1st, 4th, and 5th were to be composed of old divisions from the Rhine and the Elbe. Of the forces already on the spot Bessières’ troops were to form the 2nd Corps, Moncey’s the 3rd, the still incomplete divisions under Ney the 6th. The army of Catalonia, where St. Cyr was superseding Reille, formed the 7th Corps[412]. Junot’s army from Portugal, when it once more appeared upon the scene, made the 8th, but in September Napoleon did not yet know of its fate, and it only received its number and its place in the host at a much later date. Many alterations of detail were made in the brigades and divisions that formed the new 2nd and 3rd Corps. All the bataillons de marche were abolished, and their men drafted into the old regiments. The fifteen ‘provisional regiments,’ which had composed the whole of Moncey’s and a considerable part of Bessières’ strength, were taken into the regular establishment of the army, and renumbered as the 114th-120th of the Line and the 33rd Léger, two provisional regiments being told off to form each of the new bodies[413]. There was a certain amount of shifting of units, but in the main the brigades and divisions of these two corps remained intact.

On or about October 8-10 Bessières lay at Miranda and Murguia, guarding against any possible descent of Blake from Villarcayo upon the Upper Ebro. Ney was at La Guardia, facing Pignatelli’s Castilians, who occupied his old head quarters at Logro?o. Moncey had thrown back his left to guard against a possible descent of Palafox upon Navarre, and was behind the line of the river Aragon, with his right at Estella, his centre at Falces and Tafalla, and his left facing Sanguesa, where it was opposed by the advanced division of the army of Palafox under O’Neille. For the Captain-General of Aragon, pleased with a plan proposed to him by Colonel Doyle, the English military attaché in his camp, had resolved to make a long turning movement under the roots of the Pyrenees, exactly parallel to that which Blake was executing at the other end of the line. With this object he sent out from Saragossa, on September 29,[p. 390] O’Neille with a division of Aragonese strengthened by a few Murcian and Valencian battalions, and numbering some 9,000 bayonets. This detachment, marching in a leisurely way, reached Sanguesa on the Upper Aragon, but there stopped short, on getting information that Moncey’s corps lay before it in some strength. Palafox then sent up in support a second division, Saint March’s Murcians and Valencians, who advanced to Egea and there halted. There was considerable bickering all through the second half of October on this line, but Sanguesa remained in the hands of the Spaniards, Moncey being too much distracted by the movements of Casta?os in the direction of Tudela to dare to concentrate his whole force for a blow at Saint March and O’Neille. The latter, on the other hand, had realized that if they pressed further forward towards Pampeluna, as their commander-in-chief had originally intended, they would leave Moncey so much in their rear that he could cut them off both from Saragossa and from the Army of the Centre. Here then matters had come to a deadlock; but the position was all in favour of the French, who lay compactly in the centre, while O’Neille and Saint March were separated from Casta?os by a gap of sixty miles, and Blake on the other wing was about seventy (as the crow flies) from the army of Castile.

SECTION VII: CHAPTER II
THE PRELIMINARY FIGHTING: ARRIVAL OF NAPOLEON

By the middle of October the French and Spanish armies were in presence of each other along the whole line of the Ebro, and it seemed certain that one or other of them must at last take the offensive. Both were still in expectation of reinforcements, but those which the Spaniards could expect to receive within the next few weeks were comparatively unimportant, while their adversaries knew that more than 100,000 men from Germany were due at Bayonne in the last days of October. Clearly it was for Casta?os and his colleagues to make a move now or never. The wasted months of August and September could not be recalled, but there was still time to attack Bessières, Ney, and Moncey, before the arrival of the Emperor and the three veteran corps from the Elbe.

Matters lay thus when the Spanish generals resolved on a perfectly new and wildly impracticable scheme. Casta?os had come to the conclusion—a thoroughly sound one—that his 34,000 men were too few to make a frontal attack on the French on the line between Miranda and Calahorra. He left Madrid on October 13, deeply chagrined to find that the Central Junta had no intention of making him commander-in-chief. Instead of being able to issue orders to the other generals, he must meet them on equal terms and endeavour to cajole them into adopting a common plan of operations. Accordingly he rode to Saragossa to visit Palafox, and after long and not very friendly converse drew out a new plan. The Army of the Centre was to shift itself down the Ebro, leaving the troops of Pignatelli (the ‘Army of Castile’) and of Grimarest (the 2nd Andalusian division) to ‘contain’ Ney and Bessières. The rest were to concentrate at Tudela, where they were to be joined by as many battalions of the Aragonese levies at Saragossa as could take the field. With some 25,000 or 30,000 men at the highest estimate, Casta?os and Palafox were to fall upon Moncey’s flank at the bridge of Caparrosa. Meanwhile O’Neille and Saint March,[p. 392] with the advanced divisions of the army of Aragon, were to break up from Sanguesa, march round Pampeluna by the foot-hills of the Pyrenees, and place themselves across the road to France. Moncey was thus to be surrounded, and a second Baylen was to ensue! Indeed, if Blake could be persuaded to push forward once more to Bilbao, and thence into Guipuzcoa, the whole army of King Joseph (as it was hoped) might be cut off and made prisoners. Eighty thousand men, according to this strange scheme, starting from bases 200 miles apart, were to surround 65,000 French in a most difficult mountain country. Meanwhile the enormous gap between Blake’s right and Casta?os’ left was to remain wholly unguarded, for the army of Estremadura was still in the far distance; while nothing was to be left opposite Bessières and Ney save Pignatelli’s disorderly ‘Army of Castile,’ and Grimarest’s 6,000 Andalusians.

But before the scheme for the cutting off of Moncey had even begun to be carried out, Casta?os and Palafox had a rude awakening. They were themselves attacked by the army which they were so confidently proposing to surround. King Joseph, emboldened by the long delay of his adversaries in advancing, had several times discussed with Jourdan, Bessières, and Ney schemes for taking the offensive. Indeed he had sketched out in September no less than five separate plans for bringing the enemy to an action, and it is probable that he might have tried one of them if he had been allowed a free hand[414]. Napoleon, however, having determined to come to Spain in person, put an embargo on any comprehensive scheme for an advance on Madrid, and restricted his brother to minor operations.

But there was nothing in the Emperor’s instructions which forbade a blow on a small scale, if the Spaniards should grow too daring. There was now a good excuse for such a move, for both Pignatelli and Grimarest had been trespassing beyond the Ebro. They seem to have moved forward quite contrary to the intentions of Casta?os, who at this moment was proposing to refuse battle with his left and centre, and to draw the bulk of his army southward to Tudela. But his two divisional generals pushed so far forward, that they at last drew upon themselves most undesired[p. 393] attentions from the French marshals. Pignatelli had thrown troops across the Ebro to Viana: Grimarest had pushed detachments still further forward into Navarre, to Mendavia, Sesma, and Lerin. Joseph and Jourdan resolved to drive back these outlying posts, and to find out what was behind them. About 25,000 men were put in movement against the 16,000 Spaniards who had so rashly crossed the river. Moncey marched against Grimarest [Oct. 25-6] with two divisions: Ney with a similar force fell upon Pignatelli, while Bessières sent a division down the southern bank of the Ebro by Haro and Briones, to threaten the line of retreat of the army of Castile across the bridge of Logro?o.

Against such forces the Spaniards could do nothing: on the twenty-fifth Ney marched on Viana, and drove in Pignatelli’s advanced guard. On the following day he opened a fierce cannonade upon Logro?o from across the river, while at the same time Bonnet’s division, sent by Bessières, marched upon the town from the hither side of the Ebro. Pignatelli was a craven, and his Castilian levies proved to be the worst of all the material which the Spaniards had brought to the front. General and army vanished in the night, without even stopping to blow up the great bridge, though they had mined it and laid the train in due form. Ney’s officers crossing at dawn found all prepared, except the sappers who should have applied the match[415]! Neither Ney nor Bonnet got in touch with the flying horde: but in sheer panic Pignatelli abandoned his guns by the roadside, and did not stop till he had joined Casta?os at Cintruenigo, near Tudela. His hurried retreat was wholly unnecessary, for the French did not move beyond Logro?o, and Casta?os was able to send out next morning a brigade which picked up the deserted guns and brought them in without molestation. Rightly indignant, the Commander-in-chief removed Pignatelli from his post, and distributed his demoralized battalions among the divisions of Grimarest, La Pe?a, and Llamas[416], leaving in separate existence only a single brigade of six battalions under Cartaojal, which mainly consisted of the few regular battalions that had been lent to Pignatelli to[p. 394] stiffen his raw levies. Thus the ‘Army of Castile’ ceased to exist[417].

On the same day that the Castilians were routed by Ney, the 2nd Andalusian division was severely handled by Moncey. When that Marshal advanced against Lerin and Sesma with the divisions of Morlot and Maurice Mathieu, Grimarest withdrew beyond the Ebro, abandoning by some oversight his vanguard. This force, commanded by a resolute officer, Colonel Cruz-Murgeon, was enveloped at Lerin by the division of Morlot[418]. The colonel shut himself up in the mediaeval castle of that town, and defended himself for two days, in hopes that he might be succoured. But his chief had fled beyond the river, and could not be induced to return by any appeals. On October 27 Cruz-Murgeon had to surrender, after two-thirds of his troops had been killed or wounded. Their obstinate defence was the more creditable because they were all new levies, consisting of a single Andalusian battalion (Tiradores de Cadiz) and a few Catalan volunteers. Marshal Moncey then occupied Lodosa and its bridge, but made no attempt to follow Grimarest, who was able to rejoin his chief without further loss.

Casta?os was greatly disturbed by the vigorous offensive movement of Ney and Moncey. Seeing the French so strong and so confident, he was struck with sudden qualms as to the advisability of the movement on Caparrosa and Pampeluna, which he and Palafox had agreed to carry out. He proposed to his colleague that they should drop their plan for surrounding Moncey, and attempt no more than an attack on his flanks at Caparrosa and Sanguesa. Meanwhile he concentrated the greater part of his army at Calahorra and Tudela [Oct. 29]. The initiative had passed to the French, and if Ney and Moncey did not seize the opportunity for an advance against the Army of the Centre, it was merely because they knew that Napoleon was now close at hand—he reached Bayonne four days later—and would not wish them to attempt anything decisive without his orders.

Meanwhile there arrived from Madrid a deputation from the Supreme Junta, consisting of Francisco Palafox (the younger[p. 395] brother of the Captain-General), of Coupigny, Reding’s colleague at the victory of Baylen, and the intriguing Conde de Montijo. The Junta were indignant that Casta?os had not made bricks without straw. Though they had not given him any appreciable reinforcements, they had expected him to attack the French and win a great victory beyond the Ebro. Conscious that the deputies came to him in no friendly spirit, Casta?os nevertheless received them with all respect, and laid before them the difficulties of his situation. Joseph Palafox came up from Saragossa to join the conference, and after a long and stormy meeting—this was the conference which so disgusted Colonel Graham[419]—it was decided to resume offensive operations [November 5]. The idea was a mad one, for six days before the council of war was held two French army corps, those of Victor and Lefebvre, had crossed the Bidassoa and entered Spain. There were now 110,000 instead of 65,000 enemies in front of the Spanish armies. Moreover, and this was still more important, Napoleon himself had reached Bayonne on November 3.

Nevertheless it was resolved once more to push forward and fall upon Moncey. Casta?os was to leave one division at Calahorra, and to bring the rest of his army over the Ebro to attack the bridge of Caparrosa: O’Neille and Saint March were to come down from Sanguesa to co-operate with him: Joseph Palafox was to bring up the Aragonese reserves from Saragossa. The only sign of prudence that appeared was that the council of war agreed not to commence the attack on Moncey till they had learnt how Blake and the army of Galicia were faring in Biscay. For that general had, as they knew, commenced some days before his second advance on Bilbao. Since the armies on the Central Ebro hung back, it was in the distant region on the coast that the first important collision between the Spaniards and the French reinforcements from Germany was to take place. For a fortnight more there was comparative quiet in front of Tudela and Caparrosa. Meanwhile Casta?os, prostrated by an attack of the gout[420], took to his bed, and the Army of the Centre was abandoned for a few days to the tender mercies of the deputation from Madrid.

There is a strange contrast when we turn from the study of the[p. 396] rash and inconsiderate plans of the Spanish generals to mark the movements of Napoleon. The Emperor had left Erfurt on October 14: on the nineteenth he had reached Paris, where he stayed for ten days, busied not only with the ‘logistics’ of moving the columns of the ‘Grand Army’ across France, but with all manner of administrative work. He had also to arrange the details of the conscription: though he had raised in 1807 the enormous mass of new levies of which we had to speak in an earlier chapter, he now asked for 140,000 men more[421]. Of these, 80,000 were to be drawn from the classes of 1806-9, which had already contributed so heavily to the army. The balance was to be taken from the class of 1810, whose members were still fifteen months below the legal age. From these multitudes of young soldiers every regiment of the army of Spain was to be brought up to full strength, but the majority were destined to reinforce the depleted armies of Germany and Italy, which had been thinned of veterans for the Peninsular War.

On October 25 Bonaparte presided at the opening of the Legislative Assembly, and made a characteristic harangue to its members. He painted the situation of the Empire in the most roseate colours. ‘The sight of this great French family, once torn apart by differences of opinion and domestic hatreds, but now so tranquil, prosperous, and united, had sensibly touched his soul. To be happy himself he only required the assurance that France also was happy. Law, finance, the Church, every branch of the state, seemed in the most flourishing condition. The Empire was strong in its alliances with Russia, the Confederation of the Rhine, Denmark, Switzerland, and Naples. Great Britain, it was true, had landed some troops in the Peninsula, and stirred up insurrections there. But this was a blessing in disguise. The Providence which had so constantly protected the arms of France, had deigned to strike the English ministry with blindness, and to induce them to present an army on the Continent where it was doomed to inevitable destruction. In a few days the Emperor would place himself at the head of his troops, and, with the aid of God, would crown in Madrid the true King of Spain, and plant his eagles on the forts of Lisbon[422].’

[p. 397]

Four days later Bonaparte quitted Paris, and passing hastily through Orleans and Bordeaux reached Bayonne at three o’clock in the morning of November 3. The corps of Victor and Lefebvre, with two divisions of dragoons, were several days ahead of him, and had already crossed the Bidassoa. The Imperial Guard and the divisions destined for Ney[423], as well as a great mass of cavalry, were just converging on the frontier. Mortier’s corps was not very far off: Junot’s army from Portugal had already landed at Quiberon and Rochefort, and was being directed on Bordeaux. All the machinery for the great blow was now ready.

Napoleon profoundly despised the Spanish army and the Spanish generals. His correspondence is full of contemptuous allusions to them: ‘ever since he served at Toulon he knew them for the worst troops in Europe.’ ‘Nothing could be so bad as the Spaniards—they are mere rabble—6,000 French can beat 20,000 of them.’ ‘The whole Spanish army could not turn 15,000 good troops out of a position that had been properly occupied[424].’ Nevertheless he had determined to run no risks: the second Peninsular campaign must not end like the first, in a fiasco and a humiliating retreat. It was for this reason that the Emperor had massed more than 250,000 good troops against the tumultuary levies of the Junta—a force which, in his private opinion, was far more than enough to sweep the whole of his adversaries into the sea before the year 1808 should have run out. Any expedition in which he himself took part must, for the sake of his prestige, be conducted from beginning to end in a series of spectacular triumphs. It was better to use a larger army than was absolutely necessary, in order to make his blows sufficiently heavy, and to get the Spanish business over as rapidly as possible. If the whole Peninsula were overrun in a few months, and resistance had been completely beaten down ere the winter was over, there would be no chance of that intervention on the part of Austria which was the only danger on the political horizon[425].

[p. 398]

Napoleon, therefore, drew out his plans not merely for a triumphant advance on Madrid, but for the complete annihilation of the Spanish armies on the Ebro and in Biscay. From a careful study of the dispatches of his lieutenants, he had realized the existence of the great gap in the direction of Burgos between the armies of Blake and of Casta?os. His plan of campaign, stated shortly, was to burst in through this gap, so as to separate the Spanish armies on his left and right, and then to wheel troops outwards in both directions so as to surround and annihilate them. Both Blake and Palafox were, at this moment, playing the game that he most desired. The further that the former pressed onward into Biscay, the nearer that the latter drew to the roots of the Pyrenees, the more did they expose themselves to being encompassed by great masses of troops breaking out from Burgos and Logro?o to fall upon their flank and rear. When the Emperor drew up his scheme he knew that Blake was in front of Zornoza, and that the bulk of the army of Aragon was at Sanguesa. Meanwhile the French advanced divisions were in possession of Miranda, Logro?o, and Lodosa, the three chief passages over the Upper Ebro. A glance at the map is sufficient to show that the moment that the Emperor and his reserves reached Vittoria the Spanish armies were in the most perilous position. It would suffice to order a march on Burgos on the one hand and on Tudela on the other, and then the troops of Aragon and Galicia would not merely be cut off from any possible retreat on Madrid, but run grave danger of annihilation. A further advance of the French would probably thrust the one against the Pyrenees, and roll the other into the Bay of Biscay.

For this reason it was the Emperor’s wish that his lieutenants should refrain from attacking Blake and Palafox till he himself was ready to march on Burgos. For any premature advance against the Spaniards might force them to retreat from their dangerous advanced positions, and fall back the one on Reynosa the other on Saragossa, where they would be much less exposed.

The distribution of the ‘Grand Army’ was to be as follows. Lefebvre with the 4th Corps was to present himself in front of[p. 399] Blake between Durango and Zornoza, and to hold him fast without pressing him. Moncey with the 3rd Corps, in a similar way, was to ‘contain’ Palafox and Casta?os from his posts at Lodosa, Caparrosa, and Tafalla. Meanwhile Victor, with the newly arrived 1st Corps, was to endeavour to get into Blake’s rear, by the road Vittoria—Murguia—Ordu?a. The main body of the army, consisting of the troops of Bessières and Ney, King Joseph’s reserve, the Imperial Guard, and four divisions of cavalry, was to march on Burgos. Napoleon knew that there was no large body of Spaniards in that place: he expected to find there Pignatelli’s ‘Army of Castile,’ but this force (as we have seen) had ceased to exist, having been drafted with ignominy into the ranks of the army of Andalusia[426]. As a matter of fact Burgos was now occupied by a new force from the second line—the long-expected army of Estremadura, some 12,000 strong, which had at last come up from Madrid and taken its place at the front. But Napoleon’s reasoning still held good: any Spanish army that might chance to be at Burgos must be overwhelmed by the enormous mass of troops that was about to be hurled upon it. The moment that it was disposed of, Ney with the 6th Corps was to wheel to the east, and march by Aranda and Soria, so as to place himself between Casta?os and Palafox and Madrid. Then he would turn their flank at Tarazona and Tudela, and—in conjunction with Moncey—drive them northward against the Pyrenees. In a similar way, upon the other flank, the 2nd Corps was to wheel to the north-west and march from Burgos on Reynosa, there to intercept Blake, if he had not already been cut off by Victor’s shorter turning movement. Meanwhile the Emperor with the rest of his army, followed by the new reserves (Mortier’s corps and other troops) which were due from France, would march straight from Burgos on Madrid, force the defiles of the Somosierra and Guadarrama, and seize the Spanish capital. He was well aware that there would be no serious hostile force in front of him, since the armies of Blake, Palafox, and Casta?os were all provided for. He does not seem to have known of the army of Estremadura, or to have had any idea that the English forces from[p. 400] Portugal might conceivably be on their way to cover Madrid. There is no mention of Sir John Moore and his host in the imperial dispatches till December 5.

All being ready, Bonaparte rode out of Bayonne on November 4, having stayed there only thirty-six hours. Before leaving he had received one vexatious piece of news: Lefebvre, in direct disobedience to his orders, had attacked Blake on October 31, and forced him back beyond Bilbao. This made the plan for the cutting off of the army of Galicia a little more difficult, since the Spaniards were now forty miles further back, and not nearly so much exposed as they had been hitherto. But it was still not impossible that Victor might succeed in circumventing them, and forcing them into the Bay of Biscay.

It is impossible to withhold our admiration from the Emperor’s simple yet all-embracing plan of operations. It is true that the campaign was made more easy by the fact that he was dealing with raw and undisciplined armies and inexpert generals. It is also clear that he rightly reckoned on having two men in the field against every one whom the Spaniards could produce. But the excellence of a scheme is not to be judged merely by the difficulties in its way; and military genius can be displayed in dealing with an easy as well as with a dangerous problem. Half a dozen other plans for conducting the invasion of Spain might have been drawn up, but it is impossible to see that any better one could have been constructed. In its main lines it was carried out with complete success: the armies of the Junta were scattered to the winds, and Madrid fell almost without a blow.

It was only when the capital had been occupied, and the troops of Blake and Belvedere, of Casta?os and Palafox were flying devious over half the provinces of Spain, that the difficulties of the Peninsular War began to develop themselves. Napoleon had never before had any experience of the character of guerilla warfare, or the kind of resistance that can be offered by a proud and revengeful nation which has made up its mind never to submit to the conqueror. In his complete ignorance of Spain and the Spaniards, he imagined that he had a very simple campaign to conduct. The subjugation of the Peninsula was to him an ordinary military problem, like the invasion of Lombardy or of Prussia, and he went forth in cheerful confidence to ‘plant the eagles of France on the forts of Lisbon,’ and to ‘drive the Britannic[p. 401] leopard from the soil of the Peninsula, which it defiles by its presence.’ But the last chapter of this story was to be told not at Lisbon but at Toulouse: and ‘the Beneficent Providence which had deigned to strike the British ministry with such blindness that they had been induced to send an army to the Continent[427],’ had other designs than Bonaparte supposed.
SECTION VII: CHAPTER III
THE MISFORTUNES OF JOACHIM BLAKE: ZORNOZA AND ESPINOSA DE LOS MONTEROS

The campaign of November 1808 was fought out upon three separate theatres of war, though every movement of the French armies which engaged in it formed part of a single plan, and was properly linked to the operations which were progressing upon other sections of the front. The working out of Napoleon’s great scheme, therefore, must be dealt with under three heads—the destruction of Blake’s ‘Army of the Left’ in the north-west; the rout of the armies of Andalusia and Aragon upon the banks of the Ebro; and the central advance of the Emperor upon Burgos and Madrid, which completed the plan.

We must first deal with the misfortunes of Blake and his Galician host, both on chronological grounds—it was he who first felt the weight of the French arms—and also because Napoleon rightly attached more importance to the destruction of this, the most formidable of the Spanish armies, than to the other operations which he was carrying out at the same moment.

It will be remembered that after his first abortive expedition against Bilbao, and his retreat before Ney [October 5], Blake had fallen back to Valmaceda. Finding that he was not pursued, he drew up to that point the divisions which he had hitherto kept in the upper valley of the Ebro, and prepared to advance again, this time with his whole army massed for a bold stroke. On October 11 he again marched into Biscay, and drove out of Bilbao the division of General Merlin, which Ney had left behind him to hold the line of the Nervion. On the twelfth this small force fell back on Zornoza and Durango, and halted at the latter place, after having been reinforced from King Joseph’s reserve at Vittoria. Verdier headed the succours, which consisted of three battalions of the Imperial Guard, two battalions of the 118th Regiment, two battalions of Joseph’s own Royal Guards, and the 36th Regiment, which had just come up from France. When strengthened by these 7,000 men, Merlin considered himself able to make a stand, and[p. 403] took up a strong position in front of Durango, the important point at which the roads from Bayonne and from Vittoria to Bilbao meet.

When committing himself to his second expedition into Biscay, Blake was not wholly unaware of the dangers of the step, though he failed to realize them at their full value, since (in common with the other Spanish generals) he greatly underrated the strength of the French army on the Ebro. He intended to carry out his original plan of cutting off Bessières and King Joseph from their retreat on Bayonne, by forcing the position of Durango, and seizing the high-road at Bergara; but he was aware that an advance to that point had its dangers. As long as his divisions had lain in or about Villarcayo and Valmaceda, he had a perfectly clear line of retreat westward in the event of a disaster. But the moment that he pushed forward beyond Bilbao, he could be attacked in flank and rear by any troops whom the King might send up from the valley of the Ebro, by the two mountain-roads which run from Vittoria to the Biscayan capital. One of these is the main route from Vittoria to Bilbao via Murguia and Ordu?a. The other is a more obscure and difficult path, which leads across the rough watershed from Vittoria by Villareal and Villaro to Bilbao. Aware of the fact that he might be assailed by either of these two passes, Blake told off a strong covering force to hold them. Half of Acevedo’s Asturian division, 4,000 strong, was placed at Ordu?a: the other half, with the whole of Martinengo’s 2nd Division of Galicia, 8,500 bayonets in all, took its post in the direction of Villaro. These detachments were eminently justifiable, but they had the unfortunate result of enfeebling the main force that remained available for the stroke at the French in front of Durango. For that operation Blake could only count on his 1st, 3rd, and 4th Divisions, as well as the ‘Vanguard’ and ‘Reserve’ Brigades—a total of 18,000 men[428].

[p. 404]

Blake had seized Bilbao on October 11: it is astonishing therefore to find that he made no forward movement till the twenty-fourth. By this sluggishness he sacrificed his chance of crushing Merlin before he could be reinforced, and—what was far worse—allowed the leading columns of the ‘Grand Army’ to reach Irun. If he had pressed forward on the twelfth or thirteenth, they would still have been many marches away, trailing across Guyenne and Gascony. Having once put his hand to such a dangerous man?uvre as that of pushing between the French flank and the northern sea, Blake was most unwise to leave the enemy time to divine his object and to concentrate against him. A rapid stroke at Durango and Bergara, so as to cut the great high-road to France in the rear of Bessières, was his only chance. Such an attempt would probably have landed him in ultimate disaster, for the enemy (even before the ‘Grand Army’ arrived) were far more numerous than he supposed. He had valued them at 40,000 men, while they were really 64,000 strong. But having framed the plan, he should at least have made a strenuous attempt to carry it out. It is possible to explain but not to excuse his delay: his army was not equipped for a winter campaign, and the snow was beginning to lie on the upper slopes of the Cantabrian hills and the Pyrenees. While he was vainly trying to obtain great-coats and shoes for his somewhat tattered army, from the Central Junta or the English, and while he was accumulating stores in Bilbao, the days slipped by with fatal rapidity.

It was not till October 24 that he at last moved forward from Bilbao, and committed himself to the now hopeless task of clearing the way to Durango and Bergara. On that day his advanced guard drove Merlin’s outlying posts from their positions, and came face to face with the French main body, drawn out on the hillsides of Baquijano, a few miles in front of Durango. The enemy expected him to attack next day, but he had just received confused notices from the peasantry to the effect that enormous reinforcements had reached Irun and San Sebastian, and were within supporting distance of the comparatively small force with which he had hitherto been dealing. This information threw him back into the condition of doubt and hesitation from which he had for a moment emerged, and he proceeded to halt for another full week in front of the Durango position. Yet it was clear that there were only two rational alternatives before him: one was to attack Merlin and[p. 405] Verdier before they could draw succour from the newly arrived corps. The other was to fall back at once to a position in which he could not be enveloped and outflanked, i.e. to retire behind Bilbao, holding that town with nothing more than a small detachment which could easily get away if attacked. But Blake did nothing, and waited in the supremely dangerous post of Zornoza, in front of Durango, till the enemy fell upon him at his leisure.

The troops whose arrival at Irun had been reported consisted of the two leading divisions of the 4th Corps, that of Lefebvre, and of the whole of the 1st Corps, that of Victor. The former, arriving as early as October 18, only seven days after Blake captured Bilbao, marched westward, and replaced Merlin and Verdier in the Durango position. The troops of these two generals were directed by King Joseph to rejoin their proper commanders when relieved, so Verdier led the Guards back to the central reserve, while Merlin reported himself to Ney, at La Guardia. To compensate Lefebvre for their departure, and for the non-arrival of his third division, that of Valence, which still lay far to the rear, Villatte’s division of the 1st Corps was sent to Durango. Marshal Victor himself, with his other two divisions, took the road to Vittoria, and from thence, at the King’s orders, transferred himself to Murguia, on the cross-road over the mountains to Bilbao. Here he was in a position to strike at Blake’s rear, after driving off the 4,000 men of Acevedo’s Asturian division, who (as it will be remembered) had been told off by the Spanish General to cover this road[429].

King Joseph, inclining for once to a bold stroke, wished to push Victor across the hills on to Bilbao, while Lefebvre should advance along the high-road and drive Blake into the trap. Bessières at the same moment might move a division by Ordu?a and Oquendo, and place himself at Valmaceda, which Blake would have to pass if he escaped from Victor at Bilbao. This plan was eminently sound, for there was no doubt that the two marshals, who had at their disposal some 35,000 men, could easily have brushed out of their way the two divisions under Acevedo and Martinengo which Blake had left behind him in the passes. Nothing could have prevented them from seizing Bilbao and Valmaceda, and the Spanish army would have been surrounded and captured. At[p. 406] the best some part of it might have escaped along the coast-road to Santander, if its commander detected ere it was too late the full danger of his position.

This scheme, however, was not carried out: Bessières, Victor, and Ney showed themselves opposed to it: Napoleon had announced that he intended ere long to appear in person, and that he did not wish to have matters hurried before his arrival. His obsequious lieutenants refused to concur in any great general movement which might not win his approval. Victor, in particular, urged that he had been ordered to have the whole of the 1st Corps concentrated at Vittoria, and that if he marched northward into Biscay he would be violating his master’s express command[430]. Joseph and Jourdan, therefore, resolved to defer the execution of their plan for the annihilation of Blake, and sent orders to Lefebvre to maintain his defensive position at Durango, and make no forward movement. In so doing they were acting exactly as the Emperor desired.

They had forgotten, however, to reckon with the personal ambition of the old Duke of Dantzig. Lefebvre, in spite of his many campaigns, had never before had the chance of fighting on his own account a pitched battle of the first class. The Spanish army had been lying before him for a week doing nothing, its commander being evidently afraid to attack. Its force was not very great—indeed it was outnumbered by that of the Marshal whose three divisions counted not less than 21,000 bayonets[431]. Noting with the eye of an old soldier Blake’s indecision and obvious timidity, he could not resist the temptation of falling upon him. Notwithstanding the King’s orders, he resolved to strike, covering his disobedience by a futile excuse to the effect that he had observed preparations for taking the offensive on the part of the enemy, and that his outposts had been attacked.

[p. 407]

Blake’s army lay before him, posted in three lines, with the village of Zornoza to its rear. In front, on a range of comparatively low hills, was the ‘Vanguard Brigade,’ drawn up across the road with the 1st Division of Galicia to its left on somewhat higher ground. They were supported by the 3rd and 4th Divisions, while the ‘Reserve Brigade’ occupied the houses of Zornoza to the rear of all. There were only six guns with the army, as Blake had sent the rest of his artillery to the rear, when advancing into the mountains: this single battery lay with the Vanguard on the lower heights. The whole amounted to 19,000 men, a slight reinforcement having just come to hand by the arrival of the 1st Catalonian Light Infantry[432], the advanced guard of La Romana’s army from the Baltic. That general, having landed at Santander on October 11, had reorganized his force as the ‘5th Division of the army of Galicia’ and sent it forward under his senior brigadier, the Conde de San Roman. But only the single Catalonian battalion had passed Bilbao at the moment when Lefebvre delivered his attack.

The plan of the Marshal’s advance was quite simple. The division of Villatte drove in the front line of the Spanish right, and then spread itself out on a long front threatening to turn Blake’s flank. That of Sebastiani, formed in a single dense column, marched along the high-road at the bottom of the valley to pierce the Spanish centre; meanwhile Leval’s Germans attacked the left wing of the enemy, the 1st Division of the army of Galicia[433]. A dense fog, a common phenomenon in the Pyrenees in the late autumn, hid the advance of the French, so that they were close upon the front line of Blake’s army before they were observed. The first line was easily driven in, but the whole army rallied on the heights of San Martin and stood at bay. Lefebvre cannonaded them for some time, without meeting with any reply, for Blake had hurried off his single battery to the rear when his first line gave way. Then the Marshal sent in the ten battalions of the division of Sebastiani, who completely cut through the Spanish centre, and left the two wings in isolated and dangerous positions. Without waiting for further developments, Blake gave way and ordered a retreat on Bilbao and Valmaceda. His intact wing-divisions[p. 408] covered the retreat, and though badly beaten he got away with very small loss, no more than 300 killed and wounded, and about the same number of prisoners. The French casualties were insignificant, not amounting in all to more than 200 men. The whole combat, indeed, though 40,000 men were on the field, was very short and not at all costly. The fact was that Blake had been surprised, and had given way at the first push, without making a serious attempt to defend himself. His sending away the guns, at the very commencement of the action, makes it sufficiently clear that he did not hope for ultimate success, and was already contemplating a retreat on Bilbao. His army, if properly handled, could have made a much more creditable fight; in fact it was tactically beaten rather than defeated by force of arms. It made its retreat in very fair order, and was irritated rather than cowed by the check which it had received. English eye-witnesses vouch for the steadiness and good spirit shown by the troops[434].

Immediately after giving orders for a general retreat behind the river Nervion, Blake had sent dispatches to the two divisions of Acevedo and Martinengo, which were covering his flank against a possible turning movement from the valley of the Ebro. They were told to save themselves, by falling back at once to Bilbao and joining the main army in its retreat. The part of the Asturian division which lay at Ordu?a succeeded in carrying out this order. But the remainder of Acevedo’s men and the whole of those of Martinengo—some 8,000 bayonets in all—were at Villaro, a point higher up in the mountains, on a much more difficult road, and closer to the French. They received Blake’s dispatch too late, and on pushing down the northern side of the pass which they had been holding, they learnt at Miravalles, only ten miles from Bilbao, that the latter town was in the hands of the French. Blake had evacuated it on the early morning of November 1, and Lefebvre had occupied it on the same night. Urging his pursuit some way beyond Bilbao in the hope of overtaking Blake, the duke pushed as far as Valmaceda: but even here the Galician army would make no stand, but fell back still further westward to Nava. Seeing that he could not reach his adversary, Lefebvre left the division of Villatte at Valmaceda to observe Blake, and returned with those of Sebastiani and Leval to Bilbao, to feed and rest his men in the town, after four days of marching in the mountains with very insufficient supplies. This[p. 409] was a very dangerous step, for Blake had been outman?uvred rather than beaten, and was still far too strong to be contained by a mere 7,000 men.

When therefore Acevedo and his column drew near to Bilbao, they learnt that 13,000 French troops blocked their road towards Blake [Nov. 3]. They drew back a little up the pass, keeping very quiet, and very fortunately failed to attract the attention of Lefebvre, who thought at the most that there were some bands of stragglers in the mountains on his left.

But their situation was still most uncomfortable, for their rearguard began to report that French troops were pushing up from Vittoria and entering the southern end of the defile in which they were blocked. King Joseph had been much vexed to hear of Lefebvre’s disobedience to his orders at Zornoza, but, wishing to draw what profit he could from the victory, sent Victor up the Murguia—Ordu?a road, with orders to cut in upon the line of Blake’s retreat. This the Duke of Belluno failed to accomplish, on account of the rapidity with which the Spanish army had retired. But reaching Amurrio, a few miles beyond Ordu?a, he came upon the flank of Acevedo’s column, whose head was blocked at Miravalles, ten miles further north, by the presence of Lefebvre at Bilbao. If either marshal had realized the situation, the 8,000 Spaniards, caught in a defile without lateral issues, must have surrendered en masse. But Victor had only one division with him, the other was far behind: and imagining that he had chanced upon the whole of Blake’s army he came to a dead stop, while Lefebvre, not yet aware of Victor’s approach, did not move at all. Acevedo wisely kept quiet, and tried to slip across Victor’s front towards Orantia and the river Salcedon: meanwhile the news of his situation reached Blake.

That general was never wanting in personal courage, and had been deeply distressed to hear that his flanking detachment had been cut off. Realizing Acevedo’s danger he resolved to make a sudden ‘offensive return’ against Lefebvre, and to endeavour to clear for a moment the road from Miravalles to Valmaceda, by which his subordinate could escape. On the night of November 4 he concentrated his whole army, which had now been raised to 24,000 men by the arrival of the main body of La Romana’s division from Santander. At dawn on the fifth he fell upon the enemy in his front, by the two roads on each side of the river Salcedon, sending[p. 410] one division[435] and the ‘Vanguard Brigade’ to attack Valmaceda, and two[436] and the ‘Reserve Brigade’ by Orantia along the southern bank of the stream. Villatte had been holding both these paths; but on seeing the heavy forces deployed against him, he withdrew from Orantia and concentrated at Valmaceda. This left the path clear for Acevedo, who escaped along the hillsides without being molested by Victor’s advanced guard, and got into communication with his chief. The inactivity of Victor is inexplicable: when he saw the Asturian division pushing hastily across his front, he should have attacked it at all costs; but though he heard plainly the cannonade of Villatte’s fight with Blake at Valmaceda, he held back, and finally retired on Ordu?a when Acevedo had got out of sight[437]. His only excuse was that he had heard the distant roar of battle die down, and concluded therefore that Villatte (who as he supposed might be supported by the whole of Lefebvre’s corps) must have been victorious.

As a matter of fact the isolated French division had almost suffered the fate that should have befallen the Asturians. Driven out of Valmaceda by Blake, it was falling back on Guenes when it came across Acevedo’s men marching on the opposite side of the Salcedon to join their comrades. Thereupon the Asturian general threw some of his men[438] across the stream to intercept the retiring column. Villatte formed his troops in a solid mass and broke through, but left behind him one gun (an eight-pounder), many of his baggage-wagons, and 300 prisoners. That he escaped at all is a fine testimony to his resolution and his capable handling of his troops, for he had been most wantonly exposed to destruction by Victor’s timidity and Lefebvre’s carelessness [November 5].

[p. 411]

On hearing of Villatte’s desperate situation, the Duke of Dantzig had realized the consequences of his unjustifiable retreat to Bilbao, and marched up in hot haste with the divisions of Sebastiani and Leval. He was relieved to find that Villatte had extricated himself, and resolved to punish Blake for his unexpected offensive move. But he was unable to do his adversary much harm: the Galician general had only advanced in order to save Acevedo, and did not intend to engage in any serious fighting. When Lefebvre moved forward he found that the Spaniards would not stand. Blake had pushed out two flanking divisions to turn the position at Guenes, on to which Villatte had fallen back, and had his main body placed in front of it. But when Lefebvre advanced, the whole Galician army fell back, only fighting two rearguard actions on November 7, in which they suffered small loss. On the next day there was a more serious engagement of the same sort at Valmaceda, to which the Galicians had withdrawn on the previous night. The troops with which Blake covered his retreat were hustled out of the town with the loss of 150 killed and wounded, and 600 missing[439]. In his dispatches the Spanish general explains that he retreated not because he could not have made a better resistance, but because he had used up all his provisions, and was prevented by the bad weather and the state of the roads from drawing further supplies from Santander and Reynosa, the two nearest points at which they could be procured. For Western Biscay had been eaten bare by the large forces that had been crossing and re-crossing it during the last two months, and was absolutely incapable of feeding the army for a single day. The men too were in a wretched condition, not only from hunger[440] but from bad equipment: hardly any of them had received great-coats, their shoes were worn out, and sickness was very prevalent. An appreciable number of the raw Galician and Asturian levies deserted during the miserable retreat from Guenes and Valmaceda to Espinosa de los Monteros, the next point on the Bilbao-Reynosa road at which Blake stood at bay. When he reached that place he was short of some 6,000 men, less[p. 412] from losses in battle than from wholesale straggling. Moreover he was for the moment deprived of the aid of the greater part of one of his divisions. This was the 4th Galician division, that of General Carbajal: it had formed the extreme left of the army, and had lain nearest to the sea during the fighting about Guenes and Valmaceda. Cut off from the main body, a large portion of it had retreated by the coast-road towards Santander, and only a fraction of it had rejoined the commander-in-chief[441]. The total of Blake’s forces would have been nearly 40,000[442], if his army had been still at the strength with which each corps started on the campaign. But for its decisive battle he had no more than 23,000 in hand.

Beyond Valmaceda he had been pursued no longer by Lefebvre, but by Victor. The latter, soundly rebuked by the Emperor for his inactivity on November 5, had advanced again from Ordu?a, had picked up the division of Villatte—which properly belonged to his corps—and had then taken the lead in pressing Blake. Lefebvre, reduced to his original force—the 13,000 men of Sebastiani and Leval, followed as far as the end of the defile of El Berron, and then turned off by a flanking road which reaches the upper valley of the Ebro at Medina de Pomar. He intended to strike[p. 413] at Villarcayo and Reynosa, and to intercept Blake’s retreat at one of these two points. If he arrived there before the Galicians, who would be delayed by the necessity of fighting continual rearguard actions with Victor, he hoped that the whole of the Spanish army might be surrounded and captured.
Map of battle of Espinosa

Enlarge  Battle of Espinosa. November 11th, 1808.

In this expectation he was disappointed, for matters came to a head before he was near enough to exercise any influence on the approaching battle. On November 10 Blake turned to bay: his rearguard, composed of the troops from the Baltic, had been so much harassed and detained by the incessant attacks of Victor’s leading division, that its commander, the Conde de San Roman, sent to the general to ask for aid. Unless supported by more troops he would be surrounded and cut off. Tempted by the strong defensive position in front of the picturesque old town of Espinosa de los Monteros, Blake directed the rearguard to take post there, and brought up the whole of the rest of his army into line with them. At this point the high-road along the river Trueba, after passing through a small plain (the Campo de Pedralva), reaches a defile almost blocked by the little town of Espinosa, for steep hills descending from each flank narrow the breadth of the passage to half a mile. Here Blake occupied a semicircular position of considerable strength. The troops of San Roman took post at its southern end, on a hill above the high-road, and close to the river’s edge. The line was prolonged to the north of them, across the narrow space of level ground, by the Vanguard Brigade (Mendizabal) and the 3rd Division (Riquelme). Where the ground begins to rise again lay the 1st Division (Figueroa), and on the extreme left, far to the north, the Asturians of Acevedo occupied a lofty ridge called Las Pe?ucas. Here they were so strongly placed that it seemed unlikely that they could either be turned or dislodged by a frontal attack. The rest of the army formed a second line: the Reserve Brigade (Mahy) was in the rear of the centre, in the suburb of Espinosa. The 2nd Division (Martinengo) and the small remains of the 4th Division lay behind San Roman, near the Trueba, to support the right wing, along the line of the high-road. The whole amounted to something between 22,000 and 23,000 men, but there were only six guns with the army—the same light battery which had fought at Zornoza. They were posted on the right-centre, with Mendizabal’s brigade, in a position from which they could sweep the level ground in front of Espinosa.[p. 414] Blake also called up to his aid the one outlying force that was within reach, a brigade under General Malaspina, which lay at Villarcayo, guarding the dép?t which had been there established. But these 2,500 men and the six guns which they had with them were prevented, as we shall see, from reaching the field[443].

The position of Espinosa was most defensible: its projecting wings were each strong, and its centre, drawn far back, could not prudently be attacked as long as the flanking heights were in the hands of the Spaniards. But the pursuing French were under the impression that the Galician army was so thoroughly demoralized, and worn out by hunger and cold, that it would not stand. Victor had with him the infantry of his own corps, some 21,000 strong: Villatte’s division, which led the pursuit, dashed at the enemy as soon as it came upon the field. Six battalions drew up opposite the Spanish centre, to contain any sally that it might make, while the other six swerved to the left and made a desperate attack on the division from the Baltic, which held the heights immediately above the banks of the Trueba[444]. San Roman’s troops, the pick of the Spanish army, made a fine defence, and after two hours of hard fighting retained their position.

At this moment—it was about three o’clock in the short winter afternoon—Victor himself came on the scene, bringing with him his other two divisions, the twenty-two battalions of Ruffin and Lapisse. The Marshal was anxious to vindicate himself from the charge of slackness which his master had made against him for his conduct on November 5, and pushed his men hastily to the front. Nine fresh battalions—a brigade of Ruffin’s and a regiment of Lapisse’s division—attacked again the heights from which Villatte had been repulsed[445]. There followed a very fierce fight, and Blake only succeeded in holding his ground by bringing up to the aid of the regiments from the Baltic the whole of his 3rd Division and part of his 2nd. At dusk the heights were still in Spanish hands, and Victor’s corps was obliged to draw back into the woods at the foot of the position.

This engagement was most creditable to Blake’s army: the lie[p. 415] of the ground was in their favour, but considering their fatigue and semi-starvation they did very well in repulsing equal numbers of the best French troops. They were aided by the reckless manner in which Villatte and Victor attacked: it was not consonant with true military principles that the van should commit itself to a desperate fight before the main body came up, or that a strong position should be assailed without the least attempt at a preliminary reconnaissance.

Next day the Marshal, taught caution by his repulse, resumed the action in a more scientific fashion. He came to the conclusion that Blake would have been induced by the battle of the previous day, to strengthen his right, and in this he was perfectly correct. The Spaniard had shifted all his reserves towards the high-road and the banks of the Trueba, expecting to be attacked on the same ground as on the previous day. But Victor, making no more than a demonstration on this point, sent the greater part of Lapisse’s division to attack the extreme left of Blake’s line—the Asturian troops who held the high ridge to the north of Espinosa. Here the position was very strong, but the troops were not equal in quality to the veteran battalions from the Baltic[446]. When the French pressed up the hill covered by a thick cloud of skirmishers, the Asturians fell into disorder. Their general, Acevedo, and his brigadiers, Quiros and Valdes, were all struck down while trying to lead forward their wavering troops. Finally the whole division gave way and fled down the back of the hill towards Espinosa. Their rout left the enemy in possession of the high ground, which completely commanded the Spanish centre, and General Maison, who had led the attack, fully used his advantage. He fell upon the Galician 1st Division from the flank, while at the same moment Victor ordered his entire line to advance, and assailed the whole of Blake’s front. Such an assault could not fail, and the Spaniards gave way in all directions, and escaped by fording the Trueba and flying over the hillsides towards Reynosa. They had to abandon their six guns and the whole of their baggage, which lay parked behind Espinosa. The losses in killed and wounded were not very heavy—indeed many more were hurt in the hard fighting of November 10 than in the rout of November 11: it is probable that[p. 416] the whole of the Spanish casualties did not exceed 3,000 men: nor were many prisoners captured, for formed troops cannot pursue fugitives who have broken their ranks and taken to the hills. The main loss to Blake’s army came from straggling and desertion after the battle, for the routed battalions, when once scattered over the face of the country, did not easily rally to their colours. When Blake reassembled his force at Reynosa he could only show some 12,000 half-starved men out of the 23,000 who had stood in line at Espinosa. The loss in battle had fallen most heavily on the division from the Baltic—their commander, San Roman, with about 1,000 of his men had fallen in their very creditable struggle on the first day of the fight[447]. Victor’s triumph had not been bloodless: in the repulse of the tenth the fifteen battalions which had tried to storm the heights had all suffered appreciable losses: the total of French casualties on the two days cannot have fallen below 1,000 killed and wounded.

To complete the story of Blake’s retreat, it is only necessary to mention that the detached brigade under Malaspina, which he had called up from Villarcayo to Espinosa, was never able to rejoin. On its way it fell in with Marshal Lefebvre’s corps, marching to outflank the retreat of the Galician army. Attacked by Sebastiani’s division, Malaspina had to turn off and make a hasty and isolated retreat, sacrificing his six guns. The driving away of his small force was the only practical work done in this part of the campaign by the 4th Corps: its long turning movement was rendered useless by Blake’s rapid retreat across its front to Reynosa.
SECTION VII: CHAPTER IV
NAPOLEON CROSSES THE EBRO: THE ROUT OF GAMONAL: SOULT’S PURSUIT OF BLAKE

After resting for only thirty-six hours at Bayonne the Emperor, as we have already seen, pushed on to Vittoria, where he arrived on November 6. He found in and about that ancient city the bulk of the Imperial Guard, his brother Joseph’s reserves, the light cavalry of Beaumont and Franceschi, and the heavy cavalry of Latour-Maubourg and Milhaud. The divisions of Marchand and Bisson, which were to complete the corps of Ney, were close behind him, so that he had under his hand a mass of at least 40,000 men. The 2nd Corps, which Bessières had so long commanded, was in front of him at Pancorbo, just beyond the Ebro. Victor and Lefebvre, very busy with Blake, lay on his right hand with some 35,000 men. The troops which had hitherto been under Ney, with Moncey’s 3rd Corps, were on his right—the former at Logro?o, the latter at Caparrosa and Lodosa. They were in close touch with the armies of Casta?os and Palafox.

All was ready for the great stroke, and on the day of his arrival the Emperor gave orders for the general advance, bidding Bessières (whose corps formed his vanguard) to march at once on Burgos and sweep out of it whatever troops he might find in his front. Napoleon imagined that the force in this section of the Spanish line would turn out to be Pignatelli’s ‘Army of Castile,’ but that very untrustworthy body had ceased to exist, and had been drafted into the ranks of the army of Andalusia[448]. It was really with the newly arrived army of Estremadura that the 2nd Corps had to deal.

Everything seemed to promise a successful issue to the Emperor’s plan: the enemy had only a trifling force in front of him at Burgos. Palafox and Casta?os were still holding their dangerous advanced positions at Sanguesa and Calahorra. Blake was being pursued by[p. 418] Victor, while Lefebvre was marching to intercept him. The only contretemps that had occurred was the temporary check to Villatte’s division on November 5, which had been caused by the carelessness of the Duke of Dantzig and the unaccountable timidity of the Duke of Belluno. But by the seventh their mistakes had been repaired, and Blake was once more on the run, with both marshals in full cry behind him. The Emperor found time to send to each of them a letter of bitter rebuke[449], but told them to push on and catch up the army of Galicia at all hazards. Upon Moncey, on the other hand, he imposed the duty of keeping absolutely quiet in his present position: his share in the game would only begin when Casta?os and Palafox should have been turned and enveloped by troops detached from the central mass of the army.

The total stay of the Emperor in Vittoria covered parts of four days. All this time he was anxiously expecting decisive news from Victor and Lefebvre, but it had not yet arrived when he set forth. He waited, also in vain, for the news that Bessières had occupied Burgos: but that marshal did not show the decision and dash which Napoleon expected from him: finding that there was infantry in the place, he would not risk an action without his master’s presence, and merely contented himself with pushing back the Spanish outposts, and extending his cavalry on both flanks. It is possible that his slackness was due to chagrin on receiving the intelligence that he was about to be superseded in command of the 2nd Corps by Soult, whom the Emperor had summoned out of Germany, and who was due at the front on the ninth. Bessières was to be compensated by being given the command of the reserve-cavalry of the army, five splendid divisions of dragoons, of which four were already on the Ebro. But this post, which would always keep him at the Emperor’s heels, was probably less attractive to him than the more independent position of chief of a corps complete in all arms. He was probably loth to leave the divisions with which he had won the victory of Medina de Rio Seco. Be this as it may, he was told to attack Burgos on the sixth, and on the ninth he had not yet done so. On the morning of that day Soult arrived, alone and on a jaded post-horse, having outridden even his aides-de-camp[450], who did not join him till twenty-four[p. 419] hours later. He at once took over command of the 2nd Corps, and proceeded next day to carry out the Emperor’s orders by attacking the enemy.

The supersession of Bessières was not the only change which was made during the few days while the Emperor lay at Vittoria. He rearranged the internal organization of several of the corps, altered the brigading of that of Moncey, and turned over to other corps most of the troops which had hitherto served under Ney, leaving to that marshal little more than the two newly arrived divisions from Germany (those of Lagrange and Marchand).

The troops destined for the march on Burgos counted some 70,000 men, but only the 2nd Corps and the cavalry of Milhaud and Franceschi were in the front line. These 18,000 bayonets and 6,500 sabres were amply sufficient for the task. Behind followed fourteen battalions of the Imperial Guard and the cavalry of that corps, the two divisions of Ney’s 6th Corps, the division of Dessolles from King Joseph’s reserve, and two and a half divisions of reserve cavalry—an enormous mass of troops, of which nearly 20,000 were veteran cavalry from Germany, a force invaluable for the sweeping of the great plains of Old Castile[451].

When we turn to enumerate the forces opposed to the Emperor[p. 420] at Burgos, the disproportion between the two armies appears ludicrous. Down to November 6 the only Spanish troops in that ancient city consisted of two battalions, one from the reserves of the army of Galicia, the other from the army of Castile[452]. They numbered 1,600 men, and had four guns with them. If Bessières had attacked on the sixth, he would have found no more than this miserable detachment to oppose him. But on November 7 there arrived from Madrid the 1st Division of the army of Estremadura under the Conde de Belvedere, 4,000 foot and 400 horse with twelve guns. On the next day there came up the greater part of the 2nd Division of the same army, about 3,000 infantry and two regiments of hussars. On the tenth, therefore, when Soult attacked, Belvedere—who took the command as the senior general present—had about 8,600 bayonets, 1,100 sabres, and sixteen guns under his orders.

Down to November 2 the army of Estremadura had been commanded by Don Joseph Galluzzo, Captain-General of that province—the officer who had given so much trouble to Dalrymple by his refusal to desist from the futile siege of Elvas. He had been repeatedly ordered to bring his army up to Madrid, but did not arrive till the end of October. On the twenty-ninth of that month he marched for Burgos, his three divisions, 13,000 men in all, following each other at intervals of a day. But on November 2 he received orders to lay down his command and return to Aranjuez, to answer some charges brought against him by the Supreme Junta. No successor was nominated to replace him, and hence the conduct of the army fell into the hands of the Conde de Belvedere, the chief of the 1st Division, a rash and headstrong young aristocrat with no military experience whatever. His family influence had made him a general at an age when he might reasonably have expected to lead a company, and he found himself by chance the interim commander of an army: hence came the astonishing series of blunders that led to the combat of Gamonal.

Belvedere’s army was still incomplete, for his 3rd Division had only reached Lerma, thirty miles back on the Madrid road, when the French cavalry came forward and began to press in his outposts. Clearly a crisis was at hand, and the Count had to consider how he would face it. Isolated with 10,000 men on the edge of the great plain of Old Castile, and with an enemy of unknown[p. 421] strength in front of him, he should have been cautious. If he attempted a stand, he should at least have taken advantage of the ancient fortifications of Burgos and the broken ground near the city. But with the most cheerful disregard of common military precautions, the Count marched out of Burgos, advanced a few miles, and drew up his army across the high-road in front of the village of Gamonal. He was in an open plain, his right flank ill covered by the river Arlanzon, which was fordable in many places, his left completely ‘in the air,’ near the village of Vellimar. In front of the line was a large wood, which the road bisects: it gave the enemy every facility for masking his movements till the last moment. Belvedere had ranged his two Estremaduran batteries on the centre: he had six battalions in his first line, including two of the Royal Guards—both very weak[453]—with a cavalry regiment on each flank. His second line was formed of four battalions—two of them Galician: two more battalions, the four Galician guns, and his third cavalry regiment were coming up from the rear, and had not yet taken their post in the second line when the short and sudden battle was fought and lost[454].

[p. 422]

Soult came on the scene during the hours of the morning, with the light-cavalry division of Lasalle deployed in his front. Then followed the dragoons of Milhaud, and three infantry divisions of the 2nd Corps—Mouton in front, then Merle, then Bonnet bringing up the rear. When he came upon the Spaniards, arrayed on either side of the road, the Marshal was able with a single glance to recognize the weakness of their numbers and their position. He did not hesitate for a moment, and rapidly formed his line of battle, under cover of the wood which lay between the two armies. Milhaud’s division of dragoons rode southward and formed up on the banks of the Arlanzon, facing the Spanish right: Lasalle’s four regiments of light cavalry composed the French centre: the twelve battalions of Mouton’s division deployed on the left, and advanced through the wood preceded by a crowd of tirailleurs. There was no need to wait for Merle and Bonnet, who were still some way to the rear.

The engagement opened by a discharge of the two Spanish batteries, directed at those of Mouton’s men who were advancing across the comparatively open ground on each side of the high-road. But they had hardly time to fire three or four salvos before the enemy was upon them. The seven regiments of cavalry which formed the left and centre of the French army had delivered a smashing charge at the infantry opposed to them in the plain. The regiment of Spanish hussars which covered their flank was swept away like chaff before the wind, and the unfortunate Estremaduran and Galician battalions had not even time to throw themselves into squares before this torrent of nearly 5,000 horsemen swept over them. They received the attack in line, with a wavering ill-directed fire which did not stop the enemy for a moment. Five battalions were ridden down in the twinkling of an eye, their colours were all taken, and half the men were hewn down or made prisoners[455]. The remnant fled in disorder towards Burgos. Then Milhaud’s dragoons continued the pursuit, while Lasalle’s chasseurs swerved inwards and fell upon the flank of the surviving half of Belvedere’s army. At the same moment the infantry of Mouton attacked them vigorously from the front. The inevitable result was the complete rout and dispersion of the whole: only the[p. 423] battalion of Walloon Guards succeeded in forming square and going off the field in some order. The rest broke their ranks and poured into Burgos, in a stream of fugitives similar to that which was already rushing through the streets from the other wing. The sixteen Spanish guns were all captured on the spot, those of the second line before they had been unlimbered or fired a single shot.

Belvedere, who was rash and incompetent but no coward, made two desperate attempts to rally his troops, one at the bridge of the Arlanzon, the other outside the city; but his men would not halt for a moment: their only concern was to get clear of the baggage-train which was blocking the road in the transpontine suburb. A little further on the fugitives met the belated battalions of Valencia and Zafra, which had been four or five miles from the field when the battle was lost. The Commander-in-chief tried to form them across the road, and to rally the broken troops upon them: but they cried ‘Treason,’ pretended that their cartridge-boxes were empty, broke their ranks, and headed the flight. Ere night they had reached Lerma, thirty miles to the rear, where the 3rd Division of Estremadura had just arrived.

Napoleon was probably using less than his customary exaggeration when he declared in his Bulletin that he had won the combat of Gamonal at the cost of fifteen killed and fifty wounded. It is at any rate unlikely that his total of casualties exceeded the figure of 200. The army of Estremadura on the other hand had suffered terribly: considering that its whole right wing had been ridden down by cavalry, and that the pursuit had been urged across an open plain for nine miles, it may well have lost the 2,500 killed and wounded and the 900 prisoners spoken of by the more moderate French narrators of the fight[456]. It is certain that it left behind twelve of the twenty-four regimental standards which it carried to the field, and every one of its guns[457].

The French army celebrated its not very glorious victory in the[p. 424] usual fashion by sacking Burgos with every attendant circumstances of misconduct. They were so much out of hand that the house next to that in which the Emperor had taken up his quarters for the night was pillaged and set on fire, so that he had to shift hastily into another street[458].

The night of the tenth was devoted to plunder, but on the following morning Bonaparte resumed without delay the execution of his great plan, and hurried out to the south the heavy masses of cavalry which were to sweep the plains of Old Castile. Lasalle’s division pushed on to Lerma, from which the shattered remnants of the army of Belvedere hastily retired. Milhaud’s dragoons were directed on Palencia, Franceschi’s light cavalry more to the west, along the banks of the Urbel and the Odra. Nowhere, save at Lerma, was a single Spanish soldier seen, but it is said that some of Milhaud’s flying parties obtained vague information of the advance of Sir John Moore’s English army beyond the frontier of Portugal. His vanguard was reported to be at Toro, an utter mistake, for the expeditionary force had not really passed Salamanca on the day when the rumour was transmitted to the Emperor[459]. There is no sign in his dispatches of any serious expectation of a possible British diversion.

On the same day on which the cavalry poured down into the plains of Castile, the Emperor began also to execute the great flanking movements which were to circumvent the armies of Blake and Casta?os and to drive the one into the Bay of Biscay and the other against the Pyrenees. On the afternoon of the eleventh Soult, with the three divisions of Mouton, Merle, and Bonnet, and Debelle’s cavalry brigade[460], was directed to make forced marches upon Reynosa, by the hilly road that passes by Urbel and Olleros[461].[p. 425] It was hoped that he might reach Reynosa before Blake, whose retreat towards the west was being closely pressed by Victor and Lefebvre. If he failed to catch the army of Galicia, the Marshal was to push on across the mountains, and occupy the important harbour-town of Santander, where it was known that British stores had been landed in great quantities. Milhaud was to co-operate in this movement by sending from Palencia one of his brigades of dragoons, to cut the road from Reynosa to Salda?a, by which the Emperor considered it likely that Blake would send off his heavy baggage and guns when he heard of Soult’s approach[462]. Two days after dispatching Soult to the north-west, the Emperor gave orders for the other great turning movement, which was destined to cut off the army of Casta?os. On the thirteenth Marshal Ney, with one division of his own corps (that of Marchand) and with the four regiments of Dessolles from the central reserve, together with the light cavalry of Beaumont, had marched from Burgos, in the wake of Lasalle’s advance. On the sixteenth he reached Aranda de Duero, and, having halted there for two days, was then directed to turn off from the high-road to Madrid, and march by Osma and Soria so as to fall upon the rear of Casta?os, who was still reported to be in the neighbourhood of Tudela[463]. If he could succeed in placing himself at Tarazona before the enemy moved, the Emperor considered that the fate of the Spanish ‘Army of the Centre’ was sealed.

While the movements of Soult and Ney were developing, Napoleon remained at Burgos. He stayed there in all for ten days, while his army passed by, each corps that arrived pressing forward along the high-road to Madrid by Lerma as far as Aranda. His advance on the Spanish capital was not to begin till he was certain how Blake and Casta?os had fared, and whether there was any considerable body of the enemy interposed between him and the point at which he was about to strike. Meanwhile his correspondence shows a feverish activity devoted to subjects of the most varied kind. A good many hours were devoted to drawing up a scheme for the restoration of the citadel of Burgos: it was the Emperor’s own brain which planned the fortifications that proved such an obstacle to Wellington four years later in September, 1812.[p. 426] It was in these days also that Napoleon dictated the last reply sent to Canning with regard to the peace negotiations that had been started at Erfurt. At the same moment he was commenting on the Code Napoléon, organizing the grand-duchy of Berg, ordering the assembly of Neapolitan troops for a descent on Sicily, regulating the university of Pisa, and drawing up notes on the internal government of Spain for the benefit of his brother Joseph[464]. But the most characteristic of all his actions was a huge piece of ‘commandeering’ of private property. Burgos was the great distributing centre for the wool-trade of Spain: here lay the warehouses of the flock-masters, who owned the great herds of merino sheep that feed upon the central plateaux of Castile. There were 20,000 bales of wool in the city, not government stores but purely private accumulations. The Emperor seized it all and sold it in France, gloating over the fact that it was worth more than 15,000,000 francs[465].

Neither of the flanking expeditions which the Emperor sent out quite fulfilled his expectations, but that of Soult was worked far more successfully than that of Ney. The Duke of Dalmatia’s corps marched sixty miles over bad Spanish roads in three days—a great feat for infantry—and reached Canduelas close to Reynosa on November 13. If Blake had not already been flying for his life before Victor, he must have been intercepted. But he had made such headlong speed that he had already reached Reynosa only twenty-four hours after his defeat at Espinosa. He had hoped to refit and reorganize his army by means of the vast accumulation of stores collected there, for he had left both Victor and Lefebvre far behind, and calculated on getting several days’ rest. His first act was to begin to evacuate his artillery, baggage, and wounded on to Leon by the road of Aguilar del Campo and Salda?a. He intended to follow with the infantry[466], but on the morning of November 14 Soult’s advanced cavalry came upon the flank of the great slow-moving convoy, and captured a considerable part of it. The Asturian general, Acevedo, lying wounded in his[p. 427] carriage, was slain, it is said, by Debelle’s dragoons, along with many other unfortunates. Much of the artillery and all the baggage was taken. The news of this disaster showed Blake that his only road into the plain was cut: no retreat on Leon was any longer possible. At the same moment the approach of Victor along the Espinosa road and of Lefebvre along the Villarcayo road was reported to him. It seemed as if he was doomed to destruction or capture, for all the practicable roads were cut, and the army, though a little heartened up by two days of regular rations at Reynosa, was in the most disorganized condition. But making a desperate appeal to the patriotism of his men, Blake abandoned all his stores, all his wheeled vehicles, even his horses, and struck up by a wild mountain track into the heart of the Asturian hills. He went by the gorge of Cabuerniga, along the rocky edge of the Saja torrent, and finally reached the sea near Santillana. This forced march was accomplished in two days of drenching rain, and without food of any kind save a few chestnuts and heads of maize obtained in the villages of this remote upland. If anything was needed to make Blake’s misery complete it was to be met, at Renedo[467] [November 15], by the news that he was superseded by La Romana, who came with a commission from the Junta to take command of the army of Galicia. After the receipt of the intelligence of Zornoza, the Government had disgraced the Irish general, and given his place to the worthy Marquis. But the latter did not assume the command for some days, and it was left to Blake to get his army out of the terrible straits in which it now lay. On nearing the coast he obtained a little more food for his men from the English vessels that had escaped from Santander[468], waited for his stragglers to come up, and, when he had 7,000 men collected, resumed his march. He sent the wrecks of the Asturian division back to their own province, but resolved to return with the rest of his army to the southern side of the Cantabrian Mountains, so as to cover the direct road from Burgos to Galicia. He had quite shaken off his pursuers, and had nothing to fear save physical difficulties in his retreat. But these were severe enough to try the best troops, and Blake’s men, under-fed, destitute of great-coats and shoes, and harassed by endless marching, were in a[p. 428] piteous state: although they had not thrown away their muskets, very few had a dry cartridge left in their boxes[469]. An English officer who accompanied them described them as ‘a half-starved and straggling mob, without officers, and all mixed in utter confusion[470].’ The snow was now lying deep on the mountains, and the road back to the plains of Leon by Potes and Pedrosa was almost as bare and rough as that by which the troops had saved themselves from the snare at Reynosa. Nevertheless Blake’s miserable army straggled over the defile across the Pe?as de Europa, reached the upper valley of the Esla, and at last got a few days of rest in cantonments around Leon. Here La Romana took up the command, and by December 4 was at the head of 15,000 men. This total was only reached by the junction of outlying troops, for there had come into Leon a few detachments from the rear, and that part of the artillery and its escort which had escaped Soult’s cavalry at Aguilar del Campo. Of Blake’s original force, even after stragglers had come up, there were not 10,000 left: that so many survived is astonishing when we consider the awful march that they had accomplished[471]. Between November 1 and 23 they had trudged for three hundred miles over some of the roughest country in Europe, had crossed the watershed of the Cantabrian Mountains thrice[472] (twice by mere mule-tracks), wading through rain and snow for the greater part of the time, for the weather had been abominable. For mere physical difficulty this retreat far exceeded Moore’s celebrated march to Corunna, but it is fair to remember that Blake had shaken off his pursuers at Reynosa, while the English general was chased by an active enemy from first to last.

While the unhappy army of Galicia was working out its salvation[p. 429] over these rough paths, Soult’s corps had fared comparatively well. On reaching Reynosa on November 14 the Duke of Dalmatia had come into possession of an enormous mass of plunder, the whole of the stores and munitions of Blake’s army. Among the trophies were no less than 15,000 new English muskets and thirty-five unhorsed field-guns. The food secured maintained the 2nd Corps for many days: it included, as an appreciative French consumer informs us, an enormous consignment of excellent Cheshire cheese, newly landed at Santander[473]. At Reynosa Soult’s arrival was followed by that of Victor and Lefebvre, who rode in at the head of their corps the day after the place had been occupied [November 15]. There was no longer any chance of catching Blake, and the assembly of 50,000 men in this quarter was clearly unnecessary. The Emperor sent orders to Victor to march on Burgos and join the main army, and to Lefebvre to drop down into the plains as far as Carrion, from whence he could threaten Benavente and Leon[474]. Soult, whose men were much less exhausted than those of the other two corps, was charged with the occupation of Santander and the pursuit of Blake. He marched by the high-road to the sea, just in time to see seventeen British ships laden with munitions of war sailing out of the harbour[475]. But he captured, nevertheless, a large quantity of valuable stores, which were too heavy to be removed in a hurry [November 16].

The Marshal left Bonnet’s division at Santander, with orders to clear the surrounding district and to keep open the road to Burgos. With the rest of his troops he marched eastward along the coast, trying to get information about Blake’s movements. At San Vincente de la Barquera he came upon the wrecks of the Asturian division which Blake had left behind him when he turned south again into the mountains. They fled in disorder the moment that they were attacked, and the principality seemed exposed without any defence to the Marshal’s advance. But Soult did not intend to lose touch with his master, or to embark on any unauthorized expedition. When he learnt that the Galician army had returned to the plains he followed their example, and crossed the Cantabrian Mountains by a track over the Sierras Albas from Potes to Cervera, almost as impracticable as the parallel defile over[p. 430] which Blake had escaped. Coming down on to the upper valley of the Pisuerga he reached Salda?a, where he was again in close communication with Lefebvre.

Blake and his army might now be considered as being out of the game; they were so dispersed and demoralized that they required no more attention. But there was as yet no news of Ney, who had been sent to execute the turning movement against Casta?os, which corresponded to the one that Soult had carried out against the Galicians. Meanwhile more troops continued to come up to Burgos, ready for the Emperor’s great central march on Madrid. King Joseph and his Guards had arrived there as early as the twelfth; Victor came down from Reynosa on the twenty-first[476], and on the same day appeared the division of dragoons commanded by Lahoussaye[477]. The belated corps of Mortier and Junot were reported to be nearing Bayonne: both generals received orders to march on Burgos, after equipping their men for a serious winter campaign. Independent of the large bodies of men which were still kept out on the two flanks under Soult and Lefebvre, Moncey and Ney, there would soon be 100,000 bayonets and sabres ready for the decisive blow at the Spanish capital.
SECTION VII: CHAPTER V
TUDELA

Having narrated the misfortunes of Blake and of Belvedere, we must now turn to the eastern end of the Spanish line, where Casta?os and Palafox had been enjoying a brief and treacherous interval of safety, while their friends were being hunted over the Cantabrian Mountains and the plains of Old Castile. From October 26-27—the days when Ney and Moncey drove Casta?os’ advanced troops back over the Ebro—down to November 21, the French in Navarre made no further movement. We have seen that it was essential to Napoleon’s plan of campaign that the armies of Andalusia and Aragon should be left unmolested in the dangerous advanced position which they were occupying, till measures should have been taken to cut them off from Madrid and to drive them back against the roots of the Pyrenees. The Emperor had left opposite to them the whole of Moncey’s corps, one division of Ney’s corps (that of Lagrange), and the cavalry of Colbert and Digeon[478]—in all about 27,000 bayonets and 4,500 sabres. They had strict orders to act merely as a containing force: to repel any attack that the Spaniards might make on the line of the Ebro or the Aragon, but not to advance till they should receive the orders from head quarters.

The initiative therefore had passed back to the Spanish generals: it was open to them to advance once more against the enemy, if they chose to be so foolish. Their troops were in very bad order for an offensive campaign. Many of them (like Blake’s men) had never received great-coats or winter clothing, and were facing the November frosts and the incessant rain with the light linen garments in which they had marched up from the south. An English observer, who passed through the camps of Palafox and Casta?os at this moment, reports that while the regulars and the Valencian troops seemed fairly well clad, the Aragonese, the Castilians, and the Murcians were suffering terribly from exposure.[p. 432] The Murcians in especial were shivering in light linen shirts and pantaloons, with nothing but a striped poncho to cover them against the rain[479]. Hence came a terrible epidemic of dysentery, which thinned the ranks when once the autumn began to melt into winter. The armies of Casta?os and Palafox should have counted 53,000 men at least when the fighting at last began. It seems doubtful whether they actually could put much over 40,000 into the field. Casta?os claims that at Tudela his own ‘Army of the Centre’ had only 26,000 men in line, and the Aragonese about 16,000. It is probable that the figures are almost correct.

Nevertheless, the generals assumed the responsibility of ordering a general advance. We have shown in an earlier chapter that after the arrival of the three deputies from Madrid, and the stormy council of war at Tudela on November 5, a new plan of offensive operations was adopted. It was not quite so mad as the scheme that had been drafted in October, for seizing the passes of the Pyrenees and surrounding the whole French army. Casta?os and Palafox, it will be remembered, were to mass the bulk of their forces between Tudela and Caparrosa, cross the Aragon, and deliver a frontal attack upon the scattered fractions of the corps of Moncey at Peralta, Falces, and Lodosa. There would have been something to say for this plan if it had been proposed in September, or early in October; but on November 5 it was hopeless, for it ignored the fact that 80,000 French troops had entered Biscay and Navarre since the middle of October, and that Napoleon himself had reached Vittoria. To advance now was to run into the lion’s mouth.

The armies of Andalusia and Aragon were just beginning to concentrate when, on November 8, a dispatch came in from Blake announcing his disaster at Zornoza, and his hurried retreat beyond Bilbao. The same day there arrived a correct report of the arrival of the Emperor and great masses of French troops at Vittoria, with an inaccurate addition to the effect that they were being directed on Logro?o and Lodosa, as if about to cross the Central Ebro and fall upon the left flank of the army of Andalusia[480].

Casta?os, in his Vindication, published to explain and defend his[p. 433] movements during this campaign, stated that his first impulse was to march by Logro?o and Haro to meet the enemy, or to hasten by Agreda and Soria to interpose himself between the Emperor and Madrid. But, on second thoughts, he resolved that it was more necessary to endeavour to beat the French in his immediate front, and that it would be better to persevere in the plan, drawn up on November 5, for a blow at Moncey. A sharp thrust delivered on this point would distract the attention of the Emperor from Blake, and draw him off the direct road to Madrid. Meanwhile, however, on November 11 Casta?os fell ill, and took to his bed at Cintruenigo. While he was thus disabled, the deputy Francisco Palafox took the astounding step of issuing orders in his own name to the divisional generals both of the Andalusian and the Aragonese armies. Nothing like this had been seen since the days in the French Revolutionary War, when the ‘Representatives on Mission’ used to overrule the commands of the unhappy generals of the Republic. Before the concentration of the armies was complete, the Deputy ordered the assumption of the offensive at all points in the line: he directed O’Neille, whom he incorrectly supposed to be already at Caparrosa, to attack Moncey at once; bade Grimarest, with the 2nd Andalusian division, to cross the Ebro at Calahorra; La Pe?a to threaten Milagro; and Cartaojal, with a small flanking brigade, to demonstrate against the French troops who lay at Logro?o. These orders produced utter confusion, for some of the generals obeyed, while others sent the answer that they would not move without the permission of their proper chiefs, Casta?os and Joseph Palafox. The former got his first notice of the Deputy’s presumptuous action by letters from La Pe?a, delivered to his bedside, in which he was asked whether he had given his sanction to the project for crossing the Ebro[481]. As a matter of fact only Grimarest and Cartaojal moved: the former was sharply repulsed at the fords opposite Calahorra: the latter, more fortunate, skirmished with Lagrange’s division, in front of Logro?o, without coming to any harm [November 13].

It was now three days since the Emperor had routed Belvedere at Gamonal and entered Burgos, and two days since Blake had been beaten at Espinosa. The conduct of the generals who had[p. 434] charge of the last intact army that Spain possessed, seems all the more insane when we reflect on the general condition of affairs. For on the fourteenth the mad advance which Francisco Palafox advocated was resumed, Casta?os on his sick bed not having had sufficient energy to lay an embargo on the moving forward of his own troops. On the fourteenth O’Neille arrived at Caparrosa and drove out of it Moncey’s advanced posts, while Grimarest and La Pe?a received new instructions—to push up the Ebro and attack Lodosa, which O’Neille was at the same moment to assail from the other side of the stream. Thus the great river was to be placed between the two halves of the army, which had no communication except by the bridge of Tudela, far to the rear of both. ‘This seems rather a hazardous undertaking,’ wrote Graham in his diary, ‘affording the enemy an opportunity of attacking on whichever side of the river he chooses with superior force.’ But the only thing that prevented it from being attempted was the sudden refusal of O’Neille to advance beyond Caparrosa unless he were provided with 50,000 rations of biscuit, and reinforced at once with 6,000 bayonets from the Army of the Centre [November 18]. As if the situation were not already sufficiently complicated, Casta?os had on the preceding day received unofficial intelligence[482] from Madrid, to the effect that the Central Junta had determined to depose him, and to appoint the Marquis of La Romana general-in-chief of the Army of the Centre as well as of the Army of Galicia. This really made little difference, as the Marquis was at this moment with Blake’s corps (he had joined it at Renedo on the fifteenth), so that he could not issue any orders for the troops on the Ebro, from whom he was separated by the whole French army. Casta?os remained at the head of the Andalusians till he was formally superseded, and it was he who was destined to fight the great battle that was now impending. It is hard to say what might have happened had the French held back for a few days more, for now, at the last moment, Joseph Palafox suddenly harked back to his old plan for an advance on Pampeluna and the roots of the Pyrenees, and proposed to Casta?os that the whole of the Andalusian army save La Pe?a’s division should assist him[483]. Casta?os and[p. 435] Coupigny strongly opposed this mad idea, and submitted an entirely different scheme to the Captain-General of Aragon, inviting him to bring all his forces to Calahorra, and to join the Army of the Centre in taking up a defensive position behind the Ebro.

The two plans were being hotly debated, when news arrived which proved decisive. The French were at last on the move, and their columns were pouring out of Logro?o and Lodosa along the southern bank of the Ebro, heading for Calahorra and Tudela [November 21]. On the same day a messenger arrived from the Bishop of Osma, bearing the intelligence that a French corps (he called it that of Dessolles, but it was really Ney) had marched up the head-waters of the Douro to Almazan, and was heading for Soria and Agreda, with the obvious intention of falling upon the rear of the Army of the Centre. If Casta?os remained for a moment longer at Calahorra, he would clearly be caught between the two French armies. He should have retired at once in the direction of Saragossa, before Ney could reach him: but instead he took the dangerous half-measure of falling back only as far as the line Tudela—Tarazona. This was a safer position than that of Calahorra—Arnedo, but still sufficiently perilous, for the enveloping corps from the south could still reach his rear by a long turning movement through Xalon and Borja.
Map of the battle of Tudela

Enlarge  Battle of Tudela. November 23, 1808.

If the position from Tudela, on the banks of the Ebro, to Tarazona at the foot of the Sierra de Moncayo was to be held, the army of Casta?os needed strong reinforcements, for the line was ten miles long, and there were but 26,000 men to occupy it. The Army of Aragon must be brought up also, and Casta?os wrote at once to O’Neille at Caparrosa, inviting him to hasten to cross the Ebro and occupy Tudela and its immediate vicinity. The dispatch reached the Irish general late on the afternoon of the twenty-first, but he refused to obey without the permission of his own commander, Joseph Palafox. Thus the night of November 21-22 was lost, but next morning the Aragonese Captain-General appeared from Saragossa, and met Casta?os and Coupigny. They besought him to bid O’Neille join the Army of the Centre, but at first he refused, even when the forward march of Moncey and the flanking movement of Ney had been explained to him. He still clung to his wild proposal for a blow at Pampeluna, ‘talking,’ says Colonel Graham, ‘such nonsense as under the present circumstances ought only to have[p. 436] come from a madman[484].’ But at the last moment he yielded, and at noon on the twenty-second wrote orders to O’Neille to bring his two divisions to Tudela, and to form up on the right of the Army of Andalusia. When the Aragonese host at last got under weigh, the hour was so late that darkness was falling before the bridge of Tudela was passed. O’Neille then had an unhappy inspiration: he ordered his men to defer the crossing of the Ebro till the following morning, and to cook and encamp on the northern bank. Half of the line which Casta?os intended to hold next day was still ungarnished with troops when the dawn broke, and soon it was discovered that the French were close at hand.

The approaching enemy were not, as Casta?os and Palafox supposed, under the command of Moncey and Ney. The latter was carrying out his turning movement by Soria: the former was for the moment superseded. The Emperor regarded the Duke of Conegliano as somewhat slow and overcautious, and for the sudden and smashing blow which he had planned had chosen another instrument. This was Marshal Lannes, who had crossed the Pyrenees with the ‘Grand Army,’ but had been detained for a fortnight at Vittoria by an accident. His horse had fallen with him over a precipice, and he had been so bruised and shaken that his life was despaired of. It appears that the celebrated surgeon Larrey cured him by the strange device of sewing up his battered frame in the skin of a newly flayed sheep[485]. By November 20 he was again fit for service, and set out from Logro?o with Lagrange’s division of Ney’s corps, Colbert’s light cavalry, and Digeon’s dragoons. Moncey joined him by the bridge of Lodosa, bringing his whole corps—four divisions of infantry and one of cavalry. The protection of Navarre had been handed over to General Bisson, the governor of Pampeluna.

Lannes met with no opposition whatever in his march to Tudela, and easily reached Alfaro on the twenty-second. Here he learnt that the Spaniards were awaiting him beyond the river Queiles, drawn up on a very long front between Tudela and Tarazona. On the morning of the twenty-third he came in sight of them, and deployed for an attack: the state of utter disorder in which the enemy lay gave the best auguries for the success of the imperial arms.

Casta?os had placed the troops under his immediate command[p. 437] at Tarazona and Cascante, which were destined to form the left and centre of his position: the remainder of it, from Cascante to Tudela, was allotted to the Aragonese and to the Murcian division of the Army of Andalusia, which had been across the Ebro in O’Neille’s company, and was now returning with him. Till they came up Casta?os had only under his hand two complete divisions of his ‘Army of the Centre,’ and some small fragments of two others. The complete divisions were those of Grimarest (No. 2) and La Pe?a (No. 4), each of which had been increased in numbers but not in efficiency by having allotted to it some of the battalions of the ‘Army of Castile,’ which had been dissolved for its bad conduct at Logro?o on October 26. There had at last begun to arrive at the front a considerable part of the other two Andalusian divisions, which had first been detained beyond the Sierra Morena by the Junta of Seville, and then kept some time in Madrid to complete their equipment. Two battalions of these belated troops had at last appeared on October 30, and ten more had since come up[486]. But the bulk of the 1st and 3rd Divisions was still absent, and no more than 5,500 men from them had been added to Casta?os’ army. The mixed brigade formed from these late arrivals seems to have been under General Villariezo, of the 1st Division. The whole force amounted to about 28,000 men, of whom 3,000 were horsemen, for the army of Andalusia was stronger in the cavalry arm than any other of the Spanish hosts. But of these the Murcian and Valencian division of Roca (formerly that of Llamas) was with O’Neille, and had not yet reached the field; while five battalions, from the dissolved Castilian army, were far away on the left in the mountains of Soria, whither Casta?os had detached them under General Cartaojal, with orders to observe the French corps which was coming up on his rear.

The other half of the Spanish army consisted of the missing division of the Army of the Centre—that of Roca—and the two divisions belonging to Palafox—those of O’Neille and Saint March—the former composed mainly of Aragonese[487], the latter almost entirely of Valencian troops. None of the Aragonese reserves from[p. 438] the great camp at Saragossa had yet come upon the scene. But the two divisions in the field were very strong—they must have had at least 17,000 men in their ranks. On November 1 they were more than 18,000 strong, and, two months after—when they had passed through the disaster of Tudela, and had endured ten days of the murderous siege of Saragossa—they still showed 14,000 bayonets. We cannot calculate them at less than 17,000 men for the battle of November 23. On the other hand, there were hardly 600 cavalry in the whole corps.

It would appear then that Casta?os must have had some 45,000 men in line, between Tarazona and Tudela, when Lannes came up against him[488]. The French marshal, on the other hand, had about 34,000. On the difference in quality between the two armies we have no need to dilate: even the two divisions of the conscripts of 1807, which served in Moncey’s corps, were old soldiers compared to[p. 439] the armies of Aragon and Castile, or a great part of that of Andalusia. Moreover, as in all the earlier battles of the Peninsular War, the Spaniards were hopelessly outmatched in the cavalry arm. There was no force that could stop the 4,500 or 5,000 horsemen of Colbert, Digeon, and Wathier[489].

The position Tudela—Tarazona, which Casta?os intended to hold, is of enormous length—about ten and a half miles in all. Clearly 45,000 men in the close order that prevailed in the early nineteenth century were inadequate to hold it all in proper strength. Yet if the points on which the French were about to attack could be ascertained in good time, the distances were not so great but that the army could concentrate on any portion of the line within three hours. But to make this practicable, it was necessary firstly that Casta?os should keep in close touch with the enemy by means of his cavalry—he had quite enough for the purpose—and secondly that he should have all his men massed at suitable points, from which they could march out to the designated fighting-ground at short notice. The Spanish troops were, now as always, so slow at man?uvring that the experiment would be a dangerous one, but this was the only way in which the chosen position could possibly be held. The ground was not unfavourable; it consisted of a line of gentle hills along the south bank of the river Queiles, which commanded a good view over the rolling plain across which the French had to advance. On the extreme right was the town[p. 440] of Tudela, covered by a bold hill—the Cerro de Santa Barbara—which overhangs the Ebro. Thence two long ridges, the hills of Santa Quiteria and Cabezo Malla, extend for some two and a half miles in a well-marked line: this section formed the right of the position. From the left of the Cabezo Malla as far as the little town of Cascante—four miles—the ground is less favourable; indeed, it is fairly flat, and the line is indicated mainly by the Queiles and its irrigation-cuts, behind which the Spanish centre was to form[490]. From Cascante westward as far as Tarazona—a distance of four miles or a little over—the position is better marked, a spur of the Sierra de Moncayo coming down in a gentle slope all along the southern bank of the little Queiles. The centre, between the Cabezo Malla and Cascante, was obviously the weak point in the position, as the only obstacle to the enemy’s advance was the river, which was fordable by all arms at every point along this dangerous four miles.

The disaster which Casta?os was to suffer may be ascribed to two mistakes, one of which was entirely within his own control, while the other was due to the stupidity of O’Neille. With 3,000 cavalry in hand, the Commander-in-chief ought to have known of every movement of the French for many hours before they drew near to the position. It would then have been in his power to concentrate on those parts of the line where the attack was about to be delivered. But instead of sending out his horse ten miles to the front, Casta?os kept them with the infantry[491], and the first notice of the approach of Lannes was only given when, at nine in the morning, a regiment of Wathier’s cavalry rode right up to the town of Tudela, driving in the outposts and causing great confusion. To the second cause of disaster we have already had occasion to allude: on the night of the twenty-second O’Neille had (contrary to his orders) encamped north of the Ebro. His 17,000 men began[p. 441] to defile over the bridge next morning in a leisurely fashion, and were still only making their way to their designated positions when Lannes attacked. In fact the Spanish line of battle was never formed as had been planned: the various brigades of the Army of Aragon were hurried one after another on to the heights south-west of Tudela, but entirely without system or order: the lower ground to the left of the Cabezo Malla was never occupied at all, and remained as a gap in the centre of the line all through the battle.

Lannes, who was aware that the Spaniards were intending to fight at Tudela, had marched at dawn from his camps in front of Alfaro in two columns. One, composed of Moncey’s corps, with Wathier’s cavalry at its head, came by the high-road near the Ebro. The other, composed of the two independent cavalry brigades of Colbert and Digeon, and of Lagrange’s division, was more to the west, and headed for Cascante. The Marshal had no intention of attacking the left of the Spanish line in the direction of Tarazona, which he left entirely to itself. He met not a single Spanish vedette till Wathier’s cavalry ran into the pickets immediately outside Tudela.

Casta?os was in the town, engaged in hurrying the march of the Aragonese troops across the great bridge of the Ebro, when the fusillade broke out. The unexpected sound of musketry threw the troops into great excitement, for they were jammed in the narrow mediaeval lanes of Tudela when the sounds of battle came rolling down from the Cerro de Santa Barbara. The Commander-in-chief himself was caught between two regiments and could not push his way out to the field for some time. But the men were quite ready to fight, and hurried to the front as fast as they were able. Roca’s Valencian division (the 5th of the Andalusian army) had been the first to cross the Ebro: it was pushed up to the Cerro de Santa Barbara, and reached its summit just in time to beat off the leading brigade, one from Morlot’s division, which was ascending the hill from the other side. Saint March’s battalions, who had crossed the bridge next after Roca, were fortunate enough to be able to deploy and occupy the hill of Santa Quiteria before they were attacked. But O’Neille’s Aragonese and Murcians were less lucky: they only succeeded in seizing the Cabezo Malla ridge after driving off the skirmishers of Maurice Mathieu’s French division, which had come up next in succession to Morlot, and was just preparing to mount the slope. But the position was just[p. 442] saved, and the Army of Aragon was by ten o’clock formed up along the hills, with its right overhanging the Ebro and its left—quite in the air—established on the Cabezo Malla. The front was somewhat over two miles in length, and quite defensible; but the troops were in great disorder after their hurried march, and the generals were appalled to find that the Army of the Centre had not moved up to join them, and that there was a gap of three miles between the Cabezo Malla and the nearest of the Andalusian divisions. Casta?os perceived this fact and rode off, too late, to bring up La Pe?a from Cascante to fill the void. Palafox was not on the field: he had gone off at daybreak (still in high dudgeon that his scheme for an attack by Pampeluna had been overruled) and was far on the road to Saragossa.

It is clear that Lannes’ first attack was unpremeditated and ill-arranged: he had been tempted to strike when his vanguard only had come up, because he saw the Spanish position half empty and the Aragonese divisions struggling up in disorder to occupy it. Hence came his first check: but the preliminary skirmish had revealed to him the existence of the fatal gap between the two Spanish armies, and he was now ready to utilize it. While Casta?os was riding for Cascante, the divisions of Musnier, Grandjean, and Lagrange were coming upon the field, and Lannes was preparing for a second and more serious attack.

Meanwhile the fortune of the day was being settled on the left. When the army of Lannes appeared in the plain, La Pe?a at Cascante should have marched at once towards the Aragonese, and Grimarest and Villariezo from Tarazona should have moved on Cascante to replace La Pe?a’s division at that place. Neither of them stirred, though the situation was obvious, and though they presently received orders from Casta?os to close in to their right. La Pe?a was the most guilty, for the whole battle-field was under his eye: he would not move because he had before him Digeon’s and Colbert’s cavalry, and was afraid to march across their front in the open plain, protected only by the shallow Queiles. He had 8,000 or 9,000 Andalusian and Castilian infantry, and 1,500 horse, but allowed himself to be neutralized by two brigades of dragoons. All that he did in response to the summons to move eastward was to send two battalions to occupy the hamlet of Urzante, a mile to his right. There was still a space of three miles between him and Saint March. This scandalous and cowardly inaction is in keeping[p. 443] with the man’s later career: it was he who in 1811 betrayed Graham at Barossa, and fled back into safety instead of stopping to assist his allies. On this occasion he lay for four hours motionless, while he watched the French forming up for a second attack on the Army of Aragon. Cowed by the 3,000 dragoons in his front, he made no attempt to march on the Cabezo Malla to O’Neille’s assistance. Grimarest’s conduct was almost equally bad: he was further from the scene of fighting, and could not, like La Pe?a, see the field: but it is sufficient to say that he received Casta?os’ order to march on Cascante at noon, and that he did not reach that place—four miles distant—till dusk.

The Commander-in-chief himself was most unlucky: he started for Cascante about noon, intending to force his divisional generals to draw near the battle-field. But as he was crossing the gap between O’Neille and La Pe?a he was sighted by some French cavalry, who were cautiously pushing forward through the unoccupied ground. He and his staff were chased far to the rear by this reconnoitring party, and only shook them off by riding hard and scattering among the olive groves. Unable to reach Cascante, he was returning towards Tudela, when he received a hasty note from General Roca to the effect that the right wing of the army had been broken, and the heights of Santa Barbara lost.

When his three belated divisions had appeared Lannes had drawn up his army in two lines, and flung the bulk of it against the Aragonese, leaving only Colbert’s and Digeon’s dragoons and the single division of Lagrange to look after La Pe?a and the rest of the Army of Andalusia.

Instead of sending forward fresh troops, Lannes brought up to the charge for a second time the regiments of Maurice Mathieu and Morlot. Behind the latter Musnier deployed, behind the former Grandjean, but neither of these divisions, as it turned out, was to fire a shot or to lose a man. While Morlot with his six battalions once more attacked the heights above the city, Maurice Mathieu with his twelve attempted both to push back O’Neille and to turn his flank by way of the Cabezo Malla. After a short but well-contested struggle both these attacks succeeded. Morlot, though his leading brigade suffered heavily, obtained a lodgement on top of the Cerro de Santa Barbara, by pushing a battalion up a lateral ravine, which had been left unwatched on account of its difficulty. Others followed, and Roca’s division broke, poured[p. 444] down the hill into Tudela, and fled away by the Saragossa road. Almost at the same moment O’Neille’s troops were beaten off the Cabezo Malla by Maurice Mathieu, who had succeeded in slipping a battalion and a cavalry regiment round their left flank, on the side of the fatal gap. Seeing the line of the Aragonese reeling back, General Lefebvre-Desnouettes, to whom Lannes had given the chief command of his cavalry, charged with three regiments of Wathier’s division at the very centre of the hostile army. He burst through between O’Neille and Saint March’s troops, and then wheeling outward attacked both in flank. This assault was decisive. The whole mass dispersed among the olive groves, irrigation-cuts, and stone fences which cover the plain to the south of Tudela. A few battalions kept their ranks and formed a sort of rearguard, but the main part of Roca’s, Saint March’s, and O’Neille’s levies fled straight before them till the dusk fell, and far into the night. Some of them got to Saragossa next day, though the distance was over fifty miles.

Meanwhile La Pe?a’s futile operations in front of Cascante had gone on all through the afternoon. He had at first nothing but cavalry in front of him, but about three o’clock Lagrange’s division, which had been the last to arrive on the field of all the French army, appeared in his direction. Its leading brigade marched into the gap, wheeled to its right, and drove out of Urzante the two isolated battalions which La Pe?a had placed there in the morning. They made a gallant resistance[492], but had to yield to superior numbers and to fall back on the main body at Cascante[493]. Here they found not only La Pe?a but also Grimarest, and Villariezo’s mixed brigade, for these officers had at last deigned to obey Casta?os’ orders and to close in to the right. There was now an imposing mass of troops collected in this quarter, at least 18,000 foot and 3,000 horse, but they allowed themselves to be ‘contained’ by Lagrange’s single division and Digeon’s dragoons. Colbert, with the rest of the cavalry, had ridden through the gap and gone off in pursuit of the Aragonese. The remaining hour of daylight[p. 445] was spent in futile skirmishing with Lagrange, and after dark La Pe?a and Grimarest retired unmolested to Borja, by the road which skirts the foot of the Sierra de Moncayo. They were only disturbed by a panic caused by the blowing up of the reserve ammunition of the Army of the Centre. Some of the troops took the explosion for a sudden discharge of French artillery, broke their ranks, and were with difficulty reassembled.

It is impossible to speak too strongly of the shameful slackness and timidity of La Pe?a and his colleagues. If they had been tried for cowardice, and shot after the manner of Admiral Byng, they would not have received more than their deserts. That 20,000 men, including the greater part of the victors of Baylen, should assist, from a distance of four miles only, at the rout of their comrades of the Army of Aragon, was the most deplorable incident of all this unhappy campaign.

From the astounding way in which the Andalusian army had been mishandled, it resulted that practically no loss—200 killed and wounded at the most—was suffered in this quarter, and the troops marched off with their artillery and wagons, after blowing up their reserve ammunition and abandoning their heavy baggage in their camps[494]. The Aragonese had, of course, fared very differently. They lost twenty-six guns—apparently all that they had brought to the field—over 1,000 prisoners, and at least 3,000 killed and wounded[495]. That the casualties were not more numerous was due to the fact that the plain to the south of Tudela was covered with olive-groves, and irrigation-cuts, which checked the French cavalry and facilitated the flight of the fugitives.

Lannes, it is clear, did not entirely fulfil Napoleon’s expectations. He did not take full advantage of the gap between O’Neille and La Pe?a, and wasted much force in frontal attacks which might have been avoided. If he had thrust two divisions and all his horse between the fractions of the Spanish army, before ordering the second attack of Maurice Mathieu and Morlot, the victory would have been far more decisive, and less costly. The loss of[p. 446] the 3rd Corps was 44 killed and 513 wounded; that of Lagrange’s division and the dragoons has not been preserved, but can have been but small—probably less than 100 in all—though Lagrange himself received a severe hurt in the arm. The only regiment that suffered heavily was the 117th, of Morlot’s division, which, in turning Roca off the Cerro de Santa Barbara, lost 303 killed and wounded, more than half the total casualties of the 3rd Corps.

Lannes had carried out indifferently well the part of the Emperor’s great plan that had been entrusted to him; but this, as we have seen, was only half of the game. When Casta?os and the Aragonese were routed, they ought to have found Marshal Ney at their backs, intercepting their retreat on Saragossa or Madrid. As a matter of fact he was more than fifty miles away on the day of the battle, and arrived with a tardiness which made his flanking march entirely futile. The orders for him to march from Aranda on Soria and Tarazona had been issued on November 18[496], and he had been warned that Lannes would deliver his blow on the twenty-second. But Ney did not receive his instructions till the nineteenth, and only set out on the twentieth. When once he was upon the move he made tremendous marches, for on the twenty-first he had reached Almazan, more than sixty miles from his starting-point: by dusk on the twenty-second he had pushed on to Soria[497], where he halted for forty-eight hours on account of the utter exhaustion of his troops. He had pushed them forward no less than seventy-eight miles in three days, a rate which cannot be kept up. Hence he was obliged to let them spend the twenty-third and twenty-fourth in Soria: at dawn on the twenty-fifth they set out again, and executed another terrible march. It is thirty miles from Soria to Agreda, in the heart of the Sierra de Moncayo, where the 6th Corps slept on that night, and every foot of the way was over villainous mountain roads. Hence Ney only reached Tarazona early on the twenty-sixth, three days after the battle; yet it cannot be said that he had been slow: he had covered 121 miles in six and a half days, even when the halt at Soria is included. This is very fair marching for infantry, when the difficulties of the country are considered. Napoleon ungenerously ascribed the escape of Casta?os to the fact that ‘Ney had allowed himself to be imposed upon by the Spaniards,[p. 447] and rested for the twenty-second and twenty-third at Soria, because he chose to imagine that the enemy had 80,000 men, and other follies. If he had reached Agreda on the twenty-third, according to my orders, not a man would have escaped[498].’ But, as Marshal Jourdan very truly remarks in his Mémoires, ‘Calculating the distance from Aranda to Tarazona via Soria, one easily sees that even if Ney had given no rest to his troops, it would have been impossible for him to arrive before the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, that is to say, twenty-four hours after the battle. It is not he who should be reproached, but the Emperor, who ought to have started him from Aranda two days earlier[499].’

Blind admirers of Bonaparte have endeavoured to make out a case against Ney, by accusing him of having stopped at Soria for three days in order to pillage it—which he did not, though he made a requisition of shoes and cloth for great-coats from the municipality. If he is really to blame, it is rather for having worked his men so hard on the twentieth to the twenty-second that they were not fit to march on the twenty-third: he had taken them seventy-eight miles on those three days, with the natural result that they were dead beat. If he had contented himself with doing sixteen or eighteen miles a day, he would have reached Soria on the twenty-third, but his men would have been comparatively fresh, and could have moved on next morning. Even then he would have been late for the battle, as Jourdan clearly shows: the fact was that the Emperor asked an impossibility of him when he expected him to cover 121 miles in four days, with artillery and baggage, and a difficult mountain range to climb[500].

Meanwhile the routed forces of O’Neille, Roca, and Saint March joined at Mallen, and retreated along the high-road to Saragossa, accompanied for part of the way by Casta?os; while those of La Pe?a, Grimarest, and Villariezo marched by Borja to La Almunia on the Xalon, where their General-in-chief joined them and directed them to take the road to Madrid, not that which led to the Aragonese capital. On the night of the twenty-fifth the[p. 448] Army of Andalusia, minus the greater part of the wrecks of Roca’s division[501], was concentrated at Calatayud, not much reduced in numbers, but already suffering from hunger—all their stores having been lost at Cascante and Tarazona—and inclined to be mutinous. The incredible mismanagement at Tudela was put down to treachery, and the men were much inclined to disobey their chiefs. It was at this unhappy moment that Casta?os received a dispatch from the Central Junta dated November 21, which authorized him to incorporate the divisions of O’Neille and Saint March with the army of Andalusia, leaving only the Aragonese under the control of Palafox. This order, if given a month earlier, would have saved an enormous amount of wrangling and mismanagement. But it was now too late: these divisions had retired on Saragossa, and the enemy having interposed between them and Casta?os, the authorization remained perforce a dead letter.

Lannes had directed Maurice Mathieu, with the divisions of Lagrange and Musnier, to follow the Andalusians by Borja, while Morlot and Grandjean pursued the Aragonese on the road of Mallen. The chase does not seem to have been very hotly urged, but on each road a certain number of stragglers were picked up. Ney, reaching Borja on the twenty-sixth with the head of his column, found himself in the rear of Maurice Mathieu, and committed to the pursuit of Casta?os. Their vanguard reached Calatayud on the twenty-seventh, and learnt that the Army of the Centre had evacuated that city on the same morning, and was pressing towards Madrid, with the intention of taking part in the defence of the capital.

Ney, taking with him Lagrange’s infantry and Digeon’s and Colbert’s cavalry from the troops which fought at Tudela, and adding them to the two divisions of Marchand and Dessolles, which had formed his turning column, urged the pursuit as fast as he was able. Twice he came up with the Spanish army: on each occasion Casta?os sacrificed his rearguard, which made a long stand and was terribly mauled, while he pushed ahead with his main body. At this cost the army was saved, but it arrived in New Castile half starved and exhausted, and almost as much demoralized as if it had been beaten in a pitched battle. A few days later many of the battalions burst into open mutiny, when they were ordered to retire into the mountains of Cuenca. But at least[p. 449] they had escaped from Ney by rapid marching, and still preserved the form and semblance of an army.

Meanwhile Napoleon, on his side, had begun to operate against Madrid with a speed and sureness of stroke that made futile every attempt of the Spaniards to intervene between him and his goal. The moment that the news of Tudela reached him (November 26) he had hurled his main body upon the capital, and within eight days it was in his hands. The march of the army of Andalusia to cover Madrid was (though Casta?os could not know it) useless from the first. By hurrying to the aid of the Junta, through Siguenza and Guadalajara, he was merely exposing himself for a second time to destruction. His troops were destined to escape from the peril in New Castile, by a stroke of fortune just as notable as that which had saved them from being cut off on the day after Tudela. But he, meanwhile, was separated from his troops, for on arriving at Siguenza he was met by another dispatch from the Junta, which relieved him of the command of the army of the Centre, and bade him hasten to Head Quarters, where his aid was required by the Central Committee for War. Handing over the troops to the incapable La Pe?a, Casta?os hastened southward in search of the Junta, whose whereabouts in those days of flight and confusion it was not easy to find.
SECTION VII: CHAPTER VI
PASSAGE OF THE SOMOSIERRA: NAPOLEON AT MADRID

After completing his arrangements for the two sweeping flank-movements that were destined to entrap Blake and Casta?os, the Emperor moved forward from Burgos on November 22, along the great road to Madrid by Lerma and Aranda de Duero. His advance was completely masked by the broad screen of cavalry which had gone on in front of him. Lasalle was ahead, Milhaud on the right flank, and covered by them he moved with ease across the plain of Old Castile. He brought with him a very substantial force, all the Imperial Guard, horse and foot, Victor and his 1st Corps, and the reserve-cavalry of Latour-Maubourg and Lahoussaye. King Joseph and his household troops were left behind at Burgos, to preserve the line of communication with Vittoria and Bayonne. The flanks were quite safe, with Ney and Moncey lying out upon the left, and Soult and Lefebvre upon the right. In a few days—supposing that the armies of Blake and Casta?os fell into the snare, or were at least broken and scattered—the Emperor hoped to be able to draw in both Ney and Lefebvre to aid in his enveloping attack upon Madrid. Nor was this all: the corps of Mortier and Junot were now approaching the Pyrenees, and would soon be available as a great central reserve. The whole force put in motion against Madrid was enormous: the Emperor had 45,000 men under his own hand: Ney and Lefebvre could dispose of 40,000 more: Mortier and Junot were bringing up another 40,000 in the rear. Omitting the troops left behind on the line of communication and the outlying corps of Soult and Moncey, not less than 130,000 men were about to concentrate upon Madrid.

The Emperor halted at Aranda from November 23 to 28, mainly (as it would seem) to allow the two great flanking operations to work themselves out. When Soult reported that Blake’s much-chased army had dissolved into a mere mob, and taken refuge in the fastnesses of the Asturias, and when Lannes sent in the news[p. 451] of Tudela, the Emperor saw that it was time to move. On the twenty-eighth he marched on Madrid, by the direct high-road that crosses the long and desolate pass of the Somosierra.

Meanwhile the Spaniards had been granted nineteen days since the rout of Gamonal in which to organize the defence of their capital—a space in which something might have been done had their resources been properly applied and their commanders capable. It is true that even if every available man had been hurried to Madrid, the Emperor must still have prevailed: his numbers were too overwhelming to be withstood. But this fact does not excuse the Junta for not having done their best to hold him back. It is clear that when the news of Gamonal reached them, on the morning of the twelfth, orders should have been sent to Casta?os to fall back on the capital by way of Calatayud and Siguenza, leaving Palafox and the Aragonese to ‘contain’ Moncey as long as might be possible. Nothing of the kind was done, and the army of the Centre—as we have seen—was still at Tudela on the twenty-third. There was another and a still more important source of aid available: the English army from Portugal had begun to arrive at Salamanca on November 13: its rearguard had reached that city ten days later. With Sir John Moore’s designs and plans of campaign we shall have to deal in another chapter. It must suffice in this place to say that he was now within 150 miles of Madrid by a good high-road: the subsidiary column under Hope, which had with it nearly the whole of the British artillery, was at Talavera, still nearer to the capital. If the Junta had realized and frankly avowed the perils of the situation, there can be no doubt that they would have used every effort to bring Moore to the defence of Madrid. Seven or eight good marches could have carried him thither. But the Spaniards did nothing of the kind: refusing to realize the imminence of the danger, they preferred to urge on Mr. Frere, the newly arrived British minister, a scheme for the union of Moore’s forces with Blake’s broken ‘Army of the Left[502].’ They suggested that Hope’s division might be[p. 452] brought up to reinforce the capital, but that the rest of the British troops should operate in the valley of the Douro. This proposition was wholly inadmissible, for Hope had with him all Moore’s cavalry and most of his guns. To have separated him from his chief would have left the latter incapable of any offensive movement. Hope declined to listen to the proposal, and marched via the Escurial to join the main army[503].

The fact was that the Junta still persisted in the foolish belief that Napoleon had no more than 80,000 men disposable in Northern Spain, instead of the 250,000 who were really at his command. They looked on the French advance to Burgos as a mere reconnaissance in force made by a single corps, and in this notion the imbecile Belvedere did his best to confirm them, by stating in his dispatch that the force which had routed him amounted to no more than 3,000 horse and 6,000 infantry[504]. Instead of calling in Casta?os and making a desperate appeal for aid to Moore, the Junta contented themselves with endeavouring to reorganize the wrecks of the army of Estremadura, and pushing forward the belated fragments of the 1st and 3rd Andalusian divisions, which still lingered in Madrid, as well as the few Castilian levies that were now available for service in the field. Nothing can show their blind self-confidence more clearly than their proclamation of November 15, put forward to attenuate the ill effects on the public mind of the news of the rout of Gamonal. ‘The Supreme Junta of Government’—so runs the document—‘in order to prevent any more unhappy accidents of this kind, has already taken the most prudent measures; it has nominated Don Joseph Heredia to the command of the army of Estremadura: it has ordered all the other generals of the Army of the Right to combine their movements: it has given stringent orders for the prompt reinforcement of the above-named army.... There is every hope that the enemy, who now boasts of having been able to advance as far as Burgos, will soon be well chastised for his temerity. And if it is certain—as the reports from the frontier assure us—that the Emperor of the French has come in person to inspect the conduct[p. 453] of his generals and his troops in Spain, we may hope that the valiant defenders of our fatherland may aspire to the glory of making him fly, with the same haste with which they forced his brother Joseph to abandon the throne and the capital of which he vainly thought that he had taken possession[505].’

Since they systematically undervalued the number of Napoleon’s host, and refused to believe that there was any danger of a serious attack on Madrid during the next few days, it was natural that the Junta should waste, in the most hopeless fashion, the short time of respite that was granted to them between the rout of Gamonal and Napoleon’s advance from Aranda. They hurried forward the troops that were close at hand to hold the passes of the watershed between Old and New Castile, and then resumed their usual constitutional debates.

The forces available for the defence of Madrid appear absurdly small when we consider the mighty mass of men that Bonaparte was leading against them. Nearly half of the total was composed of the wrecks of the Estremaduran army. Belvedere, as it will be remembered, had brought back to Lerma the remains of his 1st and 2nd Divisions, and rallied them on his intact 3rd Division. The approach of Lasalle’s cavalry on November 11 scared them from Lerma, and the whole body, now perhaps 8,000 or 9,000 strong, fell back on Aranda. From thence we should have expected that they would retire by the high-road on Madrid, and take post in the pass of the Somosierra. But the Estremaduran officers decided to retreat on Segovia, far to the left, leaving only a handful of men[506] to cover the main line of access to the capital. It looks as if a kind of ‘homing instinct’ had seized the whole army, and compelled them to retire along the road that led to their own province. The only explanation given by their commanders was that they hoped to pick up in this direction many of the fugitives who had not rallied to their main body (one cannot say to their colours, for most of them had been captured by the[p. 454] French) on the day after Gamonal[507]. At Segovia the unhappy Belvedere was superseded by Heredia, whom the Junta had sent down from Aranjuez to reorganize the army.

The other troops available for the defence of Madrid consisted mainly of the belated fractions of the army of Andalusia, which Casta?os had summoned so many times to join him on the Ebro, but which were still, on November 15, in or about Madrid. They were supposed to be completing their clothing and equipment, and to be incorporating recruits. But considering the enormous space of time that had elapsed since Baylen, it is not unfair to believe that the true reason for their detention in the capital had been the Junta’s wish to keep a considerable body of troops in its own immediate neighbourhood. It was convenient to have regiments near at hand which had not passed under the control of any of the generals commanding the provincial armies. There were in Madrid no less than nine battalions of the original division of Reding—all regulars and all corps who had distinguished themselves at Baylen[508]. Of the 3rd Division there were two regular and two old militia battalions[509]. The remainder of the available force in the capital consisted of four battalions of new levies raised in the capital (the 1st and 2nd Regiments of the ‘Volunteers of Madrid’), of one new corps from Andalusia (the 3rd Volunteers of Seville), and of fragments of four regiments of cavalry[510]. The whole division, twelve thousand strong, was placed under the charge of General San Juan, a veteran of good reputation[511]. But he was only a subordinate: the supreme[p. 455] command in Madrid was at this moment in dispute between General Eguia, who had just been appointed as head of the whole ‘Army of Reserve,’ and the Marquis of Castelar, Captain-General of New Castile. The existence of two rival authorities on the spot did not tend to facilitate the organization of the army, or the formation of a regular plan of defence. Eguia, succeeding at last in asserting his authority, ordered San Juan with his 12,000 men to defend the Somosierra, while Heredia with the 9,000 Estremadurans was to hold the pass of the Guadarrama, the alternative road from Old Castile to Madrid via Segovia and San Ildefonso. These 21,000 men were all that could be brought up to resist Napoleon’s attack, since the Junta had neglected to call in its more distant resources. It is clear that from the first they were doomed to failure, for mountain chains are not like perpendicular walls: they cannot be maintained merely by blocking the roads in the defiles. Small bodies of troops, entrenched across the actual summit of the pass, can always be turned by an enemy of superior numbers; for infantry can easily scramble up the flanking heights on each side of the high-road. These heights must be held by adequate forces, arranged in a continuous line for many miles on each side of the defile, if the position is not to be outflanked. Neither Heredia nor San Juan had the numbers necessary for this purpose.

It was open to Napoleon to attack both the passes, or to demonstrate against one while concentrating his main force on the other, or to completely ignore the one and to turn every man against the other. He chose the last-named alternative: a few cavalry only were told off to watch the Estremadurans at Segovia, though Lefebvre and the 4th Corps were ultimately sent in that direction. The main mass of the army marched from Aranda against the Somosierra. San Juan had not made the best of his opportunities: he had done no more than range his whole artillery across the pass at its culminating point, with a shallow earthwork to protect it. This only covered the little plateau at the head of the defile: the flanking heights on either side were not prepared or entrenched. They were steep, especially on the right side of the road, but nowhere inaccessible to infantry moving in skirmishing order. At the northern foot of the pass lies the little town of[p. 456] Sepulveda, which is reached by a road that branches off from the Madrid chaussée before it commences to mount the defile. To this place San Juan pushed forward a vanguard, consisting of five battalions of veteran line troops[512], a battery, and half his available cavalry. It is hard to see why he risked the flower of his little army in this advanced position: they were placed (it is true) so as to flank any attempt of the French to advance up the high-road. But what use could there be in threatening the flank of Napoleon’s 40,000 men with a small detached brigade of 3,500 bayonets? And how were the troops to join their main body, if the Emperor simply ‘contained’ them with a small force, and pushed up the pass?

Napoleon left Aranda on November 28: on the twenty-ninth he reached Boceguillas, near the foot of the mountains, where the Sepulveda road joins the great chaussée, at the bottom of the pass. After reconnoitring the Spanish position, he sent a brigade of fusiliers of the Guard, under Savary, to turn the enemy out of Sepulveda. Meanwhile he pushed his vanguard up the defile, to look for the position of San Juan. Savary’s battalions failed to dislodge Sarden’s detachment before nightfall: behind the walls of the town the Spaniards stood firm, and after losing sixty or seventy men Savary drew off. His attack was not really necessary, for the moment that the Emperor had seized the exit of the defile, the force at Sepulveda, on its cross-road, was cut off from any possibility of rejoining its commander-in-chief, and stood in a very compromised position. Realizing this fact, Colonel Sarden retreated in the night, passed cautiously along the foot of the hills, and fell back on the Estremaduran army at Segovia. The only result, therefore, of San Juan’s having made this detachment to threaten the Emperor’s flank, was that he had deprived himself of the services of a quarter of his troops—and those the best in his army—when it became necessary to defend the actual pass. He had now left to oppose Napoleon only six battalions of regulars, two of militia, and seven of raw Castilian and Estremaduran levies: the guns which he had established in line across the little plateau, at the crest of the pass, seem to have been sixteen in number. The Emperor could bring against him about five men to one.

[p. 457]

The high-road advances by a series of curves up the side of the mountain, with the ravine of the little river Duraton always on its right hand. The ground on either flank is steep but not inaccessible. Cavalry and guns must stick to the chaussée, but infantry can push ahead with more or less ease in every direction. There were several rough side-tracks on which the French could have turned San Juan’s position, by making a long circling movement. But Bonaparte disdained to use cautious measures: he knew that he had in front of him a very small force, and he had an exaggerated contempt for the Spanish levies. Accordingly, at dawn on the thirtieth, he pushed up the main defile, merely taking the precaution of keeping strong pickets of infantry out upon the flanking heights.

When, after a march of about seventeen miles up the defile, the French reached the front of San Juan’s position, the morning was very far spent. It was a dull November day with occasional showers of rain, and fogs and mists hung close to the slopes of the mountains. No general view of the ground could be obtained, but the Emperor made out the Spanish guns placed across the high-road, and could see that the heights for some little way on either hand were occupied. He at once deployed the division of Ruffin, belonging to Victor’s corps, which headed his line of march. The four battalions of the 96th moved up the road towards the battery: the 9th Léger spread out in skirmishing order to the right, the 24th of the Line to the left. They pressed forward up the steep slopes, taking cover behind rocks and in undulations of the ground: their progress was in no small degree helped by the mist, which prevented the Spaniards from getting any full view of their assailants. Presently, for half a mile on each flank of the high-road, the mountain-side was alive with the crackling fire of the long lines of tirailleurs. The ten French battalions were making their way slowly but surely towards the crest, when the Emperor rode to the front. He brought up with him a battery of artillery of the Guard, which he directed against the Spanish line of guns, but with small effect, for the enemy had the advantage in numbers and position. Bonaparte grew impatient: if he had waited a little longer Ruffin’s division would have cleared the flanking heights without asking for aid. But he was anxious to press the combat to a decision, and had the greatest contempt for the forces in front of him. His main idea[p. 458] at the moment seems to have been to give his army and his generals a sample of the liberties that might be taken with Spanish levies. After noting that Victor’s infantry were drawing near the summit of the crest, and seemed able to roll back all that lay in front of them, he suddenly took a strange and unexpected step. He turned to the squadron of Polish Light Horse, which formed his escort for the day, and bade them prepare to charge the Spanish battery at the top of the pass. It appeared a perfectly insane order, for the Poles were not 100 strong[513]: they could only advance along the road four abreast, and then they would be exposed for some 400 yards to the converging fire of sixteen guns. Clearly the head of the charging column would be vowed to destruction, and not a man would escape if the infantry supports of the battery stood firm. But Bonaparte cared nothing for the lives of the unfortunate troopers who would form the forlorn hope, if only he could deliver one of those theatrical strokes with which he loved to adorn a Bulletin. It would be tame and commonplace to allow Victor’s infantry to clear the heights on either side, and to compel the retreat of the Spanish guns by mere outflanking. On the other hand, it was certain that the enemy must be growing very uncomfortable at the sight of the steady progress of Ruffin’s battalions up the heights: the Emperor calculated that San Juan’s artillerymen must already be looking over their shoulders and expecting the order to retire, when the crests above them should be lost. If enough of the Poles struggled through to the guns to silence the battery for a moment, there was a large chance that the whole Spanish line would break and fly down hill to Buitrago and Madrid. To support the escort-squadron he ordered up the rest of the Polish regiment and the chasseurs à cheval of the Guard: if the devoted vanguard could once reach the guns 1,000 sabres would support them and sweep along the road. If, on the other hand, the Poles were exterminated, the Guard cavalry would be held back, and nothing would have been lost, save the lives of the forlorn hope.

[p. 459]

General Montbrun led the Polish squadron forward for about half the distance that separated them from the guns: so many saddles were emptied that the men hesitated, and sought refuge in a dip of the ground where some rocks gave them more or less cover from the Spanish balls. This sight exasperated the Emperor: when Walther, the general commanding the Imperial Guard, rode up to him, and suggested that he should wait a moment longer till Victor’s tirailleurs should have carried the heights on each side of the road, he smote the pommel of his saddle and shouted, ‘My Guard must not be stopped by peasants, mere armed banditti[514].’ Then he sent forward his aide-de-camp, Philippe de Ségur, to tell the Poles that they must quit their cover and charge home. Ségur galloped on and gave his message to the chef d’escadron Korjietulski: the Emperor’s eye was upon them, and the Polish officers did not shrink. Placing themselves at the head of the survivors of their devoted band they broke out of their cover and charged in upon the guns, Ségur riding two horses’ lengths in front of the rest. There were only 200 yards to cross, but the task was impossible; one blasting discharge of the Spanish guns, aided by the fire of infantry skirmishers from the flanks, practically exterminated the unhappy squadron. Of the eighty-eight who charged four officers and forty men were killed, four officers (one of them was Ségur) and twelve men wounded[515]. The foremost of these bold riders got within thirty yards of the guns before he fell.

Having thus sacrificed in vain this little band of heroes, Bonaparte found himself forced, after all, to wait for the infantry. General Barrois with the 96th Regiment, following in the wake of the lost squadron, seized the line of rocks behind which the Poles had taken refuge before their charge, and began to exchange a lively musketry fire with the Spanish battalions which flanked and guarded the guns. Meanwhile the 9th and 24th Regiments on either side had nearly reached the crest of the heights. The[p. 460] enemy were already wavering, and falling back before the advance of Barrois’ brigade, whose skirmishers had struggled to the summit just to the right of the grand battery on the high-road, when the Emperor ordered a second cavalry charge. This time he sent up Montbrun with the remaining squadrons of the Polish regiment, supported by the chasseurs à cheval of the Guard. The conditions were completely changed, and this second attack was delivered at the right moment: the Spaniards, all along the line, were now heavily engaged with Victor’s infantry. When, therefore, the horsemen rode furiously in upon the guns, it is not wonderful that they succeeded in closing with them, and seized the whole battery with small loss. The defenders of the pass gave way so suddenly, and scattered among the rocks with such speed, that only 200 of them were caught and ridden down. The Poles pursued those of them who retired down the road as far as Buitrago, at the southern foot of the defile, but without inflicting on them any very severe loss; for the fugitives swerved off the path, and could not be hunted down by mounted men among the steep slopes whereon they sought refuge. The larger part of the Spaniards, being posted to the left of the chaussée, fled westward along the side of the mountain and arrived at Segovia, where they joined the army of Estremadura. With them went San Juan, who had vainly tried to make his reserve stand firm behind the guns, and had received two sword-cuts on the head from a Polish officer. Only a small part of the army fled to the direct rear and entered Madrid.

The story of the passage of the Somosierra has often been told as if it was an example of the successful frontal attack of cavalry on guns, and as if the Poles had actually defeated the whole Spanish army. Nothing of the kind occurred: Napoleon, as we have seen, in a moment of impatience and rage called upon the leading squadron to perform an impossibility, and caused them to be exterminated. The second charge was quite a different matter: here the horsemen fell upon shaken troops already closely engaged with infantry, and broke through them. But if they had not charged at all, the pass would have been forced none the less, and only five minutes later than was actually the case[516]. In short, it[p. 461] was Ruffin’s division, and not the cavalry, which really did the work. Napoleon, with his habitual love of the theatrical and his customary disregard of truth, wrote in the 13th Bulletin that the charge of the Polish Light Horse decided the action, and that they had lost only eight killed and sixteen wounded! This legend has slipped into history, and traces of its influence will be found even in Napier[517] and other serious authors.

The combat of the Somosierra, in short, is only an example of the well-known fact that defiles with accessible flank-slopes cannot be held by a small army against fourfold numbers. To state the matter shortly, fifteen battalions of Spaniards (five of them regular battalions which had been present at Baylen) were turned off the heights by the ten battalions of Ruffin: the cavalry action was only a spectacular interlude. The Spanish infantry, considering that there were so many veteran corps among them, might have behaved better. But they did not suffer the disgrace of being routed by a single squadron of horse as Napoleon asserted; and if they fought feebly their discouragement was due, we cannot doubt, to the fact that they saw the pass packed for miles to the rear with the advancing columns of the French, and knew that Ruffin’s division was only the skirmishing line (so to speak) of a great army.

On the night of November 30, Napoleon descended the pass and fixed his head quarters at Buitrago. On the afternoon of December 1 the advanced parties of Latour-Maubourg’s and Lasalle’s cavalry rode up to the northern suburbs of Madrid: on[p. 462] the second the French appeared in force, and the attack on the city began.

The Spanish capital was, and is, a place incapable of any regular defence. It had not even, like Valencia and Saragossa, the remains of a mediaeval wall: its development had taken place in the sixteenth century, when serious fortifications had gone out of date. Its streets were broad and regular, unlike the tortuous lanes which had been the real strength of Saragossa. Nothing separates the city from its suburbs save ornamental gates, whose only use was for the levy of octroi duties. Madrid is built in a level upland, but there is a rising ground which dominates the whole place: it lies just outside the eastern limit of the city. On it stood the palace of the Buen Retiro (which gives its name to the height), and several other public buildings, among them the Observatory and the royal porcelain manufactory, known as La China. The latter occupied the more commanding and important section of the summit of the hill. Between the Retiro and the eastern side of the city lies the public park known as the Prado, a low-lying open space laid out with fountains, statues, and long avenues of trees. Three broad and handsome streets[518] run eastward and terminate in the Prado, just opposite the Retiro, so that cannon planted either by the palace or by La China can search them from end to end. This was so obvious that Murat, during his occupation of Madrid in April and May, had built three redoubts, one large and two small, facing down into the city and armed with guns of position. The inhabitants of Madrid had partly dismantled them after the departure of the French—and did themselves no harm thereby, for these earthworks were useless for defence against an enemy from without: they could be employed to overawe the city but not to protect it[519].

Ever since the rout of Gamonal, those members of the Junta who were gifted with ordinary foresight must have realized that it was probable that the Emperor would appear ere long before the gates of the capital. But to avoid alarming the excitable populace, the fact was concealed as long as possible, and it was given out that Madrid would be defended at the impregnable Somosierra. It was not till November 25 that any public measures for the fortification of the capital were spoken of. On that day the[p. 463] Junta issued a proclamation placing the charge of the capital in the hands of the Marquis of Castelar, Captain-General of New Castile, and of Don Tomas de Morla, the officer who had won a name by bombarding and capturing the French fleet at Cadiz in June. Under their directions, preparations were begun for putting the city in a state of defence. But the military men had a strong and well-founded belief that the place was indefensible, and that all efforts made to fortify it were labour thrown away: the fight must be made at the Somosierra, not at the gates of Madrid. It was not till the news of the rout of San Juan’s army on the thirtieth came to hand, that any very serious work was executed. But when this disaster was known there was a sudden and splendid outburst of energy. The populace, full of vindictive memories of May 2, were ready and willing to fight, and had no conception of the military weakness of their situation. If Saragossa had defended itself street by street, why, they asked, should not Madrid do the same? Their spirits were so high and their temper so ferocious, that the authorities realized that they must place themselves at the head of the multitude, or be torn to pieces as traitors. On December 1 a Junta of Defence was formed, under the presidency of the Duke of Infantado, in which Morla and Castelar were given a large and heterogeneous mass of colleagues—magistrates, officers, and prominent citizens forming an unwieldy body very unfit to act as an executive council of war. The military resources at their disposal were insignificant: there was a handful of the fugitives from the Somosierra—Castelar estimated them as not more than 300 or 400 in all[520]—and two battalions of new levies from the south, which had arrived only on the morning of December 1. The organized forces then were not more than 2,500 or 3,000 in all. But there was a vast and unruly mob of citizens of Madrid and of peasants, who had flocked into the city to aid in its defence. Weapons rather than men were wanting, for when 8,000 muskets from the Arsenal had been served out, the supply ran short. All private persons owning firearms of any description were invited to hand them in to the Junta: but this resource soon failed, and finally pikes were served out, and even mediaeval weapons from the royal armoury and the family collections of certain grandees. How many men, armed in one way or another,[p. 464] took part in the defence of Madrid will never be known—it cannot have been less than 20,000, and may have amounted to much more.

Not merely the combatants, but the whole population of both sexes turned themselves with absolute frenzy to the work of fortification. In the two days which they had at their disposal they carried out an enormous and ill-compacted scheme for surrounding the whole city with lines. In front of each of the gates a battery was established, formed of earth reveted with paving-stones: to connect these a continuous wall was made, by joining together all the exterior houses of the town with earthworks, or with piles of stones and bricks pulled down from buildings in the suburbs. On several fronts ditches were excavated: the more important streets were blocked with barricades, and the windows and doors of exposed buildings were built up. There were very few engineers at the disposal of the Junta of Defence, and the populace in many places worked not under skilled guidance but by the light of nature, executing enormous but perfectly useless works. ‘The batteries,’ wrote a prominent Spanish witness, ‘were all too small: they were so low that they did not prevent the gates and streets which they defended from being enfiladed: the guns being placed en barbette were much exposed, and were dominated by the artillery which the enemy afterwards placed on the high ground [i.e. the Retiro heights]. The low parapets and the want of proportion between them and their banquettes left the infantry unsheltered: indeed they were harmed rather than helped by the works, for the splinters of the paving-stones which formed the parapets proved more deadly to the garrison than did the enemy’s cannon-balls. The batteries were too low at the flanks, and placed so close to the buildings in their rear that the guns could not easily be worked nor the infantry supports move freely. The gates behind being all of hewn stone, every ball that struck them sent such a shower of fragments flying that the effect was like grape: it forced the defenders to lie flat, and even then caused terrible loss[521].’ It may be added that not only were the works unscientifically executed, but that the most tiresome results were produced by the misguided energy of persons who threw up barricades, or dug cuttings, behind them, so that it was[p. 465] very hard to send up reinforcements, and quite impossible to withdraw the guns from one battery for use in another.

It was natural that these self-taught engineers should neglect the one most important point in the defences of Madrid. The Retiro heights were the key of the city: if they were lost, the whole place lay open to bombardment from the dominating ground. But nothing was done here, save that the old French works round the factory of La China were repaired, the buildings of the palace, barracks, and hospital in the vicinity barricaded, and a low continuous earthwork constructed round the summit of the hill. It should have been turned into a regular entrenched camp, if the city was really to be defended.

The Junta of Defence did its best to preserve order and introduce discipline: all the armed men were paraded in the Prado, told off into bands, and allotted their posts around the circumference of the city. But there were many idle hands, and much confusion: it was inevitable that mobs should collect, with the usual consequences. Cries of ‘Treason’ were raised, some houses were sacked, and at least one atrocious murder was committed. The Marquis of Perales was president of the sub-committee which the Junta had appointed to superintend the manufacture and distribution of ammunition. Among the cartridges given out to the people some were found in which sand had been substituted for powder—probably they were relics of some petty piece of peculation dating back to the times of Godoy. When this was discovered, a furious mob ran to the house of the marquis, beat him to death, and dragged his corpse through the streets on a hurdle[522].

If the populace of Madrid was full of blind self-confidence, and imagined that it had the power to beat off the assault of Napoleon, its leaders were in a much more despondent frame of mind. Morla was one of those who had joined the patriotic party merely[p. 466] because he thought it was the winning side: he was deeply disgusted with himself, and was already contemplating the traitorous desertion to the enemy which has covered his name with eternal disgrace. Castelar seems to have been weak and downhearted. The Duke of Infantado was enough of a soldier to see the hopeless inefficiency of the measures of defence which had been adopted. The only chance of saving Madrid was to hurry up to its aid the two field-armies which were within touch—the old Andalusian divisions (now under La Pe?a), which, by orders of the Supreme Junta, were marching from Calatayud on the capital, and the routed bands of Heredia and San Juan at Segovia. Urgent appeals were sent to both of these hosts to press forward without delay: Infantado himself rode out to meet the army of the Centre, which on this day [Dec. 1] had not long passed Siguenza in its retreat, and was still nearly eighty miles from the capital. He met it at Guadalajara on the next day, in very bad condition, and much reduced by long marches and starvation: with the colours there were only 9,000 foot and 2,000 horse, and these were in a state of half-developed mutiny. The rest of the 20,000 men who had escaped from Tudela were ranging in small bands over the country-side, in search of food, and were not rallied for many days. There was not much to be hoped for from the army of the Centre, and it was evident that it could not reach Madrid till December 3 or 4. The troops of San Juan and Heredia were not so far distant, but even they had fifty-five miles to march from Segovia, and—as it turned out—the capital had fallen before either of the field-armies could possibly come to its aid. Still more fruitless were the attempts made at the last moment to induce Sir John Moore to bring up the British expeditionary force from Salamanca—he was 150 miles away, and could not have arrived before December 7, three days after the capitulation had been signed.

Napoleon dealt with the insurgents of Madrid in a very summary manner. On December 1—as we have already seen—his vedettes appeared before the city: on the morning of the second the dragoons of Lahoussaye and Latour-Maubourg came up in force and invested the northern and eastern fronts of the city. At noon the Emperor himself appeared, and late in the afternoon the infantry columns of Victor’s corps. December 2 was one of Bonaparte’s lucky days, being the anniversary of Austerlitz, and he had indulged in a faint hope that an open town like the Spanish[p. 467] capital might do him the courtesy of surrendering without a blow, like Vienna in 1805, or Berlin in 1806. Accordingly he sent a summons to the Junta in the afternoon; but the Spaniards were in no mood for yielding. General Montbrun, who rode up to the gates with the white flag, was nearly mobbed by enraged peasants, and the aide-de-camp who took the dispatch into the city was only saved from certain death by the exertions of some Spanish officers of the line. The Junta sent him back with the haughty reply that ‘the people of Madrid were resolved to bury themselves under the ruins of their houses rather than to permit the French troops to enter their city.’

Since the ‘sun of Austerlitz’ was not destined to set upon the triumphal entry of the Emperor into the Spanish capital, it became necessary to prepare for the use of force. As a preliminary for an attack on the following morning, Lapisse’s division of Victor’s corps was sent forward to turn the Spaniards out of many isolated houses in front of their line of entrenchments, which were being held as advanced posts. The ground being cleared, preparations could be made for the assault. The moment that Bonaparte cast eyes on the place, he realized that the heights of the Retiro were the key of the position. Under cover of the night, therefore, thirty guns were ranged in line opposite the weak earthworks which crowned the eminence. Artillery in smaller force was placed in front of several of the northern and eastern gates of the city, to distract the attention of the garrison from the critical point. Before dawn the Emperor sent in another summons to surrender, by the hands of an artillery officer who had been captured at the Somosierra. It is clear that he wished, if possible, to enter Madrid without being obliged to deliver up the city to fire and sword: it would be unfortunate if his brother’s second reign were to begin under such unhappy conditions. But it is hard to understand how he could suppose that the warlike frenzy of the Spaniards would have died down between the afternoon of December 2 and the dawn of December 3. All the reply that he obtained was a proposal from the Captain-General Castelar, that there should be a suspension of arms for twelve hours. The sole object of this delay was to allow the Spanish field-armies time to draw nearer to Madrid. Recognizing the fact—which was obvious enough—the Emperor gave orders for an immediate assault. A cannonade was opened against the gates of Los Pozos, the Recoletos, Fuencarral, and several others on the northern and eastern sides of[p. 468] the city. Considerable damage was done to the Spanish defences, but these attacks were all subsidiary. The real assault was delivered against the Retiro heights. The heavy cannonade which was directed against the Spanish works soon opened several breaches. Then Villatte’s division of Victor’s corps was sent in to storm the position, a feat which it accomplished with the greatest ease. The garrison of this all-important section of the defences consisted of a single battalion of new levies—the Regiment of Mazzaredo—and a mass of armed citizens. They were swept out of their works, and pursued downhill into the Prado. Pressing onward among the avenues and fountains, Villatte’s division took in the rear the defenders of the three neighbouring gates, and then, pushing in among the houses of the city, made a lodgement in the palace of the Duke of Medina Celi, and several other large buildings. There was now nothing between the French army and the heart of Madrid save the street-barricades, which the populace had thrown up behind the original lines of defence.

If Napoleon had chosen to send into the fight the rest of Victor’s corps, and had pushed forward the whole of his artillery to the edge of the captured heights, with orders to shell the city, there can be little doubt that Madrid might have been stormed ere nightfall. Its broad streets did not give the facilities of defence that Saragossa had possessed, and the Emperor had at his disposal not a weak and heterogeneous army, such as Verdier had commanded, but more than 40,000 veteran troops. His artillery, too, had on the Retiro a vantage-ground such as did not exist outside the Aragonese capital. Nevertheless the Emperor did not press the attack, and once more sent in a demand for the surrender of the place, at about eleven in the morning of December 3.

The populace of Madrid did not yet recognize its own forlorn state, and was keeping up a vigorous fusillade at the gates and behind the barricades. It had suffered severe loss from the French artillery, owing to the unscientific construction of the defences, but was not yet ready to yield. But the Junta was in a very different frame of mind: the military men thoroughly understood the situation, and were expecting to see a hundred guns open from the crest of the Retiro within the next few minutes. Their civilian colleagues, the magistrates, and local notables were looking forward with no enviable feelings to the conflagration and the general sack that seemed to be at hand. In short the idea of rivalling[p. 469] Saragossa was far from their thoughts. When Napoleon’s letter, offering ‘pardon to the city of Madrid, protection and security for the peaceful inhabitants, respect for the churches and the clergy, oblivion for the past,’ was delivered to the Junta, the majority decided to treat with him. They sent out as negotiators General Morla, representing the military element, and Don Bernardo Iriarte[523], on behalf of the civil authorities. Napoleon treated these delegates to one of those scenes of simulated rage which he was such an adept at producing—his harangue was quite in the style of the famous allocutions to Lord Whitworth and to Metternich. It was necessary, he thought, to terrify the delegates. Accordingly he let loose on Morla a storm of largely irrelevant abuse, stringing together accusations concerning the bombardment of the French fleet at Cadiz, the violation of the Convention of Baylen, the escape of La Romana’s troops from the Baltic, and (strangest of all!) the misconduct of the Spanish troops in Roussillon during the war of 1793-5. He ended by declaring that unless the city had been surrendered by six o’clock on the following morning, every man taken in arms should be put to the sword.

Morla was a very timid man[524], moreover he was already meditating submission to King Joseph: he returned to the Junta in a state of absolute collapse, and gave such a highly coloured account of the Emperor’s wrath, and of the number of the French army, that there was no further talk of resistance. The main difficulty was to stop the promiscuous firing which was still going on at the outposts, and to induce the more exasperated section of the mob to quit the city or to lay down their arms. Many of them took the former alternative: the Marquis of Castelar, resolved to avoid captivity, got together his handful of regular troops, and fled in haste by the road towards Estremadura: he was followed by some thousands of peasants, and by a considerable number of persons who thought themselves too much compromised to be able to remain behind. Having got rid of the recalcitrants, the Junta drew up a form of capitulation in eleven articles, and sent it out to the French camp. Napoleon, anxious above all things to get possession of the city as soon as possible, accepted it almost without discussion, though it contained many clauses entirely in[p. 470]appropriate to such a document. As he did not intend to observe any of the inconvenient stipulations, he did not care to waste time in discussing them[525]. Morla and Fernando de Vera, governor of the city, came back with the capitulation duly ratified by Berthier, and next morning the gates were opened, a division under General Belliard marched in, and the Spaniards gave up their artillery and laid down their muskets without further trouble. After the spasmodic burst of energy which they had displayed during the last four days, the citizens showed a melancholy apathy which surprised the conquerors. There was no riot or confusion, nor were any isolated attempts at resistance made. Hence the occupation of Madrid took place without any scenes of bloodshed or pillage, the Emperor for his part keeping a very stern hand upon the soldiery, and sending in as small a garrison as could safely be allotted to the task.

Madrid having fallen after no more than two days of resistance, the two Spanish field-armies which were marching to its aid were far too late to be of any use. The army of the Centre under La Pe?a had reached Guadalajara at nightfall on December 2: there it was met by the Duke of Infantado, who had come out from Madrid to hurry on the troops. At his solicitation the wearied and disorganized host, with Ney’s corps pressing hard on its heels, marched for San Torcaz and Arganda, thus placing itself in a most dangerous position between the Emperor and the corps that was in pursuit. Fortunately La Pe?a got early news of the capitulation, and swerving southward from Arganda, made for the passage of the Tagus at Aranjuez. But Bonaparte had sent out part of Victor’s corps to seize that place, and when the army of the Centre drew near, it found French troops in possession [December 6]. With Ney behind, Victor in front, and Bessières’ cavalry ranging all over the plain of New Castile, the Spaniards were in grave danger. But they escaped by way of Estremera, crossed the ferries on the Upper Tagus, and finally rallied—in a[p. 471] most miserable and disorganized condition—at Cuenca. The artillery, unable to leave the high-road, had been sent off three days before, from Guadalajara towards the kingdom of Murcia, almost without an escort: by a piece of extraordinary luck it escaped without seeing an enemy.

The doings of the disorganized divisions of San Juan and Heredia, which had marched from Segovia on December 2, were much more discreditable. Late on the third they reached the Escurial, some thirty miles from Madrid, and were met by fugitives from the capital, who reported that the Retiro had been stormed, and that the Junta of Defence was debating about a surrender. The two commanders were doubting whether they ought not to turn back, when their troops broke out into mutiny, insisting that the march on Madrid must be continued. After a scene of great disorder the generals gave in, and resumed their advance on the morning of the fourth, just at the moment when Morla was opening the gates to Napoleon. They had only gone a few miles when certain news of the capitulation was received. There followed a disgraceful scene; the cry of treason ran down the ranks: some battalions disbanded themselves, others attacked their own officers, and the whole mass dissolved and went off in panic to Talavera, leaving its artillery abandoned by the wayside. They had not even seen a French vedette, or fired a single shot, yet they fled in utter rout for sixty miles, and only halted when they could run no further. Seven or eight thousand men out of the two armies were got together at Talavera, on the sixth; but when, next morning, San Juan attempted to take up the command again, they raised the idiotic cry that he wished to lead them forward into the midst of Napoleon’s armies in order to force them to surrender! The unfortunate general was hunted down, shot as he was trying to escape from a window, and hung from a large elm-tree just outside the town. This was the most disgraceful scene of the whole campaign in 1808. It was not for some days later that the remnants of this miserable army were reduced to some shadow of discipline, and consented to march under the command of new generals.

It is clear that even if Madrid had held out for a day or two more, by dint of desperate street-fighting, it would have got no effective aid from the armies in the field. We cannot therefore say that the Junta of Defence did much harm by its tame sur[p. 472]render. From the military point of view Madrid was indefensible: on the other hand it was eminently desirable, from the political point of view, that Napoleon should not enter the place unopposed, to be received, as at Vienna or Berlin, by obsequious deputations mouthing compliments, and bearing the keys of the city on silver salvers. It was far better, in the long run, for Spain and for Europe that he should be received with cannon-balls, and forced to fight his way in. This simple fact made all his fictions to the effect that he was only opposed by the rabble, the monks, and the agents of England appear absurd. He could not, after this, pretend to introduce his brother Joseph as a legitimate sovereign quietly returning to his loyal capital. So much was secured by the two days’ resistance of Madrid: on the other hand, when once the French were inside the city, and further resistance would have ended merely in general pillage and conflagration, it would have required more than Spartan resolution for the Junta to go on fighting. If Madrid had been burnt like Moscow, the moral effect on Spain and on Europe would, no doubt, have been enormous. But the heterogeneous council of war, composed of dispirited officers and local notables trembling for their homes, could hardly be expected to see this. They yielded, considering that they had already done enough by way of protest—and even with Saragossa in our mind we should be loth to say that their capitulation was culpable. The one shameful thing about the surrender was that within a few days both Morla, the military head of the defence, and several of the chief civil officials, swore allegiance to Joseph Bonaparte, and took service under him. Such treason on the part of prominent men did more to encourage the invader and to dishearten Spain and her allies than the loss of half a dozen battles. For, when once desertion begins, no one knows where it will stop, and every man distrusts his neighbour as a possible traitor. Madrid, as we have already said, was not a true national capital, nor was its loss a fatal blow; but that its chief defenders should shamelessly throw over the cause of their country, and join the enemy, was a symptom of the most dire and deadly sort. But, fortunately, the fate of the country was not in the hands of its corrupt bureaucracy, but in those of its much-enduring people.
SECTION VIII  THE CAMPAIGN OF SIR JOHN MOORE CHAPTER I
NAPOLEON AT MADRID

From December 4 to December 22 the Emperor remained fixed in the neighbourhood of Madrid. He did not settle down in the royal palace, and it would seem that he made no more than one or two hurried visits of inspection to the city[526]. He established himself outside the gates, at Chamartin, a desolate and uncomfortable country house of the Duke of Infantado, and devoted himself to incessant desk-work[527]. It was here that he drew up his projects for the reorganization of the kingdom of Spain, and at the same time set himself to the task of constructing his plans of campaign against those parts of the Peninsula which still remained unsubdued. In seventeen days, uninterrupted by the cares of travel, Bonaparte could get through an enormous amount of business. His words and deeds at this period are well worth studying, for the light that they throw alike on his own character and on his conceptions of the state and the needs of Spain.

His first act was to annul the capitulation which he had granted to the inhabitants of Madrid. Having served its purpose in inducing the Junta to yield, it was promptly violated. ‘The Spaniards have failed to carry it out,’ he wrote, ‘and I consider[p. 474] the whole thing void[528].’ Looking at the preposterous clauses which he had allowed to be inserted in the document, there can be no doubt that this was his intention at the very moment when he ratified it. It was a small thing that he should break engagements, such as those in which he had promised not to quarter troops in the monasteries (Article 7), or to maintain all existing officials in their places (Article 2). But having guaranteed security for their life and property, freedom from arrest, and free exit at their pleasure, to such persons as chose to remain behind in the city, it was shameless to commence his proceedings with a proscription and a long series of arrests. The list of persons declared traitors and condemned to loss of life and goods was not very long: only ten persons were named, and seven of these were absent from Madrid. But the three others, the Prince of Castelfranco, the Marquis of Santa Cruz, and the Count of Altamira, were seized and dispatched into France, sentenced to imprisonment for life.

The arrests were a much more serious matter. In flagrant contravention of the terms of surrender, Bonaparte put under lock and key all the members of the Council of the Inquisition on whom he could lay hands, irrespective of what their conduct had been during the reign of the Supreme Junta. He also declared all the superior officers of the army resident in Madrid, even retired veterans, to be prisoners of war, and liable to answer with their necks for the safety of the captives of Dupont’s corps. Among them was discovered an old French émigré, the Marquis de Saint-Simon, who had entered the service of Charles IV as far back as 1793, and had taken part in the last campaign. The Emperor refused to consider him as a Spaniard, declared that he was one of his own subjects, had him tried by court-martial, and condemned him to death. All this was to lead up to one of those odious comedies of magnanimity which Bonaparte sometimes practised for the benefit of the editor of the Moniteur. Saint-Simon’s daughter was admitted to the imperial presence to beg for her father’s life, and the master of the world deigned to com[p. 475]mute the punishment of the ‘traitor’ to imprisonment for life in the mountain-fortress of Joux[529]. This was a repetition of the Hatzfeldt affairs at Berlin, and Saint-Simon was treated even worse than the unfortunate Prussian nobleman of 1806. Truly the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel!

Among other persons who were arrested were Don Arias Mon, president of the Council of Castile, the Duke of Sotomayor, and about thirty other notables: some were ultimately sent away to France, others allowed to go free after swearing allegiance to Joseph Bonaparte.

All these measures were designed to strike terror into the hearts of the Spaniards. But at the same time the Emperor issued a series of decrees—in his own name and not in that of his brother, the titular king—which were intended to conciliate them by bestowing upon them certain tangible benefits. He knew that there existed the nucleus of a Liberal party in Spain, and hoped to draw it over to his side by introducing certain much-needed reforms in the administration of the country. With this object he removed the tiresome inter-provincial octroi duties, abolished all feudal dues and all rights of private jurisdiction, declared that all monopolies should be annulled, and forbade all assignments of public revenues to individuals. Such measures would have seemed excellent to many good Spaniards, if they had been introduced by a legitimate ruler: but coming from the hand of a foreign conqueror they were without effect. Moreover there was hardly a square mile of Spanish territory, outside Madrid and the other towns held by the French, where Napoleon’s writs could run. Every village which was unoccupied was passively or actively disobedient. The reforms, therefore, were but on paper. Another series of decrees, which appeared at the same time, were in themselves quite as justifiable as those which were concerned with administrative changes, but were certain to offend nine-tenths of the Spanish nation. They dealt with the Church and its ministers. The most important was one which declared (with perfect truth) that there were far too many monasteries and nunneries in Spain, and that it was necessary to cut them down to one-third of their existing number. The names of those which were destined to survive were published: to them the inmates of the remaining institutions were[p. 476] to be transferred, as vacancies arose. The suppressed convents were to become the property of the state. Part of their revenues was to be devoted to raising the salaries of the secular clergy, so that every parish priest should have an income of 2,400 reals (about ￡25). Monks or nuns who might choose to leave the monastic life were to be granted a small pension[530]. At the same time the Inquisition was abolished ‘as dangerous to the crown and to civil authority,’ and all its property confiscated. In Madrid there was seized 2,453,972 reals in hard cash—about ￡25,000; the smallness of the amount much surprised the French, who had vague ideas concerning the fabulous wealth of the institution[531].

The only results of these measures were that every Spaniard was confirmed in his belief that Napoleon was a concealed atheist and an irreconcilable enemy of all religion. Could anything else be expected of one who (in spite of his Concordats and Te Deums) was after all a child of the Revolution? The man who had persecuted the Pope in January, 1808, would naturally persecute the monks of Spain in December. As to the Inquisition, its fate inspired no rejoicing: it had been effete for many years: there was not a prisoner in any of its dungeons. Indeed it had enjoyed a feeble popularity of late, for having refused to lend itself as a tool to Godoy. The only result of Napoleon’s decree for its abolition was that it acquired (grotesque as the idea may seem) considerable credit in the eyes of the majority of the Spanish people, as one of the usurper’s victims. Never was work more wasted than that which the Emperor spent on his reforms of December, 1808. They actually tended to make old abuses popular with the masses, merely because he had attempted to remove them. As to the possibility of conciliating the comparatively small body of Liberals, he was equally in error: they agreed with the views of Jovellanos: reforms were necessary, but they must come from within, and not be imposed by force from without. They were Spaniards first and reformers afterwards. The only recruits whom Bonaparte succeeded in enrolling for his brother’s court were the purely selfish bureaucrats who would accept any government—who would serve Godoy, Ferdinand, Joseph, a red republic, or the Sultan of Turkey[p. 477] with equal equanimity, so long as they could keep their places or gain better ones.

The Emperor had a curious belief in the power of oaths and phrases over other men, though he was entirely free himself from any feebleness of the kind. He took considerable pains to get up a semblance of national acceptance of his brother’s authority, now that his second reign was about to begin. Joseph had appeared at Chamartin on December 2[532]: but he was not allowed to re-enter Madrid for many days. The Emperor told him to stay outside, at the royal palace of the Pardo, till things were ready for his reception. This was not at all to the mind of the King, who took his position seriously, and was deeply wounded at being ordered about in such an arbitrary fashion. He sent in a formal protest against the publication of the decrees of December 4: his own name, he complained, not that of his brother, ought to have appeared at the bottom of all these projects of reform. He had never coveted any crown, and least of all that of Spain: but having once accepted the position he could not consent to be relegated into a corner, while all the acts of sovereignty were being exercised by his brother. He was ready to resign his crown into the hands from which he had received it: but if he was not allowed to abdicate, he must be allowed to reign in the true sense of the word. It made him blush with shame before his subjects[533] when he saw them invited to obey laws which he had never seen, much less sanctioned. Napoleon refused to accept this abdication: he looked at matters from an entirely different point of view. He was master of Spain, as he considered, not merely by the cession made at Bayonne, but by the new title of conquest. He intended to restore Joseph to the throne, but till he had done so he saw no reason why he should not exercise all the rights of sovereignty at Madrid. If, in a moment of pique, he said that his brother might exchange the crown of Spain for that of Italy, or for the position of lieutenant of the Emperor in France during his own numerous absences, there is clear evidence that these were empty words. His dispatches show not the least sign of any project for[p. 478] the future of Spain other than the restoration of Joseph; and while the latter was at the Pardo he was continually receiving notes concerning the reorganization of the Spanish army and finances, which presuppose his confirmation on the throne within the next few days[534].

It would seem that Napoleon’s real object in keeping his brother off the scene, and acting as if he intended to annex Spain to France as a vassal province, was merely to frighten the inhabitants of Madrid into a proper frame of mind. If they remained recalcitrant, and refused to come before him with petitions for pardon, they were to be threatened with a purely French military government. If they bowed the knee, they should have back King Joseph and the mockery of liberal and constitutional monarchy which he represented. So much we gather from the Emperor’s celebrated proclamation of December 7, and his allocution to the Corregidor and magistrates of Madrid two days later. Both of these addresses are in the true Napoleonesque vein. In the first we read that if the people of Spain prefer ‘the poisons which the English have ministered to them’ to the wholesome régime introduced from France, they shall be treated as a conquered province, and Joseph shall be removed to another throne. ‘I will place the crown of Spain on my own brow, and I will make it respected by evil-doers, for God has given me the strength and the force of will necessary to surmount all obstacles.’ In the second, which is written in a mood of less rigour, the inhabitants of Madrid are told that nothing could be easier than to cut up Spain into provinces, each governed by a separate viceroy. But if the clergy, nobles, merchants, and magistrates of the capital will swear a solemn oath upon the Blessed Sacrament to be true and loyal for the future to King Joseph, he shall be restored to them and the Emperor will make over to him all his rights of conquest. We[p. 479] cannot stop to linger over the other details of these addresses: one of the most astounding statements in them is that the quarrel between King Charles and King Ferdinand had been hatched by the English ministry[535], and that the Duke of Infantado, acting as their tool, was plotting to make Spain England’s vassal, ‘an insensate project which would have made blood run in torrents’! But this mattered little, as within a few weeks every English soldier would have been cast out of the Peninsula, and Lisbon no less than Saragossa, Valencia, and Seville would be flying the French flag[536].

In accordance with the Emperor’s command, the notables of Madrid, civil and ecclesiastical, were compelled to go through the ceremony of swearing allegiance to King Joseph on the Holy Sacrament, which was exposed for several days in every church for this purpose. Apparently a very large number of persons were induced, by terror or despair, to give in their formal submission to the intrusive King. Three pages of the Madrid Gazette for December 15 are filled with the names of the deputies of the ten quarters and sixty-four barrios of the city, who joined in the formal petition for the restoration to them of ‘that sovereign who unites so much kindness of heart with such an interest in the welfare of his subjects, and whose presence will be their joy.’

Satisfied with this declaration, and pretending to take it as the expression of the wishes of every Spaniard who was not the paid agent of England or the slave of the Inquisition, the Emperor was graciously pleased to restore Joseph to all his rights. Great preparations were made for his solemn entry, which was celebrated with considerable state in the month of January.

But his plans for the reorganization of Spain only formed a part of the Emperor’s work at Chamartin. He was also busied in the reconcentration of his armies, for the purpose of overrunning those parts of the Peninsula which still remained unconquered. On the very morrow of the fall of Madrid he had pushed out detachments[p. 480] in all directions, to cover all the approaches to the capital, and to hunt down any remnants of the Spanish armies which might still be within reach[537]. He was particularly hopeful that he might catch the army of the Centre, which, with Ney and Maurice Mathieu at its heels, was coming in from the direction of Siguenza and Calatayud. To intercept it the fusiliers of the Guard marched for Alcala, one of Victor’s divisions for Guadalajara, and another for Aranjuez; while Bessières with the Guard cavalry, and one of Latour-Maubourg’s brigades of dragoons, swept all the country around the Tajuna and the Tagus. But, as we have already seen, La Pe?a’s famishing men ultimately got away in the direction of Cuenca. When it was certain that they had escaped from the net, Napoleon rearranged his forces on the eastern side of Madrid. Bessières, with Latour-Maubourg’s whole division of dragoons[538], occupied cantonments facing at once towards Cuenca and towards La Mancha: the Marshal’s head quarters, on December 11, were at Tarancon. Of Victor’s infantry, one division (Ruffin) marched on Toledo, which opened its gates without resistance; another, that of Villatte, remained at Aranjuez with an advanced guard at Oca?a, a few miles further south. The third division of the 1st Corps, that of Lapisse, remained at Madrid. Ney’s troops were also at hand in this quarter: when La Pe?a had finally escaped from him, he was told to leave the division of Dessolles at Guadalajara and Siguenza. These forces were destined to keep open the communications between Madrid and Aragon, where the siege of Saragossa was just about to begin. With his other two divisions, those of Marchand and Maurice Mathieu[539], Ney was directed to march into Madrid: he was to form part of the mass of troops which the Emperor was collecting, in and about the capital, for new offensive operations. For this same purpose the 4th Corps, that of Lefebvre, was brought up from Old Castile: the Marshal with his two leading divisions, those of Sebastiani and Leval, arrived in Madrid on December 9: his third division, that of Valence, composed of Poles, was some way to the rear, having only reached Burgos on December 1. But[p. 481] by the thirteenth the whole corps was concentrated at Madrid. A few days later the divisions of Sebastiani and Valence were pushed on to Talavera, as if to form the advanced guard of an expedition against Estremadura, while that of Leval remained in Madrid[540]. Talavera had been occupied, before the Duke of Dantzig’s arrival, by the cavalry of Lasalle and Milhaud, who drove out of it without difficulty the demoralized troops that had murdered San Juan. This mob, now under the orders of Galluzzo, the Captain-General of Estremadura, fled behind the Tagus and barricaded the bridges of Arzobispo and Almaraz, to cover its front.

It will thus be seen that the troops of Victor, Lefebvre, and Dessolles, with the cavalry of Latour-Maubourg, Lasalle, and Milhaud thrown out in front of them, formed a semicircle protecting Madrid to the east, the south, and the south-west. On the north-west, in the direction of the Guadarrama and the roads towards the kingdom of Leon, the circle was completed by a brigade of Lahoussaye’s division of dragoons, who lay in and about Avila[541]. In the centre, available for a blow in any direction, were the whole of the Imperial Guard (horse and foot), Ney’s corps, Lapisse’s division of Victor’s corps, and Leval’s division of Lefebvre’s corps, besides King Joseph’s Guards—a total of at least 40,000 men. It only needed the word to be given, and these troops (after deducting a garrison for Madrid) could march forward, either to join Lefebvre for a blow at Lisbon, or Victor for a blow at Seville.

Meanwhile there were still reinforcements coming up from the rear: the belated corps of Mortier, the last great instalment of the army of Germany, had at last reached Vittoria, accompanied by the division of dragoons of Lorges. The Marshal was directed to take his corps to Saragossa, in order to assist Lannes and Moncey in the siege of that city; but the dragoons were sent to Burgos on the road to Madrid. Moreover Junot’s corps, after having been refitted and reorganized since its return from Portugal, was also available. Its leading division, that of Delaborde, had crossed the Bidassoa on December 4, and had now reached Burgos. The other two divisions, those of Loison and Heudelet (who had replaced Travot at the head of the 3rd Division) were not far behind. They[p. 482] could all be brought up to Madrid by the first day of January. The last division of reserve cavalry, Millet’s four regiments of dragoons, was due a little later, and had not yet crossed the frontier.

That the Emperor believed that there was no serious danger to be apprehended from the side of Leon and Old Castile, is shown by the fact that he allotted to these regions only the single corps of Soult. Nor had the Duke of Dalmatia even the whole of his troops in hand, for the division of Bonnet was immobilized in Santander, and only those of Merle and Mermet were near his head quarters at Carrion. The cavalry that properly belonged to his corps were detached, under Lasalle, in New Castile. Instead of them he had been assigned the four regiments forming the division of Franceschi[542]. He was promised the aid of Millet’s dragoons when they should arrive, but this would not be for some three weeks at the least. Nevertheless, with the 15,000 foot and 1,800 or 2,000 light cavalry at his disposal, Soult was told that he commanded everything from the Douro to the Bay of Biscay, and that he might advance at once into Leon, as there was nothing in his way that could withstand him[543]. As far as the Emperor knew, the only hostile force in this direction was the miserable wreck of Blake’s army, which had been rallied by La Romana on the Esla. In making this supposition he was gravely mistaken, and if Soult had obeyed his orders without delay, and advanced westward from Carrion, he would have found himself in serious trouble; for, as we shall presently see, the English from Salamanca were in full march against him at the moment when the Emperor dispatched these instructions. It was in the valley of the Douro, and not (as Bonaparte intended) in that of the Tagus that the next developments of the winter campaign of 1808 were to take place.

It remains only to speak of the north-east. The Emperor was determined that Saragossa should pay dearly for the renown that[p. 483] it had won during its first siege. He directed against it not only Moncey’s force, the troops which had won Tudela, but the whole of Mortier’s 5th Corps. One of its divisions was to take post at Calatayud, relieving Musnier’s eight battalions at that point, and to keep open (with the aid of Dessolles) the road from Saragossa to Madrid: but the rest would be available to aid in the siege. More than 40,000 men were to be turned against Palafox and the stubborn Aragonese. With Catalonia we need not deal in this place: the operations in the principality had little or no connexion with those in the rest of Spain. St. Cyr and Duhesme, with the 7th Corps, had to work out their own salvation. They were not to expect help from the Emperor, nor on the other hand were they expected to assist him for the present, though it was hoped that some day they might invade Aragon from the side of Lerida.

Looking at the disposition of the French troops on December 15-20, we can see that the Emperor had it in his power to push the central mass at Madrid, supported by the oncoming reserves under Junot and Lorges, either to support Lefebvre on the road to Lisbon, or Victor on the road to Seville. As a matter of fact there can be no doubt that the former was his intention. He was fully under the impression that the English army was at this moment executing a hasty retreat upon Portugal, and he had announced that his next move was to hurl them into the sea. ‘Tout porte à penser que les Anglais sont en pleine marche rétrograde,’ he wrote to Soult on December 10. On December 12 he issued in his Bulletin the statement that the ‘English are in full flight towards Lisbon, and if they do not make good speed the French army may enter that capital before them[544].’ If anything was wanted to confirm the Emperor in his idea that the English were not likely to be heard of in the north, it was the capture by Lasalle’s cavalry of eight stragglers belonging to the King’s German Legion near Talavera. ‘When we catch Hanoverians the English cannot be far off,’ he observed[545], and made all his arrangements on the hypothesis that[p. 484] Moore would be met in the valley of the Tagus, and not in that of the Douro. In so doing he was breaking one of his own precepts, that censuring generals ‘qui se font des tableaux’ concerning their enemy’s position and intentions, before they have sufficient data upon which to form a sound conclusion. All that he really knew about Moore and his army was that they had reached Salamanca in the middle of November, and had been joined towards the end of the month by Hope’s column that marched—as we shall presently relate—via Badajoz and the Escurial. Of the existence of this last division we have clear proof that Bonaparte was aware, for he inserted a silly taunt in the Bulletin of December 5 to the effect that ‘the conduct of the British had been dishonourable. Six thousand of them were at the Escurial on November 20: the Spaniards hoped that they would aid in the defence of the capital of their allies. But they did not know the English: as soon as the latter heard that the Emperor was at the Somosierra they beat a retreat, joined the division at Salamanca, and retired towards the sea-coast.’ There is also no doubt that the Emperor had received intelligence of a more or less definite sort concerning the landing of Baird’s division at Corunna. It is vaguely alluded to in the 10th Bulletin, and clearly spoken of in the Madrid Gazette of December 17[546]. But though aware of the existence of all the three fractions of the British army, Bonaparte could draw no other deduction from the facts at his disposal than that the whole of them would promptly retreat to Portugal, when the passage of the Somosierra and the fall of Madrid became known to their commander-in-chief. Lisbon, he thought, must be their base of operations, and on it they must retire: he had forgotten that one of the advantages of sea-power is that the combatant who possesses it can transfer his base to any port that he may choose. So far from being tied to Lisbon was Moore, that he at one moment contemplated making Cadiz his base, and finally moved it to Corunna.

[p. 485]

With pre-conceived ideas of this sort in his head, the Emperor was preparing to push on his main body in support of the advanced troops under Lefebvre and Lasalle on the road to Estremadura and Portugal. Victor meanwhile was to guard against the unlikely chance of any move being made on Madrid by the shattered ‘Army of the Centre’ from Cuenca, or by new Andalusian levies. Already Lasalle’s horsemen were pushing on to Truxillo and Plasencia, almost to the gates of Badajoz and to the Portuguese frontier, when unexpected news arrived, and the whole plan of campaign was upset.

Instead of retiring on Lisbon, Sir John Moore had pushed forward into the plains of Old Castile, and was advancing by forced marches to attack the isolated corps of Marshal Soult. Bonaparte was keenly alive, now as always, to the danger of a defeat in the valley of the Douro. Moreover the sight of a British army in the field, and within striking distance, acted on him as the red rag acts upon the bull. No toil or trouble would be too great that ended in its destruction, and looking at his maps the Emperor thought that he saw the way to surround and annihilate Moore’s host. Throwing up without a moment’s delay the whole plan for the invasion of Portugal, he marched for the passes of the Guadarrama with every man that was disposable at Madrid. His spirits were high, and the event seemed to him certain. He sent back to his brother Joseph the command to put in the Madrid newspapers and circulate everywhere the news that 36,000 English troops were surrounded and doomed to destruction[547]. Meanwhile, with 50,000 men at his back, he was marching hard for Arevalo and Benavente.
SECTION VIII: CHAPTER II
MOORE AT SALAMANCA

It will be remembered that on October 6, 1808, the command of the British forces in Portugal had passed into the hands of Sir John Moore, to the entire satisfaction of Wellesley and the other officers who had served under those slow and cautious generals Sir Hew Dalrymple and Sir Harry Burrard. The moment that the news of Vimiero was received, and long before the details of the Convention of Cintra could come to hand, the Government had determined to send on the victorious British army into Spain, and to assist it with heavy reinforcements from home. Dalrymple was even informed that he might cross the frontier at once, if he chose, without waiting for any detailed instructions from the War Office[548]. Wellesley, as we have seen, thought that his chief should have done so without delay, and observed that if he had charge of affairs the army would be at Madrid by October 1[549].

Yet when Moore took over the command, he found that little or nothing had been done to carry out this design. The delay was partly occasioned by the tardy evacuation of Portugal by Junot’s troops: the last of them, as we have seen[550], did not leave the Tagus till the month of October had begun. But it was still more due to the leisurely and feeble management of Dalrymple, who would not march without detailed and definite orders from home. He might well have begun to move his brigades eastward[p. 487] long before the last small detachments of the French had disappeared. But when on October 6 Dalrymple’s successor looked around him, he found that the whole army was still concentrated in the neighbourhood of Lisbon, save Hope’s two brigades, and these had been sent forward to the frontier not so much for the purpose of entering Spain, as for that of bringing moral force to bear on General Galluzzo, and compelling him to abandon his ridiculous siege of Elvas. Two things had been especially neglected by Dalrymple—the exploration of the roads that lead from Portugal into Spain, and the pressing on of the formation of a proper divisional and regimental transport for the army. It is strange to find that he had remembered the existence of both of these needs: his dispatches speak of his intention to send officers both towards Badajoz and into Beira, and he asserts that ‘the army is in high order and fit to move when required[551].’ Yet his successor had to state that as a matter of fact no body of information about the routes and resources of Portugal and Spain had been collected, and that the scheme for moving and feeding the army had not been drawn up. ‘When I shall pass the frontier of Portugal,’ wrote Moore to Castlereagh, ‘it is impossible for me at this instant to say: it depends on a knowledge of the country which I am still without, and on commissariat arrangements yet unmade[552].’ We may grant that Dalrymple had been somewhat handicapped by the fact that his army had been landed, in the old haphazard British fashion, without any proper military train. We may also concede that no one could have foreseen that the Portuguese and Spanish governments would be unable to supply any useful information concerning the main roads and the resources of their own countries. But the whole month of September had been at the disposal of the late commander-in-chief, and he, with his quartermaster-general, Murray, must take the blame of having failed to accomplish in it all that might have been done. Within a fortnight after the Convention of Cintra had been signed, British officers ought to have explored every road to the frontier, and to have reported on their facilities. Yet on October 6 Moore could not find any one who could tell him whether the roads Lisbon—Sabugal—Almeida, and Lisbon—Abrantes—Castello Branco were or were not practicable for artillery! And this was in spite of the[p. 488] fact that a British detachment had actually marched from Lisbon to Almeida, in order to receive the surrender of the garrison of that fortress. The fact would seem to be that Dalrymple had placed his confidence in the native governments of the Peninsula. He vainly imagined that the Portuguese engineers could supply him with accurate details concerning the roads and resources of Beira and the Alemtejo. He sent a very capable officer—Lord William Bentinck—to Madrid, and entered into communication with the Spanish government. From them he hoped that he might get some account of the plan of campaign in which his army was to join, a list of the routes which it would be convenient for him to use, and details as to the way in which he could collect and carry provisions. As a matter of fact he could only obtain a quantity of vague and generally useless suggestions, some of which argued an astonishing ignorance of military affairs in those who made them. If there had been a Spanish commander-in-chief, Dalrymple might have extracted from him his views about the campaign that must shortly begin. But the Junta had steadfastly refused to unite the charge of their many armies in the hands of a single general: they told Lord William that he might make inquiries from Casta?os: but the Andalusian general could only speak for himself. It was not he, but a council of war, that would settle the plan of operations: he could only give Bentinck the conclusions that had been arrived at after the abortive meeting of generals that had taken place on September 5. In answer to a string of questions administered to him by Dalrymple’s emissary, as to the routes that the British army had better follow, and the methods of supply that it had better adopt, he could only reply that he was at present without good maps, and could not give the necessary information in detail. He could only refer Bentinck to the newly formed Commissariat Board (Junta de Víveres), which ought to be able to designate the best routes with reference to the feeding of the army and the establishment of magazines[553]. Of course this board turned out to know even less than Casta?os himself. Nothing whatever was done for the British army, with the exception that a certain Colonel Lopez was sent to its head quarters to act as the representative of the Junta de Víveres. It does not seem that he was able to do anything for the expeditionary[p. 489] force that they could not have done for themselves. In this way the whole time that Dalrymple had at his disposal had been wasted in the long correspondence with Madrid, and not a soldier had passed the frontier when Moore took up the command.

Meanwhile, it ought at least to have been possible to make preparations in Portugal, even if nothing could be done in Spain. But the question of transport and commissariat was a very difficult one. The British army had struggled from Mondego Bay to Lisbon with the aid of the small ox-wagons of the country-side, requisitioned and dismissed from village to village. But clearly a long campaign in Spain could not be managed on these lines. A permanent provision of draught and pack animals was required, and natives must be hired to drive them. The few regular enlisted men of the Royal Wagon Train who had reached Portugal were only enough to take care of the more important military stores. Moreover their wagons turned out to be much too heavy for the roads of the Peninsula, and had to be gradually replaced by country carts[554]. The great mass of the regimental baggage and the food had always to be transported on mules, or vehicles bought or hired from the peasantry. The Portuguese did not care to contract to take their animals over the frontier, and it was most difficult to collect transport of any kind, even with the aid of the local authorities. When once Moore’s dreadful retreat began, his drivers and muleteers deserted their wagons and beasts, and fled home, resolved that if they must lose their property they would not lose their lives also[555].

In later years Wellington gradually succeeded in collecting a large and invaluable army of Spanish and Portuguese employés, who—in their own fashion—were as good campaigners as his soldiery, and served him with exemplary fidelity even when their pay was many months in arrear. But in 1808 this body of trained camp-followers did not exist, and Moore had the greatest difficulty in scraping together the transport that took him forward to Salamanca. As to commissariat arrangements, he found that even though he[p. 490] divided his army into several small columns, and utilized as many separate routes as possible, it was not easy for the troops to live. The commissariat officers, sent on to collect magazines at the various halting-places, were so inexperienced and so uniformly ignorant of the Portuguese tongue, that even where they were energetic they had the greatest difficulty in catering for the army. Wellesley, as we have already seen[@repeated 556 note], had been complaining bitterly of their inefficiency during the short Vimiero campaign. Moore, more gracious in his phrases, wrote that ‘we have a Commissariat extremely zealous, but quite new and inexperienced in the important duties which it falls to their lot to perform.’ This was but one of the many penalties which England had to pay for her long abstention from continental warfare on a large scale. It is easy to blame the ministry, the permanent officials in London, or the executive officials on the spot[556]. But in reality mere want of knowledge of the needs of a great land-war accounts for most of the mistakes that were committed. To lavish angry criticism on individuals, as did the Opposition papers in England at the time, was almost as unjust as it was useless. The art of war, in this as in its other branches, had to be learnt; it was not possible to pick it up by intuition. Nothing can be more interesting than to look through the long series of orders and directions drawn up by the quartermaster-general’s department between 1809 and 1813, in which the gradual evolution of order out of chaos by dint of practical experience can be traced. But in October, 1808, the process was yet in its infancy.

It was with the greatest difficulty, therefore, that Moore got his army under weigh. He found it, as he wrote to Castlereagh, ‘without equipment of any kind, either for the carriage of the light baggage of regiments, artillery stores, commissariat stores, or any other appendage of an army, and without a magazine formed on any of the routes by which we are to march[557].’ Within ten days, however, the whole force was on the move. The heavy impedimenta were placed in store in Lisbon: it was a thousand pities that the troops did not leave behind their women and children, whose presence with the regiments was destined to cause so many harrowing scenes during the forced marches of the ensuing winter. They were offered a passage to England, but the greater part[p. 491] refused it, and the colonels (from mistaken kindness) generally allowed them to march with their corps.

The direction in which the army was to move had been settled in a general way by the dispatches sent from Castlereagh to Dalrymple in September[558]. It was to be held together in a single mass and sent forward to the Ebro, there to be put in line with Blake and Casta?os. An attempt on the part of the Junta to distract part of it to Catalonia had been firmly and very wisely rejected. The French were still on the defensive when the plan was drawn out, and Burgos had been named as the point at which the British troops might aim. It was very close to the enemy, but in September neither English nor Spanish statesmen were taking into consideration the probability of the advent of the Emperor, and his immediate assumption of the offensive. They were rather dreaming of an advance towards the Pyrenees by the allied armies. If the large reinforcements which were promised to Moore were destined to land at Corunna, rather than at Gihon or Santander, it was merely because these latter ports were known to be small and destitute of resources, not because they were considered to be dangerously near to the French. La Romana’s division, it will be remembered, was actually put ashore at Santander: it is quite possible that Sir David Baird’s troops might have been sent to the same destination, but for the fortunate fact that it was believed that it would be impossible to supply him with transport from the bare and rugged region of the Monta?a. Corunna was selected as the landing-place for all the regiments that were to join Moore, partly on account of its safe and spacious port, partly because it was believed that food and draught animals could be collected with comparative ease from Galicia.

More than 12,000 men, including three regiments of cavalry (the arm in which the force in Portugal was most deficient) and a brigade of the Guards, had been drawn from the home garrisons. The charge of this fine division had been given to Sir David Baird[559], an officer with a great Indian reputation, but comparatively un[p. 492]practised in European warfare. They were embarked at Harwich, Portsmouth, Ramsgate, and Cork at various dates during September and October, and on the thirteenth of the latter month the main body of the force reached Corunna. By some stupid mismanagement at home the cavalry, the most important part of the expedition, were shipped off the last, and did not arrive till three weeks[560] after the rest of the troops had reached Spain.

By October 18 Moore reported that the greater part of his troops were already in motion, and as Baird’s infantry had reached Corunna on the thirteenth, it might have been expected that the junction of their forces would have taken place in time to enable them to play a part in the defensive campaign against Napoleon which ended in the fall of Madrid on December 4. If the troops had marched promptly, and by the best and shortest routes, they might have easily concentrated at Salamanca by the middle of November: Napier suggests the thirteenth[561] as a probable day, and considering the distances the date seems a very reasonable one. At that moment Gamonal and Espinosa had only just been fought and lost: Tudela was yet ten days in the future: sixteen days were to elapse before the Somosierra was forced. It is clear that the British army, which at Salamanca would have been only seven marches (150 miles) from Madrid, and four marches (eighty miles) from Valladolid, might have intervened in the struggle: whether its intervention might not have ended in disaster, considering the enormous forces of the French[562], is another matter. But the British Government intended that Moore and Baird should take part in the campaign: the Junta had been told to expect their help: and for the consolidation of the alliance between the two nations it was desirable that the help should be given in the most prompt and effective fashion.

There is no possibility of asserting that this was done. Moore and Baird did not join till December 20: no British soldier fired a single shot at a Frenchman before December 12[563]. The whole[p. 493] army was so much out of the campaign that Bonaparte never could learn what had become of it, and formed the most erroneous hypotheses concerning its position and intentions. We may frankly say that not one of his movements, down to the fall of Madrid, was in the least influenced by the fact that there was a British force in Spain.

That this circumstance was most unfortunate from the political point of view it would be childish to deny. It gave discontented Spaniards the opportunity of asserting that they had been deserted and betrayed by their allies[564]. It afforded Bonaparte the chance, which he did not fail to take, of enlarging upon the invariable selfishness and timidity of the British[565]. It furnished the critics of the ministry in London with a text for declamations against the imbecility of its arrangements. It is true that after the fall of Madrid Moore was enabled, by the new situation of affairs, to make that demonstration against the French lines of communication in Castile which wrecked Napoleon’s original plan of campaign, and saved Lisbon and Seville. But this tardy though effective intervention in the struggle was a mere afterthought. Moore’s original plan had been to make a tame retreat on Lisbon, when he discovered that he was too late to save Madrid. It was a mere chance that an intercepted dispatch and an unfounded rumour caused him to throw up the idea of retiring into Portugal, and to strike at the Emperor’s flank and rear by his famous march on Sahagun. Without this piece of good fortune he would never have repaired the mischief caused by the lateness of his original arrival on the scene. How that late arrival came to pass it is now our duty to investigate.

As far as Moore’s own army was concerned, the loss of time may be ascribed to a single cause—a mistake made in the choice of the roads by which the advance into Spain was conducted. It was the original intention of the British general to march on Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo by three parallel routes, those by Coimbra and Celorico, by Abrantes, Castello Branco, and Guarda, and by Elvas, Alcantara, and Coria[566]. He was compelled to utilize[p. 494] the last-named road, which was rather circuitous and notoriously bad, by the fact that Dalrymple had left Hope’s two brigades at Elvas, and that any advance from that place into the kingdom of Leon could only be directed across the bridge of Alcantara. If Moore had stuck to this original resolve, and used none but these three roads, his army might have been concentrated at Salamanca on or about November 13. This could have been done with ease if all the reserve artillery and heavy baggage had taken the Coimbra—Celorico road, the easiest of the three, and nothing but an irreducible minimum had been allowed to follow the columns which went by the other routes. It would have been necessary also to move the troops in masses of not less than a brigade, and to keep them well closed up.

Moore had the best intentions: he cut down the baggage to what he considered the smallest practicable bulk, and started off the leading regiments on the Coimbra route as easily as October 11, two days after he had taken over the command[567]. ‘I am sufficiently aware,’ he wrote, ‘of the importance of even the name of a British army in Spain, and I am hurrying as much as possible[568].’ Then followed an irreparable mistake: it was all-important to find out which of the roads was most suitable for artillery and heavy baggage. Moore consulted the available officers of the old Portuguese army, and received from them the almost incredibly erroneous information that neither the Coimbra—Celorico—Almeida road nor the Abrantes—Guarda—Almeida road was practicable for artillery. It would seem that he also sought information from the officers whom Dalrymple had sent out into the province of Beira, and that their answers tallied with those of the Portuguese[569], for he wrote to Castlereagh that ‘every information agreed that neither of them was fit for artillery or could be recommended for cavalry.’ General Anstruther, then in command at Almeida, must take a considerable share in the blame that has to be distributed to those who failed to give the Commander-in-chief accurate information,[p. 495] for he more than any one else had been given the chance of trying these roads. But whatever may be the proportion in which the censure must be distributed, a certain amount must be reserved for Moore himself. He ought on first principles to have refused to believe the strange news that was brought to him. It might have occurred to him to ask how heavy guns of position had found their way to the ramparts of Almeida, the second fortress of Portugal, if there was no practicable road leading to it. A few minutes spent in consulting any book dealing with Portuguese history would have shown that in the great wars of the Spanish Succession, and again in that of 1762[570], forces of all arms had moved freely up and down the Spanish frontier, in the direction of Celorico, Guarda, Sabugal, and Castello Branco. Even a glance at Dumouriez’s Account of the Kingdom of Portugal, the one modern military book on the subject then available, would have enabled Moore to correct the ignorant reports of the natives. Strangest of all, there seems to have been no one to tell him that, only four months before, Loison, in his campaign against the insurgents of Beira, had taken guns first from Lisbon to Almeida, then from Almeida to Pezo-de-Ragoa and Vizeu, and finally from Almeida to Abrantes[571]. It is simply astounding that no one seems to have remembered this simple fact. In short, it was not easily pardonable in any competent general that he should accept as possible the statement that there was no road for artillery connecting the capital of Portugal and the main stronghold of its north-eastern frontier. Moore did so, and in a fortnight was bitterly regretting his credulity. ‘If anything adverse happens,’ he wrote to his subordinate Hope, ‘I have not necessity to plead: the road we are now travelling [Abrantes—Villa Velha—Guarda] is practicable for artillery: the brigade under Wilmot has already reached Guarda, and as far as I have already seen the road presents few obstacles, and those easily surmounted. This knowledge was only acquired by our own officers: when the brigade was at Castello Branco, it was still not certain that it could proceed[572].[p. 496]’ What made the case worse was that another of the three roads, the one by Coimbra and Celorico, was far easier than that by Guarda. Both Wellesley and Masséna took enormous trains of artillery and baggage over it in 1810, without any particular difficulty[573].

Misled by the erroneous reports as to the impracticability of the Portuguese roads, Moore took the unhappy step of sending six of the seven batteries of his corps, his only two cavalry regiments, and four battalions of infantry to act as escort[574], by the circuitous high-road from Elvas to Madrid. In order to reach Salamanca they were to advance almost to the gates of the Spanish capital, only turning off at Talavera, in order to take the route by the Escurial, Espinar, and Arevalo. To show the result of this lamentable divagation, it is only necessary to remark that from Lisbon to Salamanca via Coimbra is about 250 miles: from Lisbon to Salamanca via Elvas, Talavera, and Arevalo is about 380 miles: i.e. it was certain that the column containing all Moore’s cavalry and nearly all his guns would be at least seven or eight days late at the rendezvous, in a crisis when every moment was of vital importance. As a matter of fact the head of the main column reached Salamanca on November 13: the cavalry and guns turned up on December 4. It would not be fair, however, to say that the absence of Hope’s column delayed the advance of the whole army for so much as three weeks. It was only the leading regiments from Lisbon that appeared on November 13. However carefully the march of the rest had been arranged, the rear could not have come in till several days later: indeed the last brigade did not appear till the twenty-third: this delay, however, was owing to bad arrangements and preventable accidents. But it cannot be denied that the twelve days Nov. 23-Dec. 4 were completely sacrificed by the non-arrival of the cavalry and guns, without which Moore very wisely refused to move forward. If the army had been concentrated—Baird could easily have arrived from Corunna ere this—it would have been able to advance on November 23, and the campaign would undoubtedly have been modified[p. 497] in its character, for the Emperor would have learnt of the arrival of Moore upon the scene some days before he crossed the Somosierra and started on his march for Madrid. There can be no doubt that he would have changed his plans on receiving such news, for the sight of a British army within striking distance would have caused him to turn aside at once with a large part of his army. Very probably he might have directed Lefebvre, Victor, and the Imperial Guard—all the disposable forces under his hand—against Moore, and have left Madrid alone for the present as a mere secondary object. It is impossible to deny that disaster to the British arms might have followed: on the other hand Moore was a cautious general, as his operations in December showed. He would probably have retired at once to the mountains, and left the Emperor a fruitless stern-chase, such as that which actually took place a month later. But whether he would have fallen back on the route to Portugal, or on the route to Galicia, it is impossible to say: everything would have depended on the exact development of Napoleon’s advance, but the first-named alternative is the more probable[575].

[p. 498]

The erroneous direction given to Moore’s cavalry and guns, however, was not the only reason for the late appearance of the British army upon the theatre of war. Almost as much delay was caused by a piece of egregious folly and procrastination, for which the Spaniards were wholly responsible. When Sir David Baird and the bulk of his great convoy arrived in the harbour of Corunna on October 13, he was astonished to find that the Junta of Galicia raised serious objections to allowing him to land. Their real reason for so doing was that they wished the British troops to disembark further east, at Gihon or Santander. They did not realize the military danger of throwing them ashore in places so close to the French army, nor did it affect them in the least when they were told that the equipment of Baird’s force in those barren regions would be almost impossible. All that they cared for was to preserve Galicia from the strain of having to make provisions for the feeding and transport of a second army, when all its resources had been sorely tried in supplying (and supplying most indifferently) the troops of Blake. They did not, however, make mention of their real objections to Baird’s disembarkation in their correspondence with him, but assumed an attitude of very suspicious humility, stating that they considered their functions to have come to an end now that the Central Junta had met, and that they thought it beyond their competence to give consent to the landing of such a large body of men without explicit directions from Aranjuez. Baird could not offer to land by force, in face of this opposition. He did not, however, move off to Santander (as the Galicians had hoped), but insisted that an officer should be promptly dispatched to the Supreme Junta. This was done, but the delay in receiving an answer was so great that thirteen days were wasted: the Galician officer bearing the consent of the central government travelled (so Moore complained) with the greatest deliberation, as if he were carrying an unimportant message in full time of peace[576]. The first regiments, therefore, only landed on October 26, and it was not till November 4 that all the infantry were ashore. Thus they were certain to be late at the rendezvous in the plains of Leon. Nor was this all: the Supreme Junta had suggested that, in order to facilitate the feeding of the division, Baird should send it forward not in large masses but in bodies of 2,000 men, with a considerable interval between them.[p. 499] The advice was taken, and in consequence the troops were soon spread out over the whole length of road between Corunna and Astorga. The greatest difficulty was found in equipping them for the march: Galicia, always a poor country, had been almost stripped of mules and carts to supply Blake. It was absolutely impossible to procure a sufficient train for the transport of Baird’s food and baggage. He was only able to gather enough beasts to carry his lighter impedimenta from stage to stage, by the offer of exorbitant rates of hire. He vainly hoped to complete his equipment when he should have reached the plains. Part of his difficulties was caused by lack of money: the Government at home had not realized that only hard cash would circulate in Spain: dollars in abundance were to come out in the Tigre frigate in a few weeks: meanwhile it was expected that the Spaniards would gladly accept British Government bills. But so little was paper liked in the Peninsula that only ￡5,000 or ￡6,000 in dollars could be raised at Corunna[577]: without further resources it would have been impossible to begin to push the army forward. The feat was only accomplished by borrowing 92,000 dollars from the Galician Junta. For this act, carefully ignored by Napier, they deserve a proper recognition: it shows a much better spirit than might have been expected after their foolish behaviour about the disembarkation. Shortly after, Baird succeeded in getting ￡40,000 from Mr. Frere, the new minister to Madrid, who chanced to arrive at Corunna with ￡410,000 in cash destined for the Spanish government. Finally on November 9 the expected ship came in with the 500,000 dollars that had been originally intended to be divided between Corunna and Lisbon, and Baird had as much money as he could possibly require, even when mules and draught-oxen had risen to famine prices in Galicia[578]. If he still found it hard to move, it was because this poor and desolate province was really drained dry of resources[579].

[p. 500]

But what between the Junta’s folly in hindering the landing of the troops, and the unfortunate lack of money in the second half of October, all-important time was lost. Baird ought to have been near Salamanca by November 13: as a matter of fact he had only reached Astorga with three brigades of infantry and some artillery, but without a single mounted man to cover his march, on November 22. There he received, to his infinite dismay, the news that Blake had been routed at Espinosa on November 11, and Belvedere at Gamonal on November 10. There was now no Spanish army between him and the French: the latter might be advancing, for all he knew, upon Leon. He heard of Soult being at Reynosa, and Lefebvre at Carrion: if they continued their advance westward, they would catch him, with the 9,000 infantry of the Corunna column, marching across their front on the way to Salamanca. Appalled at the prospect, he halted at Astorga, and, after sending news of his situation to Moore, began to prepare to retreat on Corunna, if the marshals should continue their movement in his direction. This, as we have already seen, they did not: Napoleon had no knowledge of the position of the British troops, and instead of ordering the dukes of Dalmatia and Dantzig to push westward, moved them both in a southerly direction. Soult came down to Sahagun and Carrion: Lefebvre, on being relieved by the 2nd Corps, moved on Madrid by way of Segovia. Thus Baird, left entirely unmolested, was in the end able to join Moore.

It is time to turn to the movements of that general. After sending off Sir John Hope on his unhappy circular march by Badajoz and the Escurial, he set out from Lisbon on October 26. He took with him the whole force in Portugal, save a single division which was left behind to protect Lisbon, Elvas, and Almeida while a new native army was being reorganized. This detachment was to be commanded by Sir John Cradock, who was just due from England: it comprised four battalions of the German Legion, a battalion each of the 9th, 27th, 29th, 31st, 40th, 45th, and 97th Foot, the wrecks of the 20th Light Dragoons, and six batteries of artillery—about 9,000 men in all. The rest,[p. 501] twenty-five battalions of infantry, two cavalry regiments and seven batteries, marched for Spain. Two brigades under Beresford took the good road by Coimbra and Celorico to Almeida: three under Fraser went by Abrantes and Guarda, taking with them the single battery which Moore had retained with his main body, in order to try whether the roads of Eastern Portugal were as bad as his advisers had reported. Two brigades under General Paget, starting from Elvas, not from Lisbon, separated themselves from Hope and marched on Ciudad Rodrigo by Alcantara and Coria. The general himself followed in the track of Fraser, whom he overtook and passed in the neighbourhood of Castello Branco[580].

The march was a most unpleasant one, for the autumn rains surprised the troops in their passage through the mountains. Moreover some of the regiments were badly fed, as Sataro, the Portuguese contractor who had undertaken to supply them with meat, went bankrupt at this moment and failed to fulfil his obligations. Nevertheless the advance was carried out with complete success: the men were in good heart, marched well, and generally maintained their[581] discipline. On November 13 the leading[p. 502] regiments began to file into Salamanca, whither the Commander-in-chief had already preceded them. The concentration would have been a little more rapid but for a strange mistake of General Anstruther, commanding at Almeida, who detained some of the troops for a few days, contrary to the orders which had been sent him. But by the twenty-third the three columns had all joined at Salamanca[582], where Moore now had 15,000 infantry and the solitary battery that had marched with Fraser’s division. The guns had met with some tiresome obstacles, but had surmounted them with no great difficulty, and Moore now saw (as we have already shown) that he might have brought the whole of his artillery with him, if only he had been given correct information as to the state of the roads.

On November 23, then, the British commander-in-chief lay at Salamanca, with six infantry brigades and one battery. Baird lay at Astorga, with four brigades and three batteries: a few of his battalions were still on the march from Galicia. Hope, with Moore’s cavalry and guns, was near the Escurial. Lord Paget with Baird’s equally belated cavalry, which had left Corunna on the fifteenth, was between Lugo and Astorga. The situation was deplorable, for it was clear that the army would require ten days more to concentrate and get into full fighting order, and it was by no means certain that those ten days would be granted to it. Such were the unhappy results of the false direction given to Hope’s column, and of the enforced delay of Baird at Corunna, owing to the folly of the Galician Junta.

It may easily be guessed that Moore’s state of mind at this moment was most unenviable. He had received, much at the same time as did Baird, the news of Gamonal and Espinosa. He was aware that no screen of Spanish troops now lay between him and the enemy. He had heard of the arrival of Milhaud’s dragoons at Valladolid, and of Lefebvre’s corps at Carrion, and he expected every moment to hear that they were marching forward against himself. Yet he could not possibly advance without cavalry or guns, and if attacked he must fly at once towards Portugal, for it would be mad to attempt to fight in the plains with no force at his disposition save a mass of foot-soldiery. If the French moved forward from Valladolid to Zamora on the one side, or to Avila on the other, he would inevitably be cut off from Baird and Hope.[p. 503] There was no serious danger that any one of the three columns might be caught by the enemy, if they halted at once, for each had a clear and safe line of retreat, on Lisbon, Corunna, and Talavera respectively. But if they continued their movement of concentration the case was otherwise. To any one unacquainted with Bonaparte’s actual design of throwing all his forces on Madrid by the Somosierra road, it looked not only possible, but probable, that the enemy would advance westward as well as southward from his present positions, and if he did so the game was up. The British army, utterly unable to concentrate, must fly in three separate directions. Moore and Hope might ultimately unite in front of Lisbon: Baird might be shipped round from Corunna to the same point. But this movement would take many weeks, and its moral effect would be deplorable. What would be thought of the general who marched forward till he was within eighty miles of the French, and then ordered a precipitate retreat, without even succeeding in concentrating his army or firing a single shot? The thought filled Moore’s heart with bitterness: must he, with all his ability and with his well-earned reputation, swell the list of the failures, and be reckoned with the Duke of York, Dalrymple, and Hutchinson among the generals who were too late—who had their chance of fame, and lost it by being an hour, or a week, or a month behind the decisive moment? But on one point he was clear: he must run no unnecessary risk with the forces committed to him: they were, as was once remarked, not a British field-army, but the only British field-army. Supposing they were destroyed, no such second host existed: it would take years to make another. There were still many regiments on home service, but those which now lay at Salamanca and Astorga were the pick of the whole, the corps chosen for foreign service because they were the fittest for it.

The question, then, which Moore had to put to himself was whether he should persist in attempting to complete the concentration of his army, and in case of success take an active part in the campaign, or whether he should simply order each fraction of the British forces to retreat at once towards some safe base. The way in which the question should be answered depended mainly on two points—what would be the movements of the French during the next few days, and what Spanish troops existed to co-operate with the British army, in case it were determined to commence active operations. For clearly the 30,000 men of Moore and Baird could[p. 504] not hope to struggle unaided against the whole French army in Spain.

To explain Moore’s action, it is necessary to remember that he started with a strong prejudice against trusting the British army to the mercy of Spanish co-operation. He had been receiving very gloomy reports both from Mr. Stuart, the temporary representative of the British Government at Aranjuez, and from Lord William Bentinck, the military agent whom Dalrymple had sent to Madrid. The latter was one of the few British officers who (like Wellesley) foresaw from the first a catastrophe whenever the French reinforcements should cross the Ebro[583]. Moreover the character of Moore’s correspondence with the Central Junta, before and during his advance, had conspired with the reports of Stuart and Bentinck to give him a very unfavourable idea of the energy and administrative capacity of our allies. He had been vexed that the Junta refused to put him in direct communication with the Spanish generals[584]. He complained that he got from them tardy, unfrequent, and inaccurate news of the enemy’s movements. He was disgusted that Lopez, the officer sent to aid him in moving his troops, turned out to know even less about the roads of the Spanish frontier than he did himself. But above all he professed that he was terrified by the apathy which he found both among the officials and the people of the kingdom of Leon and Old Castile. He had been politely received by the authorities both at Ciudad Rodrigo and at Salamanca, but he complained that he got little but empty compliments from them.

There was some truth in this allegation, though certain facts can be quoted against it[585], even from Moore’s own correspondence.[p. 505] Leon and Old Castile had, as we have already had occasion to remark, been far less energetic than other parts of the Peninsula in raising new troops and coming forward with contributions to the national exchequer. They had done no more than furnish the 10,000 men of Cuesta’s disorderly ‘Army of Castile,’ a contingent utterly out of proportion with their population and resources. Nor did they seem to realize the scandal of their own sloth and procrastination. Moore had expected to see every town full of new levies undergoing drill before marching to the Ebro, to discover magazines accumulated in important places like Ciudad Rodrigo and Salamanca, to find the military and civil officials working busily for the armies at the front. Instead he found an unaccountable apathy. Even after the reports of Espinosa and Gamonal had come to hand, the people and the authorities alike seemed to be living in a sort of fools’ paradise, disbelieving the gloomy news that arrived, or at least refusing to recognize that the war was now at their own doors. Moore feared that this came from want of patriotism or of courage.

As a matter of fact, the people’s hearts were sound enough[586], but they had still got ‘Baylen on the brain’: they simply failed to[p. 506] recognize the full horror of the situation. That their armies were not merely beaten but dispersed, that the way to Madrid was open to Bonaparte, escaped them. This attitude of mind enraged Moore. ‘In these provinces,’ he wrote, ‘no armed force whatever exists, either for immediate protection or to reinforce the armies. The French cavalry from Burgos, in small detachments, are overrunning the province of Leon, and raising contributions to which the inhabitants submit without the least resistance: the enthusiasm of which we heard so much nowhere appears. Whatever good-will there is (and among the lower orders I believe there is a good deal) is taken no advantage of. I am at this moment in no communication with any of their generals. I am ignorant of their plans, or those of their government[587].’ And again, he adds in despair, ‘I hope a better spirit exists in the southern provinces: here no one stirs—and yet they are well inclined[588].’ While Leon and Old Castile were in this state of apathy, it was maddening to Moore to receive constant appeals from the Supreme Junta, begging that the British army might move forward at once. Their dispatches were accompanied by representations, which Moore knew to be inaccurate, concerning the numbers and enthusiasm of the Spanish armies still in the field, and by misrepresentations of the force of the French. They were also backed by urgent letters from Mr. Frere, the new ambassador at Madrid, urging him to give help at all costs.

These appeals were intolerable to a man who dared not advance because his army (partly by his own fault, partly owing to circumstances that had not been under his control) was not concentrated. From the point of view of policy, Moore knew that it was all-important that he should take the field: but, from the point of view of strategy, he saw that an advance with the 15,000 men that he had at Salamanca might very probably lead to instant and complete disaster. He refused to move, but all the time he knew that his refusal was having the worst effect, and would certainly be represented by his critics as the result of timidity and selfishness. It was this consciousness that caused him to fill his dispatches with the bitterest comments on the Spanish government and people. He had been induced to advance to Salamanca, he said, by false pretences. He had been told that there was a large army in front of him, ready to cover his concentration. He had been informed[p. 507] that the whole country-side was full of enthusiasm, that he might look for ready help from every official, that when once he had crossed the frontier transport and food would be readily provided for him. Instead, he found nothing but apathy and disasters. ‘Had the real strength and composition of the Spanish armies been known, and the defenceless state of the country, I conceive that Cadiz, not Corunna, would have been chosen for the disembarkation of the troops from England: and Seville or Cordova, not Salamanca, would have been selected as the proper place for the assembling of this army[589].’ Thus he wrote to Castlereagh: to Frere, in reponse to constant invitations to strike a blow of some sort in behalf of Spain, he replied in more vigorous terms[590]. ‘Madrid is threatened; the French have destroyed one army (Blake’s), have passed the Ebro, and are advancing in superior numbers against another (Casta?os’), which from its composition promises no resistance, but must retire or be overwhelmed. No other armed force exists in this country: I perceive no enthusiasm or determined spirit among the people. This is a state of affairs quite different from that conceived by the British Government, when they determined to send troops to the assistance of Spain. It was not expected that these were to cope alone with the whole force of France: as auxiliaries they were to aid a people who were believed to be enthusiastic, determined, and prepared for resistance. It becomes therefore a question whether the British army should remain to be attacked in its turn, or should retire from a country where the contest, from whatever circumstances, is become unequal.’

All that Moore wrote was true: yet, granting the accuracy of every premise, his conclusion that he ought to retire to Portugal was not necessarily correct. The British Government had undoubtedly over-estimated the power and resources of Spain: the Supreme Junta had shown no capacity for organization or command: most of the Spanish generals had committed gross military blunders. But none of these facts were enough to justify Moore in washing his hands of the whole business, and marching out of Spain without firing a shot. He had not been sent to help the patriots only if they were powerful and victorious, to desert them if they proved weak and unlucky. If these had been the orders[p. 508] issued to him by Castlereagh, all Bonaparte’s taunts about the selfishness and timidity of the British Government would have been justified. It was true that on his arrival at Salamanca he found the aspect of the war very different from what he had expected at the moment of his quitting Lisbon. Instead of aiding the victorious Spanish armies to press up to the Pyrenees, he would have to cover their retreat and gain time for the reorganization of the scattered remnants of their first line of defence. To reject this task because the Supreme Junta had been incapable, or Blake and Palafox rash and unskilful, would have been unworthy of a man of Moore’s talents and courage.

Yet in a moment of irritation at the mismanagement that he saw before him, and of anger at the continual importunities that he was receiving from the Central Junta and from Mr. Frere, Moore nearly committed this fault. The last piece of news which broke down his resolution and drove him to order a retreat was the account of the battle of Tudela. If he had been forced to wait for the notification of this disaster through Spanish official sources, he might have remained ignorant of it for many days. But Charles Vaughan, the secretary of Mr. Stuart, had been in the camp of Palafox, and had ridden straight from Tudela to Madrid, and from Madrid to Salamanca—476 miles in six days[591]. He brought the intelligence of Casta?os’ defeat to the English commander-in-chief on the night of November 28. Moore lost not a moment in dictating orders of retreat to the whole army. In the few hours that elapsed before midnight he gave his own troops directions to[p. 509] prepare to retire on Portugal, sent Hope a dispatch bidding him turn off on to cross-roads and move by Pe?aranda on Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, and wrote to Baird that he must return to Corunna, re-embark his army, and bring it round by sea to Lisbon.

The spirit in which Moore acted is shown by the wording of his letter to Hope:—‘I have determined to give the thing up, and to retire. It was my wish to have run great risks to fulfil what I conceive to be the wishes of the people of England, and to give every aid to the Spanish cause. But they have shown themselves equal to do so little for themselves, that it would only be sacrificing this army, without doing any good to Spain, to oppose it to such numbers as must now be brought against us. A junction with Baird is out of the question, and with you, perhaps, problematical.... This is a cruel determination for me to make—I mean to retreat: but I hope you will think the circumstances such as demand it[592].’

To Moore, weighed down by the burden of responsibility, and worried by the constant pressure of the Spaniards at Madrid, ‘who expected every one to fly but themselves,’ this resolve to retreat seemed reasonable, and even inevitable. But it was clearly wrong: when he gave the order he was overwrought by irritation and despondency. He was sent to aid the Spaniards, and till he was sure that he could do absolutely nothing in their behalf, it was his duty not to abandon them. The British army was intended to be used freely in their cause, not to be laid up—like the talent in the napkin—lest anything might happen to it. Its mere presence at Salamanca was valuable as an encouragement to the Spaniards, and a check on the free movement of the French. Above all, it was not yet proved that the concentration with Baird and Hope was impossible: indeed, the events of the last few days were rendering it more and more likely that the junction might, after all, take place. The French cavalry which had appeared at Valladolid had gone off southward, without any attempt to move in the direction of Salamanca. Soult and Lefebvre were also moving in a direction which would not bring them anywhere near the British army. Hope had crossed the Guadarrama unhindered, and was now near Villacastin, only seventy miles from Moore’s head quarters. Under these circumstances it was most impolitic[p. 510] to order an instant retreat. What would have been thought of Moore if this movement had been carried out, and if after the British columns had reached Corunna and Almeida the news had come that no French infantry had ever been nearer than fifty miles to them, that their concentration had been perfectly feasible, and that Napoleon had possessed no knowledge of their whereabouts? All these facts chanced to be true—as we have seen. The Emperor’s advance on Madrid was made without any reference to the British army, by roads that took him very far from Salamanca: he was marching past Moore’s front in serene unconsciousness of his proximity. If, at the same moment, the British had been hurrying back to Portugal, pursued only by phantoms hatched in their general’s imagination, it is easy to guess what military critics would have said, and what historians would have written. Moore would have been pronounced a selfish and timid officer, who in a moment of pique and despondency deliberately abandoned his unhappy allies.

Fortunately for his own reputation and for that of England, his original intentions of the night of November 28 were not fully carried out. Only Baird’s column actually commenced its retrograde movement. That general received Moore’s letter from Vaughan on the thirtieth, and immediately began to retire on Galicia. Leaving his cavalry and his light brigade at Astorga, to cover his retreat, he fell back with the rest of his division to Villafranca, fifty miles on the road towards Corunna. Here (as we shall see) he received on December 6 a complete new set of orders, countermanding his retreat and bidding him return to the plains of Leon.

Hope also had heard from Moore on the thirtieth, had been informed that the army was to retire on Portugal, and was told to make forced marches by Pe?aranda and Ciudad Rodrigo to join his chief—unless indeed he were forced to go back by the way that he had come, owing to the appearance of French troops in his path. Fortunately no such danger occurred: Hope arranged his two cavalry regiments as a screen in front of his right, in the direction of Arevalo and Madrigal. He hurried his infantry and guns by Fontiveros and Pe?aranda, along the road that had been pointed out to him. The cavalry obtained news that patrols of French dragoons coming from the north had pushed as far as Olmedo and La Nava—some sixteen or eighteen miles from their outposts—but did not actually see a single hostile vedette. This[p. 511] was lucky, as, if Napoleon had heard of a British force hovering on the flank of his advancing columns, he would certainly have turned against it the troops that were covering the right flank of his advance on Madrid—Lefebvre’s corps and the dragoons of Milhaud. But, as it chanced, Hope was entirely unmolested: he moved, as was right, with his troops closed up and ready for a fight: on the night of the thirtieth his infantry actually slept in square without piling arms: during the ensuing thirty-six hours they marched forty-seven miles before they were allowed to encamp at Pe?aranda. There they were practically in safety: slackening the pace for the exhausted infantry and for the over-driven oxen of the convoy, Hope drew in to Alba de Tormes, where he was only fifteen miles from Salamanca[593]. Here he received orders not to push for Ciudad Rodrigo, but to turn northward and join the main body of the army, which was still—as it turned out—in its old positions. Thus on December 3 Moore could at last dispose of his long-lost cavalry and guns, and possessed an army of 20,000 men complete in all arms. This very much changed the aspect of affairs for him, and removed one of his main justifications for the projected retreat on Portugal. Hope also brought information as to the movements of the French which was of the highest importance. He reported that their columns were all trending southward, none of them to the west of Segovia. He had also heard of the infantry of the 4th Corps, and could report that it had marched by Valladolid and Olmedo on Segovia, evidently with the intention of driving Heredia’s Estremaduran troops out of the last-named city, and of opening the Guadarrama Pass[594]. There was no sign whatever of any movement of the[p. 512] French in this quarter towards Salamanca. Thus the Emperor’s plan for a concentration of his whole army on Madrid became clear to Moore’s discerning eyes.

SECTION VIII: CHAPTER III
MOORE’S ADVANCE TO SAHAGUN

Moore’s determination to retreat on Portugal lasted just seven days. It was at midnight on November 28-29 that he wrote his orders to Baird and Hope, bidding the one to fall back on Corunna and the other on Ciudad Rodrigo. On the afternoon of December 5 he abandoned his scheme, and wrote to recall Baird from Galicia: on the tenth he set out on a very different sort of enterprise, and advanced into the plains of Old Castile with the object of striking at the communications of the French army. We have now to investigate the curious mixture of motives which led him to make such a complete and dramatic change in his plan of campaign.

Having sent off his dispatches to Hope and Baird, the Commander-in-chief had announced next morning to the generals who commanded his divisions and brigades his intention of retreating to Portugal. The news evoked manifestations of surprise and anger that could not be concealed. Even Moore’s own staff did not succeed in disguising their dismay and regret[595]. The army was looking forward with eagerness to another campaign against the French under a general of such well-earned reputation as their present chief: a sudden order to retreat, when the enemy had not even been seen, and when his nearest cavalry vedettes were still three or four marches away, seemed astounding. There would have been remonstrances, had not Moore curtly informed his subordinates that ‘he had not called them together to request their counsel, or to induce them to commit themselves to giving any opinion on the subject. He was taking the whole responsibility entirely upon himself: and he only required that they would immediately prepare to carry it into effect.’ In face of this speech there could be no argument or opposition: but there was[p. 514] murmuring in every quarter: of all the officers of the army of Portugal Hope is said to have been the only one who approved of the Commander-in-chief’s resolve. The consciousness of the criticism that he was undergoing from his own subordinates did not tend to soften Moore’s temper, which was already sufficiently tried by the existing situation of affairs.

After announcing this determination, it might have been expected that Moore would fall back at once on Almeida. But while beginning to send back his stores and his sick[596], he did not move his fighting-men: the reason (as he wrote to Castlereagh[597]) was that he still hoped that he might succeed in picking up Hope’s division, if the French did not press him. Accordingly he lingered on, waiting for that general’s approach, and much surprised that the enemy was making no advance in his direction. It was owing to the fact that he delayed his departure for five days, on the chance that his lost cavalry and guns might after all come in, that Moore finally gained the opportunity of striking his great blow and saving his reputation.

During this period of waiting and of preparation to depart, appeals from many quarters came pouring in upon Moore, begging him to advance at all costs and make his presence felt by the French. The first dispatches which he received were written before his determination to retreat was known: after it was divulged, his correspondents only became the more importunate and clamorous. Simultaneous pressure was brought to bear upon him by the British ambassador at Aranjuez, by the Supreme Junta, by the general who now commanded the wrecks of the Spanish army of Galicia, and by the military authorities at Madrid. Each one of them had many and serious considerations to set before the harassed Commander-in-chief.

Moore had been so constantly asserting that Blake’s old ‘Army of the Left’ had been completely dispersed and ruined, that it must have been somewhat of a surprise to him when the Marquis of La Romana wrote from Leon, on November 30, to say that he was now at the head of a considerable force, and hoped to co-operate in the oncoming campaign. The Galicians had rallied in much greater[p. 515] numbers than had been expected: their losses in battle had not been very great, and the men had dispersed from sheer want of food rather than from a desire to desert their colours. Their equipment was in the most wretched condition, and their shoes worn out: but their spirit was not broken, and if they could get food and clothing, they were quite prepared to do their duty. La Romana enclosed a dispatch of Soult’s which had been intercepted, and remarked that the news in it (apparently a statement of the marshal’s intention to move westward) made it advisable that the English and Spanish armies should at once concert measures for a junction[598].

All that the Marquis stated was perfectly true: his army was growing rapidly, for his muster-rolls of December 4 showed that he had already 15,600 men with the colours, exclusive of sick and wounded: ten days later the number had gone up to 22,800[599]. This was a force that could not be entirely neglected, even though the men were in a dire state of nakedness, and were only just recovering from the effects of their dreadful march from Reynosa across the Cantabrian hills. Moore had always stated, in his dispatches to Castlereagh, that there was no Spanish army with which he could co-operate. He was now offered the aid of 15,000 men, under a veteran officer of high reputation and undoubted patriotism. The proposal to retreat on Portugal seemed even less honourable than before, when it involved the desertion of the Marquis and his much-tried host.

Not long after the moment at which La Romana’s dispatch came to hand, there arrived at Salamanca two officers deputed by the Central Junta to make a final appeal to Moore. These were Don Ventura Escalante, Captain-General of the kingdom of Granada, and the Brigadier-General Augustin Bueno. They had started from Aranjuez on November 28, and seem to have arrived at the British head quarters on December 3 or 4. They brought a letter from Don Martin de Garay, the secretary to the Junta, stating that they were authorized to treat with Moore for the drawing up of a plan of campaign, ‘by which the troops of his Britannic Majesty may act in concert with those of Spain, accelerating a combined movement, and avoiding the delays that[p. 516] are so prejudicial to the noble enterprise in which the two nations are engaged[600].’ The proposal that the two generals made would appear to have been that Moore should march on Madrid by the Guadarrama Pass, picking up Hope’s division on the way, and ordering Baird to follow as best he could. They wished to demonstrate to their despondent ally that it was possible to concentrate for the defence of Madrid a force sufficient to hold the Emperor at bay. If the British came up, they hoped even to be able to repulse him with decisive effect. They alleged that Casta?os had escaped from Tudela with the Andalusian divisions almost intact, and must now be at Guadalajara, quite close to the capital, with 25,000 good troops. Heredia, with the rallied Estremaduran army, was at Segovia, and had 10,000 bayonets: San Juan with 12,000 men was occupying the impregnable Somosierra. Andalusian and Castilian levies were coming in to Madrid every day—they believed that 10,000 men must already be collected. This would constitute when united a mass of nearly 60,000 men: if Moore brought up 20,000 British troops all must go well, for Napoleon had only 80,000 men in the north of Spain. After deducting the army sent against Saragossa, and the detachments at Burgos and in Biscay, as also the corps of Soult, he could not have much more than 20,000 men concentrated for the attack on Madrid. All this ingenious calculation was based on the fundamental misconception that the French armies were only one-third of their actual strength—which far exceeded 200,000 men. But on this point Moore was as ill informed as the Spaniards themselves, and the causes which he alleged for refusing to march on Madrid had nothing to do with statistics. He informed them that his reasons for proposing to retreat on Portugal were that the Spanish armies were too much demoralized to offer successful resistance to the Emperor, and that the road to the capital was now in the possession of the French. He then introduced Colonel Graham, who had just returned from a meeting with San Juan, and had heard from him the story of the forcing of the Somosierra on November 29. Of this disaster Escalante and Bueno were still ignorant: they had to learn from English lips that the French were actually before the gates of Madrid, that Heredia and San Juan were in flight, and that their junction with Casta?os (wherever that general might now be) had become[p. 517] impossible. This appalling news deeply affected Escalante and Bueno, but they then turned to urging Moore to unite with La Romana, and march to the relief of Madrid. The British general replied that he did not believe that the Marquis had 5,000 men fit to take the field along with the British[601], and that any such scheme would be chimerical. His whole bearing towards the emissaries of the Junta seems to have been frigid to the verge of discourtesy. How much they irritated him may be gathered from the account of the interview which he sent to Mr. Frere two days later. In language that seems very inappropriate in an official dispatch—destined ere long to be printed as a ‘Parliamentary Paper’—he wrote: ‘The two generals seemed to me to be two weak old men, or rather women, with whom it was impossible for me to concert any military operations, even had I been so inclined. Their conferences with me consisted in questions, and in assertions with regard to the strength of different Spanish corps, all of which I knew to be erroneous. They neither knew that Segovia or the Somosierra were in the hands of the enemy. I shall be obliged to you to save me from such visits, which are very painful[602].’

It is clear that the mission of Escalante and Bueno had no great share in determining Sir John to abandon his projected retreat on Portugal, though it may possibly have had some cumulative effect when taken in conjunction with other appeals that were coming in to him at the same moment. It was quite otherwise with the dispatches which he received from the authorities at Madrid, and from the British ambassador at Aranjuez: in them we may find the chief causes of his changed attitude. The Madrid dispatch was written by Morla and the Prince of Castelfranco—the two military heads of the Junta of Defence which had been created on December 1—in behalf of themselves and their colleagues. It was sent off early on December 2, before Napoleon had begun to press in upon the suburbs, for it speaks of the city as menaced, not as actually attacked by the enemy. It amounted to an appeal to Moore to do something to help Madrid—not necessarily (as has been often stated) to throw himself into the city, but, if he judged[p. 518] it best, to man?uvre on the flank and rear of the Emperor’s army, so as to distract him from his present design. The writers stated, in much the same terms that Escalante and Bueno had used, that Casta?os with 25,000 men from Tudela and San Juan with 10,000 men from the Somosierra were converging on the capital, and added that the Junta had got together 40,000 men for its defence. With this mass of new levies they thought that they could hold off for the moment the forces that Napoleon had displayed in front of them; but when his reserves and reinforcements came up the situation would be more dangerous. Wherefore they made no doubt that the British general would move with the rapidity that was required in the interests of the allied nations. They supposed it probable that Moore had already united with La Romana’s army, and that the two forces would be able to act together.

There is no reason to think, with Napier and with Moore’s biographer[603], that this dispatch was written by Morla with the treacherous intent of involving the British army in the catastrophe that was impending over the capital. Morla ultimately betrayed his country and joined King Joseph, but there is no real proof that he contemplated doing so before the fall of Madrid. The letter was signed not only by him but by Castelfranco, of whose loyalty there is no doubt, and who was actually arrested and imprisoned by Bonaparte. Moreover, if it had been designed to draw Moore into the Emperor’s clutches, it would not have given him the perfectly sound advice to fall upon the communications of the French army after uniting with La Romana—the precise move that the British general made ten days later with such effect. It would have begged him to enter Madrid, without suggesting any other alternative.

Moore had always stated that his reluctance to advance into Spain had been due, in no small degree, to the apathy which he had found there: but now the capital, as it seemed, was about to imitate Saragossa and to stand at bay behind its barricades. He had no great confidence in its power to hold out. ‘I own,’ he wrote to Castlereagh, ‘that I cannot derive much hope from the resistance of one town against forces so formidable, unless the[p. 519] spark catches and the flame becomes pretty general[604].’ But he could realize the dishonour that would rest upon his own head if, as now seemed possible, Madrid were to make a desperate resistance, and at the same moment the British army were to be seen executing unmolested a tame retreat on Portugal. The letter of Morla and Castelfranco he might perhaps have disregarded, suspecting the usual Spanish exaggerations, if it had stood alone. But it was backed up by an appeal from the most important British sources. Mr. Stuart, whose forecasts Moore had always respected because they were far from optimistic[605], had written him to the effect that ‘the retrograde movements of the British divisions were likely to produce an effect not less serious than the most decisive victory on the part of the enemy.’ Frere, the newly arrived ambassador to the Central Junta, launched out into language of the strongest kind. He had already discovered that his opinions were fundamentally opposed to those of Moore: this was but natural, as the general looked upon the problem that lay before him from a military point of view, while the ambassador could only regard its political aspect. Any impartial observer can now see that the advance of the British army into Spain was likely to be a hazardous matter, even if Hope and Baird succeeded in joining the main body at Salamanca. On the other hand, it is quite clear that the Spanish government would have every reason to regard itself as having been abandoned and betrayed, if that advance were not made. Balancing the one danger against the other, it seems evident that Frere was right, and that it was Moore’s duty to make a diversion of some sort against the French. Executed on any day before Madrid fell, such a movement would have disturbed Bonaparte and distracted him from his main plan of operations. Nor would the operation have been so hazardous as Moore supposed, since his junction with Hope had become certain when that general reached Pe?aranda, while Baird had never had any French troops in his neighbourhood. The retreat on Galicia was always open: that on Portugal was equally available till the moment when the capitulation of Madrid set free great masses of Bonaparte’s central reserve.

In his earlier epistles to Moore Frere had deprecated the idea of a retreat, and had suggested that if for military reasons an advance[p. 520] should be impracticable, it would at least be possible that the British army might remain on Spanish ground. He had soon learnt that the general entertained very different views, and his penultimate letter, that of November 30, shows signs of pique at the small impression that his arguments had made upon his correspondent[606]. Now on December 3 he wrote from Talavera, whither he had followed the Supreme Junta in their flight, to try his last effort. To his previous arguments he had only one more to add, the fact that on December 1-2 the people of Madrid were showing that spirit of fanatical patriotism which Moore had sought in vain hitherto among the Spaniards. The populace, as he had learnt, was barricading the streets and throwing up batteries: 30,000 citizens and peasants were now under arms. Considering their spirit, he had no hesitation in taking upon himself the responsibility of representing the propriety, not to say the necessity, of doing something in their behalf. The fate of Spain depended absolutely, for the moment, on some help being given by the British army. Frere had first-hand evidence of the enthusiasm which was reigning in Madrid on the first day of December, having spoken to several persons who had just left the capital, including a French émigré colonel, one Charmilly, to whose care he entrusted his last letter to the Commander-in-chief. But so convinced was he that no argument of his would affect Sir John Moore, that he took a most improper step, and endeavoured to appeal to the public opinion of the army over the head of its general. He entrusted Charmilly with a second letter, which he was only to deliver if Moore refused to countermand his retreat after reading the first. This document was a request that in case Sir John remained fixed in his original determination, he would allow the bearer of these letters to be examined before a Council of War. Frere thought that Charmilly’s account of what was going on in Madrid would appeal to the Brigadiers, if it had no effect on the Lieutenant-General—and probably he was not far wrong. Such a plan struck at the roots of all military obedience: it could only have occurred to a civilian. If anything could have made the matter worse, it was that the document should be entrusted not[p. 521] to a British officer but to a foreign adventurer, a kind of person to whom the breach between the civil and military representatives of Great Britain ought never to have been divulged. Moreover Charmilly (though Frere was not aware of this fact) chanced to be personally known to Moore, who had a very bad opinion of him[607]. The émigré was said to have been implicated in the San Domingo massacres of 1794, and to have been engaged of late in doubtful financial speculations in London. To send him to Salamanca with such an errand seemed like a deliberate insult to the Commander-in-chief. Frere was innocent of this intention, but the whole business, even without this aggravation, was most unwise and improper.

Charmilly handed in his first document on the evening of December 5, a few hours after Morla’s messenger had delivered the appeal from Madrid. Moore received him in the most formal way, dismissed him, and began to compare Frere’s information with that of the Junta of Defence, of the emissaries from Aranjuez, and of his other English correspondents. Putting all together, he felt his determination much shaken: Madrid, as it seemed, was really about to defend itself: the preparations which were reported to him bore out the words of Morla and Castelfranco. His own army was seething with discontent at the projected retreat: Hope being now only one march away, at Alba de Tormes, he could no longer plead that he was unable to advance because he was destitute of cavalry and guns. Moreover, he was now so far informed as to the position—though not as to the numbers—of the French, that he was aware that there was no very serious force in front of himself or of Baird: everything had been turned on to Madrid. Even the 4th Corps, of which Hope had heard during his march, was evidently moving on Segovia and the Guadarrama.

Contemplating the situation, Moore’s resolution broke down: he knew what his army was saying about him at the present moment: he guessed what his government would say, if it should chance that Madrid made a heroic defence while he was retreating unpursued on Lisbon and Almeida. A man of keen ambition and soldierly feeling, he could not bear to think that he might be sacrificing[p. 522] his life’s work and reputation to an over-conscientious caution. Somewhere between eight o’clock and midnight on the night of December 5 he made up his mind to countermand the retreat. He dashed off a short note to Castlereagh, and a dispatch to Baird, and the thing was done. To the war-minister he wrote that ‘considerable hopes were entertained from the enthusiastic manner in which the people of Madrid resist the French.’ This hope he did not share himself, but ‘in consequence of the general opinion, which is also Mr. Frere’s, I have ordered Sir David Baird to suspend his march [to Corunna] and shall myself continue at this place until I see further, and shall be guided by circumstances.’ To Madrid he would not go till he was certain that the town was making a firm defence, and that the spirit of resistance was spreading all over Spain: but the plan of instant retreat on Portugal was definitely abandoned[608]. The dispatch to Baird shows even more of the General’s mind, for he and his subordinate were personal friends, and spoke out freely to each other. The people of Madrid, Moore wrote, had taken up arms, refused to capitulate, and were barricading their streets—they said that they would suffer anything rather than submit. Probably all this came too late, and Bonaparte was too strong to be resisted. ‘There is, however, no saying, and I feel myself the more obliged to give it a trial, as Mr. Frere has made a formal representation, which I received this evening. All this appears very strange and unsteady—but if the spirit of enthusiasm does arise in Spain, and the people will be martyrs, there is no saying what our force may do.’ Baird therefore was to stay his march on Corunna, to make arrangements to return to Astorga, and to send off at once to join the main army one of his three regiments of hussars[609]. All this was written ere midnight: at early dawn Moore’s mind was still further made up. He sent to Sir David orders to push his cavalry to Zamora, his infantry, brigade by brigade, to Benavente, in the plains of Leon. ‘What is passing at Madrid may be decisive of the fate of Spain, and we must be at hand to take advantage of whatever happens. The wishes of our country and our duty demand it of us, with whatever risk it may be attended.... But if the bubble bursts, and Madrid falls, we shall have a run for it.... Both you and me, though we may look big, and determine to get everything forward, yet we must[p. 523] never lose sight of this, that at any moment affairs may take the turn that will render it necessary to retreat[610].’

If only Moore had discovered on November 13, instead of on December 5, that events at Madrid were important, and that his country’s wishes and his duty required him to take a practical interest in them, the winter campaign of 1808 would have taken—for good or evil—a very different shape from that which it actually assumed. Meanwhile his resolve came too late. Madrid had actually capitulated thirty-six hours before he received the letters of Morla and of Frere. Moreover the offensive could not be assumed till Baird should have retraced his steps from Villafranca, and returned to the position at Astorga from which his wholly unnecessary retreat had removed him.

A painful and rather grotesque scene had to be gone through on the morning of December 6. Colonel Charmilly had been received by Moore on the previous night in such a dry and formal manner, that it never occurred to him that the letter which he had delivered was likely to have had any effect. Accordingly he presented himself for the second time next morning, with Frere’s supplementary epistle, taking it for granted that retreat was still the order of the day, and making the demand for the assembly of a Council of War. Moore, fresh from the severe mental struggle which attended the reversal of all his plans, was in no mood for politeness. Righteously indignant at what seemed to him both a deliberate personal insult, and an intrigue to undermine his authority with his subordinates, he burst out into words of anger and contempt, and told his provost-marshal to expel Charmilly from the camp without a moment’s delay[611]. When this had been done, he sat down to write a dispatch to Frere, in which his conscientious desire to avoid hard words with a British minister struggled in vain with his natural resentment. He began by justifying his original resolve to retreat; and then informed his correspondent that ‘I should never have thought of asking your opinion or advice, as the determination was founded on circumstances with which you could not be acquainted, and was a question[p. 524] purely military, of which I thought myself the best judge.’ When he made up his mind, the army had been hopelessly divided into fractions, and there was good reason at that moment to fear that the French would prevent their concentration. But as the resistance made by the people of Madrid had deterred Bonaparte from detaching any corps against him, and the junction of the British divisions now seemed possible, the situation was changed. ‘Without being able to say exactly in what manner, everything shall be done for the assistance of Madrid, and the Spanish cause, that can be expected from an army such as I command.’ But Moore would not move till Baird came up, and even then, he said, he would only have 26,000 men fit for duty[612]. Believing that Frere’s conduct had been inspired by a regard for the public welfare, he should abstain from any comment on the two letters brought by Colonel Charmilly. But he must confess that he both felt and expressed much indignation at a person of that sort being made the channel of communication between them. ‘I have prejudices against all that class, and it is impossible for me to put any trust in him. I shall therefore thank you not to employ him in any communication with me[613].’

Moore had kept his temper more in hand than might have been expected, considering the provocation that he had received: the same cannot be said for Frere, whose next letter, written from Truxillo on December 9, ended by informing the general that ‘if the British army had been sent abroad for the express object of doing the utmost possible mischief to the cause of Spain, short of actually firing upon the Spanish troops, they would have most completely fulfilled their purpose by carrying out exactly the measures which they have taken[614].’ This was unpardonable language from one official writing a state paper to another, and it is regrettable to find that Frere made no formal apology for it in his later dispatches. Even when he discovered that Moore was actually executing a diversion against the communications of the French army, he only wrote that he was ‘highly gratified’ to find that they were at last agreed on the advisability of such a[p. 525] move[615]. Frere’s uncontrolled expressions showed that he was entirely unfit for a diplomatic post, and cannot be too strongly reprobated. At the same time we are forced to concede that his main thesis was perfectly true: nothing could have been more unhappy than that the aid of a British army of 33,000 men should have been promised to Spain: that the army should have marched late, in isolated divisions and by the wrong roads: that after its van had reached Salamanca on November 13, it should not have taken one step in advance up to December 5: that just as Madrid was attacked it should tamely begin to retreat on Corunna and Lisbon. Moore was only partly responsible for all this: but it is certain that the whole series of movements had in truth been calculated to do the utmost possible mischief to the cause of Spain and of England. If Moore had died or been superseded on December 4, 1808, he would have been written down as wellnigh the worst failure in all the long list of incompetent British commanders since the commencement of the Revolutionary War.

It is, therefore, with all the greater satisfaction that we now pass on to the second part of the campaign of the British army in Spain, wherein Moore showed himself as resourceful, rapid, and enterprising as he had hitherto appeared slow and hesitating. Having once got rid of the over-caution which had hitherto governed his movements, and having made up his mind that it was right to run risks, he showed that the high reputation which he enjoyed in the British army was well deserved.

Moore’s first intention, as is shown by his orders to Baird and his letters to Castlereagh, was merely to disturb the French communications by a sudden raid on Valladolid, or even on Burgos. If Madrid was really holding out, the Emperor would not be able to send any large detachment against him, unless he made up his mind to raise the siege of the capital. It was probable that Bonaparte would consider the destruction of an English army of even more importance than the prosecution of the siege, and that he would come rushing northward with all his army. In that case, as Moore wrote to Baird, ‘we shall have a run for it,’ but Madrid would be saved. In short, Napoleon was to be treated like the bull in the arena, who is lured away from a fallen adversary by having a red cloak dangled before his eyes. Supposing that the main force of the French were turned upon him, Moore was[p. 526] perfectly well aware that his line of retreat on Portugal would be cut, for troops marching from the neighbourhood of Madrid, via the Guadarrama Pass, might easily seize Salamanca. But it is one of the privileges of the possessor of sea-power that he can change his base whenever he chooses, and Moore wrote to Castlereagh to request that transports might be massed at Corunna for the reception of his army. If forced to fall back on that place he intended to sail round to Lisbon or to Cadiz, as circumstances might dictate.

In the unlikely event of Bonaparte’s persisting in the siege of Madrid, and sending only small detachments against the British army, Moore thought that he would be strong enough to make matters very unpleasant for the enemy in Old Castile. If he beat the forces immediately opposed to him, and seized Valladolid and Burgos, the Emperor would be compelled to come north, whether he wished it or no.

All these plans were perfectly reasonable and well concerted, considering the information that was at Moore’s disposition on December 6. But that information was based on two false premises: the one was that Madrid was likely to hold out for some little time—Moore never supposed that it could be for very long, for he remained fixed in his distrust of Spanish civic virtues: the second was that the French army in the north of Spain did not amount to more than 80,000 or 100,000 men, an estimate which had been repeated to him by every Spaniard with whom he had communicated, and which had been confirmed, not only by Frere, but by Stuart and other English correspondents in whom he had some confidence. If he had known that the French had entered Madrid on December 4, and that they numbered more than 250,000 bayonets and sabres, his plans would have been profoundly modified[616].

[p. 527]

Moore’s original intention was to move on Valladolid, a great centre of roads, and a sort of halfway-house between Burgos and Madrid. Meanwhile, Baird was to come down from Astorga via Benavente, and to converge on the same point. A cavalry screen in front of the combined force was formed, by pushing the two regiments which belonged to Moore’s own corps towards Alaejos and Tordesillas, on the south bank of the Douro; while Baird’s cavalry brigade, under Lord Paget, made a forced march from Astorga to Toro, and extended itself north of the river. Moore’s infantry was not to move till the tenth, but that of Baird was already returning as fast as it could manage from Villafranca to Astorga. The unfortunate orders of retreat, issued on November 29, had cost Sir David six marches, three from Astorga to Villafranca and three from Villafranca to Astorga—time lost in the most miserable and unnecessary fashion. One of his brigades, that of General Leith[617], was now so far off that it never managed to overtake the army, and was out of the game for something like a fortnight. But the rest, which had only to return from Villafranca[618], succeeded in joining the main body in much better time than might have been expected. The fact was that the news of an advance had restored the high spirits of the whole army, and the men stepped out splendidly through the cold and rainy winter days, and easily accomplished their twenty miles between dawn and dusk.

Moore, meanwhile, was occupied at Salamanca in making the last preparations for his advance. He had already sent back into Portugal one large convoy on December 5, escorted by the fifth battalion of the 60th Regiment. He now dispatched another which marched by Ciudad Rodrigo, where it picked up the 3rd Foot, who guarded it back to Portugal[619]. The two between them contained all his heavy baggage, and all the sick from his base hospital who could bear transport—probably more than 1,500 invalids: for the total number of the sick of the army was very nearly 4,000, and the larger half of them must have belonged to Moore’s own corps,[p. 528] which was in worse trim than that of Baird. The loss of the regiments sent off on escort duty was partly made up a few days later by the arrival of the 82nd, which came up by forced marches from Oporto, and reached Benavente on December 26. It was the leading battalion of a brigade which the government had resolved to add to Moore’s force from the slender division of Cradock: the other two battalions of the brigade were too far behind, and never succeeded in joining the field-army[620]. Allowing for these final changes we find that Moore and Baird started forth with 29,946 effective sabres and bayonets—in which are included 1,687 men on detachment: they left behind them nearly 4,000 sick[621]. If we deduct 2,539 for Leith’s brigade, which was still far beyond Villafranca, and for the belated 82nd, the actual force which carried out the great raid into the plain of Old Castile must have been just over 25,000 strong: of these 2,450 were cavalry, and there were 1,297 artillery gunners and drivers with sixty-six guns.

Moore had, of course, given notice to La Romana of his change of plan: in response to his letter of December 6 the Marquis expressed his pleasure at the prospect of the union of the allied armies, and his wish to co-operate to the best of his power[622]. He had now collected 20,000 men—a formidable army on paper—and was certain to do his best, but what that might amount to was very doubtful. It was well known that a great part of his troops were not fit to move: but it was not till a few days later that Moore received definite intelligence as to the exact amount of military aid that might be furnished by the army of the Left.

The British troops were fully committed to their new plan of campaign—Baird was hastening back to Astorga, the sick and the convoys had started for Portugal, the cavalry had pushed well to the front—when Moore suddenly received a piece of intelligence which profoundly modified the situation. Madrid had fallen into[p. 529] the hands of Bonaparte: the news was brought by Colonel Graham, who had been sent off with the reply to Morla and Castelfranco. Forced to make a long detour, because all the direct roads were known to be in the hands of the French, he had fallen in at Talavera with the fugitive army from the Escurial, and had almost witnessed the murder of San Juan. From information given him by various persons, and especially by two belated members of the Central Junta, he learnt that Napoleon had stormed the Retiro and the Prado, and that Morla had signed a capitulation. The populace were said to be still in possession of their arms, and it was supposed that there would be much trouble in pacifying the city; but there was no doubt that, from a military point of view, it was in the Emperor’s power[623].

Considering Moore’s earlier doubts and hesitations, we should almost have expected that this news would have induced him to throw up his whole plan for an advance into Old Castile, and once more to order a retreat on Almeida. But he evidently considered that he was now committed to the raid on Bonaparte’s lines of communication, and thought that, even if he could not save Madrid, he could at least distract the enemy from an attempt to push further south, and give the Spanish armies time to rally. There was a chance, as he wrote to Castlereagh[624], that he might effect something, and he should take it, committing himself to Fortune: ‘If she smiles we may do some good: if not, we shall still I hope have the merit of having done all that we could. The army, for its numbers, is excellent, and is (I am confident) quite determined to do its duty.’

On December 11 the infantry at last began to move forward from Salamanca—a month all but two days had elapsed since its vanguard reached that city. On that day the reserve division, under General E. Paget, and Beresford’s brigade of Fraser’s division marched for Toro, where they found Lord Paget with Baird’s cavalry, ready to cover their advance. These troops were to form the left-hand column of the advance on Valladolid. On the next day Hope’s detachment from Alba de Tormes, and the brigades of Bentinck, Fane, Hill, and Charles Alten from Salamanca, which formed the right-hand column, marched for Alaejos and Tordesillas. In front of them was Charles Stewart’s cavalry brigade,[p. 530] which, on the same evening (December 12), fell upon a French cavalry patrol at Rueda and captured it whole, only one man escaping. The prisoners turned out to belong to the 22nd Chasseurs cf Franceschi’s cavalry division, which, as it was discovered, lay at Valladolid without any infantry supports[625]. They expressed the greatest surprise at finding themselves assailed by English cavalry, as they were under the impression that Moore had retired on Lisbon some days before. This side-light on the general ignorance prevailing in the French army as to the position and designs of the British was very valuable: the first meeting with the enemy, trifling as was the success, promised well for the future.

On the thirteenth Moore himself came up from Salamanca to Alaejos, where he overtook the infantry. Stewart’s cavalry meanwhile pushed on to Tordesillas and Medina del Campo, without coming across any traces of the French. At Tordesillas they found themselves in touch with Lord Paget’s horsemen on the other side of the Douro, who had also met with no opposition whatever. On the fifteenth the whole army would have converged on Valladolid, if Moore’s original intention had been carried out. But a fortunate accident intervened to prevent this march, which would have placed the British troops nearer to Madrid and to the Emperor than did the route which they finally adopted.

There was brought to Moore at Alaejos an intercepted dispatch from Berthier to Soult, containing the most valuable information. The officer bearing it had been sent off from Madrid without an escort, according to the Emperor’s usual habit—a habit that cost the lives of some scores of unfortunate aides-de-camp during the first year of the Peninsular War. It was only by experience that Napoleon and his marshals learnt that isolated officers travelling in this fashion were devoted in Spain to probable death and possible torture, as Marbot (after a personal experience of the kind) bitterly observed. The bearer of this particular dispatch had been murdered by peasants at the post-house of Valdestillos, near Segovia.

The document was full of invaluable facts and details. It informed Soult that with his existing force—the two infantry divisions of Merle and Mouton, and the four cavalry regiments of[p. 531] Franceschi’s division[626]—he was strong enough to march straight before him from Salda?a, and to overrun the whole kingdom of Leon. He was to seize the towns of Leon, Zamora, and Benavente, and to sweep the débris of the army of Galicia into its native mountains. He would find nothing else to oppose him; for the English, as all accounts agreed, were in full retreat on Lisbon. They had last been heard of at Salamanca and the Escurial. A knowledge of this plan was valuable to Moore, but still more so was what followed—a sketch of the position of the French army at the moment when the dispatch was written. The advanced guard of the ‘Grand Army’ (Lefebvre’s corps) was at Talavera, and would shortly be at Badajoz: Bessières was chasing Casta?os beyond the Upper Tagus, on the road to Valencia. Mortier’s and Junot’s corps had reached Spain: the former had been ordered off to aid in the siege of Saragossa: the latter was on the march to Burgos, and its leading division had reached Vittoria. The chief omission was that Berthier did not mention the Imperial Guard or the corps of Ney, which were in or about Madrid when he wrote, and were probably destined to follow Lefebvre’s march on Badajoz and Lisbon. The dispatch ends with the curious note that ‘His Majesty is in the best of health. The city of Madrid is quite tranquil: the shops are open, theatrical amusements have been resumed, and you would never suppose that our first addresses to the place had been emphasized by 4,000 cannon-balls[627].’

Moore was thus placed in possession of the Emperor’s plan of campaign, and of the dislocation of the greater part of his army. Most important of all, he discovered that his own position and designs were wholly unsuspected. His mind was soon made up: Soult, as it seemed, with his 15,000 or 16,000 men at Salda?a and Carrion, was about to move forward into Leon. He would thus be placed at an enormous distance from the Emperor, and would have no solid supports save the leading division of Junot’s corps, which must now be drawing near to Burgos. If he advanced, the whole British army, aided by whatever troops La Romana could produce, might be hurled upon him. The results could not be[p. 532] doubtful, and a severe defeat inflicted on the 2nd Corps would shake the hold of the French on Northern Spain, and ruin all the Emperor’s plans. Moreover the region where Soult might be looked for, about Carrion, Sahagun, and Mayorga, was far more remote from Madrid than the Valladolid country, where Moore was originally intending to strike his blow, so that several days would be gained before the Emperor could interfere.

Accordingly, on December 15, the whole army suddenly changed its direction from eastward to northward. The left-hand column of the infantry crossed the Douro at Zamora, the right-hand column at Toro. The cavalry, screening the march of both, went northward from Tordesillas to the banks of the Sequillo, pushing its advanced parties right up to Valladolid, and driving back the dragoons of Franceschi, several of whose detachments they cut off, capturing a colonel and more than a hundred men. They intercepted the communications between Burgos and Madrid to such effect that Bonaparte believed that the whole British army was moving on Valladolid, and drew up his first plan of operations under that hypothesis[628].

Meanwhile four good marches [December 16-20] carried Moore’s infantry from Zamora and Toro by the route Villalpando—Valderas to Mayorga. The weather was bitterly cold, which in one way favoured the movement, for the frost hardened the country roads, which would otherwise have been mere sloughs of mud. A little snow fell from time to time, but not enough to incommode the troops. They marched well, kept their discipline, and left few sick or stragglers behind. This was the result of good spirits, for they had been told that they would meet the French before the week was out. At Mayorga the junction with Baird’s column was safely effected.

When the army had thus completed its concentration, Sir John Moore, for reasons which it is not quite easy to understand, rearranged all its units. He formed it into four divisions and two[p. 533] independent light brigades. The 1st Division was given to Sir David Baird, the 2nd to Sir John Hope, the 3rd to General Fraser, the 4th (or Reserve) to General E. Paget. The two light brigades were under Charles Alten and Robert Crawfurd (now as always to be carefully distinguished from Catlin Crawfurd, who commanded a brigade of Hope’s division). All the old arrangements of the army of Portugal were broken up: Baird was given three regiments which had come from Lisbon: on the other hand he had to make over four of his Corunna battalions to Hope and two to Fraser. Apparently the idea of the Commander-in-chief was to mix the corps who had already had experience of the French in Portugal with the comparatively raw troops who had landed in Galicia. Otherwise it is impossible to understand the gratuitous divorce of regiments which had been for some time accustomed to act together. The cavalry was formed as a division of two brigades under Lord Paget: the three hussar regiments from Corunna formed one, under General Slade; the two corps from Lisbon the other, under Charles Stewart, the brother of Lord Castlereagh. Of the whole army only the 82nd and Leith’s brigade were still missing: the former had not yet reached Benavente. The belated regiments of the latter were still on the further side of Astorga, and never took any part in the advance.

During this march Moore at last got full information as to the state of La Romana’s troops, and the aid that might be expected from them. The Marquis himself, writing to contradict a false report that he was retiring on Galicia, confessed that two-thirds of his 20,000 men wanted reclothing from head to foot, and that there was a terrible want of haversacks, cartridge-boxes, and shoes. He complained bitterly that the provinces (i.e. Asturias and Galicia) were slack and tardy in forwarding him supplies, and laid much of the blame on them[629]. But he would move forward the moment he could be assisted by Baird’s troops in pressing the French in his front. He reported that Soult had 10,000 infantry[p. 534] at Salda?a, Carrion, and Almanza, with cavalry out in advance at Sahagun: he dared not move across their front southward, for to do so would uncover the high-road through Leon to the Asturias. But the appearance of Baird on the Benavente—Palencia road should be the signal for him to advance against the French in conjunction with his allies[630].

Romana’s description of his army did not sound very promising. But a confidential report from an English officer who had visited his cantonments gave an even less favourable account of the Galicians. Colonel Symes had seen four of the seven divisions which formed the ‘Army of the Left.’ He wrote that the soldiers were ‘in general, stout young men, without order or discipline, but not at all turbulent or ferocious. Their clothing was motley, and some were half-naked. Their man?uvres were very confusedly performed, and the officers were comparatively inferior to the men. The equipment was miserable: of sixteen men of General Figueroa’s guard only six had bayonets. The springs and locks of the muskets often did not correspond. A portion of them—at least one-third—would not explode, and a French soldier could load and fire his piece with precision thrice, before a Spaniard could fire his twice.’ Of the three divisions which he saw reviewed at Leon, one (the 5th, the old troops from the Baltic) seemed superior to the rest, and was armed with good English firelocks: there was also a corps of light troops, 1,000 men in uniform, who might be called respectable[631].... Without undervaluing the spirit of patriotism of the Spaniards, which might in the end effect their deliverance, the writer of the report could only say that they were not, and for a very long time could not be, sufficiently improved in the art of war to be coadjutors in a general action with the British: if any reliance were placed on Spanish aid in the field, terrible disappointment must result: ‘we must stand or fall through our own means[632].’ Colonel Symes doubted whether La Romana would even dare to take his troops into the field at all—wherein he did the Marquis grave injustice: he had every intention of doing his best—though that best turned[p. 535] out to be merely the bringing to the front of the 7,000 or 8,000 men out of his 22,000, who were more or less armed and equipped, while the rest were left behind as wholly unserviceable.

With this document before him, Moore must have found a certain grim humour in the perusal of a letter from the Supreme Junta, which reached him at Toro on December 16, informing him that La Romana would join him with 14,000 ‘picked men,’ and that within a month 30,000 more Asturian and Galician levies should be at his disposal. This communication was brought to him by Francisco Xavier Caro, the brother of the Marquis, who was himself a member of the Junta. With him came Mr. Stuart, as an emissary from the British minister, bringing the last of those unhappy epistles which Frere had written before he knew that the plan of retreating on Portugal had been given up. We have already quoted one of its insulting phrases on page 524: the rest was in the same strain. Fortunately, it could be disregarded, as Moore was actually advancing on the enemy, with a definite promise of help from La Romana. Caro professed to be much delighted that the Junta’s hopes were at last obtaining fruition. Stuart expressed surprise and grief at the tone of Frere’s letters, and ‘seemed not much pleased at his mission[633].’ This was the last of the many troubles with the British and Spanish civil authorities which were destined to harass the Commander-in-chief. For the future it was only military cares that were to weigh upon his mind.

On December 20 the army had concentrated at Mayorga. Somewhat to his disappointment Moore discovered that Soult had not begun the advance on Leon which Berthier’s intercepted dispatch had ordered. Either no duplicate of it had been received by the Marshal, or he had been disconcerted by the report that the English were on the move for Valladolid. That they were coming against his own force he can as yet hardly have guessed. He was still in his old position, one infantry division at Salda?a, the other at Carrion. Debelle’s light-cavalry brigade lay in front as a screen, with its head quarters at Sahagun, only nine miles from the English advanced pickets, which had reached the abbey of Melgar Abaxo.

The proximity of the enemy led Lord Paget, who showed himself throughout the campaign a most admirable and enterprising cavalry commander, to attempt a surprise. Marching long ere[p. 536] dawn with the 10th and 15th Hussars, he reached the vicinity of Sahagun without being discovered. Debelle had no outlying vedettes, and his main-guard on the high-road was suddenly surrounded and captured before it was aware that an enemy was near. Only a single trooper escaped, but he aroused the town, and Paget, hearing the French trumpets sounding in the streets, saw that he must lose no time. He sent General Slade with the 10th Hussars by the straight road into Sahagun, while he himself galloped around it with the 15th to cut off the enemy’s retreat. As he reached the suburb he found Debelle forming up his two regiments—the 8th Dragoons and the 1st Provisional Chasseurs—among the snow-covered stumps of a vineyard. Nothing could be seen of the 10th, which was scouring the town, but Paget formed up the 15th for a charge. His first movement was checked by an unexpected ditch; but moving rapidly down it he crossed at a place where it was practicable, and found Debelle changing front to meet him. Catching the French before they had begun to move—their new formation was not yet quite completed—Paget charged into them without hesitation, though they outnumbered him by nearly two to one. He completely rode down the front regiment, the provisional chasseurs, and flung it back on to the dragoons, who broke and fled. The chasseurs, who were commanded by Colonel Tascher, a cousin of the Empress Josephine, were half destroyed: two lieutenant-colonels, eleven other officers, and 157 men were taken prisoners, twenty were killed, many were wounded[634]. The regiment indeed was so mauled that Bonaparte dissolved it soon after, and replaced it in Franceschi’s division by the 1st Hussars, which had just arrived from France.

This was perhaps the most brilliant exploit of the British cavalry during the whole six years of the war. When the Peninsular medals were distributed, nearly forty years after, a special clasp was very rightly given for it, though many combats in which a much larger number of men were engaged received no such notice. While reading the records of later stages of the war the historian must often regret that Wellington never, till Waterloo, had the services of Paget as commander of his light cavalry. There were unfortunate personal reasons which rendered the presence of the[p. 537] victor of Sahagun and Benavente impossible in the camp of the victor of Vimiero[635].

The scared survivors of Debelle’s brigade rode back to give Soult notice that the enemy was upon him, and might close in on the very next day. Meanwhile Moore’s infantry, following in the wake of Paget’s horse, reached Sahagun on the evening of the twenty-first. It was to be almost their last step in advance. The general allowed one day’s rest to enable the rear divisions to close up to the van, so that all might advance on Salda?a and Carrion in a compact mass. He intended to deliver his much-desired blow at Soult upon the twenty-third.

The Duke of Dalmatia, though he had heard nothing as yet of the British infantry, made the right inference from the vigorous way in which his cavalry had been driven in, and concluded that Moore was not far off. He drew down his second infantry division from Salda?a to Carrion, thus concentrating his corps, and sent aides-de-camp to Burgos and Palencia to hurry up to his support every regiment that could be found. The disposable troops turned out to be Lorges’s division of dragoons, and Delaborde’s division of the 8th Corps, which were both on their way from Burgos to Madrid. The rest of Junot’s infantry was two days off, on the road from Vittoria to Burgos. The brigade of Franceschi’s cavalry which had evacuated Valladolid, was also heard of on the Palencia road. No news or orders had been received from Madrid, with which place communication was now only possible by the route of Aranda, that by Valladolid being closed.

If Moore, allowing his infantry the night of the twenty-first and the morning of the twenty-second to recruit their strength, had marched on Carrion on the afternoon of the latter day, he would have caught Soult at a disadvantage at dawn on the twenty-third, for none of the supporting forces had yet got into touch with the Marshal. If the latter had dared to make a stand, he would have been crushed: but it is more probable that—being a prudent general—he would have fallen back a march in the direction of Burgos. But, as it chanced, Moore resolved to give his men forty-eight hours instead of thirty-six at Sahagun—and twelve hours[p. 538] often suffice to change the whole situation. The army was told to rest as long as daylight lasted on the twenty-third, and to march at nightfall, so as to appear in front of the bridge of Carrion at dawn on the twenty-fourth. Attacked at daybreak, the Marshal would, as Moore hoped, find no time to organize his retreat and would thus be forced to fight.

While waiting at Sahagun for the sun to set, Moore received a dispatch from La Romana to say that, in accordance with his promise, he had marched from Leon to aid his allies. But he could only put into the field some 8,000 men and a single battery—with which he had advanced to Mansilla, with his vanguard at Villarminio, on the road to Salda?a. He was thus but eighteen miles from Sahagun, and though he had only brought a third of his army with him, could be utilized in the oncoming operations.

But this was not the only news which reached Moore on the afternoon of the twenty-third. Only two short hours before he received the dispatch from Mansilla, another note from La Romana had come in, with information of very much greater importance. A confidential agent of the Marquis, beyond the Douro, had sent him a messenger with news that all the French forces in the direction of the Escurial were turning northward and crossing the Guadarrama. Putting this intelligence side by side with rumours brought in by peasants, to the effect that great quantities of food and forage had been ordered to be collected in the villages west of Palencia, Moore drew the right inference. What he had always expected had come to pass. Napoleon had turned north from Madrid, and was hastening across the mountains to overwhelm the British army[636].

Without losing a moment, Moore countermanded his advance on Carrion. The orders went out at nine o’clock, when the leading brigades had already started. As the men were tramping over the frozen snow, in full expectation of a fight at dawn, they were suddenly told to halt. A moment later came the command to turn back by the road that they had come, and to retire to their bivouacs of the previous day. Utterly puzzled and much disgusted the troops returned to Sahagun.
SECTION VIII: CHAPTER IV
NAPOLEON’S PURSUIT OF MOORE: SAHAGUN TO ASTORGA

We have many times had occasion in this narrative to wonder at the extreme tardiness with which news reached the Spanish and the English generals. It is now at the inefficiency of Napoleon’s intelligence department that we must express our surprise. Considering that Moore had moved forward from Salamanca as far back as December 12, and had made his existence manifest to the French on that same day by the successful skirmish at Rueda, it is astonishing to find that the Emperor did not grasp the situation for nine days. Under the influence of his pre-conceived idea that the British must be retiring on Lisbon, he was looking for them in every other quarter rather than the banks of the Upper Douro. On the seventeenth he was ordering reconnaissances to be made in the direction of Plasencia[637] in Estremadura (of all places in the world) to get news of Moore, and was still pushing troops towards Talavera on the road to Portugal. The general tendency of all his movements was in this direction, and there can be no doubt that in a few days his great central reserve would have followed in the wake of Lasalle and Lefebvre, and started for Badajoz and Elvas. On the nineteenth he reviewed outside Madrid the troops that were available for instant movement—the Imperial Guard, the corps of Ney, the divisions of Leval and Lapisse—about 40,000 men with 150 guns, all in excellent order, and with fifteen days’ biscuit stored in their wagons[638]. Of the direction they were to take we can have no doubt, when we read in the imperial[p. 540] correspondence orders for naval officers to be hurried up to reorganize the arsenal of Lisbon[639], and a private note to Bessières—the commander-in-chief of the cavalry—bidding him start his spare horses and his personal baggage for Talavera[640].

The Emperor’s obstinate refusal to look in the right direction is very curious when we remember that Moore’s cavalry was sweeping the plains as far as Valladolid from December 12 to 16, and that on the eighteenth Franceschi had abandoned that important city, while Soult had got news of Moore’s being on the move two days earlier. Clearly either there was grave neglect in sending information on the part of the French cavalry generals in Old Castile, or else the Emperor had so convinced himself that the British were somewhere on the road to Lisbon, that he did not read the true meaning of the dispatches from the north. Be this as it may, it is evident that there was a serious failure in the imperial intelligence department, and that a week or more was wasted. Bonaparte ought to have been astir two or three days after Stewart and Paget drove in Franceschi’s screen of vedettes. As a matter of fact it was nine days before any move was made at the French head quarters: yet Rueda is only ninety-five miles from Madrid.

The first definite intelligence as to the English being on the move in Old Castile reached the Emperor on the evening of December 19. Yet it was only on the twenty-first that he really awoke to the full meaning of the reports that reached him from Soult and Franceschi[641]. But when he did at last realize the situation, he acted with a sudden and spasmodic energy which was never surpassed in any of his earlier campaigns. He hurled on to Moore’s track not only the central reserve at Madrid, but troops gathered in from all directions, till he had set at least 80,000 men on the march, to encompass the British corps which had so hardily thrown itself upon his communications. Moore had been perfectly right when he stated his belief that the sight of the redcoats within reach would stir the Emperor up to such wrath, that he would abandon every other enterprise and rush upon them with every available man.

On the evening of the twenty-first the French troops from every[p. 541] camp around Madrid were pouring out towards the Escurial and the two passes over the Guadarrama. The cavalry of Ney’s corps and of the Imperial Guard was in front, then came the masses of their infantry. Lapisse’s division fell in behind: an express was sent to Dessolles, who was guarding the road to Calatayud and Saragossa, to leave only two battalions and a battery behind, and to make forced marches on the Escurial with the rest of his men. Another aide-de-camp rode to set Lahoussaye’s division of dragoons on the move from Avila[642]. Finally messengers rode north to bid Lorges’s dragoons, and all the fractions of Junot’s corps, to place themselves under the orders of Soult. Millet’s belated division of dragoons was to do the same, if it had yet crossed the Ebro.

The Emperor, once more committing the error of arguing from insufficient data, had made up his mind that the English were at Valladolid[643]. He had no news from that place since Franceschi had abandoned it, and chose to assume that Moore, or at any rate some portion of the British army, was there established. Under this hypothesis it would be easy to cut off the raiders from a retreat on Portugal, or even on Galicia, by carrying troops with extreme speed to Tordesillas and Medina de Rio Seco. This comparatively easy task was all that Napoleon aimed at in his first directions. Villacastin, Arevalo, Olmedo, and Medina del Campo are the points to which his orders of December 21 and 22 require that the advancing columns should be pushed.

For the maintenance of Madrid, and the ‘containing’ of the Spanish armies at Cuenca and Almaraz, the Emperor left nothing behind but the corps of Lefebvre, two-thirds of the corps of Victor, and the three cavalry divisions of Lasalle, Milhaud, and Latour-Maubourg—8,000 horse and 28,000 foot in all, with ninety guns[644]. King Joseph was left in nominal command of the whole. Such a force was amply sufficient to hold back the disorganized troops of Galluzzo and Infantado, but not to advance on Seville or on Lisbon. It was impossible that any blow should be dealt to the west or the south, till the Emperor should send back some of the enormous masses of men that he had hurled upon Moore. Thus the English general’s intention was fully carried out: his raid into Old Castile had completely disarranged all Bonaparte’s plans. It gave the Spaniards at least two months in which to rally and recover their spirits, and it drew the field-army of the Emperor into a remote and desolate corner of Spain, so that the main centres of resistance were left unmolested.

[p. 542]

Napoleon had guessed part, but by no means all, of Moore’s design. ‘The man?uvre of the English is very strange,’ he wrote to his brother Joseph; ‘it is proved that they have evacuated Salamanca. Probably they have brought their transports round to Ferrol, because they think that the retreat on Lisbon is no longer safe, as we could push on from Talavera by the left bank of the Tagus and shut the mouth of the river.... Probably they have evacuated Portugal and transferred their base to Ferrol, because it offers advantages for a safe embarkation. But while retreating, they might hope to inflict a check on the corps of Soult, and may not have made up their mind to try it till they had got upon their new line of retreat, and moved to the right bank of the Douro. They may have argued as follows: “If the French commit themselves to a march on Lisbon, we can evacuate on Oporto, and while doing so are still on our line of communications with Ferrol. Or, possibly, they may be expecting fresh reinforcements. But whatever their plan may be, their move will have a great influence on the end of this whole business.”’

The Emperor thought therefore that Moore’s main object had been to change an unsafe base at Lisbon for a safe one in Galicia, and that the demonstration against Soult was incidental and secondary. It does not seem to have struck him that the real design was to[p. 543] lure the central field-army of the French from Madrid, and to postpone the invasion of the south. Many of his apologists and admirers have excused his blindness, by saying that Moore’s plan was so rash and hazardous that no sensible man could have guessed it. But this is a complete mistake: the plan, if properly carried out, was perfectly sound. Sir John knew precisely what he was doing, and was prepared to turn on his heel and go back at full speed, the instant that he saw the least movement on the side of Madrid. It was in no rash spirit that he acted, but rather the reverse: ‘I mean to proceed bridle in hand,’ he said; ‘and if the bubble bursts, we shall have a run for it.’[645] And on this principle he acted: three hours after he got notice that Napoleon was on the march, he started to ‘make a run for it’ to Astorga, and his promptness was such that his main body was never in the slightest danger from the Emperor’s rush on Benavente, fierce and sudden though it was. The disasters of the second part of the retreat were not in the least caused by Napoleon’s intercepting movement, which proved an absolute and complete failure.

But to proceed: Ney’s corps, which led the advance against Moore, crossed the Guadarrama on the night of December 21, and had arrived safely at Villacastin, on the northern side of the passes, on the morning of the twenty-second. As if to contradict the Emperor’s statement—made as he was setting out—that ‘the weather could not be better,’ a dreadful tempest arose that day. When Bonaparte rode up from Chamartin, to place himself at the head of his Guard, which was to cross the mountains on the twenty-second, he found the whole column stopped by a howling blizzard, which swept down the pass with irresistible strength and piled the snow in large drifts at every inconvenient corner of the defile. It is said that several horsemen were flung over precipices by the mere force of the wind. The whole train of cannon and caissons stuck halfway up the ascent, and could neither advance nor retreat. Violently irritated at the long delay, Napoleon turned on every pioneer that could be found to clear away the drifts, set masses of men to trample down the snow into a beaten track, forced the officers and all the cavalry to dismount and lead their horses, and unharnessed half the artillery so as to give double teams to the rest. In this way the Guard, with the Emperor walking on foot in its midst, succeeded at last in crawling through to Villacastin by the night of December 23.[p. 544] A considerable number of men died of cold and fatigue, and the passage had occupied some sixteen hours more than had been calculated by the Emperor. The troops which followed him had less trouble in their passage, the tempest having abated its fury, and the path cleared by the Guard being available for their use.

At the very moment at which Moore was countermanding the advance on Sahagun—about seven o’clock on the evening of the twenty-third—Napoleon was throwing himself on his couch at Villacastin, after a day of fatigue which had tried even his iron frame. For the next week the two armies were contending with their feet and not their arms, in the competition which the French officers called the ‘race to Benavente[646].’ Napoleon was at last beginning to understand that he had not before him the comparatively simple task of cutting the road between Valladolid and Astorga, but the much harder one of intercepting that between Sahagun and Astorga. For the first three days of his march he was still under some hopes of catching the English before they could cross the Esla—and if any of them had been at Valladolid this would certainly have been possible. On December 24 he was at Arevalo: on Christmas Day he reached Tordesillas, where he waited twenty-four hours to allow his infantry to come up with his cavalry. On the twenty-seventh he at last understood—mainly through a letter from Soult—that the English were much further north than he had at first believed. But he was still in high spirits: he did not think it probable that Moore also might have been making forced marches, and having seized Medina de Rio Seco with Ney’s corps, he imagined that he was close on the flank of the retreating enemy. ‘To-day or to-morrow,’ he wrote to his brother Joseph on that morning, ‘it is probable that great events will take place. If the English have not already retreated they are lost: even if they have already moved they shall be pursued to the water’s edge, and not half of them shall re-embark. Put in your newspapers that 36,000 English are surrounded, that I am at Benavente in their rear, while Soult is in their front[647].’ The announcement was duly made in the Madrid Gazette, but the Emperor had been deceived as to the condition of affairs, which never in actual fact resembled the picture that he had drawn for himself[648].

[p. 545]

Sir John had commenced his retreat from Sahagun on the twenty-fourth, with the intention of retiring to Astorga, and of taking up a position on the mountains behind it that might cover Galicia. He did not intend to retire any further unless he were obliged[649]. If Soult should follow him closely, while the Emperor was still two or three marches away, he announced his intention of turning upon the Marshal and offering him battle. He wrote to La Romana asking him to hold the bridge of Mansilla (the most northerly passage over the Esla) as long as might be prudent, and then to retire on the Asturias, leaving the road to Galicia clear for the English army[650].

At noon on the twenty-fourth Moore started off in two columns: Baird’s division marched by the northern road to Valencia de Don Juan, where the Esla is passable by a ford and a ferry: Hope and Fraser took the more southern route by Mayorga and the bridge of Castro Gonzalo. The reserve division under E. Paget, and the two light brigades, remained behind at Sahagun for twenty-four hours to cover the retreat. The five cavalry regiments were ordered to press in closely upon Soult, and to keep him as long as possible in doubt as to whether he was not himself about to be attacked.

This demonstration seems to have served its purpose, for the Marshal made no move either on the twenty-fourth or the twenty-fifth. Yet by the latter day his army was growing very formidable, as all the corps from Burgos and Palencia were reporting themselves to him: Lorges’s dragoons had reached Frechilla, and Delaborde with the head of the infantry of Junot’s corps was at Paredes, only thirteen miles from Soult’s head quarters at Carrion. Loison and Heudelet were not far behind. Yet the English columns marched for two days wholly unmolested.

On the twenty-sixth Baird crossed the Esla at Valencia: the ford was dangerous, for the river was rising: a sudden thaw on the twenty-fourth had turned the roads into mud, and loosened the snows. But the guns and baggage crossed without loss, as did[p. 546] also some of the infantry, the rest using the two ferry-boats[651]. Hope and Fraser, on the Mayorga road, had nothing but the badness of their route to contend against. The soil of this part of the kingdom of Leon is a soft rich loam, and the cross-roads were knee-deep in clay: for the whole of the twenty-sixth it rained without intermission: the troops plodded on in very surly mood, but as yet there was no straggling. It was still believed that Moore would fight at Astorga, and, though the men grumbled that ‘the General intended to march them to death first and to fight after[652],’ they still kept together.

But already signs were beginning to be visible that their discipline was about to break down. A good deal of wanton damage and a certain amount of plunder took place at the halting-places for the night—Mayorga, Valderas, and Benavente. A voice from the ranks explains the situation. ‘Our sufferings were so great that many of the men lost their natural activity and spirits, and became savage in their dispositions. The idea of running away, without even firing a shot, from the enemy we had beaten so easily at Vimiero, was too galling to their feelings. Each spoke to his fellow, even in common conversation, with bitterness: rage flashed out on the most trifling occasion of disagreement. The poor Spaniards had little to expect from such men as these, who blamed them for their inactivity. Every man found at home was looked upon as a traitor to his country. “Why is not every Spaniard under arms and fighting? The cause is not ours: are we to be the only sufferers?” Such was the common language, and from these feelings pillage and outrage naturally arose[653].’ The men began to seize food in the towns and villages without waiting for the regular distribution, forced their way into houses, and (the country being singularly destitute of wood) tore down sheds and doors to build up their bivouac fires. The most deplorable mischief took place at Benavente, where the regiment quartered in the picturesque old castle belonging to the Duchess of Osuna burnt much of the mediaeval furniture, tore down the sixteenth-century tapestry to make bed-clothes, and lighted fires[p. 547] on the floors of the rooms, to the destruction of the porcelain friezes and alcoves[654]. Moore issued a strongly-worded proclamation against these excesses on December 27, blaming the officers for not keeping an eye upon the men, and pointing out that ‘not bravery alone, but patience and constancy under fatigue and hardship were military virtues[655].’ Unfortunately, such arguments had little effect on the tired and surly rank and file. Things were ere long to grow much worse.

The infantry, as we have seen, accomplished their march to Benavente without molestation, and all, including the rearguard, were across the Esla by the twenty-seventh. Paget’s cavalry, however, had a much more exciting time on the last two days. Finding that he was not attacked, Soult began to bestir himself on the twenty-sixth: he sent Lorges’s dragoons after the British army, in the direction of Mayorga, while with Franceschi’s cavalry and the whole of his infantry he marched by the direct road on Astorga, via the bridge of Mansilla.

Lorges’s four regiments were in touch with the rearguard of Paget’s hussars on the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh, but they were not the only or the most important enemies who were now striving to drive in Moore’s cavalry screen. The advanced guard of the Emperor’s army had just come up, and first Colbert’s brigade of Ney’s corps and then the cavalry of the Guard began to press in upon Paget: Lahoussaye’s dragoons arrived on the scene a little later. It is a splendid testimonial to the way in which the British horsemen were handled, that they held their own for three days against nearly triple forces on a front of thirty miles[656]. No better certificate could be given to them than the fact that the Emperor estimated them, when the fighting was over, at 4,000 or 5,000 sabres, their real force being only 2,400. He wrote, too, in a moment of chagrin when Moore’s army had just escaped from him, so that he was not at all inclined to[p. 548] exaggerate their numbers, and as a matter of fact rated the infantry too low.

But under the admirable leading of Paget the British cavalry held its own in every direction. Moore was not exaggerating when he wrote on the twenty-eighth that ‘they have obtained by their spirit and enterprise an ascendency over the French which nothing but great superiority of numbers on their part can get the better of[657].’ The 18th Light Dragoons turned back to clear their rear six times on December 27, and on each occasion drove in the leading squadrons of their pursuers with such effect that they secured themselves an unmolested retreat for the next few miles. At one charge, near Valencia de Don Juan, a troop of thirty-eight sabres of this regiment charged a French squadron of 105 men, and broke through them, killing twelve and capturing twenty. The 10th Hussars, while fending off Lorges’s dragoons near Mayorga, found that a regiment of the light cavalry of Ney had got into their rear and had drawn itself up on a rising ground flanking the high-road. Charging up the slope, and over soil deep in the slush of half-melted snow, they broke through the enemy’s line, and got off in safety with 100 prisoners. Every one of Paget’s five regiments had its full share of fighting on the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh, yet they closed in on to Benavente in perfect order, with insignificant losses, and exulting in a complete consciousness of their superiority to the enemy’s horse. Since the start from Salamanca they had in twelve days taken no less than 500 prisoners, besides inflicting considerable losses in killed and wounded on the French. They had still one more success before them, ere they found themselves condemned to comparative uselessness among the mountains of Galicia.

On the twenty-eighth Robert Crawfurd’s brigade had waited behind in the mud and rain, drawn up in front of the bridge of Castro Gonzalo, ‘standing for many hours with arms posted, and staring the French cavalry in the face, while the water actually ran out of the muzzles of their muskets[658].’ At last our hussars retired, and Crawfurd blew up two arches of the bridge when Paget had passed over, and moved back on Benavente, after some trifling skirmishing with the cavalry of the Imperial Guard, who had come up in force and tried to interrupt his work. The inde[p. 549]fatigable British horsemen left pickets all along the river on each side of the broken bridge, ready to report and oppose any attempt to cross.

After resting for a day in Benavente Moore had sent on the divisions of Fraser and Hope to Astorga, by the highway through La Baneza. The division of Baird, marching from Valencia by villainous cross-roads, converged on the same point, where the three corps met upon December 29. Their march was wholly unmolested by the French, who were being successfully held back by Moore’s rearguard under the two Pagets—the cavalry general and the commander of the reserve division—and by Crawfurd and Alten’s light brigades. On the same morning that the main body reached Astorga, the infantry of the rearguard marched out of Benavente, leaving behind only the horsemen, who were watching all the fords, with their supports three miles behind in the town of Benavente. Seeing that all the infantry had disappeared, Lefebvre-Desnouettes, who commanded the cavalry of the Guard, thought it high time to press beyond the Esla: it was absurd, he thought, that the mass of French horsemen, now gathered opposite the broken bridge of Castro Gonzalo, should allow themselves to be kept in check by a mere chain of vedettes unsupported by infantry or guns. Accordingly he searched for fords, and when one was found a few hundred yards from the bridge, crossed it at the head of the four squadrons of the chasseurs of the Guard, between 500 and 600 sabres[659]. The rest of his troops, after vainly seeking for other passages, were about to follow him. The moment that he had got over the water Lefebvre found himself withstood by the pickets, mainly belonging to the 18th Light Dragoons, who came riding in from their posts along the river to mass themselves opposite to him. When about 130 men were collected, under Colonel Otway, they ventured to charge the leading squadrons of the chasseurs, of course with indifferent success. After retiring a few hundred yards more, they were joined by a troop of the 3rd Dragoons of the King’s German Legion, under Major Burgwedel, and again turned to fight. At this second clash the front line of the pursuers was broken for a moment, and the dragoons who had burst through the gap had a narrow escape of being surrounded[p. 550] and captured by the second line, but finally fought their way out of the mêlée with no great loss. Charles Stewart, their brigadier, now came up and rallied them for the second time: he retired towards the town in good order, without allowing himself to be cowed by Lefebvre’s rapid advance, for he knew that supports were at hand. Lord Paget, warned in good time, had drawn out the 10th Hussars under cover of the houses of the southern suburb of Benavente. He waited till the chasseurs drew quite near to him, and were too remote from the ford they had crossed to be able to retire with ease: then he suddenly sallied out from his cover and swooped down upon them. The pickets at the same moment wheeled about, cheered, and charged. The enemy, now slightly outnumbered—for the 10th were fully 450 sabres strong, and the pickets at least 200—made a good fight. A British witness observes that these ‘fine big fellows in fur caps and long green coats’ were far better than the line regiments with which the hussars had hitherto been engaged. But in a few minutes they were broken, and chased for two miles right back to the ford by which they had crossed. Lefebvre himself was captured by a private of the 10th named Grisdale, his wounded horse having refused to swim the river[660]. With him there were taken two captains and seventy unwounded prisoners. The chasseurs left fifty-five men dead or hurt upon the field, and many of those who got away were much cut about[661]. The British casualties were fifty, almost all from the men who had furnished the pickets, for the 10th suffered little: Burgwedel, who had led the Germans of the 3rd K. G. L., was the only officer hurt[662].

The remnant of the chasseurs crossed the river, and were immediately supported by other regiments, who (after failing to find another ford) had come down to that which Lefebvre had used.[p. 551] They showed some signs of attempting a second passage, but Lord Paget turned upon them the guns of Downman’s horse-battery, which had just galloped up from Benavente. After two rounds the enemy rode off hastily from the river, and fell back inland. They had received such a sharp lesson that they allowed the British cavalry to retreat without molestation in the afternoon. Napoleon consoled himself with writing that the British were ‘flying in panic’—a statement which the circumstances hardly seemed to justify[663]—and gave an exaggerated account of the disorders which they had committed at Valderas and Benavente, to which he added an imaginary outrage at Leon[664]. But there is no more talk of Moore’s corps being surrounded—wherefore it suddenly shrinks in the Emperor’s estimation, being no longer 36,000 strong, but only ‘21,000 infantry, with 4,000 or 5,000 horse.’ Lefebvre’s affair he frankly owned, when writing to King Joseph, was disgusting: ‘by evening I had 8,000 horse on the spot, but the enemy was gone[665].’

Paget indeed was so effectively gone, that though French cavalry by the thousand crossed the ford that night they could do nothing. And Crawfurd had so thoroughly destroyed the bridge of Castro Gonzalo—he had blown up the central pier, and not merely cut the crowns of the arches—that infantry and guns could not cross till the thirtieth. It was only on that day that the heads of Ney’s corps and of the Imperial Guard came up: Lapisse’s division was still far behind, at Toro. All that the rapid forced marches of the Emperor had brought him was the privilege of assisting at Paget’s departure, and of picking up in Benavente some abandoned carts, which Moore had caused to be broken after burning their contents.

Napoleon still consoled himself with the idea that it was possible that Soult might have been more fortunate than himself, and might perhaps already be attacking the English at Astorga. This was not the case: after learning that Moore had disappeared from his front, the Duke of Dalmatia had taken the road Sahagun—Mansilla, as the shortest line which would bring him to Astorga, the place[p. 552] where any army intending to defend Galicia would make its first stand. This choice brought him upon the tracks of La Romana’s army, not of the British. The Marquis, when Moore retired, had moved back on Leon, but had sent to his ally a message to the effect that he could not accept the suggestion to make the Asturias his base, and would be forced, when the enemy advanced, to join the British at Astorga. It was absolutely impossible, he said, to repair to the Asturias, for the pass of Pajares, the only coach-road thither, was impassable on account of the snow[666]. La Romana left as a rearguard at the all-important bridge of Mansilla, his 2nd Division, 3,000 strong, with two guns. Contrary to Moore’s advice he would not blow up the bridge, giving as his reason that the Esla was fordable in several places in its immediate neighbourhood. This was a blunder; but the officer in command of the 2nd Division committed a greater one, by drawing up his main body in front of the bridge and not behind it—a repetition of Cuesta’s old error at Cabezon. Soult did not come in contact with the Spanish rearguard till four days after he had left Carrion: so heavy had been the rain, and so vile the road, that it took him from the twenty-sixth to the twenty-ninth to cover the forty-five miles between Carrion and Mansilla. But on the morning of December 30 he delivered his attack: a tremendous cavalry-charge by the chasseurs and dragoons of Franceschi broke the Spanish line, and pursuers and pursued went pell-mell over the bridge, which was not defended for a moment. The French captured 1,500 men—who were cut off from re-crossing the river—two guns, and two standards. Hearing of this disaster La Romana at once evacuated Leon, which Soult seized on the thirty-first. The place had been hastily fortified, and there had been much talk of the possibility of defending it[667]; but at the first summons it opened its gates without firing a shot. The Marquis—leaving 2,000 sick in the hospitals, and a considerable accumulation of food in his magazines—fell back on Astorga, much to the discontent of Moore, who had not desired to see him in that direction. Soult at Leon was only twenty-five miles from Astorga: he was now but one march from Moore’s rearguard, and in close touch with the Emperor, who coming up from the south reached La Baneza on the same day—the last of the old year, 1808.

[p. 553]

The divisions of Baird, Hope, and Fraser, as we have already seen, had reached Astorga on the twenty-ninth, the reserve division and the light brigades (after a most fatiguing march from Benavente) on the thirtieth, while the cavalry was, as always, to the rear, keeping back the advancing squadrons of Bessières. Thus on the thirtieth the English and Spanish armies were concentrated at Astorga with every available man present—the British still 25,000 strong; for they had suffered little in the fighting, and had not yet begun to straggle—but Romana with no more than 9,000 or 10,000 of the nominal 22,000 which had been shown in his returns of ten days before. His 2nd Division had been practically destroyed at Mansilla: he had left 2,000 sick at Leon, and many more had fallen out of the ranks in the march from that place—some because they wished to desert their colours, but more from cold, disease, and misery; for the army was not merely half naked, but infected with a malignant typhus fever which was making terrible ravages in its ranks[668].

Moore had told La Romana on the twenty-fourth that he hoped to make a stand at Astorga. The same statement had been passed round the army, and had kept up the spirits of the men to some extent, though many had begun to believe that ‘Moore would never fight[669].’ There were magazines of food at Astorga, and much more considerable ones of military equipment: a large convoy of shoes, blankets, and muskets had lately come in from Corunna, and Baird’s heavy baggage had been stacked in the place before he marched for Sahagun. The town itself was surrounded with ancient walls, and had some possibilities of defence: just behind it rises the first range of the Galician mountains, a steep and forbidding chain pierced only by the two passes which contain the old[p. 554] and the new high-roads to Corunna. The former—the shorter, but by far the more rugged—is called the defile of Foncebadon; the latter—longer and easier—is the defile of Manzanal.

The question was at once raised as to whether the position in rear of Astorga should not be seriously defended. The town itself would naturally have to be given up, if the French chose to press on in force; but the two defiles might be fortified and held against very superior numbers. To turn 25,000 British troops out of them would have been a very serious task, and the Spaniards meanwhile could have been used for diversions on the enemy’s flank and rear. La Romana called upon Moore, at the moment of the latter’s arrival at Astorga, and proposed that they should join in defending the passes. To give them up meant, he said, to give up also the great upland valley behind them—the Vierzo—where lay his own dép?ts and his park of artillery at Ponferrada, and where Moore also had considerable stores and magazines at Villafranca. The proposal was well worthy of being taken into account, and was far from being—as Napier calls it—‘wilder than the dreams of Don Quixote!’ for the positions were very strong, and there was no convenient route by which they could be turned. The only other way into Galicia, that by Puebla de Sanabria, is not only far away, but almost impassable at midwinter from the badness of the road and the deep snow. Moreover it leads not into the main valley of the Minho, but into that of the Tamega on the Portuguese frontier, from which another series of difficult defiles have to be crossed in order to get into the heart of Galicia. La Romana thought that this road might practically be disregarded as an element of danger in a January campaign.

The suggestion of the Marquis deserved serious consideration. Moore’s reasons for a summary rejection of the proposal are not stated by him at any length[670]. He wrote to Castlereagh merely that there was only two days’ bread at Astorga, that his means of carriage were melting away by the death of draught beasts and the desertion of drivers, and that he feared that the enemy might use the road upon his flank—i.e. the Puebla de Sanabria route—to turn his position. He purposed therefore to fall back at once to the coast as fast as he could, and trusted that the French, for want of food, would not be able to follow him further than Villafranca. To these reasons may be added another, which Moore cited in his[p. 555] conversation with La Romana, that the troops required rest, and could not get it in the bleak positions above Astorga[671].

Some of these reasons are not quite convincing: though there were only two days’ rations at Astorga, there were fourteen days’ at Villafranca, and large dép?ts had also been gathered at Lugo and Corunna. These could be rendered available with no great trouble, if real energy were displayed, for there was still (as the disasters of the retreat were to show) a good deal of wheeled transport with the army. The flanking road by Puebla de Sanabria was (as we have said) so difficult and so remote that any turning corps that tried it would be heard of long before it became dangerous. There would be great political advantage in checking Bonaparte at the passes, even if it were only for a week or ten days. Moreover, to show a bold front would raise the spirits of the army, whose growing disorders were the marks of discontent at the retreat, and whose one wish was to fight the French as soon as possible. As to the rest which Moore declared to be necessary for the troops, this could surely have been better given by halting them and offering to defend the passes, than by taking them over the long and desolate road that separated them from Corunna. The experiences of the next eleven days can hardly be called ‘rest.’

Though clearly possible, a stand behind Astorga may not have been the best policy. Napoleon had a vast force in hand after his junction with Soult, and he was a dangerous foe to brave, even in such a formidable position as that which the British occupied. But it is doubtful whether this fact was the cause of Moore’s determination to retreat to the sea. If we may judge from the tone of his dispatches, his thought was merely that he had promised to make a diversion, under strong pressure from Frere and the rest; that he had successfully carried out his engagement, and lured the Emperor and the bulk of the French forces away from Madrid; and that he considered his task completed. In his letter of December 31 to Castlereagh, he harks back once more to his old depreciation of the Spaniards—they had taken no advantage of the chance he had given them, they were as apathetic as ever, his exertions had been wasted, and so forth[672]. In so writing he made a mistake: his[p. 556] campaign was so far from being wasted that he had actually saved Spain. He had caused the Emperor to lose the psychological moment for striking at Seville and Lisbon, when the spirits of the patriots were at their lowest, and had given them three months to rally. By the time that the southward move from Madrid was once more possible to the French, Spain had again got armies in the field, and the awful disasters of November and December, 1808, had been half forgotten.

It seems improbable, from Moore’s tone in his dispatch of December 31, that he ever had any serious intention of standing behind Astorga. He had fallen back upon his old desponding views of the last days of November, and was simply set on bringing off the British army in safety, without much care for the fate of the Spaniards whom he so much disliked and contemned. The only sign of his ever having studied the intermediate positions between Astorga and Corunna lies in a report addressed to him on December 26, by Carmichael Smith of the Royal Engineers. This speaks of the Manzanal—Rodrigatos position as presenting an appearance of strong ground, but having the defect of possessing a down-slope to the rear for six miles, so that if the line were forced, a long retreat downhill would be necessary in face of the pursuing enemy. The engineer then proceeded to recommend the position of Cacabellos, a league in front of Villafranca, as being very strong and safe from any turning movement. But Moore, as we shall see, refused to stand at the one place as much as at the other, only halting a rearguard at Cacabellos to keep off the pursuing horse for a few hours, and never offering a pitched battle upon that ground. It is probable that nothing would have induced him to fight at either position, after he had once resolved that a straight march to the sea was the best policy.

So little time did Moore take in making up his mind as to the desirability of holding the passes above Astorga, that he pushed on Baird’s, Fraser’s, and Hope’s divisions towards Villafranca on[p. 557] the thirtieth, while Paget’s reserve with the two light brigades followed on the thirty-first. The whole British army was on the other side of Astorga, and across the passes, when Soult and Bonaparte’s columns converged on La Baneza. Their infantry did not enter Astorga till the first day of the new year, thirty-six hours after Moore’s main body had evacuated the place.

But this easy escape from the Emperor’s clutches had been bought at considerable sacrifices. Astorga was crammed with stores of all kinds, as we have already had occasion to mention: food was the only thing that was at all short. But there was not sufficient transport in the place, and the retreating army was already losing wagons and beasts so fast that it could not carry off much of the accumulated material that lay before it. A hasty attempt was made to serve out to the troops the things that could be immediately utilized. La Romana’s Spaniards received several thousand new English muskets to replace their dilapidated weapons, and a quantity of blankets. Some of the British regiments had shoes issued to them; but out of mere hurry and mismanagement several thousand pairs more were destroyed instead of distributed, though many men were already almost barefoot. There were abandoned all the heavy baggage of Baird’s division (which had been stacked at Astorga before the march to Sahagun), an entire dép?t of entrenching tools, several hundred barrels of rum, and many scores of carts and wagons for which draught animals were wanting. A quantity of small-arms ammunition was blown up. But the most distressing thing of all was that those of the sick of the army who could not bear to be taken on through the January cold in open wagons had to be left behind: some four hundred invalids, it would seem, were abandoned in the hospital and fell into the hands of the French[673].

The most deplorable thing about these losses was that all the evacuation and destruction was carried out under difficulties, owing to the gross state of disorder and indiscipline into which the army was falling. The news that they were to retreat once more without fighting had exasperated the men to the last degree. Thousands of them got loose in the streets, breaking into houses, maltreating the inhabitants, and pillaging the stores, which were to be aban[p. 558]doned, for their private profit. The rum was naturally a great attraction, and many stragglers were left behind dead drunk, to be beaten out of the place by the cavalry when they left it on the night of the thirty-first. La Romana had to make formal complaint to Moore of the misbehaviour of the troops, who had even tried to steal his artillery mules and insulted his officers. There can be no doubt that if the rank and file had been kept in hand many valuable stores could have been distributed instead of destroyed, and the straggling which was to prove so fatal might have been nipped in the bud. But the officers were as discontented as the men, and in many regiments seem to have made little or no effort to keep things together. Already several battalions were beginning to march with an advanced guard of marauders and a rearguard of limping stragglers, the sure signs of impending trouble.

By the thirty-first, however, Astorga was clear of British and Spanish troops. Moore marched by the new high-road, the route of Manzanal: La Romana took the shorter but more rugged defile of Foncebadon. But he sent his guns along with the British, in order to spare the beasts the steeper ascents of the old chaussée. The terrible rain of the last week was just passing into snow as the two columns, every man desperately out of heart, began their long uphill climb across the ridge of the Monte Teleno, towards the uplands of the Vierzo.

NOTE

This account of the retreat from Sahagun is constructed from a careful comparison of the official documents with the memoirs and monographs of the following British eye-witnesses:—Robert Blakeney (of the 28th), Rifleman Harris and Sergeant Surtees (of the 2/95th), Lord Londonderry, and Lord Vivian of the Cavalry Brigade, Leith Hay (Aide-de-Camp to General Leith), Charles and William Napier, T.S. of the 71st, Steevens of the 20th, the Surgeon Adam Neale, and the Chaplain Ormsby. Bradford, another chaplain, has left a series of admirable water-colour drawings of the chief points on the road as far as Lugo, made under such difficulties as can be well imagined. Of French eye-witnesses I have used the accounts of St. Chamans, Fantin des Odoards, Naylies, De Gonneville, Lejeune, and the detestably inaccurate Le Noble.
SECTION VIII: CHAPTER V
SOULT’S PURSUIT OF MOORE: ASTORGA TO CORUNNA

When he found that Moore had escaped from him, Napoleon slackened down from the high speed with which he had been moving for the last ten days. He stayed at Benavente for two nights, occupying himself with desk-work of all kinds, and abandoning the pursuit of the British to Bessières and Soult. The great coup had failed: instead of capturing the expeditionary force he could but harass it on its way to the sea. Such a task was beneath his own dignity: it would compromise the imperial reputation for infallibility, if a campaign that had opened with blows like Espinosa, Tudela, and the capture of Madrid ended in a long and ineffectual stern-chase. If Bonaparte had continued the hunt himself, with the mere result of arriving in time to see Moore embark and depart, he would have felt that his prestige had been lowered. He tacitly confessed as much himself long years after, when, in one of his lucubrations at St. Helena, he remarked that he would have conducted the pursuit in person, if he had but known that contrary winds had prevented the fleet of British transports from reaching Corunna. But of this he was unaware at the time; and since he calculated that Moore could be harassed perhaps, but not destroyed or captured, he resolved to halt and turn back. Soult should have the duty of escorting the British to the sea: they were to be pressed vigorously and, with luck, the Emperor trusted that half of them might never see England again. But no complete success could be expected, and he did not wish to appear personally in any enterprise that was but partially successful.

Other reasons were assigned both by Napoleon himself and by his admirers for his abandonment of the pursuit of Moore. He stated that Galicia was too much in a corner of the world for him to adventure himself in its mountains—he would be twenty days journey from Paris and the heart of affairs. If Austria began to move again in the spring, there would be an intolerable delay[p. 560] before he could receive news or transmit orders[674]. He wished to take in hand the reorganization of his armies in Italy, on the Rhine, and beyond the Adriatic. All this was plausible enough, but the real reason of his return was that he would not be present at a fiasco or a half-success. It would seem, however, that there may have been another operating cause, which the Emperor never chose to mention; the evidence for it has only cropped up of late years[675]. It appears that he was somewhat disquieted by secret intelligence from Paris, as to obscure intrigues among his own ministers and courtiers. The Spanish War had given new occasions to the malcontents who were always criticizing the Empire. Not much could be learnt by the French public about the affair of Bayonne, but all that had got abroad was well calculated to disgust even loyal supporters of the Empire. The talk of the salons, which Napoleon always affected to despise, but which he never disregarded, was more bitter than ever. It is quite possible that some hint of the conspiracy of the ‘Philadelphes,’ which four months later showed its hand in the mysterious affair of D’Argenteau, may have reached him. But it is certain that he had disquieting reports concerning the intrigues of Fouché and Talleyrand. Both of those veteran plotters were at this moment in more or less marked disgrace. For once in a way, therefore, they were acting in concert. They were relieving their injured feelings by making secret overtures in all directions, in search of allies against their master. Incredible as it may appear, they had found a ready hearer in Murat, who was much disgusted with his brother-in-law for throwing upon him the blame for the disasters of the first Spanish campaign. Other notable personages were being drawn into the cave of malcontents, and discourses of more than doubtful loyalty were being delivered. Like many other cabals of the period, this one was destined to shrink into nothingness at the reappearance of the master at Paris[676]. But while he was away[p. 561] his agents were troubled and terrified: they seem to have sent him alarming hints, which had far more to do with his return to France than any fear as to the intentions of Austria[677].

An oft-repeated story says that the Emperor received a packet of letters from Paris while riding from Benavente to Astorga on January 1, 1809, and, after reading them by the wayside with every sign of anger, declared that he must return to France. If the tale be true, we may be sure that the papers which so moved his wrath had no reference to armaments on the Danube, but were concerned with the intrigues in Paris. There was absolutely nothing in the state of European affairs to make an instant departure from Spain necessary. On the other hand, rumours of domestic plots always touched the Emperor to the quick, and it must have been as irritating as it was unexpected to discover that his own sister and brother-in-law were dabbling in such intrigues, even though ostensibly they were but discussing what should be done if something should happen in Spain to their august relative.

Already ere leaving Benavente the Emperor had issued orders which showed that he had abandoned his hope of surrounding and crushing Moore. He had begun to send off, to the right and to the left, part of the great mass of troops which he had brought with him. On December 31 he wrote to Dessolles, and ordered him to give his division a short rest at Villacastin, and then to return to Madrid, where the garrison was too weak. On January 1, the whole of the Imperial Guard was directed to halt and return to Benavente, from whence it was soon after told to march back to Valladolid. Lapisse’s division of Victor’s corps, which had got no further than Benavente in its advance, was turned off to subdue the southern parts of the kingdom of Leon. To the same end were diverted D’Avenay’s[678] and Maupetit’s[679] brigades of cavalry. Quite contrary[p. 562] to Moore’s expectations and prophecies, the people of this part of Spain displayed a frantic patriotism, when once the enemy was upon them. Toro, an open town[680], had to be stormed: Zamora made a still better resistance, repulsed a first attack, and had to be breached and assaulted by a brigade of Lapisse’s division. The villagers of Penilla distinguished themselves by falling upon and capturing a battery of the Imperial Guard, which was passing by with an insufficient escort. Of course the guns were recovered, and the place burnt, within a few days of the exploit[681].

Having sent off the Guards, Lapisse, Dessolles, and Maupetit’s and D’Avenay’s cavalry, the Emperor had still a large force left in hand for the pursuit of Moore. There remained Soult’s and Ney’s corps, the horsemen of Lahoussaye, Lorges, and Franceschi, and the greater part of Junot’s 8th Corps. The Emperor had resolved to break up this last-named unit: it contained many third-battalions belonging to regiments which were already in Spain: they were directed to rejoin their respective head quarters. When this was done, there remained only enough to make up two rather weak divisions of 5,000 men each. These were given to Delaborde and Heudelet, and incorporated with Soult’s 2nd Corps. Loison’s division, the third of the original 8th Corps, was suppressed[682]. Junot himself was sent off to take a command under Lannes at the siege of Saragossa. When joined by Delaborde and Heudelet, Soult had a corps of exceptional strength—five divisions and nearly 30,000 bayonets. He could not use for the pursuit of Moore Bonnet’s division, which had been left to garrison Santander. But with the remainder, 25,000 strong, he pressed forward from Astorga in pursuance of his master’s orders. His cavalry force was very large in proportion: it consisted of 6,000 sabres, for not only were three complete divisions of dragoons with him, but Ney’s corps-cavalry (the brigade of Colbert) was up at the front and leading the pursuit. Ney himself, with his two infantry divisions, those of Maurice Mathieu and Marchand, was a march or two to the rear, some 16,000 bayonets strong. If Soult[p. 563] should suffer any check, he was sure of prompt support within three days. Thus the whole force sent in chase of Moore mustered some 47,000 men[683].

The head of the pursuing column was formed by Lahoussaye’s dragoons and Colbert’s light cavalry: in support of these, but always some miles to the rear, came Merle’s infantry. This formed the French van: the rest of Soult’s troops were a march behind, with Heudelet’s division for rearguard. All the 2nd Corps followed the English on the Manzanal road: only Franceschi’s four regiments of cavalry turned aside, to follow the rugged pass of Foncebadon, by which La Romana’s dilapidated host had retired. The exhausted Spaniards were making but slow progress through the snow and the mountain torrents. Franceschi caught them up on January 2, and scattered their rearguard under General Rengel, taking a couple of flags and some 1,500 men: the prisoners are described as being in the last extremity of misery and fatigue, and many of them were infected with the typhus fever, which had been hanging about this unfortunate corps ever since its awful experience in the Cantabrian hills during the month of November[684].

Moore’s army, as we have already seen, had marched out from Astorga—the main body on December 30, the rearguard on the thirty-first. After determining that he would not defend the passes of Manzanal and Foncebadon, the general had doubted whether he should make his retreat on Corunna by the great chaussée, or on Vigo, by the minor road which goes via Orense and the valley of the Sil. It is strange that he did not see that his mind must be promptly made up, and that when once he had passed the mountains he must commit himself to one or the other route. But his dispatches to Castlereagh show that it was not till he had[p. 564] reached Lugo that he finally decided in favour of the main road[685]. He must have formed the erroneous conclusion that the French would not pursue him far beyond Astorga[686]: he thought that they would be stopped by want of provisions and by fatigue. Having formed this unsound hypothesis, he put off the final decision as to his route till he should reach Lugo. Meanwhile, to protect the side-road to Vigo he detached 3,500 of his best troops, Robert Crawfurd’s light brigade [the 43rd (1st batt.), 52nd (2nd batt.), and 95th (2nd batt.)], and Alten’s brigade of the German Legion. They diverged from the main road after leaving Astorga, and marched, by Ponferrada and La Rua, on Orense. How much they suffered on the miserable bypaths of the valley of the Sil may be gathered in the interesting diaries of Surtees and Harris: but it was only with the snow and the want of food that they had to contend. They never saw a Frenchman, embarked unmolested at Vigo, and were absolutely useless to Moore during the rest of the campaign. It is impossible to understand how it came that they were sent away in this fashion, and nothing can be said in favour of the move. Unless the whole army were going by the Orense road, no one should have been sent along it: and the difficulties of the track were such that to have taken the main body over it would have been practically impossible. As it was, 3,500 fine soldiers were wasted for all fighting purposes. The duty of covering the rear of the army, which had hitherto fallen to the lot of Crawfurd, was now transferred to General Paget and the ‘Reserve Division[687].’ One regiment of hussars [the 15th] was left with them: the other four cavalry corps pushed on to the front, as there was no great opportunity for using them, now that the army had plunged into the mountains.

[p. 565]

Colbert and Lahoussaye took some little time, after leaving Astorga, before they came upon the rear of Moore’s army. But they had no difficulty in ascertaining the route that the English had taken: the steep uphill road from Astorga into the Vierzo was strewn with wreckage of all kinds, which had been abandoned by the retreating troops. The long twelve-mile incline, deeply covered with snow, had proved fatal to a vast number of draught animals, and wagon after wagon had to be abandoned to the pursuers, for want of sufficient oxen and mules to drag them further forward. Among the derelict baggage were lying no small number of exhausted stragglers, dead or dying from cold or dysentery.

The whole morale of Moore’s army had suffered a dreadful deterioration from the moment that the order to evacuate Astorga was issued. As long as there was any prospect of fighting, the men—though surly and discontented—had stuck to their colours. Some regiments had begun to maraud, but the majority were still in good order. But from Astorga onward the discipline of the greater part of the corps began to relax. There were about a dozen regiments[688] which behaved thoroughly well, and came through the retreat with insignificant losses: on the other hand there were many others which left from thirty to forty per cent. of their men behind them. It cannot be disguised that the enormous difference between the proportion of ‘missing’ in battalions of the same brigade, which went through exactly identical experiences, was simply due to the varying degrees of zeal and energy with which the officers kept their men together. Where there was a strong controlling will the stragglers were few, and no one fell behind save those who were absolutely dying. The iron hand of Robert Crawfurd brought the 43rd and 95th through their troubles with a loss of eighty or ninety men each. The splendid discipline of the Guards brigade carried them to Corunna with even smaller proportional losses. There is no mistaking the coincidence when we find that the battalion which Moore denounced at Salamanca as being the worst commanded and the worst disciplined in his force, was also the one which left a higher percentage of stragglers behind than any other corps. The fact was that the toils of the[p. 566] retreat tried the machinery of the regiments to the utmost, and that where the management was weak or incompetent discipline broke down. It was not the troops who had the longest marches or the most fighting that suffered the heaviest losses: those of Paget’s division, the rearguard of the whole army, which was constantly in touch with the French advance, compare favourably with those of some corps which never fired a shot between Benavente and Corunna. It is sad to have to confess that half the horrors of the retreat were due to purely preventible causes, and that if the badly-managed regiments had been up to the disciplinary standard of the Guards or the Light Brigade, the whole march would have been remembered as toilsome but not disastrous. Moore himself wrote, in the last dispatch to which he ever set his hand, that ‘he would not have believed, had he not witnessed it, that a British army would in so short a time have been so completely demoralized. Its conduct during the late marches was infamous beyond belief. He could say nothing in its favour but that when there was a prospect of fighting the men were at once steady, and seemed pleased and determined to do their duty[689].’ This denunciation was far too sweeping, for many corps kept good order throughout the whole campaign: but there was only too much to justify Moore’s anger.

The serious trouble began at Bembibre, the first place beyond the pass of Manzanal, where Hope’s, Baird’s, and Fraser’s divisions had encamped on the night of the thirty-first. The village was unfortunately a large local dép?t for wine: slinking off from their companies, many hundreds of marauders made their way into the vaults and cellars. When the divisions marched next morning they left nearly a thousand men, in various stages of intoxication, lying about the houses and streets. The officers of Paget’s Reserve, who came up that afternoon, describe Bembibre as looking like a battle-field, so thickly were the prostrate redcoats strewn in every corner. Vigorous endeavours were made to rouse these bad soldiers, and to start them upon their way; but even next morning there were multitudes who could not or would not march[690]. When[p. 567] the Reserve evacuated the place on January 2, it was still full of torpid stragglers. Suddenly there appeared on the scene the leading brigade of Lahoussaye’s dragoons, pushing down from the pass of Manzanal, and driving before them the last hussar picket which Paget had left behind. The noise of the horsemen roused the lingerers, who began at last to stagger away, but it was too late: ‘the cavalry rode through the long line of these lame defenceless wretches, slashing among them as a schoolboy does among thistles[691].’ Most of the stragglers, it is said, were still so insensible from liquor that they made no resistance, and did not even get out of the road[692]. A few, with dreadful cuts about their heads and shoulders, succeeded in overtaking the Reserve. Moore had the poor bleeding wretches paraded along the front of the regiments, as a warning to drunkards and malingerers.

Meanwhile Baird and Hope’s divisions had reached Villafranca on the first, and scenes almost as disgraceful as those of Bembibre were occurring. The town was Moore’s most important dép?t: it contained fourteen days’ rations of biscuit for the whole army, an immense amount of salt-beef and pork, and some hundreds of barrels of rum. There was no transport to carry off all this valuable provender, and Moore ordered it to be given to the flames. Hearing of this the troops broke into the magazines, and began to load themselves with all and more than they could carry, arguing, not unnaturally, that so much good food should not be burnt. Moore ordered one man—who was caught breaking into the rum store—to be shot in the square. But it was no use; the soldiers burst loose, though many of their officers cut and slashed at them to keep them in the ranks, and snatched all that they could from the fires. Some forced open private houses and plundered, and in a few cases maltreated, or even murdered, the townsfolk who would not give them drink. A great many got at the rum, and were left behind when the divisions marched on January 3[693].

While these orgies were going on at Villafranca, Paget and the Reserve had been halted six miles away, at Cacabellos, where[p. 568] the high-road passes over the little river Cua[694]. There was here a position in which a whole army could stand at bay, and Moore’s engineers had pointed it out to him as the post between Astorga and Lugo where there was the most favourable fighting-ground. It is certain that if he had chosen to offer battle to Soult on this front, the Marshal would have been checked for many days—he could not have got forward without calling up Ney from Astorga, and there is no good road by which the British could have been outflanked. But Moore had no intention of making a serious defence: he was fighting a rearguard action merely to allow time for the stores at Villafranca to be destroyed.

The forces which were halted at Cacabellos consisted of the five battalions of the Reserve (under Paget), the 15th Hussars, and a horse-artillery battery. A squadron of the cavalry and half of the 95th Rifles were left beyond the river, in observation along the road towards Bembibre: the guns were placed on the western side of the Cua, commanding the road up from the bridge. The 28th formed their escort, while the other three battalions of the division were hidden behind a line of vineyards and stone walls parallel with the winding stream[695].

About one o’clock in the afternoon the French appeared, pushing cautiously forward from Bembibre with Colbert’s cavalry brigade of Ney’s corps now at their head, while Lahoussaye’s division of dragoons was in support. The infantry were not yet in sight. Colbert, a young and very dashing officer, currently reputed to be the most handsome man in the whole French army, was burning to distinguish himself. He had never before met the British, and had formed a poor opinion of them from the numerous stragglers and drunkards whom he had seen upon the road. He thought that the rearguard might be pushed, and the defile forced with little loss. Accordingly he rode forward at the head of his two regiments[696], and fell upon the squadron of the 15th Hussars which was observing him. They had to fly in hot haste, and, coming in suddenly to the bridge, rode into and over the last two companies of the 95th Rifles, who had not yet crossed the[p. 569] stream. Colbert, sweeping down close to their heels, came upon the disordered infantry and took some forty or fifty prisoners before the riflemen could escape across the water[697]. But, seeing the 28th and the guns holding the slope above, he halted for a moment before attempting to proceed further.

Judging however, from a hasty survey, that there were no very great numbers opposed to him, the young French general resolved to attempt to carry the bridge of Cacabellos by a furious charge, just as Franceschi had forced that of Mansilla five days before. This was a most hazardous and ill-advised move: it could only succeed against demoralized troops, and was bound to fail when tried against the steady battalions of the Reserve division. But ranging his leading regiment four abreast, Colbert charged for the bridge: the six guns opposite him tore the head of the column to pieces, but the majority of the troopers got across and tried to dash uphill and capture the position. They had fallen into a dreadful trap, for the 28th blocked the road just beyond the bridge, while the 95th and 52nd poured in a hot flanking fire from behind the vineyard walls on either side. There was no getting forward: Colbert himself was shot as he tried to urge on his men[698], and his aide-de-camp Latour-Maubourg fell at his side. After staying for no more than a few minutes on the further side of the water, the brigade turned rein and plunged back across the bridge, leaving many scores of dead and wounded behind them.

Lahoussaye’s dragoons now came to the front: several squadrons of them forded the river at different points, but, unable to charge among the rocks and vines, they were forced to dismount and to act as skirmishers, a capacity in which they competed to no great advantage against the 52nd, with whom they found themselves engaged. It was not till the leading infantry of Merle’s division came up, not long before dusk, that the French were enabled to make any head against the defenders. Their voltigeurs bickered with the 95th and 52nd for an hour, but when the formed columns tried to cross the bridge, they were so raked by the six guns opposite them that they gave back in disorder. After dark the firing ceased, and Moore, who had come up in person from Villa[p. 570]franca at the sound of the cannon, had no difficulty in withdrawing his men under cover of the night. In this sharp skirmish each side lost some 200 men: the French casualties were mainly in Colbert’s cavalry, the British were distributed unequally between the 95th (who suffered most), the 28th, and 52nd: the other two regiments present (the 20th and 91st) were hardly engaged[699].

Marching all through the night of 3rd-4th of January the Reserve division passed through Villafranca, where stores of all kinds were still blazing in huge bonfires, and did not halt till they reached Nogales, eighteen miles further on. They found the road before them strewn with one continuous line of wreckage from the regiments of the main body. The country beyond Villafranca was far more bare and desolate than the eastern half of the Vierzo: discipline grew worse each day, and the surviving animals of the baggage-train were dying off wholesale from cold and want of forage. The cavalry horses were also beginning to perish very fast, mainly from losing their shoes on the rough and stony road. As soon as a horse was unable to keep up with the regiment, he was (by Lord Paget’s orders) shot by his rider, in order to prevent him from falling into the hands of the French. Many witnesses of the retreat state that the incessant cracking of the hussars’ pistols, as the unfortunate chargers were shot, was the thing that lingered longest in their memories of all the sounds of these unhappy days.

Beyond Villafranca the Corunna road passes through the picturesque defile of Piedrafita, by which it reaches the head waters of the Nava river, and then climbing the spurs of Monte Cebrero comes out into the bleak upland plain of Lugo. This fifty miles contained the most difficult and desolate country in the whole of Moore’s march, and was the scene of more helpless and undeserved misery than any other section of the retreat. It was not merely drunkards and marauders who now began to fall to the rear, but steady old soldiers who could not face the cold, the semi-starvation, and the forced marches. Moore hurried his troops forward at a pace that, over such roads, could only be kept up by the strongest[p. 571] men. On January 5 he compelled the whole army to execute a forced march of no less than thirty-six continuous hours, which was almost as deadly as a battle. This haste seems all the less justifiable because the district abounded with positions at which the enemy could be held back for many hours, whenever the rearguard was told to stand at bay. At Nogales and Constantino, where opposition was offered, the French were easily checked, and there were many other points where similar stands could have been made. It would seem that Moore, shocked at the state of indiscipline into which his regiments were falling, thought only of getting to the sea as quickly as possible. Certainly, the pursuit was not so vigorous as to make such frantic haste necessary. Whenever the Reserve division halted and offered battle, the French dragoons held off, and waited, often for many hours, for their infantry to come up.

‘All that had hitherto been suffered by our troops was but a prelude to this time of horrors,’ wrote one British eye-witness. ‘It had still been attempted to carry forward our sick and wounded: here (on Monte Cebrero) the beasts which dragged them failed, and they were left in their wagons, to perish among the snow. As we looked round on gaining the highest point of these slippery precipices, and observed the rear of the army winding along the narrow road, we could see the whole track marked out by our own wretched people, who lay expiring from fatigue and the severity of the cold—while their uniforms reddened in spots the white surface of the ground. Our men had now become quite mad with despair: excessive fatigue and the consciousness of disgrace, in thus flying before an enemy whom they despised, excited in them a spirit which was quite mutinous. A few hours’ pause was all they asked, an opportunity of confronting the foe, and the certainty of making the pursuers atone for all the miseries that they had suffered. Not allowed to fight, they cast themselves down to perish by the wayside, giving utterance to feelings of shame, anger, and grief. But too frequently their dying groans were mingled with imprecations upon the General, who chose rather to let them die like beasts than to take their chance on the field of battle. That no degree of horror might be wanting, this unfortunate army was accompanied by many women and children, of whom some were frozen to death on the abandoned baggage-wagons, some died of fatigue and cold, while their[p. 572] infants were seen vainly sucking at their clay-cold breasts[700].’ It is shocking to have to add that the miserable survivors of these poor women of the camp were abominably maltreated by the French[701].

Not only was the greater part of the baggage-train of the army lost between Villafranca and Lugo, but other things of more importance. A battery of Spanish guns was left behind on the crest of Monte Oribio for want of draught animals, and the military chest of the army was abandoned between Nogales and Cerezal. It contained about ￡25,000 in dollars, and was drawn in two ox-wagons, which gradually fell behind the main body as the beasts wore out. General Paget refused to fight a rearguard action to cover its slow progress, and ordered the 28th Regiment to hurl the small kegs containing the money over a precipice. The silver shower lay scattered among the rocks at the bottom: part was gathered up by Lahoussaye’s dragoons, but the bulk fell next spring, when the snow melted, into the hands of the local peasantry [Jan. 4].

On the further side of the mountains, between Cerezal and Constantino, the army was astounded to meet a long train of fifty bullock-carts moving southward. It contained clothing and stores for La Romana’s army, which the Junta of Galicia, with incredible carelessness, had sent forward from Lugo, though it had heard that the British were retreating. A few miles of further advance would have taken it into the hands of the French. Very naturally, the soldiery stripped the wagons and requisitioned the beasts for their own baggage. The shoes and garments were a godsend to those of the ragged battalions who could lay hands on them, and next day at Constantino many of the Reserve fought in whole- or half-Spanish uniforms.

The skirmish at Constantino, on the afternoon of January 5, was the most important engagement, save that of Cacabellos, during the whole retreat. It was a typical rearguard action to cover a[p. 573] bridge: the British engineers having failed in their endeavour to blow up the central arch, Paget placed his guns so as to command the passage, extended the 28th and the 95th along the nearer bank of the deep-sunk river, and held out with ease till nightfall. Lahoussaye’s dragoons refused, very wisely, to attempt the position. Merle’s infantry tried to force the passage by sending forward a regiment in dense column, which suffered heavily from the guns, was much mauled by the British light troops ranged along the water’s edge, and finally desisted from the attack, allowing Paget to withdraw unmolested after dark. The French were supposed to have lost about 300 men—a figure which was probably exaggerated: the British casualties were insignificant.

On January 6 Paget and the rearguard reached Lugo, where they found the main body of the army drawn out in battle order on a favourable position three miles outside the town. The fearful amount of straggling which had taken place during the forced marches of the fourth and fifth had induced Moore to halt on his march to the sea, in order to rest his men, restore discipline, and allow the laggards to come up. A tiresome contretemps had made him still more anxious to allow the army time to recruit itself. He had made up his mind at Herrerias (near Villafranca) that the wild idea of retiring on Vigo must be given up. The reports of the engineer officers whom he had sent to survey that port, as well as Ferrol and Corunna, were all in favour of the last-named place. Accordingly he had sent orders to the admiral at Vigo, bidding him bring the fleet of transports round to Corunna. At the same time Baird was directed to halt at Lugo, and not to take the side-road to Vigo via Compostella. Baird duly received the dispatch, and should have seen that it was sent on to his colleagues, Hope and Fraser. He gave the letter for Fraser to a private dragoon, who got drunk and lost the important document. Hence the 3rd Division started off on the Compostella road, a bad bypath, and went many miles across the snow before it was found and recalled. Baird’s negligence cost Fraser’s battalions 400 men in stragglers, and having marched and countermarched more than twenty miles, they returned to Lugo so thoroughly worn out that they could not possibly have resumed their retreat on the sixth[702].

Moore had found in Lugo a dép?t containing four or five days[p. 574]’ provisions for the whole force, as well as a welcome reinforcement—Leith’s brigade of Hope’s division, which had never marched to Astorga, and had been preceding the army by easy stages in its retreat. Including these 1,800 fresh bayonets, the army now mustered about 19,000 combatants. Since it left Benavente it had been diminished by the strength of the two Light Brigades detached to Vigo (3,500 men), by 1,000 dismounted cavalry who had been sent on to Corunna, by 500 or 600 sick too ill to be moved, who had been left in the hospitals of Astorga and Villafranca, and by about 2,000 men lost by the way between Astorga and Lugo. Moore imagined that the loss under the last-named head had been even greater: but the moment that the army halted and the news of approaching battle flew round, hundreds of stragglers and marauders flocked in to the colours, sick men pulled themselves together, and the regiments appeared far stronger than had been anticipated. The Commander-in-chief issued a scathing ‘General Order’ to the officers commanding corps with regard to this point. ‘They must be as sensible as himself of the complete disorganization of the army. If they wished to give the troops a fair chance of success, they must exert themselves to restore order and discipline. The Commander of the Forces was tired of giving orders which were never attended to: he therefore appealed to the honour and feelings of the army: if those were not sufficient to induce them to do their duty, he must despair of succeeding by any other means. He had been obliged to order military executions, but there would have been no need for them if only officers did their duty. It was chiefly from their negligence, and from the want of proper regulations in the regiments, that crimes and irregularities were committed[703].’

The Lugo position was very strong: on the right it touched the unfordable river Minho, on the left it rested on rocky and inaccessible hills. All along the front there was a line of low stone walls, the boundaries of fields and vineyards. Below it there was a gentle down-slope of a mile, up which the enemy would have to march in order to attack. The army and the general alike were pleased with the outlook: they hoped that Soult would fight, and knew that they could give a good account of him.

The Marshal turned out to be far too circumspect to run his head against such a formidable line. He came up on the sixth,[p. 575] with the dragoons of Lahoussaye and Franceschi and Merle’s infantry. On the next morning Mermet’s and Delaborde’s divisions and Lorges’s cavalry appeared. But the forced marches had tried them no less than they had tried the British. French accounts say that the three infantry divisions had only 13,000 bayonets with the eagles, instead of the 20,000 whom they should have shown, and that the cavalry instead of 6,000 sabres mustered only 4,000. Some men had fallen by the way in the snow, others were limping along the road many miles to the rear: many were marauding on the flanks, like the British who had gone before them. Heudelet’s whole division was more than two marches to the rear, at Villafranca.

On the seventh, therefore, Soult did no more than feel the British position. He had not at first been sure that Moore’s whole army was in front of him, and imagined that he might have to deal with no more than Paget’s Reserve division, with which he had bickered so much during the last four days. He was soon undeceived: when he brought forward a battery against Moore’s centre, it was immediately silenced by the fire of fifteen guns. A feint opposite the British right, near the river, was promptly opposed by the Brigade of Guards. A more serious attack by Merle’s division, on the hill to the left, was beaten back by Leith’s brigade, who drove back the 2nd Léger and 36th of the Line by a bayonet-charge downhill, and inflicted on them a loss of 300 men.

On the eighth many of Soult’s stragglers came up, but he still considered himself too weak to attack, and sent back to hurry up Heudelet’s division, and to request Ney to push forward his corps to Villafranca. He remained quiescent all day, to the great disappointment of Moore, who had issued orders to his army warning them that a battle was at hand, and bidding them not to waste their fire on the tirailleurs, but reserve it for the supporting columns. As the day wore on, without any sign of movement on the part of the French, the British commander began to grow anxious and depressed. If Soult would not move, it must mean that he had resolved to draw up heavy reinforcements from the rear. It would be mad to wait till they should come up: either the Marshal must be attacked at once, before he could be strengthened, or else the army must resume its retreat on Corunna before Soult was ready. To take the offensive Moore considered very doubtful policy—the French had about his own numbers, or perhaps even[p. 576] more, and they were established in a commanding position almost as strong as his own. Even if he beat them, they could fall back on Heudelet and Ney, and face him again, in or about Villafranca. To win a second battle would be hard work, and, even if all went well, the army would be so reduced in numbers that practically nothing would remain for a descent into the plains of Leon.

Accordingly Moore resolved neither to attack nor to wait to be attacked, but to resume his retreat towards the sea. It was not a very enterprising course; but it was at least a safe one; and since the troops were now somewhat rested, and (as he hoped) restored to good spirits, by seeing that the enemy dared not face them, he considered that he might withdraw without evil results. Accordingly the evening of the eighth was spent in destroying impedimenta and making preparations for retreat. Five hundred foundered cavalry and artillery horses were shot, a number of caissons knocked to pieces, and the remainder of the stores of food destroyed so far as was possible. At midnight on January 8-9 the army silently slipped out of its lines, leaving its bivouac fires burning, so as to delude the enemy with the idea that it still lay before him. Elaborate precautions had been taken to guide each division to the point from which it could fall with the greatest ease into the Corunna road. But it is not easy to evacuate by night a long position intersected with walls, enclosures, and suburban bypaths. Moreover the fates were unpropitious: drenching rain had set in, and it was impossible to see five yards in the stormy darkness. Whole regiments and brigades got astray, and of all the four divisions only Paget’s Reserve kept its bearings accurately and reached the chaussée exactly at the destined point. For miles on each side of the road stray battalions were wandering in futile circles when the day dawned. Instead of marching fifteen miles under cover of the night, many corps had got no further than four or five from their starting-point. Isolated men were scattered all over the face of the country-side, some because they had lost their regiments, others because they had deliberately sought shelter from the rain behind any convenient wall or rock.

Continuing their retreat for some hours after daybreak, the troops reached the village of Valmeda, where their absolute exhaustion made a halt necessary. The more prudent commanders made their men lie down in their ranks, in spite of the downpour,[p. 577] and eat as they lay. But Baird, from mistaken kindness, allowed his division to disperse and to seek shelter in the cottages and barns of neighbouring hamlets: they could not be got together again when the time to start had arrived, and Bentinck and Manningham’s brigades left an enormous proportion of their men behind. The same thing happened on a smaller scale with Hope’s and Fraser’s divisions: only Paget’s regiments brought up the rear in good order. But behind them trailed several thousand stragglers, forming a sort of irregular rearguard. There was more dispersion, disorder, and marauding in this march than in any other during the whole retreat. The plundering during this stage seems to have been particularly discreditable: the inhabitants of the villages along the high-road had for the most part gone up into the hills, in spite of the dreadful weather. The British seem to have imputed their absence to them as a crime, and to have regarded every empty house as a fair field for plunder. As a matter of fact it was not with the desire of withholding aid from their friends that the Galicians had disappeared, but from fear of the French. If they had remained behind they would have been stripped and misused by the enemy. But the unreasoning soldiery chose to regard the unfortunate peasants as hostile[704]: they wantonly broke up doors[p. 578] and furniture, and stole all manner of useless household stuff. Even worse outrages occasionally happened: where the inhabitants, in outlying farms and hamlets, had remained behind, they turned them out of their houses, robbed them by force, and even shot those who resisted. In return, it was but natural that isolated marauders should be killed by the angry country-folk. But the good spirit of the Galicians was displayed in many places by the way in which they fed stragglers[705], and saved them from the French by showing them bypaths over the hills. No less than 500 men who had lost their way were passed on from village to village by the peasants, till they reached Portugal.

What between deliberate marauding for food or plunder[706], and genuine inability to keep up with the regiment on the part of weakly men, Moore’s main body accomplished the march from Lugo to Betanzos in the most disorderly style. Paget’s rearguard kept their ranks, but the troops in front were marching in a drove, without any attempt to preserve discipline. An observer counted one very distinguished regiment in Manningham’s brigade of Baird’s division, and reports that with the colours there were only nine officers, three sergeants, and three privates when they reached the gates of Betanzos[707].

Fortunately for Moore, the French pursued the retreating army with the greatest slackness. It was late on the morning of the ninth before Soult discovered that the British were gone: the drenching rain which had so incommoded them had at least screened their retreat. After occupying Lugo, which was full of dead horses,[p. 579] broken material, and spoiled provisions, the Marshal pushed on Franceschi’s cavalry in pursuit. But he had lost twelve hours, and Moore was far ahead: only stragglers were captured on the road, and the British rearguard was not sighted till the passage of the Ladra, nearly halfway from Lugo to Betanzos[708]. This was late in the day, and Paget was not seriously molested, though the engineers who accompanied him failed to blow up the bridges over the Ladra and the Mendeo, partly because their powder had been spoilt by the rain, partly (as it would seem) from unskilful handiwork.

The fatiguing retreat was continued through part of the night of January 9-10, and on the following morning all the regiments reached Betanzos, on the sea-coast. The indefatigable Reserve division took up a position on a low range of heights outside the town, to cover the incoming of the thousands of stragglers who were still to the rear. From this vantage-ground they had the opportunity of witnessing a curious incident which few of the narrators of the retreat have failed to record. Franceschi’s cavalry had resumed the pursuit, and after sweeping up some hundreds of prisoners from isolated parties, came to the village at the foot of the hills where the stragglers had gathered most thickly. At the noise of their approach, a good number of the more able-bodied men ran together, hastily formed up in a solid mass across the road, and beat off the French horsemen by a rolling fire. This had been done more by instinct than by design: but a sergeant of the 43rd, who assumed command over the assembly, skilfully brought order out of the danger[709]. He divided the men into two parties, which retired alternately down the road, the one facing the French while the other pushed on. The chasseurs charged them several times, but could never break in, and the whole body escaped to the English lines[710]. They had covered the retreat of[p. 580] many other stragglers, who ran in from all sides while the combat was going on. Yet in spite of this irregular exploit, the army lost many men: on this day and the preceding ninth, more than 1000 were left behind—some had died of cold and fatigue, some had been cut down by the French. But the majority had been captured as they straggled along, too dazed and worn out even to leave the road and take to the hillside when the cavalry got among them[711].

Soult had as yet no infantry to the front, and Moore remained for a day at Betanzos, observed by Franceschi’s and Lahoussaye’s cavalry, which dared not molest him. On January 11 he resumed his march to Corunna, with his army in a far better condition than might have been expected. The weather had turned mild and dry, and the climate of the coastland was a pleasant change from that of the mountains[712]. The men had been well fed at Betanzos with food sent on from Corunna, and, marching along the friendly sea with their goal in sight, recovered themselves in a surprising manner. Their general was not so cheerful: he had heard that the fleet from Vigo had failed to double Cape Finisterre, and was still beating about in the Atlantic. He had hoped to find it already in harbour, and was much concerned to think that he might have to stand at bay for some days in order to allow it time to arrive.

[p. 581]

At Betanzos more sacrifices of war-material were made by the retiring army. Moore found there a large quantity of stores intended for La Romana, and had to spike and throw into the river five guns and some thousands of muskets. A considerable amount of food was imperfectly destroyed, but enough remained to give a welcome supply to the famishing French. It had been intended to blow up Betanzos bridge, but the mines were only partially successful, and the 28th Regiment from Paget’s Reserve division had to stay behind and to guard the half-ruined structure against Franceschi’s cavalry, till the main body had nearly reached Corunna, and the French infantry had begun to appear.

On the night of the eleventh, the divisions of Hope, Baird, and Fraser reached Corunna, while that of Paget halted at El Burgo, four miles outside the town, where the chaussée crosses the tidal river Mero. Here the bridge was successfully blown up: it was only the second operation of the kind which had been carried out with efficiency during the whole retreat. Another bridge at Cambria, a few miles further up the stream, was also destroyed. Thus the French were for the moment brought to a stand. On the twelfth their leading infantry column came up, and bickered with Paget’s troops, across the impassable water, for the whole day[713]. But it was not till the thirteenth that Franceschi discovered a third passage at Celas, seven miles inland, across which he conducted his division. Moore then ordered the Reserve to draw back to the heights in front of Corunna. The French instantly came down to the river, and began to reconstruct the broken bridge. On the night of the thirteenth infantry could cross: on the fourteenth the artillery also began to pass over. But Soult advanced with great caution: here, as at Lugo, he was dismayed to see how much the fatigues of the march had diminished his army: Delaborde’s division was not yet up: those of Merle and Mermet were so thinned by straggling that the Marshal resolved not to put his fortune to the test till the ranks were again full.

This delay gave the British general ample time to arrange for his departure. On the thirteenth, he blew up the great stores of powder which the Junta of Galicia had left stowed away in a magazine three miles outside the town. The quantity was not much less than 4,000 barrels, and the explosion was so powerful that wellnigh every window in Corunna was shattered.

[p. 582]

On the afternoon of the fourteenth the long-expected transports at last ran into the harbour, and Moore began to get on board his sick and wounded, his cavalry, and his guns. The horses were in such a deplorable state that very few of them were worth reshipping: only about 250 cavalry chargers and 700 artillery draught-cattle were considered too good to be left behind[714]. The remainder of the poor beasts, more than 2,000 in number, were shot or stabbed and flung into the sea. Only enough were left to draw nine guns, which the general intended to use if he was forced to give battle before the embarkation was finished. The rest of the cannon, over fifty in number, were safely got on board the fleet. The personnel of the cavalry and artillery went on shipboard very little reduced by their casualties in the retreat. The former was only short of 200 men, the latter of 250: they had come off so easily because they had been sent to the rear since Cacabellos, and had retreated to Corunna without any check or molestation. Along with the hussars and the gunners some 2,500 or 3,000 invalids were sent on board. A few hundred more, too sick to face a voyage, were left behind in the hospitals of Corunna. Something like 5,000 men had perished or been taken during the retreat; 3,500 had embarked at Vigo, so that about 15,000 men, all infantry save some 200 gunners, remained behind to oppose Soult. Considering all that they had gone through, they were now in very good trim: all the sick and weakly men had been sent off, those who remained in the ranks were all war-hardened veterans. Before the battle they had enjoyed four days of rest and good feeding in Corunna. Moreover, they had repaired their armament: there were in the arsenal many thousand stand of arms, newly arrived from England for the use of the Galician army. Moore made his men change their rusty and battered muskets for new ones, before ordering the store to be destroyed. He also distributed new cartridges, from an enormous stock found in the place. The town was, in fact, crammed with munitions of all sorts. Seeing that there would be no time to re-embark them, Moore utilized what he could, and destroyed the rest.
SECTION VIII: CHAPTER VI
THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA

When Sir John Moore found that the transports were not ready on the twelfth, he had recognized that he might very probably have to fight a defensive action in order to cover his retreat, for two days would allow Soult to bring up his main-body. He refused to listen to the timid proposal of certain of his officers that he should negotiate for a quiet embarkation, in return for giving up Corunna and its fortifications unharmed[715]. This would have been indeed a tame line of conduct for a general and an army which had never been beaten in the field. Instead he sought for a good position in which to hold back the enemy till all his impedimenta were on shipboard. There were no less than three lines of heights on which the army might range itself to resist an enemy who had crossed the Mero. But the first two ranges, the Monte Loureiro just above the river, and the plateaux of Palavea and Pe?asquedo two miles further north, were too extensive to be held by an army of 15,000 men. Moore accordingly chose as his fighting-ground the Monte Moro, a shorter and lower ridge, only two miles outside the walls of Corunna. It is an excellent position, about 2,500 yards long, but has two defects: its western and lower end is commanded at long cannon-range by the heights of Pe?asquedo. Moreover, beyond this extreme point of the hill, there is open ground extending as far as the gates of Corunna, by which the whole position can be turned. Fully aware of this fact, Moore told off more than a third of his army to serve as a flank-guard on this wing, and to prevent the enemy from pushing in between the Monte Moro and the narrow neck of the peninsula on which Corunna stands.

Soult, even after he had passed the Mero and repaired the bridges, was very circumspect in his advances. He had too much[p. 584] respect for the fighting power of the English army to attack before he had rallied his whole force. When Delaborde’s division and a multitude of stragglers had joined him on the fifteenth, he at last moved forward and seized the heights of Palavea and Pe?asquedo, overlooking the British position. There was some slight skirmishing with the outposts which had been left on these positions, and when the French brought down two guns to the lower slopes by Palavea, and began to cannonade the opposite hill, Colonel McKenzie, of the 5th Regiment, made an attempt to drive them off, which failed with loss, and cost him his life.
Map of battle of Corunna

Enlarge  Battle of Corunna. January 16, 1809.

As the French pressed westward along these commanding heights, Moore saw that he might very possibly be attacked on the following day, and brought up his troops to their fighting-ground, though he was still not certain that Soult would risk a battle. The divisions of Hope and Baird were ranged along the upper slopes of the Monte Moro: the ten battalions of the former on the eastern half of the ridge, nearest the river, the eight battalions of the latter on its western half, more towards the inland. Each division had two brigades in the first line and a third in reserve. Counting from left to right, the brigades were those of Hill and Leith from Hope’s division, and Manningham and Bentinck from Baird’s. Behind the crest Catlin Crawfurd supported the two former, and Warde’s battalions of Guards the two latter. Down in the hollow behind the Monte Moro lay Paget’s division, close to the village of Eiris[716]. He was invisible to the French, but so placed that he could immediately move out to cover the right wing if the enemy attempted a turning movement. Lastly, Fraser’s division lay under cover in Corunna, ready to march forth to support Paget the moment that fighting should begin[717]. Six of the nine guns (small six-pounders), which Moore had left on shore, were distributed in pairs along the front of Monte Moro: the other three were with Paget’s reserve.

After surveying the British position from the Pe?asquedo heights, Soult had resolved to attempt the man?uvre which Moore had thought most probable—to assault the western end of the line, where the heights are least formidable, and at the same moment to turn the Monte Moro by a movement round its extreme right through the open ground. Nor had it escaped[p. 585] him that the ground occupied by Baird’s division was within cannon-shot of the opposite range. He ordered ten guns to be dragged up to the westernmost crest of the French position, and to be placed above the village of Elvina, facing Bentinck’s brigade. The rest of his artillery was distributed along the front of the Pe?asquedo and Palavea heights, in situations that were less favourable, because they were more remote from the British lines. The hills were steep, no road ran along their summit, and the guns had to be dragged by hand to the places which they were intended to occupy. It was only under cover of the night that those opposite Elvina were finally got to their destination.

Soult’s force was now considerably superior to that which was opposed to him, sufficiently so in his own estimation to compensate for the strength of the defensive positions which he would have to assail. He had three infantry divisions with thirty-nine battalions (Heudelet was still far to the rear), and twelve regiments of cavalry, with about forty guns[718]. The whole, even allowing for stragglers[p. 586] still trailing in the rear, and for men who had perished in the snows of the mountains, must have been over 20,000 strong. The cavalry had 4,500 sabres, and the infantry battalions must still have averaged over 500 men, for in November they had nearly all been up to 700 bayonets, and even the toilsome march in pursuit of Moore cannot have destroyed so much as a third of their numbers: only Merle’s division had done any fighting. It is absurd of some of the French narrators of the battle to pretend that Soult had only 13,000 infantry—a figure which would only give 330 bayonets to each battalion[719].

Soult’s plan was to contain the British left and centre with two of his divisions—those of Delaborde and Merle—while Mermet and the bulk of the cavalry should attack Moore’s right, seize the western end of Monte Moro, and push in between Baird’s flank and Corunna. If this movement succeeded, the British retreat would be compromised: Delaborde and Merle could then assail Hope and prevent him from going to the rear: if all went right, two-thirds of the British army must be surrounded and captured.

The movement of masses of infantry, and still more of cavalry and guns, along the rugged crest and slopes of the Pe?asquedo heights, was attended with so much difficulty, that noon was long passed before the whole army was in position. It was indeed so late in the day, that Sir John Moore had come to the conclusion that Soult did not intend to attack, and had ordered Paget’s division, who were to be the first troops to embark, to march down to the harbour[720]. The other corps were to retire at dusk, and go on shipboard under cover of the night.

But between 1.30 and 2 o’clock the French suddenly took the offensive: the battery opposite Elvina began to play upon Baird’s division, columns descending from each side of it commenced to pour down into the valley, and the eight cavalry regiments of Lahoussaye[p. 587] and Franceschi, pushing out from behind the Pe?asquedo heights, rode northward along the lower slopes of the hills of San Cristobal, with the obvious design of cutting in between the Monte Moro and Corunna.

Moore welcomed the approach of battle with joy: he had every confidence in his men and his position, and saw that a victory won ere his departure would silence the greater part of the inevitable criticism for timidity and want of enterprise, to which he would be exposed on his return to England. He rode up to the crest of his position, behind Baird’s division, took in the situation of affairs at a glance, and sent back orders to Paget to pay attention to the French turning movement, and to Fraser to come out from Corunna and contain any advance on the part of the enemy’s cavalry on the extreme right.

For some time the English left and centre were scarcely engaged, for Merle and Delaborde did no more than push tirailleurs out in front of their line, to bicker with the skirmishers of Hill, Leith, and Manningham. But Bentinck’s brigade was at once seriously assailed: not only were its lines swept by the balls of Soult’s main battery, but a heavy infantry attack was in progress. Gaulois and Jardon’s brigades of Mermet’s division were coming forward in great strength: they turned out of the village of Elvina the light company of the 50th, which had been detached to hold that advanced position, and then came up the slope of Monte Moro, with a dense crowd of tirailleurs covering the advance of eight battalion columns. Meanwhile the third brigade of Mermet’s division was hurrying past the flank of Bentinck’s line, in the lower ground, with the obvious intention of turning the British flank. Beyond them Lahoussaye’s dragoons were cautiously feeling their way forward, much incommoded by walls and broken ground.

All the stress of the first fighting fell on the three battalions of Bentinck, on the hill above Elvina. Moore was there in person to direct the fight: Baird, on whom the responsibility for this part of the ground would naturally have fallen, was wounded early in the day, by a cannon-ball which shattered his left arm[721], and was borne to the rear. When the French came near the top of the slope, driving in before them the British skirmishing line, the Commander-in-chief ordered the 42nd and 50th to charge down[p. 588] upon them. The 4th, the flank regiment of the whole line, could not follow them: it was threatened by the encircling movement of the French left, and Moore bade it throw back its right wing so as to form an angle en potence with the rest of the brigade, while still keeping up its fire. The man?uvre was executed with such precision as to win his outspoken approval—‘That is exactly how it should be done,’ he shouted to Colonel Wynch, and then rode off to attend to the 50th and 42nd, further to his left.

Here a very heavy combat was raging. Advancing to meet the French attack, these two battalions drove in the tirailleurs with the crushing fire of their two-deep line, and then became engaged with the supporting columns on the slopes above Elvina. For some time the battle stood still, but Moore told the regiments that they must advance to make their fire tell, and at last Colonel Sterling and Major Charles Napier led their men over the line of stone walls behind which they were standing, and pressed forward. The head of the French formation melted away before their volleys, and the enemy rolled back into Elvina. The 42nd halted just above the village, but Napier led the 50th in among the houses, and cleared out the defenders after a sharp fight. He even passed through with part of his men, and became engaged with the French supports on the further side of the place. Presently Mermet sent down his reserves and drove out the 50th, who suffered very heavily: Charles Napier was wounded and taken, and Stanhope the junior major was killed[722]. While the 50th was reforming, Moore brought up the divisional reserve, Warde’s two magnificent battalions of Guards, each of which, in consequence of their splendid discipline during the retreat, mustered over 800 bayonets. With these and the 42nd he held the slope above Elvina in face of a very hot fire, not only from the enemy’s infantry but from the battery on the opposite heights, which swept the ground with a lateral and almost an enfilading fire. It was while directing one of the Guards’ battalions to go forward and storm a large house on the flank of the village that Moore received a mortal wound. A cannon-ball struck him on the left shoulder, carrying it away with part of the collar-bone, and leaving the arm hanging only by the flesh and muscles above[p. 589] the armpit[723]. He was dashed from his horse, but immediately raised himself on his sound arm and bade his aide-de-camp Hardinge see that the 42nd should advance along with the Guards. Then he was borne to the rear, fully realizing that his wound was mortal: his consciousness never failed, in spite of the pain and the loss of blood, and he found strength to send a message to Hope to bid him take command of the army. When his bearers wished to unbuckle his sword, which was jarring his wounded arm and side, he refused to allow it, saying ‘in his usual tone and with a very distinct voice, “It is well as it is. I had rather that it should go out of the field with me.”’ He was borne back to Corunna in a blanket by six men of the Guards and 42nd. Frequently he made them turn him round to view the field of battle, and as he saw the French line of fire rolling back, he several times expressed his pleasure at dying in the moment of victory, when his much-tried army was at last faring as it deserved.

While Bentinck’s brigade and the Guards were thus engaged with Mermet’s right, a separate combat was going on more to the west, where Edward Paget and the Reserve division had marched out to resist the French turning movement. The instant that Moore’s first orders had been received, Paget had sent forward the 95th Rifles in extended order to cover the gap, half a mile in breadth, between the Monte Moro and the heights of San Cristobal. Soon afterwards he pushed up the 52nd into line with the riflemen. The other three battalions of the division moved out soon after. Paget had in front of him a brigade—five battalions—of Mermet’s division, which was trying to slip round the corner of Monte Moro in order to take Baird in the flank. He had also to guard against the charges of Lahoussaye’s cavalry more to his right, and those of Franceschi’s chasseurs still further south. Fortunately the ground was so much cut up with rough stone walls, dividing the fields of the villages of San Cristobal and Elvina, that Soult’s cavalry were unable to execute any general or vigorous advance. When the British swept across the low ground, Lahoussaye’s dragoons made two or three attempts to charge, but, forced to advance among walls and ravines, they never even compelled Paget’s battalions to form square, and were easily driven off by a rolling fire. The Reserve division steadily advanced, with the 95th and 52nd in its front, and the horsemen gave back. It was in vain[p. 590] that Lahoussaye dismounted the 27th Dragoons and ranged them as tirailleurs along the lower slopes of the heights of San Cristobal. The deadly fire of Paget’s infantry thinned their ranks, and forced them back. It would seem that the 95th, 28th, and 91st had mainly to do with Lahoussaye, while the 52nd and 20th became engaged with the infantry from the division of Mermet, which was bickering with the 4th Regiment below the Monte Moro, and striving to turn its flank. In both quarters the advance was completely successful, and Paget pushed forward, taking numerous prisoners from the enemy’s broken infantry. So far did he advance in his victorious onslaught that he approached from the flank the main French battery on the heights of Pe?asquedo, and thought that (if leave had been given him) he would have been able to capture it: for its infantry supports were broken, and the cavalry had gone off far to the right. But Hope sent no orders to his colleague, and the Reserve halted at dusk at the foot of the French position.

Franceschi’s horsemen meanwhile, on the extreme left of the French line, had at first pushed cautiously towards Corunna, till they saw Fraser’s division drawn up half a mile outside the gates, on the low ridge of Santa Margarita, covering the whole neck of the peninsula. This checked the cavalry, and presently, when Paget’s advance drove in Lahoussaye, Franceschi conformed to the retreat of his colleague, and drew back across the heights of San Cristobal till he had reached the left rear of Soult’s position, and halted in the upland valley somewhere near the village of Mesoiro.

We left Bentinck’s and Warde’s brigades engaged on the slopes above Elvina with Mermet’s right-hand column, at the moment of the fall of Sir John Moore. The second advance on Elvina had begun just as the British commander-in-chief fell: it was completely successful, and the village was for the second time captured. Mermet now sent down his last reserves, and Merle moved forward his left-hand brigade to attack the village on its eastern side. This led to a corresponding movement on the part of the British. Manningham’s brigade from the right-centre of the British line came down the slope, and fell upon Merle’s columns as they pressed in towards the village. This forced the French to halt, and to turn aside to defend themselves: there was a long and fierce strife, during the later hours of the afternoon, between Manningham’s two right-hand regiments (the 3/1st and 2/81st) and the 2nd Léger and 36th of the Line of Reynaud’s brigade. It was prolonged till the[p. 591] 2/81st had exhausted all its ammunition, and had suffered a loss of 150 men, when Hope sent down the 2/59th, the reserve regiment of Leith’s brigade, to relieve it. Soon afterwards the French retired, and the battle died away at dusk into mere distant bickering along the bottom of the valley, as a few skirmishers of the victorious brigade pursued the retreating columns to the foot of their position.

Further eastward Delaborde had done nothing more than make a feeble demonstration against Hope’s very strong position on the heights above the Mero river. He drove in Hill’s pickets, and afterwards, late in the afternoon, endeavoured to seize the village of Piedralonga[724], at the bottom of the valley which lay between the hostile lines. Foy, who was entrusted with this operation, took the voltigeur companies of his brigade, and drove out from the hamlet the outposts of the 14th Regiment. Thereupon Hill sent down Colonel Nicholls with three more companies of that corps, supported by two of the 92nd from Hope’s divisional reserve. They expelled the French, and broke the supports on which the voltigeurs tried to rally, taking a few prisoners including Foy’s brigade-major. Delaborde then sent down another battalion, which recovered the southern end of the village, while Nicholls held tightly to the rest of it. At dusk both parties ceased to push on, and the firing died away. The engagement at this end of the line was insignificant: Foy lost eighteen killed and fifty wounded from the 70th of the Line, and a few more from the 86th. Nicholls’s casualties were probably even smaller[725].

Soult had suffered such a decided reverse that he had no desire to prolong the battle, while Hope—who so unexpectedly found himself in command of the British army—showed no wish to make[p. 592] a counter-attack, and was quite contented to have vindicated his position. He claimed, in his dispatch, that at the end of the engagement the army was holding a more advanced line than at its commencement: and this was in part true, for Elvina was now occupied in force, and not merely by a picket, and Paget on the right had cleared the ground below the heights of San Cristobal, which Lahoussaye had been occupying during the action. Some of the French writers have claimed that Soult also had gained ground[726]: but the only fact that can be cited in favour of their contention is that Foy was holding on to the southern end of Piedralonga[727]. All the eye-witnesses on their side concede that at the end of the action the marshal’s army had fallen back to its original position[728].

English critics have occasionally suggested that the success won by Paget and Bentinck might have been pressed, and that if the division of Fraser had been brought up to their support, the French left might have been turned and crushed[729]. But considering that Soult had fourteen or fifteen intact battalions left, in the divisions of Merle and Delaborde[730], it would have been well in his power to fight a successful defensive action on his heights, throwing back his left wing, so as to keep it from being encircled. Hope was right to be contented with his success: even if he had won a victory he could have done no more than re-embark, for the army was not in a condition to plunge once more into the Galician highlands in pursuit of Soult, who would have been joined in a few days by Heudelet, and in a week by Ney.

The losses suffered by the two armies at the battle of Corunna[p. 593] are not easy to estimate. The British regiments, embarking on the day after the fight, did not send in any returns of their casualties till they reached England. Then, most unfortunately, a majority of the colonels lumped together the losses of the retreat and those of the battle. It is lucky, however, to find that among the regiments which sent in proper returns are nearly all those which fought the brunt of the action. The 50th and 42nd of Bentinck’s brigade were by far the most heavily tried, from the prolonged and desperate fighting in and about Elvina. The former lost two officers killed and three wounded, with 180 rank and file: the Highland battalion thirty-nine rank and file killed and 111 (including six officers) wounded. The Guards’ brigade, on the other hand, which was brought up to support these regiments, suffered very little; the first battalion of the 1st Regiment had only five, the second only eight killed, with about forty wounded between them. In Manningham’s brigade the 81st, with its loss of three officers and twenty-seven men killed, and eleven officers and 112 men wounded, was by far the heaviest sufferer: the Royals may also have had a considerable casualty-list, but its figures are apparently not to be found, except confused with those of the whole retreat. Paget’s division in its flank march to ward off the French turning movement suffered surprisingly little: of its two leading regiments the 1/95th had but twelve killed and thirty-three wounded, the 1/52nd five killed and thirty-three wounded. The other three battalions, which formed the supports, must have had even fewer men disabled. Hope’s division, with the exception of the 14th and the 59th, was not seriously engaged: the few battalions which sent in their battle-losses, apart from those of the retreat, show figures such as six or ten for their casualties on January 16. Fraser’s whole division neither fired a shot nor lost a man. It is probable then that Hope, when in his dispatch he estimated the total loss of the British army at ‘something between 700 and 800,’ was overstating rather than understating the total.

Soult’s losses are even harder to discover than those of Moore’s army. His chronicler, Le Noble[731], says that they amounted to no more than 150 killed and 500 wounded. The ever inaccurate Thiers reduces this figure to 400 or less. On the other hand Naylies, a combatant in the battle, speaks of 800 casualties; and[p. 594] Marshal Jourdan, in his précis of the campaign, gives 1,000[732]. But all these figures must be far below the truth. Fantin des Odoards has preserved the exact loss of his own corps, the 31st Léger, one of the regiments of Mermet’s division, which fought in Elvina. It amounted to no less than 330 men[733]. The other four regiments of the division were not less deeply engaged, and it is probable that Mermet alone must have lost over 1,000 in killed and wounded. Two of his three brigadiers went down in the fight: Gaulois was shot dead, Lefebvre badly hurt. Of Merle’s division, one brigade was hotly engaged in the struggle with Manningham’s battalions, in which our 2/81st lost so heavily. The French cannot have suffered less, as they were the beaten party. Lahoussaye’s dragoons must also have sustained appreciable loss: that of Delaborde (as we have already seen) was limited to about eighteen killed and fifty wounded. Of unwounded prisoners the British took seven officers and 156 men. If we put the total of Soult’s casualties at 1,500, we probably shall not be far wrong. All the later experience of the war showed that, when French troops delivered in column an uphill attack on a British position and failed, they suffered twice or thrice the loss of the defenders: we need only mention Vimiero and Busaco. On this occasion there was the additional advantage that Moore’s army had new muskets and good ammunition, while those of Soult’s corps were much deteriorated. A loss of 1,500 men therefore seems a fair and rational estimate. The impression left by the battle on Soult’s mind was such that, in his first dispatch to the Emperor, he wrote that he could do no more against the English till he should have received large reinforcements[734]. But two days later, when Hope had evacuated Corunna, he changed his tone and let it be understood that he had gained ground during the battle, and had so far established an advantage that his position forced the English to embark. This allegation was wholly without foundation. Hope simply carried out the arrangements which Moore had made for sending off the army to England, and his resolve was dictated by the condition of his troops, who urgently needed reorganization and repose, and not by any fear of what the Marshal could do against him.

[p. 595]

Moore, borne back to his quarters in Corunna, survived long enough to realize that his army had completely beaten off Soult’s attack, and had secured for itself a safe departure. In spite of his dreadful wound he retained his consciousness to the last. Forgetful of his own pain, he made inquiries as to the fate of his especial friends and dependants, and found strength to dictate several messages, recommending for promotion officers who had distinguished themselves, and sending farewell greetings to his family. He repeatedly said that he was dying in the way he had always desired, on the night of a victorious battle. The only weight on his mind was the thought that public opinion at home might bear hardly upon him, in consequence of the horrors of the retreat. ‘I hope the people of England will be satisfied,’ he gasped; ‘I hope my country will do me justice.’ And then his memory wandered back to those whom he loved: he tried in vain to frame a message to his mother, but weakness and emotion overcame him, and a few minutes later he died, with the name of Pitt’s niece (Lady Hester Stanhope) on his lips. Moore had expressed a wish to be buried where he fell, and his staff carried out his desire as far as was possible, by laying him in a grave on the ramparts of Corunna. He was buried at early dawn on the seventeenth, on the central bastion that looks out towards the land-side and the battle-field. Hard by him lies General Anstruther, who had died of dysentery on the day before the fight. Soult, with a generosity that does him much credit, took care of Moore’s grave, and ordered a monument to be erected over the spot where he fell[735]. La Romana afterwards carried out the Marshal’s pious intentions.

Little remains to be said about the embarkation of the army. At nine o’clock on the night of the battle the troops were withdrawn from the Monte Moro position, leaving only pickets along its front. Many regiments were embarked that night, more on the morning of the seventeenth. By the evening of that day all were aboard save Beresford’s brigade of Fraser’s division, which remained to cover the embarkation of the rest.

Soult, when he found that the British had withdrawn, sent up some field-pieces to the heights above Fort San Diego, on the southern end of the bay. Their fire could reach the more outlying transports, and created some confusion, as the masters hastily[p. 596] weighed anchor and stood out to sea. Four vessels ran on shore, and three of them could not be got off: the troops on board were hastily transferred to other ships, with no appreciable loss: from the whole army only nine men of the Royal Wagon Train are returned as having been ‘drowned in Corunna harbour,’ no doubt from the sinking of the boat which was transhipping them. General Leith records, in his diary, that on the vessel which took him home there were fragments of no less than six regiments: we can hardly doubt that this must have been one of those which picked up the men from the stranded transports.

Beresford’s brigade embarked from a safe point behind the citadel on the eighteenth, leaving the town in charge of the small Spanish garrison under General Alcedo, which maintained the works till all the fleet were far out to sea, and then rather tamely surrendered. This was entirely the doing of their commander, a shifty old man, who almost immediately after took service with King Joseph[736].

The returning fleet had a tempestuous but rapid passage: urged on by a raging south-wester the vessels ran home in four or five days, and made almost every harbour between Falmouth and Dover. Many transports had a dangerous passage, but only two, the Dispatch and the Smallbridge, came to grief off the Cornish coast and were lost, the former with three officers and fifty-six men of the 7th Hussars, the latter with five officers and 209 men of the King’s German Legion[737]. So ended the famous ‘Retreat from Sahagun.’

Moore’s memory met, as he had feared, with many unjust aspersions when the results of his campaign were known in England. The aspect of the 26,000 ragged war-worn troops, who came ashore on the South Coast, was so miserable that those who saw them were shocked. The state of the mass of 3,000 invalids, racked with fever and dysentery, who were cast into the hospitals was eminently distressing. It is seldom that a nation sees its troops returning straight from the field, with the grime and sweat of battle and march fresh upon them. The impression made was[p. 597] a very unhappy one, and it was easy to blame the General. Public discontent was roused both against Moore and against the ministry, and some of the defenders of the latter took an ungenerous opportunity of shifting all the blame upon the man who could no longer vindicate himself. This provoked his numerous friends into asserting that his whole conduct of the campaign had been absolutely blameless, and that any misfortunes which occurred were simply and solely the fault of maladministration and unwise councils at home. Moore was the hero of the Whig party, and politics were dragged into the discussion of the campaign to a lamentable extent. Long years after his death the attitude of the critic or the historian, who dealt with the Corunna retreat, was invariably coloured by his Whig or Tory predilections.

The accepted view of the present generation is (though most men are entirely unacquainted with the fact) strongly coloured by the circumstance that William Napier, whose eloquent history has superseded all other narratives of the Peninsular War, was a violent enemy of the Tory ministry and a personal admirer of Moore. Ninety years and more have now passed since the great retreat, and we can look upon the campaign with impartial eyes. It is easy to point out mistakes made by the home government, such as the tardy dispatch of Baird’s cavalry, and the inadequate provision of money, both for the division which started from Lisbon and for that which started from Corunna. But these are not the most important causes of the misfortunes of the campaign. Nor can it be pleaded that the ministry did not support Moore loyally, or that they tied his hands by contradictory or over-explicit orders. A glance at Castlereagh’s dispatches is sufficient to show that he and his colleagues left everything that was possible to be settled by the General, and that they approved each of his determinations as it reached them without any cavilling or criticism[738].

Moore must take the main responsibility for all that happened. On the whole, the impression left after a study of his campaign is very favourable to him. His main conception when he marched from Salamanca—that of gaining time for the rallying of the Spanish armies, by directing a sudden raid upon the Emperor’s communications in Castile—was as sound as it was enterprising. The French critics who have charged him with rashness have never[p. 598] read his dispatches, nor realized the care with which he had thought out the retreat, which he knew would be inevitable when his movement became known at Madrid. He was never for a moment in any serious danger of being surrounded by the Emperor, because he was proceeding (as he himself wrote) ‘bridle in hand,’ and with a full knowledge that he must ‘have a run for it’ on the first receipt of news that Napoleon was upon the march. His plan of making a diversion was a complete success: he drew the Emperor, with the 70,000 men who would otherwise have marched on Lisbon, up into the north-west of the Peninsula, quite out of the main centre of operations. Napoleon himself halted at Astorga, but 45,000 men marched on after the British, and were engulfed in the mountains of Galicia, where they were useless for the main operations of the war. Spain, in short, gained three months of respite, because the main disposable field-army of her invaders had been drawn off into a corner by the unexpected march of the British on Sahagun. ‘As a diversion the movement has answered completely,’ wrote Moore to Castlereagh from Astorga[739], and with justice. That the subsequent retreat to Corunna was also advisable we must concede, though the arguments in favour of attempting a defence of Galicia were more weighty than has generally been allowed[740].

But when we turn to the weeks that preceded the advance from Salamanca, and that followed the departure from Astorga, it is only a very blind admirer of Moore who will contend that everything was arranged and ordered for the best. That the army, which began to arrive at Salamanca on November 13, did not make a forward move till December 12 is a fact which admits of explanation, but not of excuse. The main governing fact of its inactivity was not, as Moore was always urging, the disasters of the Spaniards, but the misdirection of the British cavalry and artillery on the roundabout route by Elvas, Talavera, and the Escurial. For this the British general was personally responsible: we have already shown that he had good reasons for distrusting the erroneous reports on the roads of Portugal which were sent in to him, and that he should not have believed them[741]. He ought to have marched on Almeida, with his troops distributed between the three available roads, and should have had a compact[p. 599] force of all arms concentrated at Salamanca by November 15. Even without Baird he could then have exercised some influence on the course of events. As it was, he condemned himself—by the unmilitary act of separating himself from his guns and his horsemen—to a month of futile waiting, while the fate of the campaign was being settled a hundred and fifty miles away.

The chance that Napoleon turned his whole army upon Madrid, and did not send a single corps in search of the British, gave Moore the grand opportunity for striking at the French communications, which he turned to such good account in the middle of December. But, though he so splendidly vindicated his reputation by this blow, we cannot forget the long hesitation at Salamanca by which it was preceded, nor the unhappy project for instant retreat on Portugal, which was so nearly put into execution. If it had been carried out, Moore’s name would have been relegated to a very low place in the list of British commanders, for he would undoubtedly have evacuated Lisbon, just as he had prepared to evacuate Corunna on the day before he was slain. We have his own words to that effect. On November 25 he put on paper his opinion as to the defence of Portugal. ‘Its frontier,’ he wrote, ‘is not defensible against a superior force. It is an open frontier, all equally rugged, but all equally to be penetrated. If the French succeed in Spain, it will be vain to attempt to resist them in Portugal. The British must in that event immediately take steps to evacuate the country[742].’ It is fortunate that Sir Arthur Wellesley was not of this opinion, or the course of the Peninsular War, and of the whole struggle between Bonaparte and Britain, might have been modified in a very unhappy fashion.

So much must be said of Moore’s earlier faults. Of his later ones, committed after his departure from Astorga, almost as much might be made. His long hesitation, as to whether he should march on Vigo or on Corunna, was inexcusable: at Astorga his mind should have been made up, and the Vigo road (a bad cross-route on which he had not a single magazine) should have been left out of consideration. By failing to make up his mind, and taking useless half-measures, Moore deprived himself of the services of Robert Crawfurd and 3,500 of the best soldiers of his army. But, as we have shown elsewhere, the hesitation was in its origin the result of the groundless hypothesis which Moore had formed—[p. 600]one knows not from what premises—that the French would not be able to pursue him beyond Villafranca.

Still more open to criticism is the headlong pace at which Moore conducted the last stages of the retreat. Napier has tried to represent that the marches were not unreasonable: ‘in eleven days,’ he wrote, ‘a small army passed over a hundred and fifty miles of good road[743].’ But we have to deduct three days of rest, leaving an average of about seventeen miles a day; and this for January marching, in a rugged snow-clad country, is no trifle. For though the road was ‘good,’ in the sense that it was well engineered, it was conducted over ridge after ridge of one of the most mountainous lands in Europe. The desperate uphill gradients between Astorga and Manzanal, and between Villafranca and Cerezal, cannot be measured in mere miles when their difficulty is being estimated. The marching should be calculated by hours, and not by miles. Moreover, Moore repeatedly gave his men night-marches, and even two night-marches on end. Half the horrors of the dreadful stage between Lugo and Betanzos came from the fact that the army started at midnight on January 8-9, only rested a few hours by day, and then marched again at seven on the evening of the ninth, and through the whole of the dark hours between the ninth and tenth. Flesh and blood cannot endure such a trial even in good weather, and these were nights of hurricane and downpour. Who can wonder that even well-disposed and willing men lagged behind, sank down, and died by hundreds under such stress?

All this hurry was unnecessary: whenever the rearguard turned to face the French, Soult was forced to wait for many hours before he could even begin an attempt to evict it. For his infantry was always many miles to the rear, and he could not effect anything with the horsemen of his advanced guard against Paget’s steady battalions—as Cacabellos sufficiently showed. Napier urges that any position that the British took up could be turned by side-roads: this is true, but the flanking movement would always take an inordinate time, and by the moment that the French had started upon it, the British rearguard could have got off in safety, after having delayed the enemy for the best part of a day. If, instead of offering resistance only at Cacabellos, Constantino, and Lugo, Moore had shown fight at three or four other places—e.g. at[p. 601] the narrow pass of Piedrafita, the passage of the Ladra, and the defile of Monte Falqueiro—he need not have hurried his main body beyond their strength, and left the road strewn with so many exhausted stragglers. French and English eye-witnesses alike repeatedly express their surprise that such positions were left undefended. While not disguising the fact that a great proportion of the British losses were due to mere want of discipline and sullen discontent on the part of the rank and file, we cannot fail to see that this was not the sole cause of the disasters of the retreat. The General drove his men beyond their strength, when he might, at the cost of a few rearguard skirmishes, have given them four or five days more in which to accomplish their retreat. Moore arrived at Corunna on January 11: it was January 16 before Soult had so far collected his army that he could venture to attack. At any other point, the result of offering battle would have been much the same. No excuse for Moore can be made on the ground of insufficient supplies: at Villafranca, Lugo, and Betanzos he destroyed enormous quantities of food, and often so imperfectly that the French succeeded in living for several days on what they could save from the flames.

In making these criticisms we are not in the least wishing to impugn Moore’s reputation as a capable officer and a good general. He was both, but his fault was an excessive sense of responsibility. He could never forget that he had in his charge, as was said, ‘not a British army, but the British army’—the one efficient force that the United Kingdom could put into the field. He was loth to risk it, though ultimately he did so in his admirably conceived march on Sahagun. He had also to think of his own career: among his numerous friends and admirers he had a reputation for military infallibility which he was loth to hazard. Acting under a strong sense of duty he did so, but all the while he was anxiously asking himself ‘What will they say at home?’ It was this self-consciousness that was Moore’s weak point. Fortunately he was a man of courage and honour, and at the critical moment recovered the confidence and decision which was sometimes wanting in the hours of doubt and waiting.

Few men have been better loved by those who knew them best. To have served in the regiments which Moore had trained at Shorncliffe in 1803-5, was to be his devoted friend and admirer for life and death. Handsome, courteous, just, and benevolent,[p. 602] unsparing to himself, considerate to his subordinates, he won all hearts. ‘He was a very king of men,’ wrote Charles Napier; and Charles’s more eloquent brother has left him a panegyric such as few generals have merited and fewer still obtained[744].
Vol. II, Jan. - Sep. 1809.PREFACE
Vol. II, Jan. - Sep. 1809. From the Battle of Corunna to
              The End of the Talavera Campaign

The second volume of this work has swelled to an even greater bulk than its predecessor. Its size must be attributed to two main causes: the first is the fact that a much greater number of original sources, both printed and unprinted, are available for the campaigns of 1809 than for those of 1808. The second is that the war in its second year had lost the character of comparative unity which it had possessed in its first. Napoleon, on quitting Spain in January, left behind him as a legacy to his brother a comprehensive plan for the conquest of the whole Peninsula. But that plan was, from the first, impracticable: and when it had miscarried, the fighting in every region of the theatre of war became local and isolated. Neither the harassed and distracted French King at Madrid, nor the impotent Spanish Junta at Seville, knew how to combine and co-ordinate the operations of their various armies into a single logical scheme. Ere long, six or seven campaigns were taking place simultaneously in different corners of the Peninsula, each of which was practically independent of the others. Every French and Spanish general fought for his own hand, with little care for what his colleagues were doing: their only unanimity was that all alike kept urging on their central governments the plea that their own particular section of the war was more critical and important than any other. If we look at the month of May, 1809, we find that the[p. iv] following six disconnected series of operations were all in progress at once, and that each has to be treated as a separate unit, rather than as a part of one great general scheme of strategy—(1) Soult’s campaign against Wellesley in Northern Portugal, (2) Ney’s invasion of the Asturias, (3) Victor’s and Cuesta’s movements in Estremadura, (4) Sebastiani’s demonstrations against Venegas in La Mancha, (5) Suchet’s contest with Blake in Aragon, (6) St. Cyr’s attempt to subdue Catalonia. When a war has broken up into so many fractions, it becomes not only hard to follow but very lengthy to narrate. Fortunately for the historian and the student, a certain amount of unity is restored in July, mainly owing to the fact that the master-mind of Wellesley has been brought to bear upon the situation. When the British general attempted to combine with the Spanish armies of Estremadura and La Mancha for a common march upon Madrid, the whole of the hostile forces in the Peninsula [with the exception of those in Aragon and Catalonia] were once more drawn into a single scheme of operations. Hence the Talavera campaign is the central fact in the annals of the Peninsular War for the year 1809. I trust that it will not be considered that I have devoted a disproportionate amount of space to the setting forth and discussion of the various problems which it involved.

The details of the battle of Talavera itself have engaged my special attention. I thought it worth while to go very carefully over the battle-field, which fortunately remains much as it was in 1809. A walk around it explained many difficulties, but suggested certain others, which I have done my best to solve.

In several other chapters of this volume I dis[p. v]covered that a personal inspection of localities produced most valuable results. At Oporto, for example, I found Wellesley’s passage of the Douro assuming a new aspect when studied on the spot. Not one of the historians who have dealt with it has taken the trouble to mention that the crossing was effected at a point where the Douro runs between lofty and precipitous cliffs, towering nearly 200 feet above the water’s edge! Yet this simple fact explains how it came to pass that the passage was effected at all—the French, on the plateau above the river, could not see what was going on at the bottom of the deeply sunk gorge, which lies in a ‘dead angle’ to any observer who has not come forward to the very edge of the cliff. I have inserted a photograph of the spot, which will explain the situation at a glance. From Napier’s narrative and plan I am driven to conclude that he had either never seen the ground, or had forgotten its aspect after the lapse of years.

A search in the Madrid Deposito de la Guerra produced a few important documents for the Talavera campaign, and was made most pleasant by the extreme courtesy of the officers in charge. It is curious to find that our London Record Office contains a good many Spanish dispatches which do not survive at Madrid. This results from the laudable zeal with which Mr. Frere, when acting as British minister at Seville, sent home copies of every Spanish document, printed or unprinted, on which he could lay his hands. Once or twice he thus preserved invaluable ‘morning states’ of the Peninsular armies, which it would otherwise have been impossible to recover. Among our other representatives in Spain Captain Carroll was the only one who possessed to a[p. vi] similar degree this admirable habit of collecting original documents and statistics. His copious ‘enclosures’ to Lord Castlereagh are of the greatest use for the comprehension of the war in the Asturias and Galicia.

Neither Napier nor any other historian of the Peninsular War has gone into the question of Beresford’s reorganization of the Portuguese army. Comparing English and Portuguese documents, I have succeeded in working it out, and trust that Chapter III of Section XIII, and Appendix No. V, may suffice to demonstrate Beresford’s very real services to the allied cause.

It is my pleasant duty to acknowledge much kind help that I have received from correspondents on both sides of the sea, who have come to my aid in determining points of difficulty. Of those in England I must make particular notice of Colonel F. A. Whinyates, R.A., a specialist in all matters connected with the British artillery. I owe to him my Appendix No. XI, which he was good enough to draw up, as well as the loan of several unpublished diaries of officers of his own arm, from which I have extracted some useful and interesting facts. I must also express my obligation to Mr. E. Mayne, for information relating to Sir Robert Wilson’s Loyal Lusitanian Legion, of which his relative, Colonel W. Mayne, was in 1809 the second-in-command. The excerpts which he was kind enough to collect for me have proved of great service, and could not have been procured from any other quarter. Nor must I omit to thank two other correspondents, Colonel Willoughby Verner and the Rev. Alexander Craufurd, for their notes concerning the celebrated ‘Light Division,’ in which the one is interested as the historian of the old 95th, and[p. vii] the other as the grandson of Robert Craufurd, of famous memory.

Of helpers from beyond the Channel I must make special mention of Commandant Balagny, the author of Napoléon en Espagne, who has supplied me with a great number of official documents from Paris, and in especial with a quantity of statistics, many of them hitherto unpublished, which serve to fix the strength and the losses of various French corps in 1809. I also owe to him my Appendix VI (iii), a most interesting résumé of the material in the French archives relating to the strange ‘Oporto conspiracy’ of Captain Argenton and his confederates. This obscure chapter of the history of the Peninsular War is, I think, brought out in its true proportions by the juxtaposition of the English and French documents. It is clear that Soult’s conduct was far more sinister than Napier will allow, and also that the plot to depose the Marshal was the work of a handful of military intriguers, not of the great body of highly-placed conspirators in whose existence the mendacious Argenton has induced some historians to believe.

At Madrid General Arteche placed at my disposal, with the most bountiful liberality, his immense stores of knowledge, which I had learnt to appreciate long before, as a conscientious student of his Guerra de la Independencia. He pointed out to me many new sources, which had escaped my notice, and was good enough to throw light on many problems which had been vexing me. For his genial kindness I cannot too strongly express my obligation.

Of the officers at the Madrid Deposito de la Guerra, whose courtesy I have mentioned above, I must give special thanks to Captain Emilio Figueras, from[p. viii] whom (just as these pages are going to press) I have received some additional figures relating to the Army of Estremadura in 1809.

Finally, as in my first volume, I must make special acknowledgement of the assistance of two helpers in Oxford—the indefatigable compiler of the Index, and Mr. C. E. Doble, whose corrections and suggestions have been as valuable in 1903 as in 1902.
C. OMAN.

All Souls College,
June 20, 1903.

SECTION IX  AFTER CORUNNA (JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1809) CHAPTER I
THE CONSEQUENCES OF MOORE’S DIVERSION: RALLY OF THE SPANISH ARMIES: BATTLE OF UCLES

With the departure of Napoleon from Madrid on December 21, the offensive action of the French army in central Spain came to a stand. The Emperor had taken away with him the field army, which had been destined to deliver those blows at Lisbon and Seville that were to end the war. The troops which he had left behind him in the neighbourhood of Madrid were inadequate in numbers for any further advance, and were forced to adopt a defensive attitude. The only regions in which the invaders continued to pursue an active policy were Aragon and Catalonia, from which, on account of their remoteness, the Emperor had not withdrawn any troops for his great encircling movement against Sir John Moore. In both those provinces important operations began on the very day on which Bonaparte set out to hunt the English army: it was on December 21 that Lannes commenced the second siege of Saragossa, and that St. Cyr, after relieving Barcelona, scattered the army of Catalonia at the battle of Molins de Rey. But the campaigns of Aragon and Catalonia were both of secondary importance, when compared with the operations in central Spain. As the whole history of the war was to show, the progress of events in the valley of the lower Ebro and in the Catalan hills never exercised much influence on the affairs of Castile and Portugal. It is not, therefore, too much to assert that it was Moore’s march on Sahagun, and that march alone, which paralysed the main scheme of the Emperor for the conquest of Spain.

Between December 21 and January 2 the central reserves[p. 2] of the French army had been hurried away to the Esla and the plains of northern Leon. It was not till the new year had come that the Emperor began to think of sending some of them back to the neighbourhood of Madrid. The 8th Corps had been incorporated with the 2nd, and sent in pursuit of Moore: the corps of Ney and the division of Lapisse were left to support Soult in his invasion of Galicia. The Imperial Guard marched back to Valladolid. Of all the troops which had been distracted to the north-west, only Dessolles’ division of the Central Reserve returned to the capital. Such a reinforcement was far from being enough to enable Joseph Bonaparte, and his military adviser Jourdan, to assume the offensive towards the valleys of the Tagus and Guadiana. The consequences of Moore’s diversion were not only far-reaching but prolonged: it was not till the middle of March that the army of the king was able to resume the attempt to march on Seville, and by that time the condition of affairs had been profoundly modified, to the advantage of the Spaniards.

The intervening time was not one of rest for Joseph and his army. Their movements require careful attention. When Napoleon hurried the main body of his troops across the Somosierra in pursuit of the British, he left behind him the corps of Victor, shorn of Lapisse’s division, the whole of the corps of Lefebvre[1], and the three independent cavalry divisions of Lasalle, Latour-Maubourg and Milhaud—in all 8,000 horse and 28,000 foot with ninety guns. There was also the Royal Guard of King Joseph, four battalions of foot, and a regiment of horse, beside two skeleton regiments of Spanish deserters, which the ‘Intrusive King’ was raising as the nucleus of a new army of his own[2].

[p. 3]

Of these troops the incomplete German division of Leval (2nd of the 4th Corps) and King Joseph’s guards formed the garrison of Madrid. This force seeming too small, the division of Ruffin (1st of the 1st Corps) was ordered in to reinforce them. The rest of the army lay in two concentric semicircles outside Madrid: the inner semicircle was formed of infantry: there was a regiment at Guadalajara[3], a whole division under Marshal Victor himself at Aranjuez[4], and two divisions of the 4th Corps under Marshal Lefebvre at Talavera[5]. Outside these troops was a great cavalry screen. In front of Victor the three cavalry brigades of Latour-Maubourg’s division lay respectively at Tarancon, Oca?a, and Madridejos, watching the three roads from La Mancha. West of them lay Milhaud’s division of dragoons, in front of Talavera, in the direction of Navalmoral and San Vincente, observing the passes of the Sierra de Toledo. Lastly, as a sort of advanced guard in the direction of Estremadura, Lasalle’s light cavalry had pushed on to the great bridge of Almaraz, behind which the wrecks of the mutinous armies of Belvedere and San Juan were beginning to collect, under their new commander Galluzzo[6].

The Emperor’s parting orders to Jourdan had been to send forward Lasalle and Lefebvre to deal a blow at the Estremaduran army. They had, he wrote, twice the numbers necessary to break up the small force of disorganized troops in front of them. On December 24, Lefebvre was to cross the Tagus, scatter Galluzzo’s men to the winds, and then come back to Talavera, after building a tête-de-pont at Almaraz. Lasalle’s cavalry would be capable of looking after what was left of this force, for it would not give trouble again for many a week to come. Victor, on the side of La Mancha, must keep watch on any movements of the Spaniards from the direction of Cuenca or the Sierra Morena. He would have no difficulty in holding them off, for ‘all the débris of the insurgent armies combined could[p. 4] not face even the 8,000 French cavalry left in front of them—to say nothing of the infantry behind[7].’

The first portion of the orders of the Emperor was duly carried out. On December 24 the Duke of Dantzig advanced from Talavera upon the bridges of Arzobispo and Almaraz, behind which lay 6,000 or 7,000 of Galluzzo’s dispirited levies. He made no more than a feint at the first-mentioned passage, but attacking the more important bridge of Almaraz carried it at the first rush, and took the four guns which Galluzzo had mounted on the southern bank to command the defile. The Spaniards, scattered in all directions, abandoned the banks of the Tagus, and placed themselves in safety behind the rugged Sierra de Guadalupe. So far the Emperor’s design was carried out: but Lefebvre then took a most extraordinary step. Instead of returning, as he had been ordered, to Talavera, and remaining in that central position till further orders should be sent him, he went off on an inexplicable adventure of his own. Leaving only Lasalle’s cavalry and two Polish battalions on the Tagus, he turned north, as if intending to join the Emperor, crossed the mountains between New and Old Castile, and on January 5 appeared at Avila in the latter province[8]. Not only was the march in complete contravention of the Emperor’s orders, but it was carried out in disobedience to five separate dispatches sent from Madrid by Jourdan, in the name of King Joseph. Lefebvre paid no attention whatever to the ‘lieutenant of the Emperor,’ in spite of vehement representations to the effect that he was exposing Madrid by this eccentric movement. It was indeed an unhappy inspiration that led him to Avila, for at this precise moment the Spaniards were commencing a wholly unexpected offensive advance against the Spanish capital, which Lefebvre, if he had remained at Talavera, might have aided in repelling. Much incensed at his disobedience Napoleon deprived him of the command of the 4th Corps, and sent him back to France. ‘This marshal,’ he wrote to King Joseph, ‘does nothing[p. 5] but make blunders: he cannot seize the meaning of the orders sent him. It is impossible to leave him in command of a corps;—which is a pity, for he is a brave enough fellow on the battle-field[9].’ Sebastiani, Lefebvre’s senior divisional general, replaced him in command of his corps.

The new Spanish advance upon Madrid requires a word of explanation. We have seen that the weary and dilapidated Army of the Centre, now commanded by the Duke of Infantado, had reached Cuenca on December 10, after escaping from the various snares which Napoleon had set for it during its march from Calatayud to the valley of the upper Tagus. When he had escaped from Bessières’ pursuit, the duke proceeded to give his army a fortnight’s much-needed rest in the mountain villages round Cuenca. He sent back to Valencia the wrecks of Roca’s division, which had originally been raised in that kingdom. It had dwindled down to 1,455 men, from its original 8,000[10]. The other troops, the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th divisions of the old army of Andalusia[11], had not suffered quite so much, as they had not been seriously engaged at Tudela, but they were half-starved and very disorderly. Infantado was forced to shoot an officer and two sergeants for open mutiny before he could restore the elements of discipline[12].

The province of Cuenca is the most thinly peopled and desolate of all the regions of Spain[13], and though some stores and food were procured from Valencia, it was impossible to re-equip the army in a satisfactory way. Winter clothing, in particular, was absolutely unprocurable, and if the men had not been placed under roofs in Cuenca and the villages around, they[p. 6] must have perished of cold. But a fortnight’s rest did much for them: many stragglers came up from the rear, a few reinforcements were received, and to the surprise of the whole army the brigade of the Conde de Alacha, which had been cut off from the rest of the troops on the day of Tudela, turned up intact to join its division. This detachment, it will be remembered[14], had been left in the mountains near Agreda, to observe the advance of Marshal Ney: after the rout it had nearly fallen into the hands of the 6th Corps, and had been forced to turn off into obscure by-paths. Then, passing in haste between the French divisions in New Castile, it had finally succeeded in reaching Cuenca.

Infantado, finding that the French still hung back and advanced no further into his mountain refuge, proceeded to reorganize his army; the three weakened battalions of the old line regiments were consolidated into two or often into one. The four divisions of the original Andalusian host were amalgamated into two, with an extra ‘vanguard’ and ‘reserve’ composed of the best troops[15]. This rearrangement had not yet been fully completed when the duke made up his mind that he would venture on an advance against Madrid. He could learn of nothing save cavalry in his front, and he had received early notice of the departure of Napoleon to the north. Giving the command of his vanguard and the greater part of his cavalry to General Venegas, he bade him descend into the plains, and endeavour to surprise the brigade of dragoons which lay at Tarancon[16]. This task Venegas attempted to execute on Christmas Day: he had already turned the town with half his force, and placed himself across the line of retreat of the dragoons, before they knew of his approach. Warned, just in time of his danger, the French brigadier resolved to cut his way through: he charged down on the enemy, who fell into a line of battalion squares with long intervals between them. Dashing between the squares the two regiments got through with the loss of fifty or sixty men. The Spanish cavalry, which arrived late on the field, made no attempt to pursue. On the same day Infantado had sent out another column under[p. 7] General Senra, with orders to march on Aranjuez: finding that it was held not only by cavalry but by a heavy force of infantry, the Spanish brigadier wisely halted at a discreet distance, for which he was sharply taken to task by his chief. It is certain that if he had gone on, Victor would have made mincemeat of his little force of 4,000 men.

Although the advance of Venegas and Senra soon stopped short, the news that the Spaniards were descending in force into the plain of New Castile was most discomposing to King Joseph, who was at this moment very weak in troops. Lefebvre had just started on his eccentric march to Avila: Dessolles was not yet back from the north, and there was no disposable reserve at Madrid save the single division of Ruffin, for the king’s guards and Leval’s Germans were barely enough to hold down the capital, and could not be moved. The situation was made worse by the revolt of several of the small towns of the upper Tagus, including Chinchon and Colmenar, which rose under the belief that Infantado’s army would soon be at their gates. There was nothing between the duke and Madrid save the single infantry division of Villatte, which lay with Marshal Victor at Aranjuez, and the six dragoon regiments of Latour-Maubourg, a force of little more than 9,000 sabres and bayonets.

Fortunately for King Joseph, Infantado was a most incapable general, and allowed his opportunity to slip by. By driving in the French cavalry screen, he had given notice of his existence, and spread alarm up to the gates of Madrid. But in order to profit by the situation he should have dashed in at once, before the enemy had time to draw together. If he had marched from Cuenca with his reserves, in the wake of Venegas, he could have brought 20,000 men to bear upon Victor, before the latter could receive the very moderate succours that King Joseph could send him. Instead of doing anything of the kind, he remained quiescent at his head quarters, and did not even send Venegas any further orders, either to advance or to retreat. From December 26 to January 11, the Spanish vanguard lay at Tarancon, as if with the express intention of giving the French time to concentrate. The duke meanwhile, as his dispatches show, was drawing up a grandiose plan of operations, which[p. 8] included not only the eviction of King Joseph from Madrid, but the cutting of Napoleon’s communication and the raising of the siege of Saragossa! He was most anxious to induce the Central Junta to move forward all their other forces to aid him. But they could do nothing, so deplorable was the state of their army, but bid the weak division of 6,000 men, which was guarding the Sierra Morena, to begin a demonstration in La Mancha. In pursuance of this order Del Palacio made a forward movement, as dangerous as it was useless, to Villaharta on the upper Guadiana.

Jourdan and the Intrusive King, meanwhile, were for ten days in a state of great anxiety, expecting every moment to hear that the whole Spanish army had descended from the mountains and thrown itself upon the upper Tagus. They ordered Victor to move from Aranjuez to Arganda to parry such a blow, and made preparations for reinforcing him with Ruffin’s division, while the rest of the garrison of Madrid, with the French civilians, and the mass of Afrancesados, were to shut themselves up in the forts on the Retiro, being too few to hold the entire city. But the expected advance of Infantado never occurred, and Jourdan and Victor were able to put down the insurrection of the little towns in the plain without any interruption. Chinchon was stormed, and the whole male population put to the sword; at Colmenar there were executions on a large scale, and a fine of 50,000 piastres was levied. The rest of the insurgents fled to the hills[17].

On January 8, 1809, the fears of Joseph and Jourdan came to a happy end, for on that day the division of Dessolles marched in from Old Castile, while on the 10th the 4th Corps appeared, having been sent back in haste from Avila by the Emperor. This reinforcement of more than 20,000 men completely cleared the situation. The French line of defence could now be re-established: Valence’s Polish division was placed at Toledo: Leval’s Germans, completed by the arrival of their belated Dutch brigade, were sent to Talavera. Sebastiani’s[p. 9] division, with Dessolles and the king’s guard, remained to garrison Madrid. Ruffin was sent out to join Victor, who was ordered to march at once on Tarancon and fall upon the Spanish corps which had remained there in such strange torpidity since Christmas day[18]. The Emperor, sending these orders from Valladolid, expressed himself in a somewhat contemptuous strain as to his brother’s fears. ‘The army of Casta?os’ (i.e. of Infantado) ‘was as great a fiction as that of La Romana: rumour made them 20,000 strong, while really there were not more than 5,000 of them[19]. Victor had ten times as many men as were necessary for clearing off the Spaniards. The panic at Madrid had been absurd and discreditable: all that was wanted was to catch and hang a dozen mauvais sujets, and the capital would keep quiet.’

On January 12 Victor marched from Aranjuez with the twenty-one battalions of Villatte’s and Ruffin’s divisions, the squadrons of light horse which formed his corps-cavalry, and the three brigades of dragoons composing the division of Latour-Maubourg—in all some 12,000 foot and 3,500 horse. He did not find Venegas at Tarancon: on hearing that the French were massing in front of him, that officer had called in the outlying brigade of Senra, and had retired ten miles to Ucles, in the foot-hills of the mountains of Cuenca. He sent news of Victor’s approach to Infantado, but the latter gave him no definite orders either to fight or to retreat. He merely forwarded to him three or four more battalions of infantry, and announced that he was coming up from Cuenca with the reserves: he fixed no date for his probable arrival.

Much troubled by the want of definite orders, Venegas doubted whether he ought to hold his ground and await his chief, or fall back into the mountains. After some hesitation he resolved to take the more dangerous course, tempted by the fine position of Ucles, which offered every advantage for a defensive action. He had with him about 9,500 infantry in twenty-two very weak battalions, some of which had no more than 250 or 300 bayonets. Of cavalry he had nine incomplete[p. 10] regiments, giving only 1,800 sabres[20]. There were but five guns with the army, of which one had broken down, and was not fit for service. The town of Ucles lies in the midst of a long ridge stretching north-east and south-west, with a steep slope towards the plain, from which the French were approaching. Venegas drew up his men in a single long line, with the town in the centre. Four battalions were barricaded in Ucles: six took post to the left of it, eight to the right. Only one was held back in reserve, but three with four regiments of cavalry were left out in front, to observe the French advance, in the neighbourhood of the village of Tribaldos. The four guns and the remainder of the cavalry were drawn up before the town. It is almost needless to point out the faults of this order-of-battle—over-great extension and the want of a reserve. The position was too long for the numbers available. Moreover the men were not in good fighting trim: though several of the old regiments from Baylen were among them, their spirits were low: they had not yet recovered from the dreadful fatigues of the retreat from Tudela, and they had little confidence in their leaders.

Victor marched from Tarancon at daybreak on January 13, with one division on each of the two routes which lead eastward from that place, Villatte’s on the southern road which goes directly to Ucles, Ruffin’s on the longer and more circuitous path, which, running parallel to the other, ultimately rejoins it at Carrascosa some way behind that town. The majority of Latour-Maubourg’s cavalry accompanied the former column.

Already on the previous night Victor’s vedettes had discovered the Spanish outpost at Tribaldos: very early on the following morning it was driven in by the advance of Villatte’s column, and joined the main body of the army of Venegas. The Marshal then pushed forward to the foot of the hills, to reconnoitre the enemy’s position. Having discerned the lie of the ground, and the distribution of the Spanish forces, his mind was soon made up. Orders were promptly sent to Ruffin to leave the road on which he was advancing, and to close in upon the right flank[p. 11] and rear of Venegas’s army. Meanwhile Villatte and the cavalry drew up in front of Ucles, with a strength of about 7,000 bayonets and 2,500 sabres. The dragoons were placed in the centre; in front of them was ranged a battery, which commenced to shell the town and the Spanish horse drawn up before its gates. This was only a demonstration: the real blow was to be given by an attack on the Spanish left, where the hillside was of easier access than on the steep and rocky northern end of the ridge. Villatte’s second brigade, the 94th and 95th regiments, executed a circular march under the eyes of the enemy, and having turned their extreme flank, rapidly climbed the hill and formed up at right angles to the Spanish line. These six battalions fell upon the exposed wing and rolled it up without much difficulty, till they arrived under the very walls of Ucles, driving the enemy before them. Venegas, who was watching the fight from the court of the monastery which dominates the town, had tried to hurry up reinforcements from his right wing: but they arrived too late to be of any use. When the attack on the enemy’s left was seen to be making good progress, and the attention of the Spaniards was distracted to that point, Victor directed the first brigade of Villatte’s division to assail the steep hill on the Spanish right. They carried it with ease, for half the defenders had been withdrawn to reinforce the left, and the rest were demoralized by the evident disaster on the other flank. The whole of Venegas’s army fled eastward without any further endeavour to hold their ground, the considerable force of cavalry in the centre making no attempt, as it would appear, to cover the retreat of the foot. Such rearguard as there was consisted of two or three infantry battalions under General Giron.

Suddenly the Spaniards of the right wing and centre saw rising up in front of them, as they fled, an imposing line of French infantry, barring their further progress. This force consisted of the nine battalions of Ruffin’s division. They had lost their way while seeking for the Spanish flank, and (like Ferguson at Roli?a) made too wide a circle to enable them to intervene in the actual fighting. But the very length of their turning movement proved advantageous, as they had now got into the direct rear of the retreating army. Driven on by[p. 12] the pursuing dragoons of Latour-Maubourg, the Spaniards found themselves rushing into the very arms of Ruffin’s division. The disaster was complete, and more than half of Venegas’s army was encircled and captured. Most of the cavalry, indeed, escaped, by dispersing and riding rapidly round the flanks of Ruffin’s line. But the slow-moving infantry was trapped: a few battalions from the left wing got off to the south-east, and General Giron with a remnant of his brigade cut his way through a gap between two French regiments. All the rest had to surrender.

Of Venegas’s 11,000 men, about 1,000 had been killed or wounded: four generals, seventeen colonels, 306 other officers and 5,560 rank and file were captured[21]. The French secured the four guns which formed the sole artillery of the beaten army, and twenty standards[22]. Their own loss was insignificant—Victor returned his total casualties at 150 men, and probably did not much understate them, as he had met with no serious resistance.

Though they had suffered so little, the French showed great ferocity after the fight. They not only sacked the town of Ucles, but executed in cold blood sixty-nine of its notables, including many monks, who were accused of having fired on the assailants from their convent windows. When the column of Spanish prisoners was sent off to Madrid, orders were given (it is said by Victor himself) that those who would not keep up with the rest should be shot, and we have good French authority to the effect that this was regularly done; thirty or more a day, mostly the wounded and the sick, were shot by the wayside when they dropped behind[23].

What, meanwhile, had happened to the Spanish Commander-in-chief, and the 9,000 men whom he had retained at Cuenca? Infantado had started to join Venegas on January 12: he slept that night at Horcajada, fifteen miles to the east of Ucles.[p. 13] Resuming his march next morning, he had got as far as Carrascosa, when a disorderly mob of 2,000 routed infantry hurtled into his vanguard. Questioning the fugitives, he learnt the details of the battle of Ucles, and found that the victorious army of the French was only five miles away. Then with a promptitude very different from his torpor of the last three weeks, the duke turned his column to the rear, and made off with all speed. He first returned to his base at Cuenca to pick up his baggage and stores, and then marched by vile cross-roads and in abominable weather to Chinchilla in the kingdom of Murcia, which he reached on January 20. His artillery, forced to go at a snail’s pace among the hills and torrents, and escorted by a single cavalry regiment only, was surprised and captured by Digeon’s dragoons at Tortola, a few miles to the south of Cuenca (Jan. 18). Fifteen guns were lost on this occasion: several of the French authorities ingeniously add them to the trophies of Ucles, and write as if they had all been taken from Venegas in open battle[24].

Victor after occupying Cuenca, and finding that Infantado was now too far away to be pursued with any chance of success, turned down into the plains of La Mancha, to strike at the small Andalusian force which had advanced under Del Palacio, to lend countenance to Infantado’s projects for a march on Madrid. This division, some 6,000 strong, had reached Villaharta on the upper Guadiana, but when the news of Ucles arrived, its commander hastily drew it back to the foot of the passes. Finding no enemy to attack, Victor, after crossing La Mancha unopposed, took up his post at Madridejos, on the high-road between Madrid and the Despe?a Perros, and waited for further orders from Head Quarters.

It was only after the victory of Ucles that King Joseph was permitted by his brother to make his formal entry into Madrid. Up to this moment he had been told to stop at the Palace of the Pardo, far outside the walls, and only to pay furtive and unostentatious visits to his official abode in the city. When the inhabitants of the capital had been sufficiently impressed by[p. 14] the arrival of the numerous columns of the 4th Corps and of Dessolles, and had seen the banners and the prisoners taken at Ucles paraded through their streets, their king was once more sent among them. Joseph made his appearance on January 22, passed through a long lane of French bayonets to the church of San Isidro, where a Te Deum was chanted for the late victories, and then entered his palace. Here he received numerous deputations of Spaniards who swore him fealty. But the moral effect of these oaths was not very great, for the local notables attended under the pressure of the bayonet. Napoleon had sent orders that every town in Castile of more than 2,000 souls must dispatch delegates to Madrid, or the consequences would be unpleasant[25]. The delegates appeared, but it may be guessed with what feelings they mouthed their oaths and their protestations of joy and loyalty. Yet Joseph, determined to play the part of the benevolent monarch, took the whole farce seriously, and answered with lavish declarations of his love and sympathy for the great Spanish nation. Sentiments of the kind were to be the staple of his fruitless and copious oratory for the next four years. His heart would have sunk within him if only he could have recognized their futility: but 1809 was but just beginning, and he was far from realizing the full meaning of his position: it took a very long time to thoroughly disenchant this hard-working and well-meaning prince.
SECTION IX: CHAPTER II
NAPOLEON’S DEPARTURE FROM SPAIN: HIS PLANS FOR THE TERMINATION OF THE WAR: THE COUNTER-PLANS OF THE JUNTA

Four days after the battle of Ucles Napoleon quitted Spain. He had rested at Valladolid from January 6 to January 17, after his return from the pursuit of Sir John Moore. Though he had failed to entrap the British Army he was not discontented with his achievements. He was fully convinced that he had broken the back of the Spanish insurrection, and that he could safely return to France, leaving the completion of the work to his brother and his marshals. He was anxious to hear that Saragossa had fallen, and that the English had been driven out of the Peninsula. When these two events should have come to pass, his armies might resume, under the guidance of his subordinates, the original advance against Portugal and Andalusia which had been so effectually frustrated by Moore’s daring move.

Meanwhile he spent full eleven days at Valladolid, busy with all manner of desk-work, connected not merely with Spain, but with the affairs of the whole continent. He was evidently anxious to leave an impression of terror behind him: he hectored and bullied the unfortunate Spanish deputations that were compelled to come before him in the most insulting fashion. His harangues generally wound up with the declaration that if he was ever forced to come back to Spain in arms, he would remove his brother Joseph, and divide the realm into subject provinces, which should be governed by martial law. Some French soldiers (probably marauders) having been assassinated, he arrested and threatened to hang the whole municipality of Valladolid, finally releasing them only when three persons accused (rightly or wrongly) of the murders were delated to him[p. 16] and executed. He sent advice to King Joseph to deal in the same way with Madrid: nothing would keep the capital quiet, he wrote, but a good string of executions[26]. It was to be many years before he realized that hanging did no good in Spain, and was only repaid by additional assassinations. In return for this good advice to his brother, he extorted from him fifty of the choicest pictures of the royal gallery at Madrid; but in compensation Joseph was invited to annex all that he might choose from the private collections of the exiled Spanish nobility and the monasteries of the capital[27].

Suggestions have sometimes been made that Napoleon hastened his departure from Spain, because he saw that the suppression of the insurrection would take a much longer time than he had originally supposed, and because he wished to transfer to other hands the lengthy and inglorious task of hunting down the last armies of the Junta. This view is certainly erroneous: his three months’ stay in Spain had not opened the Emperor’s eyes to the difficulties of the business that he had taken in hand. Though many of his couriers and aides-de-camp had already been ambuscaded and shot by the peasantry, though he was already beginning to see that a blockhouse and a garrison would have to be placed at every stage on the high-roads, he believed that these sinister signs were temporary, and that the country-side, after a few sanguinary lessons had been given, would sink down into the quiet of despair.

His final legacy to his brother, on departing, was a long dispatch giving a complete plan of operations for the next campaign. Soult, after forcing the English to embark, was to march on Oporto. Napoleon calculated that he ought to capture it on February 1, and that on February 10 he would be[p. 17] in front of Lisbon. The Portuguese levies he practically disregarded as a fighting force, and he was ignorant that there still remained 8,000 or 10,000 British troops on the Tagus, who would serve to stiffen their resistance.

When Soult should have captured Oporto, and be well on the way to Lisbon, Victor was to go forward with his own 1st Corps, the division of Leval from the 4th Corps, and the cavalry of Milhaud, Latour-Maubourg, and Lasalle. He was to strike at Estremadura, occupy Merida and Badajoz, and join hands with Soult along the Tagus. Lisbon being reduced, Victor was to borrow a division from Soult and march on Seville with 40,000 men. With such a force, as the Emperor calculated, he would subdue the whole of Andalusia with ease.

Meanwhile Saragossa must (as Napoleon rightly thought) fall some time in February. When it was disposed of, the 3rd and 5th Corps would provide a garrison for Aragon, and then march on Valencia, which would be attacked and subdued much about the same time that Victor would arrive at Seville. St. Cyr would have made an end of the Catalans long before. Thus the whole Peninsula would be subdued ere the summer was over. There was nowhere a Spanish army that could make head against even 10,000 French troops. The only possible complication would be that Moore’s army might conceivably take ship, not for England, but for Lisbon or Cadiz. If the English, ‘the only enemy who could create difficulties,’ took this course, the Emperor might have to give further orders. But it does not seem that he regarded this as a likely contingency, since he had conceived an even exaggerated idea of the losses and demoralization which the British had suffered in the retreat to Corunna. To Joseph he wrote, ‘reserve yourself for the expedition to Andalusia, which may start three weeks hence. With 40,000 men, marching by an unexpected route [i.e. by Badajoz, not by La Carolina], you will surprise the enemy and force him to submit. This is an operation which will make an end of the war: I leave the glory of it to you[28].’ To Jerome Napoleon he wrote in the most laconic style, ‘the Spanish affair is done with[29],’ and then proceeded to discuss the general politics of the[p. 18] Continent, as if his whole attention could now be given to the doings of Austria and Russia. On January 18 he rode out of Valladolid, and after six days of incessant travel reached Paris on the 24th. His first care after his arrival was to scare the intriguers of the capital into good behaviour. His second was to endeavour to treat Austria after the same fashion. He had not yet made up his mind whether the ministers of Francis II meant mischief, or whether they had merely been presuming on his long absence in Spain: on the whole he thought that they could be reduced to order by bold language, and by the ostentatious movement of troops on the Rhine and upper Danube. But he was not sure of his conclusion: in his correspondence letters stating that Austria has been brought to reason, alternate with others in which she is accused of incorrigible perversity, and a design to make war in the spring[30]. The Emperor’s suspicions are most clearly shown by the fact that in February he ordered the whole of the Imperial Guard, except two battalions and three squadrons, to be brought up from Spain and directed on Paris[31]. In the same month he sent secret orders to the princes of the Confederation of the Rhine, to bid them be ready to mobilize their contingents at short notice.

It is clear that as regards the affairs of Spain the Emperor was in January and February, 1809, as much deluded as he had been seven months before, in June, 1808. The whole plan of campaign which he dictated at Valladolid, and sent as his parting gift to Joseph and Jourdan, was absolutely impracticable, and indicated a fundamental ignorance of the character of the Spanish war. It would have been a perfectly sensible document if the struggle had been raging in Italy or Germany, though even there the calculations of distance and time would have been rather hazardous. Twenty-three days were given to Soult to expel the English, to pacify Galicia, to take Oporto,[p. 19] and to march on Lisbon! Even granting that all had gone as the Emperor desired, the estimate was too short by half. It was midwinter; Galicia and northern Portugal form one of the most mountainous regions in Europe: their roads are vile; their food supplies are scanty; their climate at that season of the year detestable. Clearly the task given to Soult could not be executed in the prescribed time[32].

But this is a minor point: it was not so much in his ‘logistics’ that the Emperor went wrong as in his general conception of the character of the war. He imagined that in dealing with Spain he might act as if he were dealing with Austria or Prussia—indeed that he had an enormous extra advantage in the fact that the armies of Ferdinand VII were infinitely inferior in mere fighting power to those of Francis II or Frederick William III. By all the ordinary rules of modern warfare, a nation whose capital had been occupied, and whose regular armies had been routed and half-destroyed, ought to have submitted without further trouble. The Emperor was a little surprised that the effect of Espinosa and Gamonal, of Tudela and Ucles, had not been greater. He had almost expected to receive overtures from the Junta, asking for terms of submission. But somewhat disappointed though he might be, he had not yet realized that Spain was not as other countries. The occupation of Madrid counted for little or nothing. The insurrectionary armies, when driven into a corner, did not capitulate, but dispersed, and fled in small parties over the hills, to reunite on the first opportunity. Prussian or Austrian troops under similar circumstances would have quietly laid down their arms. But to endeavour to grasp a Spanish corps was like clutching at a ball of quicksilver: the mass dispersed in driblets between the fingers of the manipulator, and the small rolling pellets ultimately united to form a new force. Large captures of Spaniards only took place on the actual battle-field (as at Ucles or Oca?a), or when an army had shut itself up in a fortress and could not get away, as happened at Saragossa and Badajoz. Unless actually penned in between bayonets, the insurgents abandoned cannon and[p. 20] baggage, broke their ranks and disappeared, to gather again on some more propitious day, either as fresh armies or as guerrilla bands operating upon the victor’s lines of communication.

Nor was this all: in Italy, Germany, and Austria Bonaparte had dealt with regions where the population remained quiescent when once the regular army had been beaten. Risings like that of Verona in 1797, or of the Tyrol in 1805, were exceptional. The French army was wont to go forward without being forced to leave large garrisons behind it, to hold down the conquered country-side. A battalion or two placed in the chief towns sufficed to secure the communication of the army with France. Small parties, or even single officers bearing dispatches, could ride safely for many miles through an Italian or Austrian district without being molested. It was not thus in Spain: the Emperor was to find that every village where there was not a French garrison would be a focus of active resistance, and that no amount of shooting or hanging would cow the spirits of the peasantry. It was only after scores of aides-de-camp had been murdered or captured, and after countless small detachments had been destroyed, that he came to realize that every foot of Spanish soil must not only be conquered but also held down. If there was a square of ten miles unoccupied, a guerrilla band arose in it. If a district thirty miles long lacked a brigade to garrison it, a local junta with a ragged apology for an army promptly appeared. Three hundred thousand men look a large force on paper, but when they have to hold down a country five hundred miles broad they are frittered away to nothing. This Great Britain knows well enough from her recent South African experience: but it was not a common matter of knowledge in 1809. If the Emperor had been told, on the day of his entry into Madrid, that even three years later his communication with Bayonne would only be preserved by the maintenance of a fortified post at every tenth milestone, he would have laughed the idea to scorn. Still more ridiculous would it have appeared to him if he had been told that it would take a body of 300 horse to carry a dispatch from Salamanca to Saragossa, or that the normal garrison of Old Castile would have to be kept at 15,000 men, even when there was no regular Spanish army nearer to it than Oviedo or Astorga. In short he, and all[p. 21] Europe, had much to learn as to the conditions of warfare in the Peninsula. If he had realized them in March, 1808, there would have been no treachery at Bayonne, and the ‘running sore,’ as he afterwards called the Spanish war, would never have broken forth.

Meanwhile the conquest of Spain was hung up for a month and more after the victory of Ucles. The Emperor had bidden Joseph and Jourdan to wait till the February rains were over, before sending out the great expedition against Andalusia; the siege of Saragossa was prolonged far beyond expectation, and Soult in Galicia (as we shall presently see) found the time-allowance which his master had set him inadequate to the verge of absurdity. The French made no further move of importance till March.

The Central Junta, therefore, were granted three full months from the date of their flight from Aranjuez to Seville, in which to reorganize their armies for the oncoming campaign of 1809—a respite which they gained (as we have already shown) purely and solely through Moore’s splendid inspiration of the march to Sahagun.

The members of the Junta trailed into Seville at various dates between December 14 and December 17. Their rapid journey at midwinter through the Sierra de Guadalupe and the still wilder Sierra Morena had been toilsome and exhausting[33]. It proved fatal to their old president, Florida Blanca, who died of bronchitis only eleven days after he had arrived at Seville. In his stead a Castilian Grandee of unimpeachable patriotism but very moderate abilities, the Marquis of Astorga, was elected to the presidential chair. The Junta had no enviable task before it: the news of the disasters on the Ebro and the fall of Madrid had thrown the nation into a paroxysm of unreasoning fury. Ridiculous charges of treason were being raised against all those who had been in charge of the war. Blake and Casta?os (of all people!) were being openly accused of having sold themselves to Napoleon. There were a number of political assassinations in the regions to which the French had not yet penetrated: most of the victims were old friends of Godoy. It looked at first as if[p. 22] the central government would be unable to restore any sort of order, or to organize any further resistance. Some of the local juntas, whose importance had disappeared with the meeting of the Supreme Junta, showed signs of wishing to resume their ancient independence. Those of Seville and Jaen were especially disobliging. But the evils of disunion were so obvious that even the most narrow-minded particularists settled down after a time into at least a formal obedience to the central government.

The enforced halt made by the French after Napoleon’s departure for Madrid was the salvation of Spain. By the month of January things were beginning to assume a more regular aspect, and some attempt was made to face the situation. The most favourable part of that situation was that money at least was not wanting for the moment. The four or five millions of dollars which the British Government had distributed to the provincial Juntas and to the ‘Central’ had long been spent, and in 1809 no more than ￡387,000 in specie was advanced to Spain. Spent also was the enormous amount of money accruing from patriotic gifts and local assessments. But there had just arrived at Cadiz a large consignment of specie from America. The Spanish colonies in the New World had all adhered without hesitation to the cause of Ferdinand VII, and their first and most copious contribution had just come to hand. Not only had the Governors of Mexico and Peru and the other provinces strained every nerve to raise money, but a vast patriotic fund had been collected by individuals. There were rich merchants and land-holders in America who made voluntary offerings of sums as large as 100,000 or 200,000 dollars apiece. The money which came to hand early in 1809 amounted to more than ￡2,800,000, and much more was received ere the close of the year. It was with this sum, far more than with British money, that the Spanish armies were paid and fed: but their equipment mainly came from England. The stores of arms, clothing, and munition which had existed in the arsenals of the Peninsula when the war broke out, had all been exhausted in the autumn, and had not even sufficed to equip fully the unfortunate armies which were beaten on the Ebro. The government and the local juntas had set up new manufactories at Seville, Valencia, and elsewhere,[p. 23] which were already turning out a large quantity of weapons, accoutrements, and uniforms: it was now that the armies began to appear in the rough brown cloth of the country and in leather shakos, abandoning the old white uniform and plumed hat which had been the garb of the Spanish line. But the reclothing and rearmament of the troops could never have been completed without the enormous consignments of cloth, powder, muskets, lead, and leather work which came from England. It is true that much was lost by the fortune of war before it could be utilized—notably the considerable amount of muskets, ammunition, and cloth which had been landed in Galicia for La Romana’s army. This, as we have seen, was either destroyed by Sir John Moore’s army or captured by Soult, because the Galician Junta had kept it waiting too long at the base. But all that went to Andalusia, Valencia, and Catalonia came safely to hand. Palafox’s army was re-equipped, just before the second siege of Saragossa began, with British stores sent up by Colonel Doyle from Tarragona. The armies of the south and east also received enormous consignments of necessaries.

It remains to speak of the purely military aspect of the Junta’s position. When January began, the wrecks of the Spanish armies were distributed in a wide semicircle reaching from Oviedo to Gerona, while the French lay in their midst. In the Asturias there were still 14,000 or 15,000 men under arms: the relics of Acevedo’s division of Blake’s army had fallen back, and joined the other levies which the local Junta had assembled. The whole force was watching the two lines on which the French could conceivably move during the winter—the coast route from Santander to Gijon, and the pass of Pajares which leads from Leon to Oviedo.

In Galicia, La Romana’s army, now engaged in the miserable retreat from Astorga to Orense, had fallen into the most wretched condition. Of the 22,000 men who had been assembled at Leon in December only 6,000 or 7,000 were now to be found: the Galician battalions had melted home when the army fell back among their native mountains. They cannot be much blamed, for they were suffering acute starvation: in the spring they came back to join the colours readily enough. The regulars, who still hung together, were famished, naked, typhus-ridden,[p. 24] and incapable of any great exertion. Their general’s only care was to keep them as far as possible from Soult and Ney, till the winter should have passed by, and food and clothing be procured.

Between La Romana’s men at Orense and the army of Estremadura on the Tagus there was no Spanish force in the field. When Lapisse and D’Avenay had occupied Zamora and Salamanca, the only centre of resistance in Leon was the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, which was held by a handful of local militia. Portuguese troops were beginning to collect in its rear at Almeida, but with them the Junta had nothing to do.

The Estremaduran army had now passed from the hands of Galluzzo to those of Cuesta. The Junta, in spite of the memories of Cabezon and Rio Seco, had once more given the obstinate and incapable old soldier an important command. Apparently they had been moved by the widespread but idiotic cry imputing treachery to the generals who had been beaten on the Ebro, and gave Cuesta an army because (with all his faults) no one ever dreamed of accusing him of treachery or sympathy with the French. His forces consisted (1) of the wrecks of Belvedere’s army from Gamonal, (2) of the débris of San Juan’s army from Madrid, (3) of new Estremaduran levies, which had not gone forward to Burgos in October, but had remained behind to complete their organization, (4) of the four dismounted cavalry regiments from Denmark, which had been sent to the south when La Romana landed at Santander, in order to procure equipment and horses. In all, the army of Cuesta had no more than 10,500 foot and 2,000 or 2,500 horse. The spirit of the old troops of San Juan and Belvedere was still very bad, and they were hardly recovered from their December mutinies and murders. After Lefebvre had driven them back from the Tagus, and occupied the bridges of Almaraz and Arzobispo, the Estremadurans had retired to Merida and Truxillo: on January 11 their most advanced position was at the last-named place.

To the east of Estremadura lay the weakest point of the Spanish line: Andalusia and its mountain barrier of the Sierra Morena were almost undefended in January, 1809. It will be remembered that all through the autumn of the preceding year the local juntas, intoxicated with the fumes of Baylen, had let the months slip by without doing much to organize the ‘Army[p. 25] of Reserve,’ of which they had spoken so much in August and September. It resulted that, when Reding had marched for Catalonia, and the last belated fractions of Casta?os’ army had been forwarded to Madrid, Andalusia was almost destitute of troops. When the Junta fled to Seville, it looked around for an army with which to defend the passes of the Sierra Morena. Nothing of the kind existed: the only force available consisted of nine or ten battalions, mainly new levies, which were dispersed through the ‘Four Kingdoms’ completing their armament and organization. They were hastily mobilized and pushed forward to the Sierra Morena, but not more than 6,000 bayonets and 500 sabres could be collected. This was the sole force that lay between the French at Madrid and the Junta at Seville. The charge of the division, whose head quarters were placed at La Carolina, was given to the Marquis del Palacio, who in the general shifting of commanders had just been recalled from Catalonia.

The British Government’s knowledge of the danger to which Andalusia was exposed, from the absolute want of troops to defend it, led to an untoward incident, which did much to endanger its friendly relations with the Junta. On hearing of the fall of Madrid, and of Moore’s retreat towards Galicia, Canning harked back to one of his old ideas of the previous summer, the notion that British troops might be sent to the south of Spain, if a safe basis for their operations were secured. This, as the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs believed, would best be provided by the establishment of a garrison in Cadiz. It was all-important that this great centre of commerce should not fall into the hands of the French, and early in January it was known in London that there was no adequate Spanish force ready to defend the passes of Andalusia. If Napoleon had an army large enough to provide, not only for the pursuit of Moore, but for the dispatch of a strong corps for an attack on Seville, it seemed probable that the French might overrun Southern Spain as far as the sea, without meeting with serious opposition. Accordingly, Canning wrote to Frere, on the fourteenth day of the new year, 1809, to offer the assistance of a considerable British force for the defence of Andalusia, if Cadiz were placed in their hands.

‘The question of the employment of a British army in the[p. 26] south of Spain,’ he wrote, ‘depends essentially upon the disposition of the Spanish Government to receive a corps of that army into Cadiz. Without the security to be afforded by that fortress, it is impossible to hazard the army in the interior, after the example of the little co-operation which Sir John Moore represents himself to have received from the Spaniards in the north.... In consequence of the imminent danger, and of the pressing necessity for immediate decision arising from Sir John Moore’s retreat, and from the defenceless state in which you represent Andalusia to be, His Majesty’s Government have deemed it right (without waiting for the result of your communication with the Central Junta) to send a force direct to Cadiz, to be admitted into that fortress. Four thousand men under Major-General Sherbrooke are directed to sail immediately, and he is informed that he is to expect instructions from you on his arrival, containing the determination of the Spanish Government respecting his admission into Cadiz.... In the event of a refusal of the Junta to afford this proof of confidence, Major-General Sherbrooke is directed to proceed to Gibraltar[34].’

The last paragraph of this dispatch shows that Canning’s intentions were perfectly honourable, and that he did not intend to bring any pressure to bear upon the Junta in the event of their refusing to admit a British garrison into Cadiz. His views were founded upon the information available in London when he wrote, and he was under the impression that a French army might probably be marching upon Seville at the moment when his letter would reach Frere’s hands. But—as we have seen—the diversion of the main force of Napoleon’s army of invasion against Moore, had rendered any such expedition impossible, and no immediate danger was really to be apprehended.

The same idea, however, had entered into Frere’s mind, and long before he received Canning’s dispatch he had been sounding members of the Central Junta as to the way in which they would look on a proposal to send British troops to Cadiz. The answer which he received from their secretary, Martin de Garay, was not reassuring: Don Martin ‘energetically repudiated’ the project: there would be no objection, he said, to admit a garrison, if Cadiz became ‘the ultimate point of retreat’ of the armies and[p. 27] government of Spain. But the danger that had appeared so pressing some weeks before had passed by, the French had stopped their advance, and the Junta were now hoping to defend Estremadura and the course of the Tagus. The invaders, as they trusted, would be met and checked on the line of Alcantara and Almaraz. They deprecated any sending of British troops to Cadiz, and hoped that Lisbon would be the point to which reinforcements would be dispatched, as its evacuation would have deplorable results. De Garay, in a second letter, spoke of rumours to the effect that Cradock was proposing to evacuate Portugal, and trusted that they were not true. As a matter of fact they were, and that timid commander was already making secret preparations to embark.

Frere gave up for the present any idea of pressing the project further, unless the French should recommence their advance on Andalusia. He had not yet received Canning’s dispatch from London, and did not know that the home government had taken to heart the plan for occupying Cadiz and sending a large expedition to Andalusia. But on February 2, before any hint of the kind had reached him, he was informed by a dispatch from Lisbon that troops had been already sent off to Cadiz[35]. This step was the work of Sir George Smith, one of the numerous British military agents in the Peninsula, who had taken upon himself to force events to an issue, without first taking the precaution of communicating either with the home government or the British ambassador at Seville. Smith was a hasty and presumptuous man, full of zeal without discretion. The defencelessness of Andalusia had impressed him, just as it had impressed Canning and Frere. But instead of opening communications with the Junta, as they had both done, he had merely written in very urgent terms to Cradock, and adjured him to detach troops from the scanty garrison of Portugal in order to secure Cadiz. The general, when thus pressed, consented to fall in with the scheme, and set aside a brigade under Mackenzie, which he shipped off from Lisbon at twenty-four hours’ notice (February 2). He also ordered the 40th regiment, then in garrison at Elvas, to march on Seville. Both Cradock and Smith were gravely to blame, for they had no authorization[p. 28] to attempt to occupy Cadiz, without obtaining the consent of the Spanish Government[36]. They should have consulted both Frere and the Junta before moving a man: but it was only when the troops had actually embarked that they thought fit to notify their action to the ambassador at Seville.

On receiving their letters Frere was placed in an unenviable position. Having just seen his own proposals negatived by the Junta in polite but decisive terms, he now learnt that a British force had been sent off to carry out precisely the plan which the Spaniards had refused to take into consideration. Four days later he was informed that Mackenzie’s brigade, which had chanced upon a favourable wind, was actually lying in Cadiz harbour, and that Sir George Smith was endeavouring to induce the local authorities of the place to permit them to land. The Junta, as was inevitable, suspected Frere of having been in the plot, and imagined that he was trying to force their hand by the display of armed force. Cadiz was at Smith’s mercy, for it was only garrisoned by its urban guards; and the populace were by no means unwilling to see the British land, for the fear of the French was upon them, and they welcomed the approach of reinforcements of any kind.

The supreme authority in Cadiz at this moment was the Marquis of Villel, a special commissioner sent down by the Central Junta, of which he was a member. He refused to be cajoled by Smith, and very properly referred his demand for permission to disembark to the government at Seville. The latter, not unnaturally incensed, turned for explanations to Frere. The ambassador’s conduct when placed in this dilemma was by no means wise or straightforward. Instead of frankly disavowing Smith’s action, he adopted the tortuous course[37] of[p. 29] pretending that the expedition from Lisbon had been sent with his knowledge and consent, but that he would not allow it to land without the leave of the Junta. The Spaniards replied in terms of some indignation, and returned a frank negative to the demand. Their secretary, de Garay, wrote that the unexpected appearance of General Mackenzie’s force was ‘painful and disagreeable intelligence, Cadiz being no longer in danger from the French, and two Spanish regiments being already on their way to reinforce the garrison. The measure which had been taken would admit of a thousand interpretations, and a consent to hand over the fortress to the British would compromise the Central Junta with the whole nation.’ The fact was that Spanish public opinion was strongly opposed to allowing the British to obtain a foothold in Cadiz; there was a deeply-rooted notion abroad that, if once occupied, the place might be kept permanently in our hands, and be turned into a second Gibraltar.

Unfortunately for the credit of Great Britain with her allies, tumults broke out at Cadiz within a few days of the arrival of Mackenzie’s army, which supplied an excuse to malevolent Spaniards for attributing the worst motives to their allies. As a matter of fact they were not stirred up by Sir George Smith or any other emissary of the British Government, but were the results of the eccentric behaviour of the Marquis de Villel[38]. This personage was a very strange character, a sort of nineteenth-century Spanish Puritan, with a taste for playing the benevolent despot. He attributed the misfortunes of his country (and not without much reason) to her moral decadence. His idea of the way to commence her regeneration was peculiar, considering the[p. 30] circumstances of the time. He issued an edict commanding all married pairs living apart, to reunite, issued laws repressing theatre-going, late hours, and gambling, legislated concerning the length of ladies’ skirts, and organized a grand battue against women of light reputation, of whom he imprisoned some scores. When he proceeded to engage in a sort of moral inquisition into the private life of all classes, he naturally became very unpopular, and on the first opportunity the populace rose against him. He had ordered into the city a newly-embodied ‘Swiss’ battalion, raised from the prisoners of Dupont’s army and other deserters of all nationalities. The cry was raised by his enemies that he was admitting Frenchmen in disguise into the sacred fortress, with the purpose of betraying it to the enemy. Other rumours were put about to the effect that he was deliberately neglecting the fortifications, and supplying the batteries with powder adulterated with sand[39].

When the foreign battalion drew near to Cadiz on February 22, and began to march up the long spit which connects the city with the Isla de Leon, the storm burst. A mixed multitude of rioters shut the gates against the troops, and then swept the streets, maltreating Villel’s subordinates, and slaying Don José Heredia the commander of the coast-guard, a person very unpopular with the smugglers, who formed an appreciable element in the crowd. The High Commissioner himself was besieged in his house, hunted from it, and nearly murdered: he only escaped by the kind offices of the head of a Capuchin convent, who took him within his gates, and made himself responsible to the rioters for keeping the refugee in safe custody. The mob next tried to break open the state prison, for the purpose of slaying General Caraffa and other political captives. Fortunately Felix Jones, the military Governor, succeeded in saving these unhappy persons, by the not over-willing aid of the urban guards, many of whom had joined in the outbreak.

The rioters expressed great friendliness for the British, and many of them kept inviting the troops in the offing to come ashore. It was very lucky that no attention was paid to these solicitations[40], for if they had landed the worst suspicions of[p. 31] the Junta would have appeared justified, and the insurrection would have been attributed to the machinations of Frere or Smith. Fortunately the latter had died, only a few days before the troubles broke out, the victim of a fever which carried him off after no more than twenty-four hours of illness. If he had survived till the twenty-second, he would have been quite capable of taking the fatal step of listening to the appeals of the rioters, and ordering the troops ashore.

As it turned out the whole expedition ended in an absurd fiasco. When the riots had died down, the Junta recalled the eccentric de Villel, but they would not listen to any proposals from Frere for admitting British troops into Cadiz, even when he suggested that only two battalions should remain there, while the rest, including Sherbrooke’s division, which was expected to arrive in a few days, should come up and join the 40th regiment at Seville, with the ultimate purpose of marching into Estremadura. The Junta replied that ‘the loyalty of the British Ministry and the generosity of its efforts to assist Spain were beyond suspicion: but the National Government must respect national prejudices, and avoid exposing itself to censure. If there were any urgent danger, they would have no hesitation in admitting the troops of their allies into Cadiz. But the French were still far away, and there was no immediate prospect of their approach. The British expedition would be more usefully employed in Catalonia, or in some other theatre of war, than in Cadiz[41].’ By March 4, when this final answer was sent to Frere, the state of affairs had so much changed, that the representations made by the Junta were more or less correct. The imminent danger which had existed in January had passed away.

Accordingly, after lying idly for four weeks in their transports, and gazing with much unsatisfied curiosity on the white[p. 32] houses, the green shutters, and the flat roofs of Cadiz, across the beautiful bay, Mackenzie’s regiments set sail again for Lisbon on March 6. As they ran out of the harbour, they met Sherbrooke’s belated convoy, whose arrival had been delayed by fearful tempests in the Bay of Biscay. The whole force, 6,000 bayonets strong, was brought back to Portugal. It might have been of infinite service to Cradock if it had remained at Lisbon and had never been sent to Cadiz, and its presence might have induced him to adopt measures less timid and futile than those which (as we shall see) he had pursued during January and February[42].

But this unfortunate incident has detained us too long; we must return to the state of the Spanish armies at the end of the month of January. Beyond the levies of the Marquis Del Palacio at La Carolina, there was a long gap in the Spanish line of defence. The next force under arms was the army of Infantado, now engaged in its exhausting winter march from Cuenca to the Murcian border. After the rout of Ucles it was still 12,000 strong, though destitute of all supplies and not fit for immediate service. The Junta ordered it to march from Chinchilla to join Del Palacio’s force at the mouth of the Despe?a Perros, and so to strengthen the defences of Andalusia.[p. 33] This was done, and the two forces were safely united, so that when a few more new battalions had been brought up from Granada, 20,000 men were placed between Victor and Andalusia. The Junta removed Infantado from command, rightly judging that he had sacrificed Venegas at Ucles by his neglect to send orders and his sloth in coming up to join his subordinate. The charge of the force at La Carolina (still called ‘the Army of the Centre’) was made over to General Cartaojal.

Beyond Infantado’s depleted corps lay the army of Valencia. Its nucleus was the remains of the old division of Llamas and Roca, which had served with Casta?os at Tudela. The local Junta rapidly recruited this skeleton force from 1,500 up to 5,000 men[43]. They added to it several new regiments raised during the winter in Valencia and Murcia, and by February had 10,000 men available for succouring Aragon and Catalonia, though their quality left much to be desired.

A little further north Palafox was still holding out with splendid desperation in Saragossa, where he had shut himself up with the whole army of Aragon. His original 32,000 men were already much thinned by pestilence and the sword, but in January their spirit was yet unbroken, and though it was clear that they were doomed to final destruction, if they were not relieved from the outside, yet they were still doing excellent work in detaining in front of them the whole of the 3rd and 5th French Army Corps.

There yet remains to be described the strongest of all the Spanish armies, that of Catalonia. In addition to the original garrison of the province, and to its gallant miqueletes and somatenes, there had been gradually drafted into the principality (1) the greater part of the garrison of the Balearic Isles, some 9,000 men; (2) Reding’s Granadan division which started from its home over 10,000 strong; (3) 2,500 men of Caraffa’s old division from Portugal; (4) the Marquis of Lazan’s Aragonese division from the side of Lerida, about 4,000 bayonets. Thus in all some 32,000 men in organized corps had been massed in Catalonia, and the somatenes added some 20,000 irregulars. Of course the Spanish strength in January did not reach these figures. Many men had been lost at the siege of Rosas and in[p. 34] the battles of Cardadeu and Molins de Rey: yet there were still 40,000 troops of one sort or another available; the spirit of the country was irritated rather than lowered by the late defeats; the French only occupied the ground that was within the actual circle of fire of their garrisons. If the Catalans had been content to avoid general engagements, and to maintain an incessant guerrilla warfare, they might have held their own. Though the enemy had a very capable commander in General St. Cyr, they had as yet accomplished nothing more than the capture of the antiquated fortress of Rosas, the relief of Barcelona, and the winning of two fruitless battles. Catalonia remained unsubdued till the very end of the struggle.

Reckoning up all their armies, the Junta had in the end of January some 135,000 men in arms,—a force insufficient to face the French in the open, for the latter (even after the departure of the Imperial Guard) had still nearly 300,000[44] sabres and bayonets south of the Pyrenees, but one quite capable of keeping up the national resistance if it were only conducted upon the proper lines. For, as Napoleon and his marshals had yet to learn, no Spanish district could be considered conquered unless a garrison was left in each of its towns, and flying columns kept in continual motion through the open country. Of the 288,000 French who now lay in Spain more than half were really wanted for garrison duty. A district like Galicia was capable of keeping 40,000 men employed: even the plains of Old Castile and Leon swallowed up whole divisions.

But, unfortunately for Spain, the mania for fighting pitched battles was still obsessing the minds of her generals. Within a few weeks three wholly unnecessary and disastrous engagements were to be risked, at Valls, Ciudad Real, and Medellin. Instead of playing a cautious defensive game, and harassing the French, the Spaniards persisted in futile attempts to face the enemy in general actions, for which their troops were wholly unsuited. The results were so deplorable that but for a second British intervention—Wellesley’s march to Talavera—Andalusia would have been in as great peril in July, 1809, as it had been in January.

[p. 35]

The Central Junta must take its share of the responsibility for this fact no less than the Spanish generals. It still persisted in its old error of refusing to appoint a single commander-in-chief, so that each army fought for its own hand, without any attempt to co-ordinate its actions with those of the others. Indeed several of the generals were at notorious enmity with their colleagues—notably Cuesta and Venegas. It was to no purpose that the Central Government displayed great energy in organizing men and collecting material, if, when the armies had been equipped and sent to the front, they were used piecemeal, without any general strategical scheme, and led ere long to some miserable disaster, such as Ucles, or Medellin, or Oca?a. The Junta, the generals, and the nation were all alike possessed by the delusion that with energy and sufficient numbers they might on some happy morning achieve a second Baylen. But for such a consummation Duponts and Vedels are required, and when no such convenient adversaries were to be found, the attempt to encompass and beat a French army was certain to end in a catastrophe.

The only Spanish fighters who were playing the proper game in 1809 were the Catalonian somatenes, and even they gave battle far too often, and did not adhere with a sufficient pertinacity to the harassing tactics of guerrilla warfare. General Arteche has collected in his fourth volume something like a dozen schemes for the expulsion of the French from Spain, which were laid before the Junta, or ventilated in print, during this year. It is interesting to see that only one of them advocates the true line of resistance—the avoiding of battles, the harassing of the enemy’s flanks and communications, and the employment of numerous flying bands instead of great masses[45]. Some of the other plans are the wild imaginings of ignorant fools—one wiseacre wished to run down the French columns with pikemen in a sort of Macedonian phalanx, another to arm one-sixth of the troops with hand-grenades! But the majority of the Junta’s self-constituted advisers thought that numbers were the only necessary thing, and proposed to save Spain by crushing the invaders with levies en masse of all persons between sixteen[p. 36] and fifty—one enthusiast makes the age-limit fourteen to seventy!

These were the views of the nation, and the generals and the Junta were but infected with the common delusion of all their compatriots. They would not see that courage and raw multitudes are almost helpless when opposed by equal courage combined with skill, long experience of war, superior tactics, and intelligent leading.

SECTION X  THE AUTUMN AND WINTER CAMPAIGN IN CATALONIA CHAPTER I
THE SIEGE OF ROSAS

Before we follow further the fortunes of Southern Spain, it is necessary to turn back and to take up the tale of the war on the Eastern coast at the point where it was left in Section V.

The same torpor which was notable in the operations of the main armies of the Spaniards and the French during the months of September and October was to be observed in Catalonia also. On the Ter and the Llobregat the inability of the French to move was much more real, and the slackness of the Spaniards even more inexplicable, than on the Ebro and the Aragon.

In the early days of September the situation of the invaders was most perilous. After the disastrous failure of the second siege of Gerona, it will be remembered that Reille had withdrawn to Figueras, close to the French frontier, while Duhesme had cut his way back to Barcelona, after sacrificing all his artillery and his baggage on the way. Both commanders proceeded to report to the Emperor that there was need for ample reinforcements of veteran troops, or a catastrophe must inevitably ensue. Meanwhile Reille preserved a defensive attitude at the foot of the Pyrenees; while Duhesme could do no more than hold Barcelona, and as much of its suburban plain as he could safely occupy without risking overmuch his outlying detachments. He foresaw a famine in the winter, and devoted all his energies to seizing and sending into the town[p. 38] all foodstuffs that he could find in the neighbourhood. His position was most uncomfortable: the late expedition had reduced his force from 13,000 to 10,000 sabres and bayonets. The men were demoralized, and when sent out to forage saw somatenes behind every bush and rock. The populace of Barcelona was awaiting a good opportunity for an émeute, and was in constant communication with the insurgents outside.

The blockade was not as yet kept up by any large section of the Captain-General’s regular troops, nor had any attempt been made to run lines around the place. It was conducted by an elastic cordon of four or five thousand miqueletes, supported by no more than 2,000 infantry of the regular army and possessing five or six field-guns. The charge of the whole line was given to the Conde de Caldagues, who had so much distinguished himself in the previous month by his relief of Gerona. He had been entrusted with a force too small to man a circuit of twelve or fifteen miles, so that Duhesme had no difficulty in pushing sorties through the line of Spanish posts, whenever he chose to send out a sufficiently strong column. But any body that pressed out too far in pursuit of corn or forage, risked being beset and mishandled on its return march by the whole of the somatenes of the country-side. Hence there was a limit to the power to roam of even the largest expeditions that Duhesme could spare from his depleted garrison. The fighting along the blockading cordon was incessant, but never conclusive. On September 2 a strong column of six Italian battalions swept aside the Spaniards for a moment in the direction of San Boy, but a smaller expedition against the bridge of Molins de Rey was repulsed. The moment that the Italians returned to Barcelona, with the food that they had scraped together in the villages, Caldagues reoccupied his old positions. There were many skirmishes but no large sorties between September 2 and October 12, when Milosewitz took out 2,000 men for a cattle-hunt in the valley of the Besos. He pierced the blockading line, routing the miqueletes of Milans at San Jeronimo de la Murtra, and penetrated as far as Granollers, twenty miles from Barcelona, where he made an invaluable seizure, the food dép?t of the eastern section of the investing force. But he was now dangerously distant from[p. 39] his base, and as he was returning with his captures, Caldagues fell upon him at San Culgat with troops brought from other parts of the blockading line. The Italians were routed with a loss of 300 men[46], and their convoy was recaptured. After this Duhesme made no more attempts to send expeditions far afield: in spite of a growing scarcity of food, he could not afford to risk the loss of any more men by pushing his sorties into the inland.

Meanwhile Reille at Figueras was in wellnigh as forlorn a situation. His communications with Perpignan were open, so that he had not, like Duhesme, the fear of starvation before his eyes. But in other respects he was almost as badly off: the somatenes were always worrying his outposts, but this was only a secondary trial. The main trouble was the want of clothing, transport, and equipment: the heterogeneous mob of bataillons de marche, of Swiss and Tuscan conscripts, had been hurried to the frontier without any proper preparations: this mattered comparatively little during the summer; but when the autumn cold began Reille found that troops, who had neither tents nor greatcoats, and whose original summer uniforms were now worn out, could not keep the field. His ranks were so thinned by dysentery and rheumatic affections that he had to put the men under cover in Figueras and the neighbouring towns, and even to withdraw to Perpignan some of his battalions, whose clothing was absolutely dropping to pieces. His cavalry, for want of forage in the Pyrenees, were sent back into Languedoc, where occupation was found for them by Lord Cochrane who was conducting a series of daring raids on the coast villages between the mouth of the Rhone and that of the Tech[47]. Reille continued to solicit the war minister at Paris for clothing and transport, but could get nothing from him: all the resources of the empire were being strained in September and October to fit out the main army, which was about to enter Spain on the side of Biscay, and Napoleon refused to trouble himself about such a minor force as the corps at Figueras.

The Spaniards, therefore, had in the autumn months a unique opportunity for striking at the two isolated French forces in[p. 40] Catalonia. Two courses were open to them: they might have turned their main army against Barcelona, and attempted to besiege instead of merely to blockade Duhesme: or on the other hand they might have left a mere cordon of somatenes around Duhesme, and have sent all their regulars to join the levies of the north and sweep Reille across the Pyrenees. The resources at their disposition were far from contemptible: almost the whole garrison of the Balearic Isles having disembarked in Catalonia, there were now some 12,000 regulars in the Principality, and the local Junta had put so much energy into the equipment of the numerous tercios of miqueletes which it had raised, that the larger half of them, at least 20,000 men, were more or less ready for the field. Moreover they were aware that large reinforcements were at hand. Reding’s Granadan division, 10,000 strong, was marching up from the south, and was due to arrive early in November. The Aragonese division under the Marquis of Lazan, which had been detached from the army of Palafox, was already at Lerida. Valencia had sent up a line regiment[48], and the remains of the division of Caraffa from Portugal were being brought round by sea to the mouth of the Ebro[49]. Altogether 20,000 men of new troops were on the way to Catalonia, and the first of them had already come on the scene.

Unfortunately the Marquis Del Palacio, the new Captain-General of Catalonia, though well-intentioned, was slow and undecided to the verge of absolute torpidity. Beyond allowing his energetic subordinate Caldagues to keep up the blockade of Barcelona he did practically nothing. A couple of thousand of his regulars, based on Gerona and Rosas, lay opposite Reille, but were far too weak to attack him. About 3,000 under Caldagues were engaged in the operations around Barcelona. The rest the Captain-General held back and did not use. All through September he lay idle at Tarragona, to the great disgust of the local Junta, who at last sent such angry complaints[p. 41] to Aranjuez that the Central Junta recalled him, and replaced him by Vives the old Captain-General of the Balearic Islands, who took over the command on October 28.

This gave a change of commander but not of policy, for Vives was as slow and incapable as his predecessor. We have already had occasion to mention the trouble that he gave in August, when he refused to send his troops to the mainland till actually compelled to yield by their mutiny. When he took over the charge of operations he found 20,000 foot and 1,000 horse at his disposition, and the French still on the defensive both at Barcelona and at Figueras. He had a splendid opportunity, and it was not yet too late to strike hard. But all that he chose to attempt was to turn the blockade of Barcelona into an investment, by tightening the cordon round the place. To lay siege to the city does not seem to have been within the scope of his intentions, but on November 6 he moved up to the line of the Llobregat with 12,000 infantry and 700 horse, mostly regulars. He had opened negotiations with secret friends within the walls, and had arranged that when the whole forces of Duhesme were sufficiently occupied in resisting the assault from outside, the populace should take arms and endeavour to seize and throw open one of the gates. But matters never got to this point: on November 8 several Spanish columns moved in nearer to Barcelona, and began to skirmish with the outposts of the garrison. But the attack was incoherent, and never pressed home. Vives then waited till the 26th, when he had received more reinforcements, the first brigade of Reding’s long-expected Granadan division. On that day another general assault on Duhesme’s outlying posts was delivered, and this time with considerable success: several of the suburban villages were carried, over a hundred Frenchmen were captured, and the line of blockade was drawn close under the walls. Duhesme had no longer any hold outside the city. But Barcelona was strong, and its garrison, when concentrated within the place, was just numerous enough to hold its own. Duhesme had thought for a moment of evacuating the city and retiring into the citadel and the fortress of Montjuich: but on mature consideration he resolved to cling as long as possible to the whole circuit of the town. He had heard that an army of relief was at last on[p. 42] the way, and made up his mind to yield no inch without compulsion.

Thus Vives wasted another month without any adequate results: he had, with the whole field army of Catalonia, done nothing more than turn the French out of their first and weakest line of defence. The fortress was intact, and to all intents and purposes might have been observed as well by 10,000 somatenes as by the large force which Vives had brought against it.

Meanwhile the enemy, utterly unopposed on the line of the Pyrenees, was getting together a formidable host for the relief of Barcelona. When he had recognized that Reille’s extemporized army was insufficient alike in quantity and in quality for the task before it, the Emperor had directed on Perpignan (as we have already seen[50]) two strong divisions of the Army of Italy, one composed of ten French battalions under General Souham, the other of thirteen Italian battalions. The order to dispatch them had only been given on August 10, and the regiments, which had to be mobilized and equipped, and then to march up from Lombardy to the roots of the Pyrenees, did not begin to arrive at Perpignan till September 14: the artillery, and the troops which came from the more distant points, only appeared on October 28. Even then there was a further week’s delay, for the Emperor had monopolized for the main army, on the side of the Bidassoa, all the available battalions of the military train: the Army of the Eastern Pyrenees had no transport save that which the regiments had brought with them, and it was with the greatest difficulty that a few hundred mules and some open carts were collected from the French border districts. It was only on November 5 that the army crossed the Pyrenees, by the great pass between Bellegarde and La Junquera.

The officer placed in command was General Gouvion St. Cyr, who afterwards won his marshal’s baton in the Russian war of 1812. He was a general of first-rate ability, who had served all through the wars of the Revolution with marked distinction: but he disliked Bonaparte and had not the art to hide the fact. This had kept him back from earlier promotion. St. Cyr was by no means an amiable character: he was detested by his[p. 43] officers and his troops as a confirmed grumbler, and selfish to an incredible degree[51]. He was one of those men who can always show admirable and convincing reasons for not helping their neighbours. C’était un mauvais compagnon de lit, said one of the many colleagues, whom he had left in the lurch, while playing his own game. From his morose bearing and his dislike for company he had got the nickname of ‘le hibou.’ He was cautious, cool-headed, and ready of resource, so that his troops had full confidence in him, though he never commanded their liking. Even from his history of the Catalonian war, one can gather the character of the man. It is admirably lucid, and illustrated with original documents, Spanish no less than French, in a fashion only too rare among the military books of the soldiers of the Empire. But it is not only entirely self-centred, but full of malevolent insinuations concerning Napoleon and the author’s colleagues. In his first chapter he broaches the extraordinary theory that Napoleon handed over to him the Catalonian army without resources, money, or transport, in order that he might make a fiasco of the campaign and ruin his reputation! He actually seems to have believed that his master disliked to have battles won for him by officers who had not owed to him the beginning of their fortunes[52], and would have been rather pleased than otherwise to see the attempt to relieve Barcelona end in a failure.

These are, of course, the vain imaginings of a jealous and suspicious hypochondriac. It is true that Napoleon disliked St. Cyr, but he did not want to see the campaign of Catalonia end in a disaster. He gave the new general a fine French division of veteran troops, and, as his letter to the Viceroy Eugène Beauharnais shows, the picked regiments of the whole[p. 44] Italian army. The Seventh Corps mustered in all more than 40,000 men, and 25,000 of these were concentrated under St. Cyr’s hand at Perpignan and Figueras. It is certain that the troops were not well equipped, and that the auxiliary services were ill represented. But this was not from exceptional malice on Napoleon’s part: he was always rather inclined to starve an army with which he was not present in person, and at this moment every resource was being strained to fit out the main force which were to deliver the great blow at Madrid. Catalonia was but a ‘side show’: and when St. Cyr tries to prove[53] that it was the most important theatre of war in the whole peninsula, he is but exaggerating, after the common fashion of poor humanity, the greatness of his own task and his own victories.

Before starting from Perpignan St. Cyr refitted, as best he could, the dilapidated battalions of Reille, which were, he says, in such a state of nudity that those who had been sent back within the French border had to be kept out of public view from motives of mere decency[54]. The whole division had suffered so much from exposure that instead of taking the field with the 8,000 men which it possessed in August, it could present only 5,500 in November, after setting aside a battalion to garrison Figueras[55].

But though Reille was weak, and the division of Chabot (a mere corps of two Neapolitan battalions and one regiment of National Guards) was an almost negligible quantity, the troops newly arrived from Italy were both numerous and good in quality. Souham’s ten French battalions had 7,000 bayonets, Pino’s thirteen Italian battalions had 7,300. Their cavalry consisted of one French and two Italian regiments, making 1,700 sabres. The total force disposable consisted of 23,680 men, of whom 2,096 were cavalry, and about 500 artillery. In this figure are not included the National Guards and dép?ts left behind to garrison Bellegarde, Montlouis, and other places[p. 45] within the French frontier, but only the troops available for operations within Catalonia.

On his way to Perpignan, St. Cyr had visited the Emperor at Paris, so as to receive his orders in person. Napoleon informed him that he left him carte blanche as to all details; the one thing on which he insisted was that Barcelona must be preserved: ‘si vous perdiez cette place, je ne la reprendrais pas avec quatre-vingt mille hommes.’ This then was to be the main object of the coming campaign: there were about two months available for the task, for Duhesme reported that, though food was growing scarce, he could hold out till the end of December. To lessen the number of idle mouths in Barcelona he had been giving permits to depart to many of the inhabitants, and expelling others, against whom he could find excuses for severity.

The high-road from Figueras to Barcelona was blocked by the fortress of Gerona, whose previous resistance in July and August showed that its capture would be a tedious and difficult matter. St. Cyr calculated that he had not the time to spare for the siege of this place: long ere he could expect to take it, Duhesme would be starved out. He made up his mind that he would have to march past Gerona, and as the high-road is commanded by the guns of the city, he would be forced to take with him no heavy guns or baggage, but only light artillery and pack-mules, which could use the by-paths of the mountains. It was his first duty to relieve Barcelona by defeating the main army of Vives. When this had been done, it would be time enough to think of the siege of Gerona.

But there was another fortress which St. Cyr resolved to clear out of his way before starting to aid Duhesme. On the sea-shore, only ten miles before Figueras, lies the little town of Rosas, which blocks the route that crawls under the cliffs from Perpignan and Port-Vendres to the Ampurdam. The moment that the French army advanced south from Figueras, it would have Rosas on its flank, and even small expeditions based on the place could make certain of cutting the high-road, and intercepting all communications between the base and the field force that had gone forward. But it was more than likely that the Spaniards would land a considerable body of troops in Rosas, for it has an excellent harbour, and every facility for disembarka[p. 46]tion. Several English men-of-war were lying there; it served them as their shelter and port of call while they watched for the French ships which tried to run into Barcelona with provisions, from Marseilles, Cette, or Port-Vendres. Already they had captured many vessels which endeavoured to pierce the blockade.

St. Cyr therefore was strongly of opinion that he ought to make an end of the garrison of Rosas before starting on his expedition to aid Duhesme. The place was strategically important, but its fortifications were in such bad order that he imagined that it might be reduced in a few days. The town, which counted no more than 1,500 souls, consisted of a single long street running along the shore. It was covered by nothing more than a ditch and an earthwork, resting at one end on a weak redoubt above the beach, and at the other upon the citadel. The latter formed the strength of the place: it was a pentagonal work, regularly constructed, with bastions, and a scarp and counterscarp reveted with stone. But its resisting power was seriously diminished by the fact that the great breach which the French had made during its last siege in 1794 had never been properly repaired. The government of Godoy had neglected the place, and, when the insurrection began, the Catalans had found it still in ruins, and had merely built up the gap with loose stones and barrels filled with earth. A good battering train would bring down the whole of these futile patchings in a few days. A mile to the right of the citadel was a detached work, the Fort of the Trinity, placed above a rocky promontory which forms the south-eastern horn of the harbour. It had been built to protect ships lying before the place from being annoyed by besiegers. The Trinity was built in an odd and ingenious fashion: it was commanded at the distance of only 100 yards by the rocky hill of Puig-Rom: to prevent ill effects from a plunging fire from this elevation, its front had been raised to a great height, so as to protect the interior of the work from molestation. A broad tower 110 feet high covered the whole side of the castle which faces inland. ‘Nothing in short, for a fortress commanded by adjacent heights, could have been better adapted for holding out against offensive operations, or worse adapted for replying to them. The French battery on the cliff was too elevated for artillery to reach, while the tower, which prevented their shot from reaching the body[p. 47] of the fort, also prevented any return fire at them, even if the fort had possessed artillery. In consequence of the elevated position of the French on the cliff, they could only breach the central portion of the tower. The lowest part of the breach they made was nearly sixty feet above its base, so that it could only be reached by long scaling ladders[56].’ It is seldom that a besieger has to complain of the difficulty caused to him by the possession of ground completely dominating a place that he has to reduce: but in the course of the siege of Fort Trinity the French were undoubtedly incommoded by the height of the Puig-Rom. The garrison below, hidden in good bomb-proofs and covered by the tower, suffered little harm from their fire. To batter the whole tower to pieces, by a downward fire, was too long and serious a business for them; they merely tried to breach it.

If the ground in front of Fort Trinity was too high for the French, that of the town of Rosas was too low. It was so marshy that in wet weather the ditches of their siege works filled at once with water, and their parapets crumbled into liquid mud. The only approach on ground of convenient firmness and elevation was opposite a comparatively narrow front of the south-eastern corner of the place.

The garrison of Rosas, when St. Cyr undertook its siege, was commanded by Colonel Peter O’Daly, an officer of the Ultonia, who had distinguished himself at Gerona; it was composed of a skeleton battalion (150 men) of the governor’s own Irish corps, of half the light infantry regiment 2nd of Barcelona, of a company of Wimpffen’s Swiss regiment, and 120 gunners. These were regulars: of new levies there were the two miquelete tercios of Lerida and Igualada, with some companies of those of Berga and[p. 48] Figueras. The whole force was exactly 3,000 strong. It would be wrong to omit the mention of the British succours which took part in the defence. There lay in the harbour the Excellent, 74, and two bomb-vessels: when the Excellent departed on November 21 she was replaced by the Fame, another 74-gun ship, and during the last days of the siege Lord Cochrane in his well-known frigate the Impérieuse was also present. It is well to remember their exact force, for the French narrators of the leaguer of Rosas are prone to call them ‘the British squadron,’ a term which seems rather too magnificent to apply to a group of vessels never numbering more than one line-of-battle ship, one frigate, and two bomb-vessels.

St. Cyr moved forward on November 5, with the four divisions of Souham, Pino, Reille, and Chabot, which (as we have seen) amounted in all to about 23,000 men. He had resolved to use Pino and Reille—some 12,000 men—for the actual siege, and Souham and Chabot for the covering work. Accordingly the weak division of the last-named officer was left to watch the ground at the foot of the passes, in the direction of Figueras and La Junquera, while Souham took up the line of the river Fluvia, which lay across the path of any relieving force that might come from the direction of Gerona. St. Cyr remained with the covering army, and gave the conduct of the siege to Reille, perhaps because he had already made one attack on the town in August.

On November 6 Reille marched down to the sea, driving before him the Spanish outlying pickets, and the peasantry of the suburban villages, who took refuge with their cattle in Rosas. On the seventh the investment began, Reille’s own division taking its position on the marshy ground opposite the town, while Pino encamped more to the left, upon the heights that face the fort of the Trinity. The head quarters were established at the village of Palau. A battalion of the 2nd Italian light infantry was placed far back, to the north-east, to keep off the somatenes of the coast villages about Llanza and Selva de Mar from interfering in the siege.

Next day the civil population of Rosas embarked on fishing-vessels and small merchantmen, and departed to the south, abandoning the whole town to the garrison. They just missed[p. 49] seeing some sharp fighting. The covering party who had been detached to the neighbourhood of Llanza were beset during a dense mist by the somatenes of the coast: two companies were cut to pieces or captured; the rest were saved by General Fontane, who led out three battalions from Pino’s lines to their assistance. While this engagement was in progress, the garrison sallied out with 2,000 men to beat up the main camp of the Italians; they were repulsed after a sharp fight; the majority got back to the citadel, but one party being surrounded, Captain West of the Excellent landed with 250 of his seamen and marines, cut his way to them, and brought them off in safety. West had his horse shot under him (a curious note to have to make concerning a naval officer), and lost ten men wounded.

After the eighth there followed seven days of continuous rain, which turned the camp of Reille’s division into a marsh, and effectually prevented the construction of siege works in the low-lying ground opposite to the town. The only active operation that could be undertaken was an attempt to storm the fort of the Trinity, which the French believed to be in far worse condition than was actually the case. It was held by eighty Spaniards, under the Irish Lieutenant-Colonel Fitzgerald, and twenty-five of the Excellent’s marines[57]. The six voltigeur and grenadier companies of the 2nd Italian light infantry delivered the assault with great dash and resolution. But as the strong frontal tower of the fort was high and unbreached, they could make no impression, their ladders proved useless, and they were repulsed with a loss of sixty men. Their leader, the chef-de-bataillon Lange, and several other officers were left dead at the foot of the walls.

Seeing that nothing was to be won by mere escalade, Reille had to wait for his siege artillery, which began to arrive from Perpignan on November 16. He at once started two batteries on the Puig-Rom to breach the Fort of the Trinity, and when the ground had begun to grow dry in front of the town, opened trenches opposite its north-eastern angle. When a good emplacement had been found a battery was established which played upon the citadel, and commanded so much of the harbour that Reille hoped that the British ships would be compelled to shift their anchorage further out to sea. The Spaniards and the[p. 50] Excellent replied with such a heavy fire that in a few hours the battery was silenced, after its powder magazine had been exploded by a lucky shell [November 19].

Next day, however, the French repaired the damage and mounted more guns, whose fire proved so damaging that Captain West had to move further from the shore. The assailants had established a marked superiority over the fire of the besieged, and availed themselves of it by pushing out parallels nearer to the town, and building four more breaching batteries. With these additional resources they began to work serious damage in the unstable bastions of the citadel. They also knocked a hole in the Fort of the Trinity: but the breach was so far from the foot of the wall that it was still almost inaccessible, the heaps of rubbish which fell into the ditch did not even reach the lowest part of the gap.

On the twenty-first the Excellent was relieved by the Fame, and Captain West handed over the task of co-operating with the Spaniards to Captain Bennett. The latter thought so ill of the state of affairs, that after two days he withdrew his marines from the Trinity Fort, an action most discouraging to the Spaniards. But at this juncture there arrived in the bay the Impérieuse frigate, with her indefatigable commandant Lord Cochrane, a host in himself for such a desperate enterprise as the defence of the much-battered town. He got leave from his superior officer to continue the defence, and manned the Trinity again with his own seamen and marines. They had hardly established themselves there, when the Italian brigade of Mazzuchelli made a second attempt to storm the fort: but it was repulsed without even having reached the foot of the breach.

Cochrane, seeing that the battery which was playing on the Trinity was on the very edge of a precipitous cliff, resolved to try whether it would not be possible to surprise it at night, by landing troops on the beach at the back of the Puig-Rom; if they could get possession of the guns for a few minutes he hoped to cast them over the declivity on to the rocks below. O‘Daly lent him 700 miqueletes from the garrison of the town, and this force was put ashore with thirty of the Impérieuse’s marines who were to lead the assault. The Italians, however, were not caught sleeping, the attack failed, and the assailants were beaten back to[p. 51] the rocks by the beach, with the loss of ten killed and twenty wounded, beside prisoners[58]. The boats of the frigate only brought off 300 men, but many more escaped along the beach into the hilly country to the east, and were neither captured nor slain [November 23]. The sortie, however, had been disastrous, and the Governor, O’Daly, was so down-hearted at the loss of men and at the way in which the walls of the citadel were crumbling before his eyes, that he began to think of surrender. Nor was he much to blame, for the state of things was so bad that it was evident that unless some new factor was introduced into the siege, the end was not far off. The utter improbability of relief from without was demonstrated on the twenty-fourth. Julian Alvarez, the Governor of Gerona and commander of the Spanish forces in the Ampurdam, was perfectly well aware that it was his duty to do what he could for the succour of Rosas. But his forces were insignificant: Vives had only given him 2,000 regular troops to watch the whole line of the Eastern Pyrenees, and of this small force half was shut up in Rosas. Nevertheless Alvarez sallied out from Gerona with two weak battalions of Ultonia and Borbon, and half of the light infantry regiment of Barcelona. Picking up 3,000 local miqueletes he advanced to the line of the Fluvia, where Souham was lying, with the division that St. Cyr had told off to cover the siege. The Spaniards drove in the French outposts at several points, but immediately found themselves opposed by very superior numbers, and brought to a complete stand. Realizing that he was far too weak to do anything, Alvarez retreated to Gerona after a sharp skirmish. If he had pushed on he would infallibly have been destroyed. O’Daly received prompt news of his colleague’s discomfiture, and saw that relief was impossible. The fact was that Vives ought to have brought up from Barcelona his whole field army of 20,000 men. With such a host Souham could have been driven back, and Reille compelled to relax the investment, perhaps even to raise the siege. But the[p. 52] Captain-General preferred to waste his men and his time in the futile blockade of Duhesme, who could have been just as well ‘contained’ by 10,000 somatenes as by the main Spanish army of Catalonia. The only attempt which Vives made to strengthen his force in the Ampurdam was to order up to Gerona the Aragonese division of 4,000 men under the Marquis of Lazan, which was lying at Lerida. This force arrived too late for the skirmish on the Fluvia, and when it did appear was far too small to accomplish anything. Alvarez and Lazan united had only 8,000 bayonets, while St. Cyr’s whole army (as we have already seen) was 25,000 strong, and quite able to maintain the siege, and at the same time to provide a covering force against a relieving army so weak as that which now lay at Gerona.

The siege operations meanwhile were pushed on. Fresh batteries were established to sweep the harbour, and to render more difficult the communication of the citadel and the Trinity fort with the English ships. A new attack was started against the eastern front of the town, and measures were taken to concentrate a heavier fire on the dilapidated bastion of the citadel, which had been destroyed in the old siege of 1794 and never properly repaired. On the twenty-sixth an assault was directed by Pino’s division against the town front. This was defended by no more than a ditch and earthwork: the Italians carried it at the first rush, but found more difficulty in evicting the garrison from the ruined houses along the shore. Five hundred miqueletes, who were barricaded among them, made a very obstinate resistance, and were only driven out after sharp fighting. One hundred and sixty were taken prisoners, less than a hundred escaped into the citadel: the rest perished. The besiegers at once established a lodgement in the town, covering themselves with the masonry of the demolished houses. It was in vain that the Fame and Impérieuse ran close in shore and tried to batter the Italians out of the ruins. They inflicted considerable loss, but failed to prevent the enemy from finding shelter. Next night the lodgement in the town was connected with the rest of the siege works, and used as the base for an attack against a hitherto unmolested front of the citadel.

Just after the storming of the town, the garrison received the only succour which was sent to it during the whole siege; a weak[p. 53] battalion of regulars from the regiment of Borbon was put ashore near the citadel under cover of the darkness. It would have been more useful on the preceding day, for the defence of the outer works. After the arrival of this small succour the Governor, O’Daly, sent eighty men of the Irish regiment of Ultonia to reinforce Cochrane in the Trinity fort, withdrawing a similar number of miqueletes to the citadel.

The guns established by the besiegers in their new batteries among the ruins of the town made such good practice upon the front of the citadel that Reille thought it worth while on the twenty-eighth to summon the Governor to surrender. O’Daly made a becoming answer, to the effect that his defences were still intact and that he was prepared to continue his resistance. To cut him off from his communication with the sea, the only side from which he could expect help, Reille now began to build batteries along the water-front of the town, which commanded the landing-places below the citadel. The English ships proved unable to subdue these new guns, and their power to help O’Daly was seriously diminished. It was only under cover of the darkness that they could send boats to land men or stores for the citadel. On the thirtieth they tried to take off the sick and wounded, who were now growing very numerous in the place: but the shore-batteries having hit the headmost boat, the rest drew off and abandoned the attempt. The prospects of the garrison had grown most gloomy.

Meanwhile the Trinity fort had been perpetually battered for ten days, and the hole in the great frontal tower was growing larger. It can hardly be called a breach, as owing to the impossibility of searching the lower courses of the wall by the plunging fire from the Puig-Rom, the lowest edge of the gap was forty feet from the ground. The part of the tower which had been opened was the upper section of a lofty bomb-proof casemate, which composed its ground story. Lord Cochrane built up, with the débris that fell inwards, and with hammocks filled with earth and sand, new walls inside the bomb proof, cutting off the hole from the interior of the tower: thus enemies entering at the gap would find that they had only penetrated into the upper part of a sort of cellar. The ingenious captain also set a long slide or shoot of greased planks just under the[p. 54] lip of the hole, so that any one stepping in would be precipitated thirty feet into the bottom of the casemate. But the mere sight of this mantrap, as he called it, proved enough for the enemy, who never pushed the attack into it.

On November 30 Pino’s division assaulted the fort, the storming party being composed of six grenadier and voltigeur companies of the 1st and 6th Italian regiments. They came on with great courage, and planted their ladders below the great hole, amid a heavy fire of musketry from the garrison. The leaders succeeded in reaching the edge of the ‘breach,’ but finding the chasm and the ‘mantrap’ before them, would not enter. They were all shot down: grenades were dropped in profusion into the mass at the foot of the ladders, and after a time the stormers fled back under cover, leaving two officers and forty men behind them. They were rallied and brought up again to the foot of the breach, but recoiled after a second and less desperate attempt to enter. The garrison lost only three men killed and two wounded, of whom four were Spaniards. They captured two prisoners, men who had got so far forward that they dared not go back under the terrible fire which swept the foot of the tower. These unfortunates had to be taken into the fort by a rope, so inaccessible was the supposed breach. After this bloody repulse, the besiegers left Lord Cochrane alone, merely continuing to bombard his tower, and throwing up entrenchments on the beach, from which they kept up an incessant musketry fire on the difficult landing-place by which the fort communicated with the ships.
Map of the battle of Ucles

Enlarge  BATTLE of UCLéS
JANUARY 13TH 1809
Map of the siege of Rosas

Enlarge  SIEGE of ROSAS
NOV. 6 TO DEC. 5 1809

Their main attention was now turned to the citadel, where O’Daly’s position was growing hopeless. ‘Their practice,’ says Cochrane, ‘was beautiful. So accurately was their artillery conducted that every discharge “ruled a straight line” along the lower part of the walls. This being repeated till the upper portion was without support, as a matter of course the whole fell into the ditch, forming a breach of easy ascent. The whole proceedings were clearly visible from the Trinity[59].’ On December 3 the Governor played his last card: the worst of the damage was being done by the advanced batteries placed among the ruins of the town, and it was from this point that the [p. 55]impending assault would evidently be delivered. O’Daly therefore picked 500 of his best men, opened a postern gate, and launched them at night upon the besiegers’ works. The sortie was delivered with great dash and vigour: the trench guards were swept away, the breaching batteries were seized, and the Spaniards began to throw down the parapets, spike the guns, and set fire to the platforms and fascines. But heavy reserves came up from the French camp, and their attack could not be resisted. Before any very serious damage had been done, the besieged were driven out of the trenches by sheer force of numbers, and forced to retire to the citadel, leaving forty-five dead behind them. Reille acknowledged the loss of one officer and twelve men killed, and nineteen men wounded.

On the fourth the siege works were pushed forward to within 200 yards of the walls of the citadel, and the breach already established in the dilapidated bastion was enlarged to a great breadth. After dark the French engineers got forward as far as the counterscarp, and reported that an assault was practicable, and could hardly fail. The same fact was perfectly evident to O’Daly, who sent out a parlementaire to ask for terms. He offered to surrender in return for leave to take his garrison off by sea. Reille naturally refused, as the Spaniards were at his mercy, and enforced an unconditional surrender.

The state of things being visible to Lord Cochrane on the next morning, he hastily evacuated the Trinity fort, which it was useless to hold after the citadel had fallen. His garrison, 100 Spaniards and eighty British sailors and marines, had to descend from the fort by rope ladders, as the enemy commanded the proper point of embarkation. They were taken off by the boats of the Fame and Impérieuse under a heavy musketry fire, but suffered no appreciable loss. The magazine was left with a slow match burning, and exploded, ruining the fort, before the garrison had got on board their ships.

St. Cyr, in his journal of the war in Catalonia, suggests that Bennett and Cochrane ought to have tried to take off the garrison of the citadel in the same fashion. But this was practically impossible: the communication between the citadel and the sea had been lost for some days, the French batteries along the beach rendering the approach of boats too dangerous to be attempted.[p. 56] If Captain Bennett had sent in the limited supply of boats that the Fame, the Impérieuse and the two smaller vessels[60] possessed they would probably have been destroyed. For they would have had to make many return journeys in order to remove 2,500 men, under the fire of heavy guns placed only 200 or 300 yards away from the landing-place. It was quite another thing to remove 180 men from the Trinity, where the enemy could bring practically nothing but musketry to bear, and where the whole of the garrison could be taken off at a single trip. Another futile charge made by the French against the British navy, is that the Fame shelled the beach near the citadel while the captive garrison was marching out, and killed several of the unfortunate Spaniards. If the incident happened at all (there is no mention of it in Lord Cochrane or in James) it must have been due to an attempt to damage the French trenches; Captain Bennett could not have known that the passing column consisted of Spaniards. To insinuate that the mistake was deliberate, as does Belmas, is simply malicious[61].

O’Daly went into captivity with 2,366 men, leaving about 400 more in hospital. The total of the troops who had taken part in the defence, including the reinforcements received by sea, had been about 3,500, so that about 700 must have perished in the siege. The French loss had been at least as great—Pino’s division alone lost thirty officers and 400 men killed and wounded[62], besides many sick. It is probable that the total diminution in the ranks of Reille’s two divisions was over 1,000, the bad weather having told very heavily on the ill-equipped troops.

So ended an honourable if not a very desperate defence. The place was doomed from the first, when once the torpid and purblind Vives had made up his mind to keep his whole force concentrated round Barcelona, and to send no more than the[p. 57] insignificant division of Alvarez and Lazan to the help of O’Daly. Considering the dilapidated condition of the citadel of Rosas, and the almost untenable state of the town section of the fortifications, the only wonder is that the French did not break in at an earlier date. The first approaches of Reille’s engineers were, according to Belmas, unskilfully conducted, and pushed too much into the marsh. When once they received a right direction, the result was inevitable. Even had the artillery failed to do its work Rosas must nevertheless have fallen within a few days, for it was insufficiently provisioned, and, as the communication with the sea had been cut off since November 30, must have yielded ere long to starvation. The French found an ample store of guns (fifty-eight pieces) and much ammunition in the place, but an utterly inadequate supply of food.

[N.B.—Belmas, St. Cyr, and Arteche have all numerous slips in their narration, from not having used the British authorities. Vacani’s account is, on the whole, the best on the French side. Much may be learnt from James’s Naval History, vol. v, but more from Lord Cochrane’s picturesque autobiography. From this, e.g., alone can it be ascertained that the column which attacked the Puig-Rom on November 23 was composed of miqueletes, not of British soldiers. Cochrane is represented by several writers as arriving on the twenty-fourth or even the twenty-sixth, while as a matter of fact he reached Rosas on the twenty-first. It may interest some to know that Captain Marryat, the novelist, served under Cochrane, and was mentioned in his dispatch. So the description of the siege of Rosas in Marryat’s Frank Mildmay, wherein his captain is so much glorified, is a genuine personal reminiscence, and not an invention of fiction.]
SECTION X: CHAPTER II
ST. CYR RELIEVES BARCELONA: BATTLES OF CARDADEU AND MOLINS DE REY

When Rosas had fallen St. Cyr was at last able to take in hand the main operation which had been entrusted to him by Napoleon—the relief of Barcelona. While the siege was still in progress he had received two letters bidding him hasten to the relief of Duhesme without delay[63], but he had taken upon himself the responsibility of writing back that he must clear his flank and rear before he dared move, and that he should proceed with the leaguer of Rosas, which could only last a few days longer, unless he received formal orders to abandon the undertaking. He ventured to point out that the moral and political effects of taking such a step would be deplorable[64]. Napoleon’s silence gave consent, and St. Cyr’s plea was justified by the fall of the place on December 5.

Rosas having been captured, the French general had now at his disposition all his four divisions, those of Souham, Pino, Reille, and Chabot, which even after deducting the casualties suffered in the siege, and the losses experienced by the covering troops from the bad weather, still amounted to 22,000 men. After counting up the very considerable forces which the Spaniards might place in his way, he resolved to take on with him for the relief of Barcelona the troops of Souham, Pino, and Chabot, and to leave behind only those of Reille. With about 5,000 or 5,500 soldiers of not very good quality that officer was to hold Figueras and Rosas, watch Gerona, and protect the high-road to Perpignan. St. Cyr himself with the twenty-six battalions[p. 59] and nine squadrons forming the other three divisions, a force of some 15,000 infantry and 1,500 horse, took his way to the south.

The first obstacle in his way was Gerona: but if he stopped to besiege and take it, it was clear that he would never reach Barcelona in time to save Duhesme from starvation: that general had reported that his food would only last till the end of December, and Gerona would certainly hold out more than three weeks. Indeed, as we shall see, when it was actually beleaguered in the next year, it made a desperate defence, lasting for nearly six months[65]. St. Cyr saw from the first that he must leave the fortress alone, and slip past it. As it commanded the high-road, this resolution forced him to abandon any intention of taking forward his artillery and his wheeled transport. They could not face the rugged by-paths on to which he would be compelled to throw himself, and he marched without a single gun, and with his food and provisions borne on pack-horses and mules, of which he had a very modest provision.

St. Cyr was quite well aware that if General Vives were to resign the blockade of Barcelona to his miqueletes and somatenes, and to come against him with his whole army, the task of relieving Duhesme would be dangerous if not impossible. There are but two roads from Gerona to Barcelona, and across each of them lie half a dozen positions which, if entrenched and held by superior numbers, he could not hope to force. These two routes are the coast-road by Mataro and Arens de Mar—which the French had used for their first march to Gerona in August—and the inland road up the valley of the Besos by Hostalrich and Granollers. But the former had been so conscientiously destroyed by Lord Cochrane and the local somatenes[66] that St. Cyr regarded it as impassable; there were places where it had been blasted away for lengths of a quarter or a half of a mile. Moreover, at many points the army would have to defile under the cliffs for long distances, and might be shelled by any British men-of-war that should happen to lie off the coast[67]. Accordingly the French general determined to try[p. 60] the inland road, though he would have to march round Gerona and the smaller fortress of Hostalrich, and though it was cut by several admirable positions, where the Catalans might offer battle with reasonable prospects of success. It was all-important that Vives should be left as long as possible in uncertainty as to his adversary’s next move, and that the Catalans should be dealt with in detail rather than in mass. St. Cyr resolved, therefore, to make a show of attacking Gerona, and to try whether he could not catch Lazan and Alvarez, and rout them, before the Captain-General should come up to their assistance.

On December 9, therefore, St. Cyr had his whole corps, minus the division of Reille, concentrated on the left bank of the river Ter. On the next day he man?uvred as if about to envelop Gerona. He had hoped that this move would tempt Lazan and Alvarez to come out and meet him in the open. But fully conscious that their 8,000 men would be exposed to inevitable defeat, the two Spanish officers wisely kept quiet under the walls of their stronghold. Having worked round their flank, St. Cyr on the eleventh sent back the whole of his artillery and heavy baggage to Figueras, and plunged into the mountains; at La Bispal he distributed four days’ biscuit to his men, warning them that there would be no further issue of rations till they reached Barcelona. The light carts which had been dragged thus far with the food were burnt. As to munitions, each soldier had fifty cartridges in his pouch, and the pack-mules carried 150,000 more, a reserve of only ten rounds for each man[68]. The equipment of the army, in short, was such that if it failed to force its way to Barcelona within six days it must starve, while if it was forced to fight three or four heavy engagements it would be left helpless, without a cartridge for a final battle. The general, if not the men in the ranks, fully realized the peril of the situation.

On the twelfth St. Cyr pushed along the mountains above Palamos and San Feliu, brushing away a body of miqueletes from the coast-land under Juan Claros, who tried to hold the defile.[p. 61] On the thirteenth the French reached Vidreras, where they were again on a decent road, that which goes from Gerona to Malgrat. They now perceived that they were being followed by Lazan and the garrison of Gerona, whose camp-fires were visible on the heights to the north, while troops, evidently detached from the blockade of Barcelona, were visible in front of them. It was clear that St. Cyr had at least succeeded in placing himself between the two main forces which the enemy could oppose to him, and might engage them separately. He might also count on the Spaniards looking for him on the Malgrat-Mataro road, on which he was now established, while it was his intention to abandon it, in order to plunge inland once more, and to fall into the main chaussée to Barcelona, south of Hostalrich. That a path existed, along which such a movement could be carried out, was only known to the general by the report of a Perpignan smuggler, who had once kept sheep among these hills. But when exploring parties tried to find it, they lost their way, and reported that no such route existed. If this was the fact, St. Cyr was ruined: but he refused to believe the officers who assured him that the smuggler had erred, and pushing among the rocks finally discovered it himself. During his exploration he was nearly cut off by a party of somatenes, and his escort had to fight hard in order to save him.

But the road was found, and on the fifteenth the army followed it, almost in single file, while the dragoons had to dismount and lead their horses. They saw the fortress of Hostalrich in the valley below them, and passed it in sight of the garrison. Some of the latter came out, and skirmished with the rearguard of St. Cyr’s long column, but they were too weak to do much harm, while Lazan, whose advent from the north would have caused more serious difficulties, had been completely eluded, and never came in sight.

In the afternoon the whole expeditionary force safely descended into the Barcelona chaussée near San Celoni, from which place they drove out four battalions of miqueletes, the first troops that the tardy Vives had detached from his main army. The men were much fatigued, and the somatenes were beginning to give trouble both in flank and rear, but St. Cyr insisted that they should not encamp by San Celoni, but push southward through[p. 62] the difficult defile of the Trentapassos, so that they might not find it held against them on the following morning. This was done, and the best of the many positions which the Spaniards might have held to oppose the march of the invaders was occupied without the least resistance. St. Cyr encamped at the southern end of the pass, and saw before him, when the night had fallen, a line of watch-fires far down the valley of the Besos which showed that the Spaniards from the leaguer of Barcelona had at last come out to oppose him.

The conduct of Vives during the last six days had been in perfect keeping with the rest of his slow and stupid guidance of the campaign. He had received in due course news of the fall of Rosas, and soon after the additional information that St. Cyr had crossed the Ter and was threatening Gerona. Opinion was divided in the camp of the Catalans as to whether the French were about to lay siege to that fortress, or to pass it by and make a dash for the relief of Duhesme. If they sat down before Gerona there was no need to hurry: if they should pass it by, it would be necessary to move at once, in order to occupy the defiles against them. The opinion of the more intelligent officers was that St. Cyr would be forced to march to aid Duhesme, whose want of provisions was well known by secret intelligence sent out from Barcelona. Unfortunately Vives inclined to the other side: he preferred to believe the alternative which did not impose on him the necessity for instant and decisive action. He did nothing, and pretended to be waiting for further news. It reached him on the night of December 11-12, in the form of a message from the Junta of Gerona, to the effect that the French had sent back their artillery and were plunging into the mountains in the direction of La Bispal, so that it was clear that they must be marching to relieve Duhesme. It might have been expected that the Captain-General would now at last break up from his lines, and hasten to throw himself across the path of the approaching enemy. But after holding a long and fruitless council of war he contented himself with sending out Reding, with that part of the newly-arrived Granadan division which had reached Catalonia. On the twelfth therefore the Swiss General started by the inland road with seven battalions of his own Andalusian levies and a regiment[p. 63] of cavalry. Next day he reached Granollers and halted there. At the same time Francisco Milans, with four tercios of miqueletes, was sent out to guard the coast-road, the other possible line of approach by which St. Cyr might arrive. Reding had 5,000 men, Milans 3,000: but Vives still lay before Barcelona with two-thirds of his army, at least 16,000 or 17,000 bayonets. It was in vain that Caldagues, the preserver of Gerona, implored him to leave no more than a screen of miqueletes in the lines, and to sally forth to fight with every regular soldier that he could muster. The Captain-General refused to listen, supporting his inactivity by pleading that the advice sent from Gerona did not speak of the enemy’s force as very large: the defiles, he urged, were so difficult that Reding and Milans, aided by Lazan, ought to be able to hold them against any small expeditionary force.

Thus St. Cyr was left to work out his daring plan without any serious opposition. The only force with which he came in contact was Milans’ brigade of miqueletes, who, finding the coast-road clear, had crossed the mountains and occupied San Celoni. These were the troops whom St. Cyr drove away on the afternoon of the fifteenth, before entering the defile of the Trentapassos.

On receiving news of this combat, which had taken place only twenty-one miles from his lines, Vives at last set out in person. But persisting in his idiotic notion of blocking Barcelona to the last moment, he left Caldagues before the place with 12,000 men, and marched with a single brigade of 4,000 bayonets to join Reding. Moving all through the night of the fifteenth-sixteenth he joined the Granadans at daybreak at Cardadeu on the high-road. Their united strength was only 9,000 men, of whom 600 were cavalry, and seven guns[69]. This was the whole force which fought St. Cyr, for Lazan, moving with culpable slowness, was still far north of San Celoni, when he should have been pressing on the rear of the French, while Milans with the miqueletes, who had been beaten on the previous day, was some miles away in the mountains on the right, and quite out of touch with his commander-in-chief. Nine thousand Spaniards, in short, were within ten miles of the field, yet took no part in the battle.[p. 64] St. Cyr in his central position kept them apart, and they failed to combine with Vives and his force at Cardadeu.

The valley of the Besos at this point has broadened out, and is no longer the narrow defile that is seen a few miles further to the north. But there is much broken ground on both sides of the high-road. A little way north of Cardadeu is a low hill covered with pines, lying to the right of the chaussée: at the foot of the hill is a ravine which the road has to cross at right angles, and which falls into the stream called the Riera de la Roca. The country-side was composed partly of cultivated ground, partly of thickets of pine and oak, which rendered it difficult for either side to get a general view of its adversaries’ movements.

Vives, who had only reached his fighting-ground at dawn, had no time to reconnoitre his position, or to make any elaborate scheme for getting the best use out of the terrain. He hastily drew up his army in two lines across the high-road: the front line was behind the ravine, the second higher up on the pine-clad hill. Reding’s troops held the right wing on the lowest ground, and extended as far as the river Mogent, a branch of the Besos. Vives’ own Catalan regiments formed the centre and left: they were mainly placed on the hill commanding the road, with three guns in front of their centre, and two further to the left on a point from which they could enfilade a turn of the chaussée. The miqueletes of Vich, on the extreme left, held a spur of the higher mountains which bound the valley of the Besos. The reserve drawn up on the high-road, behind the main position, consisted of two guns, two squadrons of horse (Husares Espa?oles, lately arrived from Majorca) and two battalions.

St. Cyr could make out very little of his adversaries’ force or position; the woods and hills masked the greater part of the Spanish line. But he knew that he must attack, and that promptly, for every hour that he delayed would give time for Lazan to come up in his rear, and Milans on his left flank. He left behind him at the southern outlet of the Trentapassos the three battalions of Chabot’s division, with orders to hold the defile at all costs against Lazan, whenever the latter should appear. With the other twenty-three battalions forming the[p. 65] divisions of Pino and Souham he marched down the high-road to deal with Vives. It was necessary to attack at once: ‘the biscuit distributed at La Bispal was just finished: the cartridges were running low, for many had been spent in the preceding skirmishes. There was, in fact, only ammunition for one hour of battle[70].’ St. Cyr saw that he must win by one short and swift stroke, or suffer a complete disaster. Accordingly, he had resolved to form his two strong divisions—more than 13,000 men—into one great column, which was to charge the Spanish centre and burst through by its own impetus and momentum. Pino’s thirteen Italian battalions formed the head of the mass: Souham’s ten French battalions its rear. The General’s plan is best expressed in his own words: his orders to Pino, who was to lead the attack, ran as follows:—

‘The corps must fight in the order in which I have arranged it this morning. There is neither time nor means to make dispositions to beat the Spaniards more or less thoroughly. The country-side is so broken and wooded that it would take three hours to reconnoitre their position, and in two hours Lazan may be on the spot attacking our rear. Not a minute can be lost: we must simply rush at and trample down[71] the corps in our front, whatever its strength may be. Our food is done, our ammunition almost exhausted. The enemy has artillery, which is a reason the more for haste: the quicker we attack, the less time will he have to shell us. There must be no attempt to feel his position; not one battalion must be deployed. Though his position is strong we must go straight at it in column, and burst through the centre by striking at that one point with our whole force. The enemy must be given no time to prepare his defence or bring up his reserves. You must not change the disposition in column in which we march, even in order to take great numbers of prisoners. Our sole end is to break through and to get as close as we can to Barcelona this evening. Our camp-fires must be visible to the garrison by night, to show that we are at hand to raise the siege.’

This order of battle was most hazardous: if St. Cyr had found[p. 66] in front of him two steady English divisions instead of Reding’s raw Granadan levies and the gallant but untrained Catalan miqueletes, it is certain that affairs would have gone as at Busaco or Talavera. Dense columns attacking a fair position held by good troops in line are bound to suffer terrible losses, and ought never to succeed. But St. Cyr knew the enemies with whom he had to deal, and his method was well adapted to his end. If he ran some risk of failing at the commencement of the action, it was simply because his subordinates did not follow out his directions.

General Pino, on whom the responsibility of opening the attack devolved, started with every intention of obedience. But when he arrived at the foot of the Spanish position, and the balls began to fall thickly among his leading battalions, he lost his head. His column only faced the Spanish right centre, and the heavy flanking fire from the hostile wings daunted him. Instead of pushing straight before him with his whole force, as St. Cyr had ordered, he threw out five battalions of Mazzuchelli’s brigade to his left[72], and two battalions under General Fontane to his extreme right[73]; the six battalions of his rear brigade were not yet up to the front, and took no part in the first assault. Thus he attacked on a front of three-quarters of a mile, instead of at one single point. His columns, after driving in the Spanish front line, came to a stand half-way up the hill, in a very irregular array, the flanks thrown forward, the centre hanging somewhat back. Reding, against whom the main attack of Mazzuchelli’s brigade had been directed, brought up his second line, and when the Italians were slackening in their advance hurled at them two squadrons of hussars, and led forward his whole division. The assailants broke, and fell back with loss.

St. Cyr, coming up to the front at this moment, was horrified to mark the results of Pino’s disobedience of his orders. But he had still Souham’s division in hand, and flung it, in one solid mass of ten battalions, upon Reding’s right; at the same time he commanded Pino to throw the two regiments of his intact rear brigade upon the Spanish centre[74], while Fontane’s two[p. 67] battalions continued to demonstrate against the enemy’s left. The result was what might have been expected: the column of Souham burst through the Granadan division, and completely routed the right wing of the Spanish army: at the same moment Pino’s main column forced back Vives and the Catalans along the line of the high-road. All at once fell into confusion, and, when St. Cyr bade his two Italian cavalry regiments charge up the chaussée, the enemy broke his ranks and fled to the hills. Five of the seven Spanish guns were captured, with two standards and some 1,500 unwounded prisoners. Reding, who stayed behind to the last, trying to rally a rearguard for the protection of the routed host, was nearly taken prisoner, and had to draw his sword and cut his way out. Vives, whose conduct on this day was anything but creditable, scrambled up a cliff after turning his horse loose, and came almost alone to the sea-shore near Mongat, where he was picked up by the boats of the Cambrian frigate, and forwarded to Tarragona. Besides the prisoners the Spaniards lost at least a thousand men, and many of the miqueletes dispersed to their homes. St. Cyr acknowledged 600 casualties, nearly all of them, as might have been expected, in Pino’s division.

Reding at last succeeded in rallying some troops at Monmalo near San Culgat, and covered the retreat of the main mass of the fugitives to join the troops who had been left in the lines before Barcelona. As to the detached Spanish corps under Milans and the Marquis of Lazan, the former never came down from the hills till the fighting was over, though it was only four or five miles from the scene of action[75]. The latter, which was following in St. Cyr’s rear, moved with such extreme slowness that it had not yet reached San Celoni when the battle was fought, and did not even get into contact with Chabot’s division, which had been left behind to guard against its approach[76]. On learning of the defeat the Marquis marched back to Gerona, and rejoined Alvarez. Thus Vives got no assistance whatever from his outlying corps: if Lazan is to be trusted, this was largely the fault[p. 68] of the Commander-in-chief himself, for no dispatch from him reached his subordinates after December 14, and they had no knowledge of his movements or designs.

Meanwhile Caldagues, who had been left in charge of the blockade, had maintained his post, and repulsed a heavy sortie which Duhesme and the garrison had directed against his posts on the sixteenth. But when the news of the battle of Cardadeu reached him in the evening, he evacuated all the parts of his line which lay to the east of the Llobregat, and concentrated his 12,000 men at Molins de Rey and San Boy, on the further bank of that river. He was forced to abandon at Sarria the large dép?t of provisions from which the left wing of the investing force had been fed.

The road from Cardadeu and San Culgat to Barcelona being thus left open, St. Cyr marched in triumph into Barcelona on the morning of the seventeenth. He complains in his memoirs that he did not discover one single vedette from the garrison pushed out to meet him, and that Duhesme did not come forth to receive him, or give him a single word of thanks. Indeed, when the Governor at last presented himself to meet the commander of the Seventh Corps, he spent his first words not in expressing his appreciation for the service which had been rendered him, but in demonstrating that he had never been in danger, and could have held out for six weeks more. He was somewhat abashed when St. Cyr replied by presenting him with a copy of one of his own former dispatches to Berthier, which painted the condition of the garrison in the blackest colours, and asked for instant succours lest the worst might happen[77].

It was clear that the two generals would not work well together, but as St. Cyr held the supreme command, and was determined to assert himself, Duhesme could do no more than sulk in silence. The conduct of the operations against the Catalans had been taken completely out of his hands.

St. Cyr’s daring march to Barcelona had been crowned with complete success. It was by far the most brilliant operation on[p. 69] the French side during the first year of the war. That it was perilous cannot be denied: if the commander of the Seventh Corps had found the whole army of Vives entrenched at the passage of the Tordera, or across the defile of the Trentapassos, it seems impossible that he could have got forward to Barcelona. Thirty thousand men, of whom half were regular troops, might have been opposed to him, and they could have brought artillery against him, while he had not a single piece. If once checked he must have retreated in haste, for he had only ammunition for a single battle. But the rapid and unexpected character of his movements entirely puzzled the enemy, and he was fortunate in having a Vives to contend against. ‘When the enemy has no general,’ as Schepeler remarks while commenting on this campaign, ‘any stroke of luck is possible.’ Against a capable officer St. Cyr would probably have failed, but he had a shrewd suspicion of the character of his opponent from what had happened during the siege of Rosas: he dared much, and his daring was rewarded by a splendid victory.

The campaign, however, was not yet completed. Barcelona had been relieved, but only a fraction of the Spanish army had been met and beaten. Caldagues lay behind the Llobregat with 11,000[78] men who had not yet been engaged. Reding had joined him with the wrecks of the troops which had fought at Cardadeu, some 3,000 or 4,000 men. They lined the eastern bank of the river, only six or seven miles from the suburbs of Barcelona, occupying the entrenchments which had been constructed to shut in Duhesme during the blockade. These were strengthened with several redoubts, some of them armed with heavy artillery, and the positions were good, but too extensive for a force of 14,000 or 15,000 men. Their weak point was that the Llobregat even in December is fordable in many places, and that if the French attacked in mass at one point they were almost certain of being able to force their way through the line. Reding, and his second-in-command Caldagues, were both of opinion that it would be wise to evacuate the lines, if St. Cyr should come out in force against them, and to fall back on the mountains in their rear, which separate the valley[p. 70] of the Llobregat from the coast-plain of Tarragona. Here there was a strong position at the defile of Ordal, where it was intended to construct an entrenched camp. But there was a strong temptation to hold on in the old lines for as long a time as possible, for by retiring to Ordal the army would leave open the high-road to Lerida and Saragossa, and give up much of the plain to the incursions of the French foragers. Reding sent back to Vives, who had now landed in his rear and placed himself at Villanueva de Sitjas, to ask whether he was to retreat at once, or to hold his ground. The Captain-General sent back the inconclusive reply that ‘he might fall back on Ordal if he could not defend the line of the Llobregat.’ Thus he threw back the responsibility on his subordinate, and Reding, anxious to vindicate his courage before the eyes of the Catalans, resolved after some hesitation to retain his positions, though he had grave doubts of the possibility of resistance.

He was not allowed much time to ponder over the situation. The reply of Vives only reached him on the night of December 20-21. On the next morning St. Cyr came out of Barcelona and attacked the lines. He had brought with him every available man: Duhesme had been left to hold the city with Lecchi’s Italians alone: his other division (that of Chabran), together with the three which had formed the army of succour—those of Souham, Pino, and Chabot—were all directed against the lines. The plan of St. Cyr was to demonstrate against the bridge of Molins de Rey, the strongest part of the Spanish position, with Chabran’s 4,000 men, while he himself crossed the fords lower down the Llobregat with the 14,000 bayonets of the other three divisions, and turned the right flank of the enemy.

At five o’clock on a miserable gusty December morning the French came down towards the river: Chabran led off by making a noisy demonstration opposite the redoubts at the bridge, on the northern flank of the position. This, as St. Cyr had intended, drew Reding’s attention to that flank: he reinforced his left with troops drawn from his right wing on the lower and easier ground down stream. An hour later the other attacking columns advanced, that of Souham crossing[p. 71] the ford of San Juan Despi, while Pino and Chabot passed by that of San Feliu. No proper attempt was made to dispute their advance. Outnumbered, and strung out along a very extensive position, the Catalans soon saw their line broken in several places. The only serious opposition made was by the centre, which advanced down hill against Souham and tried to charge him, but gave back long before bayonets had been crossed.

The most fatal part of Reding’s position was that on his extreme right Chabot’s three battalions had got completely round his flank, and kept edging in on the rear of his southern wing, which abandoned hill after hill as it saw its retreat threatened. Pino and Souham had only to press on, and each regiment in their front gave way in turn when it saw its exposed flank in danger. At last the whole of the Spanish right and centre was pushed back in disorder on to the still intact left behind the bridge of Molins de Rey. Now was the time for Chabran to turn his demonstration into a real attack: if he had crossed the river and advanced rapidly, he would have caught the shaken masses in front, while the rest of the army chased them forward into his arms. But being timid or unenterprising, he let the flying enemy pass across his front unmolested, and only forded the river when they had gone too far to be caught. The unhappy Vives came up at this moment, just in time to see his whole army on the run, and headed their flight to the hills.

Thus the Spaniards got away without any very crushing losses, though their historian Cabanes confesses that if Chabran had moved a quarter of an hour earlier he would have captured half the army of Catalonia. As it was, St. Cyr took about 1,200 prisoners only, though his dragoons pursued the routed enemy for many miles. It was a great misfortune for the Catalans that among these captives was the Conde de Caldagues, the one first-rate officer in their ranks. He was taken by the pursuers at Vendrell, many miles from the field, when his exhausted horse fell under him. St. Cyr captured the whole artillery of the Spaniards, twenty-five cannon[79], of which several[p. 72] were pieces of heavy calibre, mounted in redoubts. The field-pieces were more useful to him, as he was very short of artillery; he had brought none with him, while Duhesme had been obliged to destroy the greater part of his during the retreat from Gerona in August. He also made prize of a magazine of 3,000,000 cartridges and of many thousands of muskets, which the routed enemy cast away in their haste to escape over the hills. Some of the fugitives fled south, and did not stop till they reached Tortosa and the Ebro: others dispersed in the direction of Igualada and Lerida, but the main body rallied at Tarragona.

The victorious French divisions were pushed far out from the battle-field so as to occupy not only the whole plain of the Llobregat, but also the defiles over the hills leading to Tarragona. Chabran was placed at Martorell, Chabot at San Sadurni, Souham at Vendrell, and Pino at Villanueva de Sitjas and Villafranca. Thus the pass of Ordal was in the victor’s hands, and he had it in his power to march against Tarragona without having any further positions to force. But the siege of that place did not form, at present, any part of St. Cyr’s designs. His aim was first to collect such magazines at Barcelona as would feed his whole army of 25,000 men till the harvest was ripe, and secondly to reopen his communication with France. The sea route was rendered dangerous by the English ships, which were continually hovering off the coast. The land route was blocked by the fortresses of Hostalrich and Gerona. St. Cyr imagined that it was more important to make an end of these places, and open his route to Perpignan, than to attack Tarragona. The latter place was strong, and the greater part of the Catalan army had taken refuge in it. The siege would need, as he supposed, many months, and could not be properly conducted till a battering-train and a large store of ammunition had been brought down from France.

It is possible that the French general might have come to another conclusion if he had been aware of the state of panic and disorganization among the Catalans at this moment. The miqueletes had mostly dispersed to their homes, the regular troops were mutinous, and the populace was crying treason and looking for scape-goats. The incapable Vives was frightened[p. 73] into resignation, and finally replaced by Reding, whose courage at least was beyond suspicion, if his abilities were not those of a great general. The smaller towns were full of tumults and assassination: at Lerida a certain Gomez declared himself dictator and began to seize and execute all suspected persons. He did not stop till he was caught and beheaded by a battalion which Reding sent out against him. In short, anarchy reigned in Catalonia for ten days, and it is possible that if St. Cyr had marched straight to Tarragona he might have taken the place, though its inhabitants were working hard at their fortifications, and vowing to emulate Saragossa. Many historians of the war have blamed the French general for not making the attempt: but there was much to urge in his defence. It is perfectly possible that the Tarragonese might have made a gallant stand, in spite of all their troubles, for the garrison was large if disorderly. If they held out, St. Cyr had neither a siege equipage nor sufficient magazines to feed his army when concentrated in a single spot. The French troops were exhausted, and suffering dreadfully from the inclement winter weather. Lazan and Alvarez were in full force in the Ampurdam, and were giving Reille’s weak division much trouble.

Probably therefore St. Cyr was justified in halting for a month, which he employed in clearing the whole country-side for thirty miles round Barcelona, and in collecting the stores of food which his army required before it could make another move. The halt allowed time for the Catalans to rally, and for Reding to reorganize his army: by February he was ready once more to try his fortune in the field. Indeed, he was ere long more formidable than St. Cyr had expected, for he was joined by the second brigade of his own Granadan division, which came up from Valencia not long after the battle of Molins de Rey, and the last reserves from Majorca had also sailed to aid him, after giving over the fortifications of the Balearic Isles to the marines of the fleet, and the urban guards of Palma and Port Mahon. The miqueletes, too, returned to their standards when the first panic was over, and in a month Catalonia could once more show an army of 30,000 men. The first incident which occurred to encourage the insurgents was that on January 1. Lazan fell upon and very severely handled a detached battalion[p. 74] of Reille’s division at Castellon in the Ampurdam[80], and when Reille came up against him in person with 2,500 men, inflicted on him a sharp check at the fords of the Muga. Not long after, however, the Marquis withdrew from this region, and marched back toward Aragon, taking with him his own division and leaving only the weak corps of Alvarez to deal with Reille. His retreat was caused by the news of his brother’s desperate position in Saragossa. Hoping to make a diversion in favour of Palafox, Lazan marched to Lerida, where he began to gather in all the men that he could collect before moving back to his native province. Thus the pressure on Reille was much reduced.

St. Cyr’s men, meanwhile, made many expeditions into the valleys above Barcelona. They cleared the defile of Bruch leading into the upper valley of the Llobregat, which the somatenes had held so gallantly against Schwartz and Chabran in June. They took, but did not hold, the almost inaccessible peak of Montserrat, and on the coast-road dominated the country as far as Mataro. But they could not reopen the communications with France: their general did not dare to set about the siege of Gerona while Reding had still the makings of an army in the direction of Tarragona. It was not till that brave but unfortunate officer had received his third defeat in February that St. Cyr was able to turn his attention to the north, and the road to Perpignan. For the present, the French general found himself mainly occupied by the imperious necessity for scraping together food not only for his own army, but for the great city of Barcelona, where both the garrison and the people were living from hand to mouth. For the resources of the neighbouring plain were nearly exhausted, and the only external supply came from occasional merchantmen from Cette or Marseilles, whose captains were tempted to run the British blockade by the enormous price which they could secure for their corn if it could be brought safely through. It[p. 75] was only somewhat later that the Emperor directed the naval authorities in Provence to dispatch regular convoys to Barcelona under a strong escort, whenever the British cruisers were reported to have been blown out to sea. Meanwhile the problem of food supplies remained almost as urgent a question for St. Cyr as the movements of his adversaries in the field.
SECTION X: CHAPTER III
THE CAMPAIGN OF FEBRUARY, 1809: BATTLE OF VALLS

More than a month had elapsed since the battle of Molins de Rey before any important movements were made in Catalonia. Early in February St. Cyr drew in his divisions from the advanced positions in the plain of Tarragona, which they had taken up after the victory of Molins de Rey. They had eaten up the country-side, and were being much harassed by the miqueletes, who had begun to press in upon their communications with Barcelona, in spite of all the care that was taken to scour the country with small flying columns, and to scatter any nucleus of insurgents that began to grow up in the French rear. Owing to the dispersion of the divisions of the 7th Corps these operations were very laborious; between the new year and the middle of February St. Cyr calculated that his men had used up 2,000,000 cartridges in petty skirmishes, and suffered a very appreciable loss in operations that were practically worthless[81]. Accordingly he drew them closer together, in order to shorten the dangerously extended line of communication with Barcelona.

Reding, during this period of waiting, had been keeping quiet in Tarragona, where he was reorganizing and drilling the harassed troops which had been beaten at Cardadeu and Molins de Rey. He had, as we have already seen, received heavy reinforcements from the South[82] and the Balearic Isles[83]; but it was not in numbers only that his army had improved. St. Cyr’s inaction had restored their morale. They were too, as regards food and munitions, in a much better condition than their adversaries, as they could freely draw provisions from the plain[p. 77] of the Lower Ebro and the northern parts of Valencia, and were besides helped by corn brought in by British and Spanish vessels from the whole eastern Mediterranean. Reding had also got a good supply of arms and ammunition from England. As he found himself unmolested, he was finally able to rearrange his whole force, so as not only to cover Tarragona, but to extend a screen of troops all round the French position. He now divided his army into two wings: he himself, on the right, kept in hand at Tarragona the 1st Division, consisting mainly of the Granadan troops: while General Castro was sent to establish the head quarters of the 2nd Division, which contained most of the old battalions of the army of Catalonia, at Igualada. Their line of communication was by Santa Coloma, Sarreal, and Montblanch. This disposition was probably a mistake: while the French lay concentrated in the middle of the semicircle, the Spanish army was forced to operate on outer lines sixty miles long, and could not mass itself in less than three or four days. By a sudden movement of the enemy, either Reding or Castro might be assailed by superior numbers, and forced to fall back on an eccentric line of retreat before he could be succoured by his colleague.

It would seem that, encouraged by St. Cyr’s quiescence, his own growing strength, and the protestations of the Catalans, Reding had once more resolved to resume the offensive. The extension of his left to Igualada was made with no less ambitious a purpose than that of outflanking the northern wing of the French army, and then delivering a simultaneous concentric attack on its scattered divisions as they lay in their cantonments. Such a plan presupposed that St. Cyr would keep quiet while the preparations were being made, that he would fail to concentrate in time, and that the Spanish columns, operating from two distant bases, would succeed in timing their co-operation with perfect accuracy. At the best they could only have brought some 30,000 men against the 23,000 of St. Cyr’s field army—a superiority far from sufficient to give them a rational chance of success. It is probable that at this moment Reding’s best chance of doing something great for the cause of Spain would have been to leave a strong garrison in Tarragona, and march early in February with 20,000 men to the relief of Sara[p. 78]gossa, which was now drawing near the end of its powers of resistance. Lannes and Junot would have had to raise the siege if an army of such size had come up against them. But, though intending to succour Saragossa in a few weeks, Reding was induced by the constant entreaties of the Catalans to undertake first an expedition against St. Cyr. He sent off no troops to aid the Marquis of Lazan in his fruitless attempt to relax the pressure on his brother’s heroic garrison, but devoted all his attention to the 7th Corps.

St. Cyr was not an officer who was likely to be caught unprepared by such a movement as Reding had planned. The extension of the Spanish line to Igualada and the upper Llobregat had not escaped his notice, and he was fully aware of the advantage which his central position gave him over an enemy who had been obliging enough to draw out his fighting strength on an arc of a circle sixty miles from end to end. Without fully realizing Reding’s intentions, he could yet see that the Spaniards were giving him a grand opportunity of beating them in detail. He resolved to strike a blow at their northern wing, convinced that if he acted with sufficient swiftness and energy he could crush it long ere it could be succoured from Tarragona.

It thus came to pass that Reding and St. Cyr began to move simultaneously—the one on exterior, the other on interior lines—with the inevitable result. On February 15 Castro, in accordance with the instructions of the Captain-General, began to concentrate his troops at Igualada, with the intention of advancing against the French divisions at San Sadurni and Martorell. At the same time orders were sent to Alvarez, the Governor of Gerona, to detach all the men he could spare for a demonstration against Barcelona, in order to distract the attention of Duhesme and the garrison. Reding himself, with the troops at Tarragona, intended to march against Souham the moment that he should receive the news that his lieutenants were ready to strike.

At the same moment St. Cyr started out on his expedition against Igualada. He took with him Pino’s Italian division[84], and ordered Chabot and Chabran to concentrate with him at[p. 79] Capellades, seven or eight miles to the south-east of Castro’s head quarters. By taking this route he avoided the northern bank of the Noya and the defiles of Bruch, and approached the enemy from the side where he could most easily cut him off from reinforcements coming from Tarragona.

The concentration of the three French columns was not perfectly timed, those of Pino and Chabran finding their way far more difficult than did Chabot. It thus chanced that the latter with his skeleton division of three battalions, arrived in front of Capellades many hours before his colleagues. His approach was reported to Castro at Igualada, who sent down 4,000 men against him, attacked him, and beat him back with loss[85] into the arms of Pino, who came on the scene later in the day [Feb. 17]. The Spaniards were then forced to give back, and retired to Pobla de Claramunt on the banks of the Noya, where they were joined by most of Castro’s reserves. St. Cyr had now concentrated his three divisions, and hoped that he might bring the enemy to a pitched battle. He drew up in front of them all his force, save one of Pino’s brigades, which he sent to turn their right [Feb. 18]. The Spaniards, having a fine position behind a ravine, were at first inclined to fight, and skirmished with the enemy’s main body for some hours. They narrowly missed capturing both St. Cyr and Pino, who had ridden forward with their staff to reconnoitre, and fell into an ambush of miqueletes, from which they only escaped by the speed of their horses[86].

But late in the day the Spanish General received news that Mazzuchelli, with the detached Italian brigade, was already in his rear and marching hard for Igualada. He immediately evacuated his position in great disorder, and fell back on his head quarters, closely pursued by St. Cyr. The main body of the Spaniards, with their artillery, just succeeded in passing through Igualada before the Italians came up, and fled by the road to Cervera. The rear was cut off, and had to escape in another direction by the path leading to Manresa. Both[p. 80] columns were much hustled and lost many prisoners, yet they fairly outmarched their pursuers and got away without any crushing disaster[87]. But their great loss was that in Igualada the French seized all the magazines which had been collected from northern Catalonia for the use of Castro’s division. This relieved St. Cyr from all trouble as to provisions for many days: he had now food enough not only to provide for his field army, but to send back to Barcelona.

St. Cyr had now done all the harm that was in his power to the Spanish left wing—he had beaten them, seized their magazines, driven them apart, and broken their line. He imagined that they were disposed of for many days, and now resolved to turn off for a blow at Reding and the other half of the Catalonian army, who might meanwhile (for all that he knew) be attacking Souham with very superior numbers.

Accordingly on Feb. 19 he started off with Pino’s division to join Souham and fall upon Reding, leaving Chabot and Chabran, with all the artillery of the three divisions, to occupy Igualada and guard the captured magazines from any possible offensive return on the part of Castro. He marched by cross-roads along the foot-hills of the mountains of the great central Catalonian sierra, intending to descend into the valley of the Gaya by San Magin and the abbey of Santas Cruces, where (as he had learnt) lay the northernmost detachments of Reding’s division[88]. Thus he hoped to take the enemy in flank and beat him in detail. He sent orders to Souham to move out of Vendrell and meet him at Villarodo?a, half-way up the course of Gaya, unless he should have been already attacked by Reding and forced to take some other line.

At San Magin the French commander came upon some of Reding’s troops, about 1,200 men with two guns, under a brigadier named Iranzo. They showed fight, but were beaten[p. 81] and sought refuge further down the valley of the Gaya in the fortified abbey of Santas Cruces. So bare was the country-side, and so bad the maps, that St. Cyr found considerable difficulty in tracking them, and in discovering the best way down the valley. But next day he got upon their trail[89], and beset the abbey, which made a good defence and proved impregnable to a force unprovided with artillery. St. Cyr blockaded it for two days, and then descended into the plain, where he got in touch with Souham’s division, which had advanced from Vendrell, and was now pillaging the hamlets round Villarodo?a, in the central valley of the Gaya[90] [February 21].

Meanwhile Reding was at last on the move. On receiving the news of the combat of Igualada, he had to choose between the opportunity of making a counter-stroke at Souham, and that of marching to the aid of his lieutenant, Castro. He adopted the latter alternative, and started from Tarragona on February 20 with an escort of about 2,000 men, including nearly all his available cavalry[91]. It was his intention to pick up on the way the outlying northern brigades of his division. This he succeeded in doing, drawing in to himself the troops which were guarding the pass of Santa Cristina, and Iranzo’s detachment at Santas Cruces. This force, warned of his approach, broke through the blockade at night, and reached its chief with little or no loss [February 21]. Thus reinforced Reding pushed on by Sarreal to Santa Coloma, where Castro joined him with the rallied troops of his wing, whom he had collected when the French attack slackened. They had between them nearly 20,000 men, an imposing force, with which some of the officers present suggested that it would be possible to[p. 82] fall upon Igualada, crush Chabot and Chabran, and recover the lost magazines. But Reding was nervous about Tarragona, dreading lest St. Cyr might unite with Souham and fall upon the city during his absence. After holding a lengthy council of war[92] he determined to return to protect his base of operations. Accordingly, he told off the Swiss General Wimpffen, with some 4.000 or 5,000 of Castro’s troops, to observe the French divisions at Igualada, and started homeward with the rest of his army, about 10,000 infantry, 700 cavalry, and two batteries of field artillery[93].[p. 83] He had made up his mind to return by the route of Montblanch and Valls, one somewhat more remote from the position of St. Cyr on the Gaya than the way by Pla, which he had taken in setting out to join Castro. Reding could only have got home without fighting by taking a circuitous route to the east, via Selva and Reus: the suggestion that he should do so was made, but he replied that having baggage and artillery with him he was forced to keep to a high-road. He chose that by Valls, though he was aware that the place was occupied: but apparently he hoped to crush Souham before Pino could come to his aid. He was resolved, it is said, not to court a combat, but on the other hand not to refuse it if the enemy should offer to fight him on advantageous ground. [February 24.] The truth is, that he was bold even to rashness, could never forget the great day of Baylen, in which he had taken such a splendid part, and was anxious to wash out by a victory the evil memories of Cardadeu and Molins de Rey. He set out on the evening of February 24, and by daybreak next morning was drawing near the bridge of Goy, where the high-road to Tarragona crosses the river Francoli, some two miles north of the town of Valls. His troops, as was to be expected, were much exhausted by the long march in the darkness[94].

St. Cyr, meanwhile, had not been intending to strike a blow at Tarragona. He regarded it as much more necessary to beat the enemy’s field army than to close in upon the fortress, which would indubitably have offered a long and obstinate resistance. When he got news of Reding’s march to Santa Coloma he resolved to follow him: he was preparing to hasten to the succour of his divisions at Igualada, when he learnt that the Swiss general had turned back, and was hurrying home to Tarragona. He resolved, therefore, to try to intercept him on his return march, and blocked his two available roads by placing Souham’s division at Valls and Pino’s at Pla. They were only eight or nine miles apart, and whichever road the Spaniards took the unassailed French division could easily come to the aid of the other.

Reding’s night march, a move which St. Cyr does not seem to have foreseen, nearly enabled him to carry out his plan. In fact,[p. 84] as we shall see, he had almost made an end of the French division before the Marshal, who lay himself at Pla with the Italians, arrived to succour it[95].

In the early morning, between six and seven o’clock, the head of the long Spanish column reached the bridge of Goy, and there fell in with Souham’s vedettes. The sharp musketry fire which at once broke out warned each party that a combat was at hand. Souham hastily marched out from Valls, and drew up his two brigades in the plain to the north of the town, placing himself across the line of the enemy’s advance. Reding at first made up his mind to thrust aside the French division, whose force he somewhat undervalued, and to hurry on his march toward Tarragona. The whole of his advanced guard and part of his centre crossed the river, deployed on the left bank, and attacked the French. Souham held his ground for some hours, but as more and more Spanish battalions kept pressing across the bridge and reinforcing the enemy’s line, he began after a time to give way—the numerical odds were heavily against him, and the Catalans were fighting with great steadiness and confidence. Before noon the French division was thrust back against the town of Valls, and Reding had been able to file not only the greater part of his army but all his baggage across the Francoli. The way to Tarragona was clear, and if he had chosen to disengage his men he could have carried off the whole of his army to that city without molestation from Souham, who[p. 85] was too hard hit to wish to continue the combat. It is even possible that if he had hastily brought up all his reserves he might have completely routed the French detachment before it could have been succoured.

But Reding adopted neither one course nor the other. After driving back Souham, he allowed his men a long rest, probably in order to give the rear and the baggage time to complete the passage of the Francoli. While things were standing still, St. Cyr arrived at full gallop from Pla, where he had been lying with Pino’s division, to whom the news of the battle had arrived very late. He brought with him only Pino’s divisional cavalry, the ‘Dragoons of Napoleon’ and Royal Chasseurs, but had ordered the rest of the Italians to follow at full speed when they should have got together. As Pla is no more than eight miles from Valls, it was expected that they would appear within the space of three hours. But, as a matter of fact, Pino did not draw near till the afternoon: one of his brigades, which lay far out, received contradictory orders, and did not come in to Pla till past midday[96], and the Italian general would not move till it had rejoined him. Three hours were wasted by this contretemps, and meanwhile the battle might have been lost.

On arriving upon the field with the Italian cavalry, St. Cyr rode along Souham’s line, steadied it, and displayed the horsemen in his front. Seeing the French rallying, and new troops arriving to their aid, the Spanish commander jumped to the conclusion that St. Cyr had come up with very heavy reinforcements, and instead of continuing his advance, or pressing on his march toward Tarragona, suddenly changed his whole plan of operations. He would not stand to be attacked in the plain, but he resolved to fight a defensive action on the heights beyond the Francoli, from which he had descended in the morning. Accordingly, first his baggage, then his main body, and lastly his vanguard, which covered the retreat of the rest, slowly filed back over the bridge of Goy, and took position on the rolling hills to the east. Here Reding drew them up in two lines, with the river flowing at their feet as a front defence, and their batteries drawn up so as to sweep the bridge of Goy and the fords. The right wing was covered by a lateral ravine falling into the Francoli; the left, facing the[p. 86] village of Pixamoxons, was somewhat ‘in the air,’ but the whole position, if long, was good and eminently defensible.

St. Cyr observed his adversary’s movement with joy, for he would have been completely foiled if Reding had refused to fight and passed on toward Tarragona. Knowing the Spanish troops, a pitched battle with superior numbers was precisely what he most desired. Accordingly he took advantage of the long time of waiting, while Pino’s division was slowly drawing near the field, to rest and feed Souham’s tired troops, and then to draw them up facing the southern half of Reding’s position, with a vacant space on their right on which the Italians were to take up their ground, when at last they should arrive.

When St. Cyr had lain for nearly three hours quiescent at the foot of the heights, and no reinforcements had yet come in sight, Reding began to grow anxious. He had, as he now realized, retired with unnecessary haste from in front of a beaten force, and had assumed a defensive posture when he should have pressed the attack. At about three o’clock he made up his mind that he had committed an error, but thinking it too late to resume the fight, resolved to retire on Tarragona by the circuitous route which passes through the village of Costanti. He sent back General Marti to Tarragona to bring out fresh troops from the garrison to join him at that point, and issued orders that the army should retreat at dusk. He might perhaps have got off scatheless if he had moved away at once, though it is equally possible that St. Cyr might have fallen upon his rearguard with Souham’s division, and done him some damage. But he waited for the dark before marching, partly because he wished to rest his troops, who were desperately fatigued by the night march and the subsequent combat in the morning, partly because he did not despair of fighting a successful defensive action if St. Cyr should venture to cross the Francoli and attack him. Accordingly he lingered on the hillside in battle array, waiting for the darkness[97].

[p. 87]

This gave St. Cyr his chance; at three o’clock Pino’s belated division had begun to come up: first Fontane’s brigade, then, an hour and a half later, that of Mazzuchelli, whose absence from Pla had caused all the delay. It was long past four, and the winter afternoon was far spent when St. Cyr had at last got all his troops in hand.

Allowing barely enough time for the Italians to form in order of battle[98], St. Cyr now led forward his whole army to the banks of the Francoli. The two divisions formed four heavy columns of a brigade each: and in this massive formation forded the river and advanced uphill, driving in before them the Spanish skirmishers. The Italian dragoons went forward in the interval between two of the infantry columns; the French cavalry led the attack on the extreme right, near the bridge of Goy.

For a moment it seemed as if the two armies would actually cross bayonets all along the line, for the Spaniards stood firm and opened a regular and well-directed fire upon the advancing columns. But St. Cyr had not miscalculated the moral effect of the steady approach of the four great bodies of infantry which were now climbing the hill and drawing near to Reding’s front. Like so many other continental troops, who had striven on earlier battle-fields to bear up in line against the French column-formation, the Spaniards could not find heart to close with the formidable and threatening masses which were rolling in upon them. They delivered one last tremendous discharge at 100 yards’ distance, and then, when they saw the enemy looming through the smoke and closing upon them, broke in a dozen different places and went to the rear in helpless disorder, sweeping away the second line, higher up the hill, which[p. 88] ought to have sustained them. The only actual collision was on the extreme left, near the bridge of Goy, where Reding himself charged, with his staff, at the head of his cavalry, in a vain attempt to save the desperate situation. He was met in full career by the French 24th Dragoons, and thoroughly beaten. In the mêlée he was surrounded, three of his aides-de-camp were wounded[99] and taken, and he himself only cut his way out after receiving three sabre wounds on his head and shoulders, which ultimately proved fatal.

If there had not been many steep slopes and ravines behind the Spanish position, nearly the whole of Reding’s army must have perished or been captured. But the country-side was so difficult that the majority of the fugitives got away, though many were overtaken. The total loss of the Spaniards amounted to more than 3,000 men, of whom nearly half were prisoners[100]. All the guns of the defeated army, all its baggage, and several stands of colours fell into the hands of the victors. The French lost about 1,000 men, mostly in the early part of the engagement, when Souham’s division was driven back under the walls of Valls.
Map of part of Catalonia

Enlarge  PART of CATALONIA
TO ILLUSTRATE ST CYR’S CAMPAIGN
NOV. 1808 to MARCH 1809
Map of battle of Valls

Enlarge  BATTLE of VALLS
FEB. 25 1809

The Spaniards had not fought amiss: St. Cyr, in a dispatch to Berthier, acknowledges the fact—not in order to exalt the merit of his own troops, but to demonstrate that the 7th Corps was too weak for the task set it and required further reinforcements[101]. But Reding did not give his men a fair chance; he hurried them into the fight at the end of a long night march, drew them off just when they were victorious, and altered his plan of battle [p. 89]thrice in the course of the day. No army could have done itself justice with such bad leading.

The wrecks of the beaten force straggled into Tarragona, their spirits so depressed that it was a long time before it was possible to trust them again in battle. When they once more took the field it was under another leader, for Reding, after lingering some weeks, died of his wounds, leaving the reputation of a brave, honest, and humane officer, but of a very poor general.

St. Cyr utilized his victory merely by blockading Tarragona. He moved Souham to Reus, and kept Pino at Valls, each throwing out detachments as far as the sea, so as to cut off the city from all its communications with the interior. An epidemic had broken out in the place, in consequence of the masses of ill-attended wounded who cumbered the hospitals. It would seem that the French General hoped that the pestilence might turn the hearts of the garrison towards surrender. If so, he was much deceived: they bore their ills with stolid patience, and being always victualled from the sea suffered no practical inconvenience from the blockade. It seems indeed that St. Cyr would have done far better to use the breathing time which he won at the battle of Valls for the commencement of a movement against Gerona. Till that place should be captured, and the high-road to Perpignan opened, there was no real security for the 7th Corps. Long months, however, were to elapse before this necessary operation was taken in hand.
SECTION XI  THE SECOND SIEGE OF SARAGOSSA (DECEMBER 1808-FEBRUARY 1809) CHAPTER I
THE CAPTURE OF THE OUTWORKS

While Napoleon was urging on his fruitless pursuit of Sir John Moore, while St. Cyr was discomfiting the Catalans on the Besos and the Llobregat, and while Victor was dealing his last blow to the dilapidated army of Infantado, there was one point on which the war was standing still, and where the French arms had made no great progress since the battle of Tudela. Saragossa was holding out, with the same tenacity that she had displayed during the first siege in the July and August of the preceding summer. In front of her walls and barricades two whole corps of the Emperor’s army were detained from December, 1808, till February, 1809. As long as the defence endured, she preserved the rest of Aragon and the whole of Valencia from invasion.

The battle of Tudela had been fought on November 23, but it was not till nearly a month later that the actual siege began. The reason for this delay was that the Emperor had called off to Madrid all the troops which had taken part in the campaign against Casta?os and Palafox, save Moncey’s 3rd Corps alone. This force was not numerous enough to invest the city till it had been strengthened by heavy reinforcements from the North.

After having routed the Armies of Aragon and the Centre, Marshal Lannes had thrown up the command which had been entrusted to him, and had gone back to France. The injuries which he had suffered from his fall over the precipice near Pampeluna[102] were still far from healed, and served as the excuse[p. 91] for his retirement. Moncey, therefore, resumed, on November 25, the charge of the victorious army: on the next day he was joined by Ney, who, after failing to intercept Casta?os in the mountains[103], had descended into the valley of the Ebro, with Marchand and Dessolles’ divisions of infantry, and Beaumont’s light cavalry brigade. On the twenty-eighth the two marshals advanced along the high-road by Mallen and Alagon, and on the second day after appeared in front of Saragossa with all their troops, save Musnier’s division of the 3rd Corps and the division of the 6th Corps lately commanded by Lagrange, which had followed the retreating army of Casta?os into the hills on the road to Calatayud. They were about to commence the investment of the city, when Ney received orders from the Emperor, dispatched from Aranda, bidding him leave the siege to Moncey, and cross the mountains into New Castile with all the troops of the 6th Corps: he was to find Casta?os, and hang on his heels so that he should not be able to march to the help of Madrid.

Accordingly the Duke of Elchingen marched from the camp in front of Saragossa with the divisions of Marchand and Dessolles, and the cavalry brigades of Beaumont and Digeon. At Calatayud he came up with the force which had been dispatched in pursuit of Casta?os,—Musnier’s division of the 3rd Corps, and that of the 6th Corps which Maurice Mathieu had taken over from Lagrange, who had been severely wounded at Tudela[104]. Leaving Musnier at Calatayud to protect his communications with Aragon, Ney picked up Maurice Mathieu, and passed the mountains into New Castile, where he fell into the Emperor’s sphere of operations. We have seen that he took a prominent part in the pursuit of Sir John Moore and the invasion of Galicia.

Moncey, meanwhile, was left in front of Saragossa with his 1st, 3rd, and 4th Divisions—the 2nd being still at Calatayud. This force consisted of no more than twenty-three battalions, about 15,000 men, and was far too weak to undertake the siege. The Marshal was informed that the whole corps of Mortier was[p. 92] to be sent to his aid, but it was still far away, and with very proper caution he resolved to draw back and wait for the arrival of the reinforcements. If the Spaniards got to know of his condition, they might sally out from Saragossa and attack him with more than 30,000 men. Moncey, therefore, drew back to Alagon, and there waited for the arrival of the Duke of Treviso and the 5th Corps. It was not till December 20 that he was able to present himself once more before the city.

Thus Saragossa gained four weeks of respite between the battle of Tudela and the commencement of the actual siege. This reprieve was invaluable to Palafox and the Aragonese. They would have been in grave danger if Lannes had marched on and assaulted the city only two days after the battle, and before the routed army had been rallied. Even if Ney and Moncey had been permitted to begin a serious attack on November 30, the day of their arrival before the place, they would have had some chance of success. But their sudden retreat raised the spirits of the defenders, and the twenty extra days of preparation thus granted to them sufficed to restore them to full confidence, and to re-establish their belief in the luck of Saragossa and the special protection vouchsafed them by its patron saint Our Lady of the Pillar. Napoleon must take the blame for all the consequences of Ney’s withdrawal. He had ordered it without fully realizing the fact that Moncey would be left too weak to commence the siege. Probably he had over-estimated the effect of the defeat of Tudela on the Army of Aragon. For the failure of Ney’s attempt to surround Casta?os he was only in part responsible, though (as we have seen) he had sent him out on his circular march two days too late[105]. But to draw off the 6th Corps to New Castile (where it failed to do any good), before the 5th Corps had arrived to take its place before Saragossa, was clearly a blunder.

Palafox made admirable use of the unexpected reprieve that had been granted him. He had not, it will be remembered, taken part in person in the battle of Tudela, but had returned to his head quarters on the night before that disaster. He was occupied in organizing a reserve to take the field in support of his two divisions already at the front, when the sudden[p. 93] influx of fugitives into Saragossa showed him what had occurred. In the course of the next two days there poured into the place the remains of the divisions of O’Neille and St. March from his own Army of Aragon. With them came Roca’s men, who properly belonged to Casta?os, but having fought in the right wing had been separated from the main body of the Andalusian army[106]. In addition, fragments of many other regiments of the Army of the Centre straggled into Saragossa. At least 16,000 or 17,000 men of the wrecks of Tudela had come in ere four days were expired. To help them, Palafox could count on all the newly organized battalions of his reserve, which had never marched out to join the field army: they amounted to some 10,000 or 12,000 men, but many of the regiments had only lately been organized and had not received their uniforms or equipment. Nor was this all: several belated battalions from Murcia and Valencia came in at various times during the next ten days[107], so that long ere the actual siege began Palafox could count on 32,000 bayonets and 2,000 sabres of more or less regularly organized corps. He had in addition a number of irregulars—armed citizens and peasants of the country-side—whose numbers it is impossible to fix, for though some had been collected in partidas or volunteer companies, others fought in loose bands just as they pleased, and without any proper organization. They may possibly have amounted to 10,000 men at the time of the commencement of the siege, but so many were drafted into the local Aragonese battalions before the end of the fighting, that when the place surrendered in February, there were less than a thousand[108] of these unembodied irregulars under arms.

But it was not so much for the reorganization of his army as for the strengthening of his fortifications that Palafox found[p. 94] the respite during the first three weeks of December profitable. During the first siege it will be remembered that the fortifications of Saragossa had been contemptible from the engineer’s point of view: the flimsy mediaeval enceinte had crumbled away at the first fire of the besiegers, and the real defence had been carried out behind the barricades. By the commencement of the second siege everything had changed, and the city was covered by a formidable line of defences, executed, as was remarked by one of the French generals[109], with more zeal and energy than scientific skill, but presenting nevertheless most serious obstacles to the besieger.

After the raising of the first siege by Verdier, the Spaniards had been for some time in a state of such confidence and exultation that they imagined that there was no need for further defensive precautions. The next campaign was to be fought, as they supposed, on the further side of the Pyrenees. But the long suspension of the expected advance during the autumn months began to chill their spirits, and, as the year drew on, it was no longer reckoned unpatriotic or cowardly to take into consideration the wisdom of strengthening the inland fortresses in view of a possible return of the French. In September, Colonel San Genis, the engineer officer who had worked for Palafox during the first siege, received permission to commence a series of regular fortifications for Saragossa. The work did not progress rapidly, for the Aragonese had not as yet much belief in the possibility that they might be called on once again to defend their capital. San Genis only received a moderate sum of money, and the right to requisition men of over thirty-five from the city and the surrounding villages. The labour had to be paid, and therefore the labourers were few. The new works were sketched out rather than executed. Things progressed with a leisurely slowness, till in November the dangers of the situation began to be appreciated, and the approach of the French reinforcements drove the Saragossans to greater energy. But it was only the thunderclap of Tudela that really alarmed them, and sent soldiers and civilians, men, women, and children, to labour with feverish haste at the com[p. 95]pletion of the new lines. Between November 25 and December 20 the amount of work that was carried out was amazing and admirable. If Ney and Moncey had been allowed to commence the regular siege before the month of November had expired, they would have found the whole system of works in an incomplete condition. Three weeks later Saragossa had been converted into a formidable fortress.

The only point where San Genis’ scheme had not been fully developed was the Monte Torrero. It will be remembered that this important hill, whose summit lies only 1,800 yards from the walls of Saragossa, overlooks the whole city, and had been chosen during the first siege as the emplacement for the main breaching batteries. To keep the French from this commanding position was most important, and the Spanish engineer had intended to cover the whole circuit of the hill with a large entrenched camp, protected by continuous lines of earthworks and numerous redoubts, with the Canal of Aragon, which runs under its southern foot, as a wet ditch in its front. But, when the news of Tudela arrived, little or nothing had been done to carry out this scheme: the fortification of the city had absorbed the main attention of the Aragonese, and while that was still incomplete the Monte Torrero had been neglected. In December it was too late to begin the building of three or four miles of new earthworks, and in consequence nothing was constructed on the suburban hill save one large central redoubt, and two small works serving as têtes-de-pont, at the points where the Madrid and the La Muela roads cross the Canal of Aragon. St. March’s Valencian division, still 6,000 strong, was told off for the defence of the hill, but had no continuous line of works to cover it. The only strength of the position lay in the canal which runs round its foot: but this was not very broad, and was fordable at more than one point. In short, the Monte Torrero constituted an outlying defence which might be held for some time, in order to keep the besiegers far off from the body of the place, rather than an integral part of its line of defence.

It was on the works of Saragossa itself that the energy of more than 60,000 enthusiastic labourers, military and civilian, had been expended during the month that followed Tudela.[p. 96] The total accomplished in this time moves our respect: it will be well to take the various fronts in detail.

On the Western front, from the Ebro to the Huerba, there had been in August nothing more than a weak wall, many parts of which were composed of the rear-sides of convents and buildings. In front of this line there had been constructed by November 10 a very different defence. A solid rampart reveted with bricks taken from ruined houses, and furnished with a broad terrace for artillery, and a ditch forty-five feet deep now covered the entire western side of the city. The convents of the Augustinians and the Trinitarians, which had been outside the walls during the earlier siege, had been taken into this new enceinte and served as bastions in it. There being a space 600 yards long between them, where the curtain would have been unprotected by flanking fires, a great semicircular battery had been thrown out, which acted as a third bastion on this side. Strong earthworks had also been built up to cover the Portillo and Carmen gates. As an outlying fort there was the castle of the Aljafferia, which had received extensive repairs, and was connected with the enceinte by a ditch and a covered way. It would completely enfilade any attacks made on the north-western part of the new wall.

On the Southern front of the defences the work done had been even more important. Here the new fortifications had been carried down to the brink of the ravine of the Huerba, so as to make that stream the wet ditch of the town. Two great redoubts were pushed beyond it: one called the redoubt of ‘Our Lady of the Pillar’ lay at the bridge outside the Santa Engracia gate. It was provided with a deep narrow ditch, into which the water of the river had been turned, and armed with eight guns. The corresponding fort, at the south-east angle of the town, was made by fortifying the convent of San José, on the Valencia road, just beyond the Huerba. This was a quadrangle 120 yards long by eighty broad, furnished with a ditch, and with a covered way with palisades, cut in the counterscarp. It held twelve heavy guns, and a garrison of no less than 3,000 men. Between San José and the Pillar redoubt, the old town wall above the Huerba had been strengthened and thickened, and several new batteries had been built upon it.[p. 97] It could not well be assailed till the two projecting works in front of it should be reduced, and if they should fall it stood on higher ground and completely commanded their sites. The convent of Santa Engracia, so much disputed during the first siege, had been turned into a sort of fortress, and heavily armed with guns of position.

On the eastern front of the city from San José to the Ebro, the Huerba still serves as a ditch to the place, but is not so steep or so difficult as in its upper course. Here the suburb of the Tanneries (Las Tenerias), where that stream falls into the Ebro, had been turned into a strong projecting redoubt, whose fire commanded both the opposite bank of the Ebro on one side, and the lower reaches of the Huerba on the other. Half way between this redoubt and San José was a great battery (generally called the ‘Palafox Battery’) at the Porta Quemada, whose fires, crossing those of the other two works, commanded all the low ground outside the eastern front of the city.

It only remains to speak of the fortifications of the transpontine suburb of San Lazaro. This was by nature the weakest part of the defences, as the suburb is built in low marshy ground on the river’s edge. Here deep cuttings had been made and filled with water, three heavy batteries had been erected, and the convents of San Lazaro and Jesus had been strengthened, crenellated and loopholed, and turned into forts. The whole of these works were joined by palisades and ditches. They formed a great tête-de-pont, requiring a garrison of 3,000 men. As an additional defence for the flanks of the suburb three or four gunboats, manned by sailors brought up from Cartagena, had been launched on the Ebro, and commanded the reach of the river which runs along the northern side of the city.

Yet great as were the works which now sheathed the body of Saragossa, the people had not forgotten the moral lesson of the first siege. When her walls had been beaten down, she had resisted behind her barricades and the solid houses of her narrow streets. They fully realized that this might again have to be done, if the French should succeed in breaking in at some point of the long enceinte. Accordingly, every preparation was made[p. 98] for street fighting. Houses were loopholed, and communications were pierced between them, without any regard for private property or convenience. Ground-floor windows were built up, and arrangements made for the speedy and solid closing of all doors. Traverses were erected in the streets, to guard as far as was possible against the dangers of a bombardment, and an elaborate system of barricades, arranged in proper tactical relation to each other, was sketched out. The walls might be broken, but the people boasted that the kernel should be harder than the shell.

Outside the city, where the olive groves and suburban villas and summer houses had given much cover to the French during the first siege, a clean sweep had been made of every stone and stick for 800 yards around the defences. The trees were felled, and dragged into the city, to be cut up into palisades. The bricks and stones were carried off to revet the new ramparts and ditches. The once fertile and picturesque garden-suburbs were left bald and bare, and could be perfectly well searched by the cannon from the walls, so that the enemy had to contrive all his cover by pick and shovel, or gabion and fascine.

The soldiery, whose spirits had been much dashed by the disaster of Tudela, soon picked up their courage when they noted the enthusiasm of the citizens and the strength of the defences. Indeed, it was dangerous for any man to show outward signs of doubt or fear, for the Aragonese had been wrought up to a pitch of hysterical patriotism which made them look upon faintheartedness as treason. Palafox himself did his best to keep down riots and assassinations, but his followers were always stimulating him to apply martial law in its most rigorous form. A high gallows was erected in the middle of the Coso, and short shrift was given to any man convicted of attempted desertion, disobedience to orders, or cowardice. Delations were innumerable, and the Captain-General had the greatest difficulty in preserving from the popular fury even persons whom he believed to be innocent. The most that he could do for them was to shut them up in the prisons of the Aljafferia, and to defer their trial till the siege should be over. The fact was that Palafox was well aware that his power rested on the unlimited confidence reposed on him by the people, and was therefore bent on[p. 99] crossing their desires as little as he could help. He was careful to take counsel not only with his military subordinates, but with all those who had power in the streets. Hence came the prominence which is assigned in all the narratives of the siege to obscure persons, such as the priests Don Basilio (the Captain-General’s chaplain) and Santiago Sass, and to the demagogues ‘Tio Jorge’ and ‘Tio Marin.’ They represented public opinion, and had to be conciliated. It is going too far to say, with Napier, that a regular ‘Reign of Terror’ prevailed in Saragossa throughout the second siege, and that Palafox was no more than a puppet, whose strings were pulled by fanatical friars and bloodthirsty gutter-politicians. But it is clear that the Captain-General’s dictatorial power was only preserved by a careful observation of every gust of popular feeling, and that the acts of his subordinates were often reckless and cruel. The soldiers disliked the fanatical citizens: the work of Colonel Cavallero, the engineer officer who has left the best Spanish narrative of the siege, is full of this feeling. He sums up the situation by writing that ‘The agents of the Commander-in-chief sometimes abused their power. Everything was demanded in the name of King and Country, every act of disobedience was counted as high treason: on the other hand, known devotion to the holy cause gave unlimited authority, and assured impunity for any act to those who had the smallest shadow of delegated power. Even if the citizens had not been unanimous in their feelings, fear would have given them an appearance of unanimity. To the intoxication of confidence and national pride caused by the results of the first siege, to the natural obstinacy of the Aragonese, to the strength of a dictatorial government supported by democratic enthusiasm, there was added an exalted religious fanaticism. Our Lady of the Pillar, patroness of Saragossa, had, it was supposed, displayed her power by the raising of the first siege: it had been the greatest of her miracles. Anything could be got from a people in this frame of mind[110].’

Palafox knew well how to deal with his followers. He kept himself always before their eyes; his activity was unceasing, his supervision was felt in every department. His unending series[p. 100] of eloquent, if somewhat bombastic, proclamations was well suited to rouse their enthusiasm. He displayed, even to ostentation, a confidence which he did not always feel, because he saw that the strength of the defence lay in the fact that the Aragonese were convinced in the certainty of their own triumph. The first doubt as to ultimate success would dull their courage and weaken their arms. We cannot blame him, under the circumstances, if he concealed from them everything that was likely to damp their ardour, and allowed them to believe everything that would keep up their spirits.

Meanwhile he did not neglect the practical side of the defence. The best testimony to his capacity is the careful accumulation which he made of all the stores and material needed for a long siege. Alone among all the Spanish garrisons of the war, that of Saragossa never suffered from hunger nor from want of resources. It was the pestilence, not starvation, which was destined to prove the ruin of the defence. Before the French investment began Palafox had gathered in six months’ provisions for 15,000 men; the garrison was doubled by the arrival of the routed army from Tudela: yet still there was food for three months for the military. The citizens had been directed to lay in private stocks, and to feed themselves: this they had done, and it was not till the end of the siege that they began to run short of comestibles. Even when the place fell there were still large quantities of corn, maize, salt fish, oil, brandy, and forage for horses in the magazines[111]. Only fresh meat had failed, and the Spaniard is never a great consumer of that commodity. Military stores had been prepared in vast quantities: there was an ample stock of sandbags, of timber for palisading, of iron work and spare fittings for artillery. Instead of gabions the garrison used the large wicker baskets employed for the vintage, which were available in profusion. Of artillery there were some 160 pieces in the place, but too many of them were of small calibre: only about sixty were 16-pounders or heavier. Of these more than half were French pieces, abandoned by Verdier in August in his siege-works, or fished out of the canal into which he had thrown them. Of cannon-balls there was also an ample provision: a great part, like the siege-guns, were spoil[p. 101] taken in the deserted camp of the French in August. Shells, on the other hand, were very deficient, and the workmen of the local arsenal could not manufacture them satisfactorily. The powder was made in the place throughout the siege: the accident in July, when the great magazine in the Seminary blew up with such disastrous results, had induced Palafox to order that no great central store should be made, but that the sulphur, saltpetre, and charcoal should be kept apart, and compounded daily in quantities sufficient for all requirements. So many thousand civilians were kept at work on powder-and cartridge-making that this plan never failed, and no great explosions took place during the second siege.

It will be remembered that want of muskets had been one of the chief hindrances of the Aragonese during the operations in July and August. It was not felt in December and January, for not only had Palafox collected a large store of small arms during the autumn, to equip his reserves, but he received, just before the investment began, a large convoy of British muskets, sent up from Tarragona by Colonel Doyle, who had gone down to the coast by the Captain-General’s desire, to hurry on their transport. As the siege went on, the mortality among the garrison was so great that the stock of muskets more than sufficed for those who were in a state to bear arms.

Such were the preparations which were made to receive the French, when they should finally present themselves in front of the walls. All had been done, save in one matter, to enable the city to make the best defence possible under the circumstances. The single omission was to provide for a field force beyond the walls capable of harassing the besiegers from without, and of cutting their communications with their base. From his 40,000 men Palafox ought to have detached a strong division, with orders to base itself upon Upper Aragon, and keep the French in constant fear as to their supplies and their touch with Tudela and Pampeluna. Ten thousand men could easily have been spared, and the mischief that they might have done was incalculable. The city had more defenders than were needed: in the open country, on the other hand, there was no nucleus left for further resistance. Almost every available man had been sent up to Saragossa: with the exception of Lazan’s division[p. 102] in Catalonia, and of three other battalions[112], the whole of the 32,000 men raised by the kingdom of Aragon were inside the walls. Outside there remained nothing but unorganized bands of peasants to keep the field and molest the besiegers. The only help from without that was given to the city was that supplied by Lazan’s small force, when it was withdrawn from Catalonia in January, and 4,000 men could do nothing against two French army corps. Even as it was, the French had to tell off the best part of two divisions to guard their communications. What could they have done if there had been a solid body of 10,000 men ranging the mountains, and descending at every favourable opportunity to fall upon some post on the long line Alagon-Mallen-Tudela-Pampeluna by which the besiegers drew their food and munitions from their base?

It would seem that the neglect of Palafox to provide for this necessary detachment arose from three causes. The first was his want of real strategical insight—which had been amply displayed during the autumn, when he was always urging on his colleagues his ridiculous plan for ‘surrounding’ the French army, by an impossible march into Navarre and the Pyrenees. The second was his conviction, well-founded enough in itself, that his troops would do much better behind walls than in the open[113]. The third was a strong belief that the siege would be raised not by any operations from without, but by the rigours of the winter. In average years the months of January and February are tempestuous and rainy in Aragon. The low ground about Saragossa is often inundated: even if the enemy were not drowned out (like the besiegers of Leyden in 1574), Palafox thought that they would find trench-work impossible in the constant downpour, and would be so much thinned by dysentery and rheumatism that they would have to draw back from their low-lying camps and raise the siege. Unfortunately for him the winter turned out exceptionally mild, and (what was worse) exceptionally dry. The French had not to suffer from the awful deluge which in Galicia, during this same month, was rendering[p. 103] the retreat of Sir John Moore so miserable. The rain did no more than send many of the besiegers to hospital: it never stopped their advance or flooded their trenches.

When Palafox had nearly completed his defences—the works on the Monte Torrero alone were still hopelessly behindhand—the French at last began to move up against him. On December 15 Marshal Mortier arrived at Tudela with the whole of the 5th Corps, veterans from the German garrisons who had not yet fired a shot in Spain. Their ranks were so full that though only two divisions, or twenty-eight battalions, formed the corps, it counted 21,000 bayonets. It had also a brigade of two regiments of hussars and chasseurs as corps-cavalry, with a strength of 1,500 sabres. The condition of Moncey’s 3rd Corps was much less satisfactory: it was mainly composed of relics of the original army of Spain—of the conscripts formed into provisional regiments with whom Napoleon had at first intended to conquer the Peninsula[114]. Its other troops, almost without exception, had taken part in the first siege of Saragossa under Verdier, a not very cheerful or inspiriting preparation for the second leaguer[115]. All the regiments had been thinned by severe sickness in the autumn; on October 10 they had already 7,741 men in hospital—far the largest figure shown by any of the French corps in Spain. The number had largely increased as the winter had drawn on, and the battalions had grown so weak that Moncey consolidated his four divisions into three during his halt at Alagon. The whole of the 4th division was distributed between the 2nd and 3rd, so as to bring the others up to a decent strength. On December 20 the thirty-eight battalions only made up 20,000 effective men for the siege, while more than 10,000 lay sick, some with the army, some in the base hospitals at Pampeluna. The health of the corps grew progressively worse in January, till at last in the middle days of the siege it had 15,000 men with the colours, and no less than 13,000 sick. We find the French generals complaining that one division of the 5th Corps was almost as strong and effective at[p. 104] this time as the whole combined force of the 3rd Corps[116]. Nevertheless these weary and fever-ridden troops had to take in charge the main part of the siege operations.

During the twenty days of his halt at Alagon, Moncey had employed his sappers and many of his infantry in the manufacture of gabions, wool-packs, and sandbags for the projected siege. He was continually receiving convoys of heavy artillery and ammunition from Pampeluna, and when Mortier came up on December 20, had a sufficiency of material collected for the commencement of the leaguer. The two marshals moved on together on that day, and marched eastward towards Saragossa, with the whole of their forces, save that four battalions were left to guard the camp and dép?ts at Alagon, and three more at Tudela to keep open the Pampeluna road[117]. Gazan’s division crossed the Ebro opposite Tauste, to invest the transpontine suburb of Saragossa: the rest of the army kept to the right bank. Late in the evening both columns came in sight of the city. They mustered, after deducting the troops left behind, about 38,000 infantry, 3,500 cavalry, and 3,000 sappers and artillerymen. They had sixty siege-guns, over and above the eighty-four field-pieces belonging to the corps-artillery of Mortier and Moncey. The provision of artillery was copious—far more than the French had turned against many of the first-class fortresses of Germany. The Emperor was determined that Saragossa should be well battered, and had told off an extra proportion of engineers against the place, entrusting the general charge of the work to his aide-de-camp, General Lacoste, one of the most distinguished officers of the scientific corps.

When the reinvestment began, Gazan on the left bank established himself at Villanueva facing the suburb of San Lazaro. Mortier with Suchet’s division took post at San Lamberto opposite the western front of the city. Moncey, marching round the place, ranged Grandjean’s troops opposite the Monte Torrero, on the southern front of the defences, and Morlot further east near the mouth of the Huerba. His other division,[p. 105] that of Musnier, formed the central reserve, and guarded the artillery and the magazines. The Spaniards made no attempt to delay the completion of the investment, and kept quiet within their walls.

On the next morning the actual siege began. It was destined to last from December 20 to February 20, and may be divided into three well-marked sections. The first comprises the operations against the Spanish outworks, and terminates with the capture of the two great bridge-heads beyond the Huerba, the forts of San José and Our Lady of the Pillar: it lasted down to January 15. The second period includes the time during which the besiegers attacked and finally broke through the main enceinte of the city: it lasts from January 16 to January 27. The third section consists of the street-fighting, after the walls had been pierced, and ends with the fall of Saragossa on February 20.

Having reconnoitred the whole circuit of the Spanish defences on the very evening of their arrival before the city (December 20), Moncey and Mortier recognized that their first task must be to evict the Spaniards from the Monte Torrero, the one piece of dominating ground in the whole region of operations, and the spot from which Saragossa could be most effectively attacked. They were rejoiced to see that the broad hill was not protected by any continuous line of entrenchments, but was merely crowned by a large open redoubt, and defended in front by the two small bridge-heads on the Canal of Aragon. There was nothing to prevent an attempt to storm it by main force. This was to be made on the following morning: at the same time Gazan, on the left bank of the Ebro, was ordered to assault the suburb of San Lazaro. Here the marshals had underrated the strength of the Spanish position, which lay in such low ground and was so difficult to make out, that it presented to the observer from a distance an aspect of weakness that was far from the reality.

At eight on the morning of December 21 three French batteries, placed in favourable advanced positions, began to shell the redoubts on the Monte Torrero, with satisfactory results, as they dismounted some of the defender’s guns and exploded a small dép?t of reserve ammunition. An hour later the infantry came into action. Moncey had told off for the assault[p. 106] the divisions of Morlot and Grandjean, twenty battalions in all[118]. The former attacked the eastern front of the position, fording the canal and assailing the left-hand tête-de-pont on the Valencia road from the flank. The latter, which had passed the canal far outside the Spanish lines, and operated between it and the Huerba, attacked the south-western slopes of the hill. The defence was weak, and when a brigade of Grandjean’s men pushed in between the main redoubt on the crest and the Huerba, and took the western part of the Spanish line in the rear, the day was won. St. March’s battalions wavered all along the line; and as his reserves could not be induced to fall upon the French advance, the Valencian general withdrew his whole division into the city, abandoning the entire circuit of the Monte Torrero. The assailants captured seven guns—some of them disabled—in the three redoubts, and a standard of the 5th regiment of Murcia. They had only lost twenty killed and fifty wounded; the Spanish loss was also insignificant, considering the importance of the position that was at stake, and hardly any prisoners were taken[119]. The besiegers had now the power to bombard all the southern front of Saragossa, and dominated, from the slopes of the hill, the two advanced forts of San José and the Pillar. The leaders of the populace were strongly of opinion that the Valencian division had misbehaved, and they were not far wrong. Palafox had great difficulty in protecting St. March, whose personal conduct had been unimpeachable, from the wrath of the multitude, who wished to make him responsible for the weakness shown by his men[120]. The officer who lost the Monte Torrero in the first siege had been tried and shot[121]: St. March was lucky to escape even without a reprimand.

Meanwhile things had gone very differently at the other point where the French had tried to break down the outer defences of the city. The attack on the transpontine suburb of San Lazaro had been allotted to Gazan’s division. This was a very formidable force, 9,000 veterans of the best quality, who were bent on showing that they had not degenerated since they fought at[p. 107] Friedland. Owing to some slight mistake in the combination, Gazan only delivered his attack at one o’clock, two hours after the fighting on the Monte Torrero had ceased. His leading brigade, that of Guérin, six battalions strong, advanced against the northern and eastern fronts of the defences of the suburb. The Spaniards were holding as an outwork a large building called the Archbishop’s Tower (Torre del Arzobispo)[122] on the Villanueva road, 600 yards in front of the main line of entrenchments. This Gazan’s men carried at the first rush, killing or capturing 300 men of a Swiss battalion[123] which held it. They then pushed forward towards the inner fortifications, but were taken in flank by a heavy artillery fire from a redoubt which they had overlooked. This caused them to swerve towards the Barcelona road, where they got possession of a house close under the convent of Jesus, and threatened to cut off the garrison of that stronghold from the rest of the defenders of the suburb. At this moment a disgraceful panic seized the defenders of the San Lazaro convent, which lay directly in front of the assailants. They abandoned their post, and began to fly across the bridge into Saragossa. But Palafox came up in person with a reserve, and reoccupied the abandoned post. He then ordered a sortie against the buildings which the French had seized, and succeeded in driving them out and compelling them to retire into the open ground. Gazan doubted for a moment whether he should not send in his second brigade to renew the attack, for the six battalions that had borne the brunt of the first fighting had now fallen into complete disorder. But remembering that if this force failed to break into the suburb he had no reserves left, and that Palafox might bring over the bridge as many reinforcements as he chose, the French general resolved not to push the assault any further. He drew back and retired behind the Gallego stream, where he threw up entrenchments to cover himself, completely abandoning the offensive. For two or three days he did not dare to move, expecting to be attacked at any moment by the garrison. A sudden rise of the Ebro had cut off his communication with Moncey, and he could neither send the[p. 108] marshal an account of his check, nor get any orders from him[124]. His casualty-list was severe, thirty officers and 650 men killed and wounded: the Spaniards lost somewhat less, even including the 300 Swiss who were cut to pieces at the Archbishop’s Tower.

Palafox next morning issued a proclamation, extolling the valour shown in the defence of the suburb, treating the loss of the Monte Torrero as insignificant, and exaggerating the losses of the French. The Saragossans were rather encouraged than otherwise by the results of the day’s fighting, and spoke as if they had merely lost an outwork by the unsteadiness of St. March’s Valencians, while the main hostile attack had been repulsed. But it is clear that the capture of the dominating heights south of the city was an all-important gain to the French. Without the Monte Torrero they could never have pressed the siege home. As to the failure at the suburb, it came from attacking with headlong courage an entrenched position that had not been properly reconnoitred. The assault should never have been delivered without artillery preparation, and was a grave mistake. But clearly Mortier’s corps had yet to learn what the Spaniards were like, and to realize that to turn them out from behind walls and ditches was not the light task that they supposed.

Moncey so thoroughly miscalculated the general effect of the fighting upon the minds of the Spaniards, that next morning he sent in to Palafox a flag of truce, with an officer bearing a formal demand for the surrender of the city. ‘Madrid had fallen,’ he wrote: ‘Saragossa, invested on all sides, had not the force to resist two complete corps d’armée. He trusted that the Captain-General would spare the beautiful and wealthy capital of Aragon the horrors of a siege. Ample blood had already been shed, enough misfortunes already suffered by Spain.’ Palafox replied in the strain that might have been expected from him—‘The man who only wishes to die with honour[p. 109] in defence of his country cares nothing about his position: but, as a matter of fact, he found that his own was eminently favourable and encouraging. In the first siege he had held out for sixty-one days with a garrison far inferior to that now under his command. Was it likely that he would surrender, when he had as many troops as his besiegers? Looking at the results of the fighting on the previous day, when the assailants had suffered so severely in front of San Lazaro, he thought that he would be quite as well justified in proposing to the Marshal that the besieging army should surrender “to spare further effusion of blood,” as the latter had been to make such a proposition to him. If Madrid had fallen, Madrid must have been sold: but he begged for leave to doubt the truth of the rumour. Even at the worst Madrid was but a town, like any other. Its fate had no influence on Saragossa[125].’

Having received such an answer Moncey had only to set to work as fast as possible: his engineer-in-chief, General Lacoste, after making a thorough survey of the defences, pronounced in favour of choosing two fronts of attack, both starting on the Monte Torrero, and directed the one against the fort of San José and the other against that of the Pillar. These projecting works would have to be carried before any attempt could be made against the inner enceinte of the town. At the same time, Lacoste ordered a third attack, which he did not propose to press home, to be made on the castle of the Aljafferia, on the west side of the town. It was only intended to distract the attention of the Spaniards from the points of real danger. On the further bank of the Ebro, Gazan’s division was directed to move forward again, and to entrench itself across all the three roads, which issue from the suburb, and lead respectively to Lerida, Jaca, and Monzon. He was not to attack, but merely to blockade the northern exits of Saragossa. Communications with him were established by means of a bridge of boats and pontoons laid above the town. Gazan succeeded in shortening the front which he had to protect against sorties by letting the water of the Ebro into the low-lying fields along its banks, where it caused inundations on each of his flanks.

[p. 110]

On the twenty-third the preliminary works of the siege began, approaches and covered ways being constructed leading down from the Monte Torrero to the spots from which Lacoste intended to commence the first parallels of the two attacks on the Pillar and San José. Preparations of a similar sort were commenced for the false attack on the left, opposite the Aljafferia. Six days were occupied in these works, and in the bringing up of the heavy artillery, destined to arm the siege-batteries, from Tudela. The guns had to come by road, as the Spaniards had destroyed all the barges on the Canal of Aragon, and blown up many of its locks. It was not till some time later that the French succeeded in reopening the navigation, by replacing the sluice-gates and building large punts and floats for the carriage of guns or munitions.

Just before the first parallel was opened Marshal Moncey was recalled to Madrid [December 29], the Emperor being apparently discontented with his delays in the early part of the month. He was replaced in command of the 3rd Corps by Junot, whose old divisions had been made over (as we have seen in the first volume) to Soult’s 2nd Corps. This change made Mortier the senior officer of the besieging army, but he and Junot seem to have worked more as partners than as commander and subordinate. Junot, in his report to the Emperor[126] on the state in which he found the troops, enlarges at great length on the deplorable condition of the 3rd Corps. Many of the battalions had never received their winter clothing, hundreds entered the hospitals every day, and there was no corresponding outflow of convalescents. No less than 680 men had died in the base hospital at Pampeluna in November, and the figure for December would be worse. He doubted if there were 13,000 infantry under arms in his three divisions—here he exaggerated somewhat, for even a fortnight later the returns show that his ‘present under arms,’ after deducting all detachments and sick, were still over 14,000 bayonets: on January 1, therefore, there must have been 15,000. He asked for money, reinforcements, and a supply of officers, the commissioned ranks of his corps showing a terrible proportion of gaps. On the other hand, he conceded that the 5th Corps was in excellent condition, its veterans suffering far[p. 111] less from disease than his own conscripts. Either of Gazan’s and Suchet’s divisions was, by itself, as strong as any two of the divisions of the 3rd Corps.

On the night of the twenty-ninth—thirtieth, within twelve hours of Moncey’s departure, the first parallel was opened, both in the attack towards San José and in that opposite the Pillar fort. When the design of the besiegers became evident, Palafox made three sallies on the thirty-first, but apparently more with the object of reconnoitring the siege-works and distracting the workers than with any hope of breaking the French lines, for there were not more than 1,500 men employed in any of the three columns which delivered the sorties. The assault on the trenches before San José was not pressed home, but opposite the false attack at the Aljafferia the fighting was more lively; the French outposts were all driven in with loss, and a squadron of cavalry, which had slipped out from the Sancho gate, close to the Ebro, surprised and sabred thirty men of a picket on the left of the French lines. Palafox made the most of this small success in a magniloquent proclamation published on the succeeding day. He should have sent out 15,000 men instead of 3,000 if he intended to get any profit out of his sorties. An attack delivered with such a force on some one point of the lines must have paralysed the siege operations, and might have proved disastrous to the French.

Meanwhile the besiegers, undisturbed by these sallies, pushed forward their works on the northern slopes of the Monte Torrero. The attack opposite San José got forward much faster than that against the Pillar: its second parallel was commenced on January 1, and its batteries were all ready to open by the ninth. The other attack was handicapped by the fact that the ground sloped down more rapidly towards the Huerba, so that the trenches had to be made much deeper, and pushed forward in perpetual zigzags, in order to avoid being searched by the plunging fire from the Spanish batteries on the other side of the stream, in the enceinte of the town. To get a flanking position against the Pillar redoubt, the left attack was continued by another line of trenches beyond the Huerba, after it has made its sharp turn to the south.

Before the engineers had completed their work, and long ere[p. 112] the breaching batteries were ready, a great strain was thrown upon the besiegers by fresh orders from Napoleon. On January 2, Marshal Mortier received a dispatch, bidding him march out to Calatayud with one of his two divisions, and open up the direct communication with Madrid. Accordingly he departed with the two strong brigades of Suchet’s division, 10,000 bayonets. This withdrawal threw much harder work on the remainder of the army: Junot was left with not much more than 24,000 men, including the artillerymen, to maintain the investment of the whole city. He was forced to spread out the 3rd Corps on a very thin line, in order to occupy all the posts from which Suchet’s battalions had been withdrawn. Morlot’s division came down from the Monte Torrero to occupy the ground which Suchet had evacuated: Musnier had to cover the whole of the hill, and to support both the lines of approach on which the engineers were busy. Grandjean’s division remained on its old front, facing the eastern side of the city, and Gazan still blockaded the suburb beyond the Ebro. As the last-named general had still 8,000 men, there were only 15,000 bayonets and the artillery available for the siege, a force far too small to maintain a front nearly four miles long. If Palafox had dared to make a general sortie with all his disposable men, Junot’s position would have been more than hazardous. But the Captain-General contented himself with making numerous and useless sallies on a petty scale, sending out the most reckless and determined of his men to waste themselves in bickering with the guards of the trenches, when he should have saved them to head a general assault in force upon some weak point of the siege lines. The diaries and narratives of the French officers who served at Saragossa are full of anecdotes of the frantic courage shown by the besieged, generally to no purpose. One of the strangest has been preserved by the very prosaic engineer Belmas, who tells how a priest in his robes came out on January 6 in front of Gazan’s lines, and walked among the bullets to within fifty yards of the trenches, when he preached with great unction for some minutes, his crucifix in his hand, to the effect that the French had a bad cause and were drawing down God’s anger upon themselves. To the credit of his audience it must be said that they let him go off[p. 113] alive, contenting themselves with firing over his head, in order to see if they could scare him into a run.

At daybreak on January 10, the whole of the French batteries opened upon San José and the Pillar fort. The fire against the latter was distant and comparatively ineffective, but the masonry of San José began to crumble at once: its walls, solid though they were, had never been built to resist siege artillery. The roofs and tiles came crashing down upon the defenders’ heads, and most of their guns were silenced or injured. The besiegers suffered little—Belmas says that only one officer and ten men fell, though two guns in the most advanced battery were disabled. The loss of the Spaniards on the other hand was numbered by hundreds, more being slain by the fall of stones and slates than by the actual cannon balls and shells of the assailants. At nightfall Palafox withdrew most of the guns from the convent, but replaced the decimated garrison by three fresh battalions. It was clear that the work would fall next day unless the besiegers were driven off from their batteries. At 1 A.M., therefore, 300 men made a desperate sally to spike the guns. But the French were alert, and had brought up two field-pieces close to the convent, which repressed the sortie with a storm of grape.

Next morning the bombardment of San José recommenced, and by the afternoon a large breach had been established in its southern wall. At four o’clock General Grandjean launched a picked force, composed of the seven voltigeur companies of the 14th and 44th regiments, upon the crumbling defences[127]. The garrison had already begun to quit the untenable post, and only a minority remained behind to fight to the last. The storming column entered without much loss, partly by laying scaling-ladders to the foot of the breach, partly by using a small bridge of planks across the ditch, which the Spaniards had forgotten to remove. They only lost thirty-eight men, and made prisoners of about fifty of the garrison who had refused to retire into the city when the rest fled.

Though San José was thus easily captured, it was difficult to establish a lodgement in it, for the batteries on the enceinte of Saragossa searched it from end to end, dominating its ruined[p. 114] quadrangle from a superior height. But during the night the besiegers succeeded in blocking up its gorge, and in connecting the breach with their second parallel by a covered way of sandbags and fascines. The convent was now the base from which they were to attack the town-walls behind it.

But before continuing the advance in this direction it was necessary to carry the fort of Our Lady of the Pillar, the other great outwork of the southern front of Saragossa. The main attention of the besiegers was directed against this point from the twelfth to the fifteenth, and their sapping gradually took them to within a few yards of the counterscarp. The Spanish fire had been easily subdued, and a practicable breach established. On the night of the fifteenth-sixteenth the fort was stormed by the Poles of the 1st regiment of the Vistula. They met with little or no resistance, the greater part of the garrison having withdrawn when the assault was seen to be imminent. A mine under the glacis exploded, but failed to do any harm: another, better laid, destroyed the bridge over the Huerba, behind the fort, when the work was seen to be in the power of the assailants. Lacoste reported to Junot that the Poles lost only one killed and two wounded—an incredibly small casualty list[128].

The fall of the fort of the Pillar gave the French complete possession of all the ground to the south of the Huerba, and left them free to attack the enceinte of the city, which had now lost all its outer works save the Aljafferia: in front of that castle the ‘false attack’ made little progress, for the besiegers did not press in close, and contented themselves with battering the old mediaeval fortress from a distance. On that part of the line of investment nothing of importance was to happen.
SECTION XI: CHAPTER II
SIEGE OF SARAGOSSA: THE FRENCH WITHIN THE WALLS: THE STREET-FIGHTING: THE SURRENDER

Lacoste’s first care, when the Pillar and San José had both fallen into his hands, was to connect the two works by his ‘third parallel,’ which was drawn from one to the other just above the edge of the ravine of the Huerba. In order to assail the walls of the city that stream had to be crossed, a task of some difficulty, for its bed was searched by the great batteries at Santa Engracia along the whole front between the two captured forts, while north of San José the ‘Palafox Battery’ near the Porta Quemada completely overlooked the lower and broader part of the river bed. The Spaniards kept up a fast and furious fire upon the lost works, with the object of preventing the besiegers from moving forward from them, or constructing fresh batteries among their ruins. In this they were not successful: the French, burrowing deep among the débris, successfully covered themselves, and suffered little.

The second stage of the siege work, the attack on the actual enceinte of Saragossa, now began. The two points on which it was directed were the Santa Engracia battery—the southern salient of the town—and the extreme south-eastern angle of the place, where lay the Palafox Battery and the smaller work generally known as the battery of the Oil Mill (Molino de Aceite). The former was less than 200 yards from the Pillar fort, the latter not more than 100 from San José, but between them ran the deep bed of the Huerba.

From the twelfth to the seventeenth the French were busily engaged in throwing up batteries in the line of their third parallel, and on the morning of the last-named day no less than nine were ready. Five opened on Santa Engracia, four on the Palafox battery: at both points they soon began to do exten[p. 116]sive damage, for here the walls had not been entirely reconstructed (as on the western front of the city), but only patched up and strengthened with earthworks at intervals. The masonry of the convent of Santa Engracia suffered most, and began to fall in large patches. Palafox saw that the enceinte would be pierced ere long, and that street-fighting would be the next stage of the siege. Accordingly he set the whole civil population to work on constructing barricades across the streets and lanes of the south-eastern part of the city, in the rear of the threatened points, and turned every block of houses into an independent fort by building up all the doorways and windows facing towards the enemy. The spirits of the garrison were still high, and the Captain-General had done his best to keep them up by issuing gazettes containing very roseate accounts of the state of affairs in the outer world. His communication with the open country was not completely cut, for thrice he had been able to send boats down the Ebro, which took their chance of running past the French batteries at night, and always succeeded. One of these boats had carried the Captain-General’s younger brother, Francisco Palafox, who had orders to appeal to the Catalans for help, and to raise the peasants of Lower Aragon. Occasional messengers also got in from without: one arrived on January 16 from Catalonia, with promises of aid from the Marquis of Lazan, who proposed to return from Gerona with his division, in order to fall upon the rear of the besiegers. Palafox not only let this be known, but published in his Official Gazette some utterly unfounded rumours, which the courier had brought. Reding, it was said, had beaten St. Cyr in the open field: the Duke of Infantado was marching from Cuenca on Aragon with 20,000 men. Sir John Moore had turned to bay on the pursuing forces of the Emperor, and had defeated them at a battle in Galicia in which Marshal Ney had been killed[129]. To celebrate this glorious news the church bells were set ringing, the artillery fired a general salute, and military music paraded the town. These phenomena were perfectly audible to the besiegers, and caused them many searchings of[p. 117] heart, for they could not guess what event the Saragossans could be celebrating.

The garrison needed all the encouragement that could be given to them, for after the middle of January the stress of the siege began to be felt very heavily. Food was not wanting—for, excepting fresh meat and vegetables, everything was still procurable in abundance. But cold and overcrowding were beginning to cause epidemic disorders. The greater part of the civil population had taken refuge in their cellars when the bombardment began, and after a few days spent in those dark and damp retreats, from which they only issued at night, or when they were called on for labour at the fortifications, began to develop fevers and dysentery. This was inevitable, for in most of the dwellings from twenty to forty persons of all ages were crowded in mere holes, no more than seven feet high, and almost unprovided with ventilation, where they lived, ate, and slept, packed together, and with no care for sanitary precautions[130]. The malignant fevers bred in these refuges soon spread to the garrison: though under cover, the soldiery were destitute of warm clothing (especially the Murcian battalions), and could not procure enough firewood to cook their meals. By January 20 there were 8,000 sick among the 30,000 regular troops, and every day the wastage to the hospital grew more and more noticeable. Many officers of note had already fallen in the useless sorties, and in especial a grave loss had been suffered on January 13, when Colonel San Genis, the chief engineer of the besieged, and the designer of the whole of the defences of the city, was killed on the ramparts of the Palafox battery, as he was directing the fire against the new entrenchment which the French were throwing up across the gorge of the San José fort[131]. He had no competent successor as a general director, for his underlings had no grasp of siege-strategy, and were only good at details. They built batteries and barricades and ran mines[p. 118] in pure opportunism, without any comprehensive scheme of defence before their eyes.

The French meanwhile were very active, though the constant increase of sickness in the 3rd Corps was daily thinning the regiments, till the proportion of men stricken down by fever was hardly less than that among the Spaniards. On the seventeenth and eighteenth Lacoste began to contrive a descent into the bottom of the ravine of the Huerba, by a series of zigzags pushed forward from the third parallel, both in the direction of Santa Engracia and in that of the Palafox battery. The latter was repeatedly silenced by the advanced batteries of the besiegers, but they could not subdue the incessant musketry fire from windows and loopholes which swept the whole bed of the Huerba, and rendered the work at the head of the new sap most difficult and deadly. Sometimes it had to be completely abandoned because of the plunging fire from the city[132]. Yet it was always resumed after a time: the French found that their best and easiest work was done in the early morning, when, for day after day, a dense fog rose from the Ebro, which rendered it impossible for the Spaniards to see what was going on, or to aim with any certainty at the entrenchments. Irritated at the steady if slow progress of the enemy, Palafox launched on the afternoon of January 23 the most desperate sortie that his army had yet essayed against the advanced works of the French. At four o’clock on that day[133] three columns dashed out and attacked the line of trenches: one, as a blind, was sent out opposite the Aljafferia, to distract the attention of Morlot’s division from the main sally. The other two were serious attacks, but both made with too small numbers—apparently no more than 200 picked men in each. The left-hand column became hotly engaged with the trenches to the north of San José, and got no further forward than a house a little beyond the Huerba, from which they expelled a French post. But the right-hand force carried out a very bold programme. Crossing[p. 119] the Huerba below Santa Engracia, they broke through the third parallel, and then made a dash at two mortar-batteries in the second parallel which had particularly annoyed the defence on that morning. The commander of the sortie, Mariano Galindo, a captain of the Volunteers of Aragon, led his men so straight that they rushed in with the bayonet on the first battery and spiked both its pieces. They were making for the second when they were overwhelmed by the trench guard and by reinforcements hurrying up from Musnier’s camp. Of a hundred men who had gone forward with Galindo from the third parallel twelve were killed and thirty, including their brave leader, taken prisoners. The French stated their loss at no more than six killed and five wounded, a figure that seems suspiciously low, considering that the first line of trenches had been stormed by the assailants, and a battery in the second line captured and disabled. Galindo had gone forward more than 500 yards, into the very middle of the French works, before he was checked and surrounded. It was a very gallant exploit, but once more we are constrained to ask why Palafox told off for it no more than a mere handful of men. What would have happened had he thrown a solid column of 10,000 men upon the siege-works, instead of a few hundred volunteers?

On the twenty-second, the day before Galindo’s sortie, Junot was superseded in command of the besieging army by Lannes, who had been restored to health by two months’ holiday, and was now himself again. He arrived just in time to take charge of the important task of storming the main enceinte, for which Junot’s preparations were now far advanced. But though the siege operations looked not unpromising, he found the situation grave and dangerous. Belmas and the other French historians describe this as the most critical epoch of the whole Saragossan episode[134]. The fact was that at last there were beginning to be signs of movement in the open country of Aragon. During the month that had elapsed since the siege began, the peasantry had been given time to draw together. Francisco Palafox, after escaping from the city, had gone to Mequinenza, and was arming the local levies with muskets procured from Catalonia. He had already a great horde assembled in the direction of[p. 120] Alca?iz. On the other bank of the Ebro Colonel Perena had been organizing a force at Huesca, from northern Aragon and the foot-hills of the Pyrenees. Lastly, it was known that Lazan was on his way from Gerona to aid his brothers, and had brought to Lerida his division of 4,000 men[135], a comparatively well-organized body of troops, which had been under arms since October. Even far back, on the way to Pampeluna, insurgents had gathered in the Sierra de Moncayo, and were threatening the important half-way post of Tudela, by which the besieging army kept up its communication with France.

Hitherto these gatherings had looked dangerous, but had done no actual harm. General Wathier, with the cavalry of the 3rd Corps, had scoured the southern bank of the Ebro and kept off the insurgents; but now they were pressing closer in, and on January 20 a battalion, which Gazan had sent out to drive away Perena’s levies, had been checked and beaten off at Perdiguera, only twelve miles from the camp of the besiegers.

Lannes could not fail to see that if he committed himself to the final assault on Saragossa, and entangled the 3rd Corps in street-fighting, he might find himself assailed from the rear on all points of his lines. There were no troops whatever in front of Saragossa to form a ‘covering-force’ to beat off the insurgents, if they should come down upon his camps while he was storming the city, for the 3rd Corps and Gazan’s division had now only 20,000 infantry for the conduct of the siege.

Accordingly the Marshal resolved to undo the Emperor’s arrangements for keeping up the line of communication with Madrid, and to draw in Mortier, with Suchet’s strong and intact division, from Calatayud, where he had been lying for the last three weeks. This was the only possible force which he could use to provide himself with a covering army. The touch with Madrid, a thing of comparatively minor importance, had to be sacrificed, except so far as it could be kept up by the division of Dessolles, which had now come back from the pursuit of Sir John Moore, and had pushed detachments back to its old posts at Sigüenza and Guadalajara.

Mortier therefore evacuated Calatayud by the orders of[p. 121] Lannes, and came back to the Ebro: passing behind the besieging army he crossed the river and took post at Perdiguera with 10,000 men, facing the levies of Perena in the direction of Huesca. It was only when he had made certain of having this powerful reinforcement close at hand, ready to deal with any interference from without, that Lannes dared to proceed with the assault. At the same time that Mortier arrived at Perdiguera, he sent out Wathier, with two battalions and two regiments of cavalry, to deal with the insurgents of the Lower Ebro, where Francisco Palafox had been busy. Four or five thousand peasants with one newly-levied regiment of Aragonese volunteers tried to resist this small column, but were beaten on the twenty-sixth in front of the town of Alca?iz, which fell into Wathier’s hands, and with it 20,000 sheep and 1,500 sacks of flour, which had been collected for the revictualling of Saragossa, in case the investment should be broken. They were a welcome windfall to the besieging army, where food was none too plentiful, since the plain country where it lay encamped had now been eaten bare, and convoys of food from Tudela and Pampeluna were rare and inadequate.

On January 24 the French had succeeded in pushing three approaches across the Huerba, and were firmly established under its northern bank. Two days later they made lodgements in ruins, cellars, and low walls where buildings had been pulled down, in the narrow space between the town wall and the river bank, below the Palafox battery. The cannon of the defenders could only act intermittently: every night the parapets were repaired, but every morning after a few hours of artillery duel the Spanish guns were silenced by the dreadful converging fire poured in upon them. Meanwhile Palafox was heaping barricade upon barricade in the quarters behind the threatened points, and fortifying the houses and convents which connected them.

The final crisis arrived on the twenty-seventh. There were now three practicable breaches,—two were on the side of the Palafox battery, one in the convent of Santa Engracia. To storm the first and second Lannes told off the light companies of the first brigade of Grandjean’s division; to the third was allotted the 1st regiment of the Vistula from Musnier’s division. Heavy[p. 122] supports lay behind them, in the third parallel, with orders to rush in if the storming parties should prove successful.

The assault was delivered with great dash and swiftness at noon on the twenty-seventh. On two points it was successful. At the most northern breach the assailants reached the summit of the wall, but could not get down into the city, on account of the storm of musketry from barricades and houses that swept the gap into which they had advanced. They merely made a lodgement in the breach itself, and could penetrate no further. But in the central breach, close beneath the Palafox battery, the voltigeurs not only passed the walls, but seized the ‘Oil Mill’ which abutted on them, and a triangular block of houses projecting into the town. At the Santa Engracia breach they were even more fortunate: the Poles carried the convent with their first rush: its outer wall had been battered down for a breadth of thirty yard and entering there the stormers drove out the Spaniards from the interior buildings of the place, and got into the large square which lies behind it, where they seized the Capuchin nunnery. Thus a considerable wedge was driven through the enceinte, and the Spaniards had to evacuate the walls for some little distance on each side of Santa Engracia. From the stretch to the west of that convent they were driven out by an unpremeditated assault of Musnier’s supports, who ran out from the trenches on the left of the Huerba, and escaladed the dilapidated wall in front of them, when they saw the garrison drawing back on account of the flanking fire from Santa Engracia. They got possession of the whole outer enceinte as far as the Trinitarian convent by the Carmen gate.

These successes were bought at the moderate loss of 350 men, of whom two-thirds fell in the fighting on the Santa Engracia front; the Spaniards lost somewhat more, including a few prisoners. In any ordinary siege the day would have settled the fate of the place, for the besiegers had broken through the enceinte in two places, and though the space seized inside the Palafox battery was not large, yet on each side of Santa Engracia the assailants had penetrated so far that a quarter of a mile of the walls was in their possession. But Saragossa was not as other places, and the garrison were perfectly prepared with a new front of defence, composed of batteries and crenel[p. 123]lated houses in rear of the lost positions. Two wedges, one large and one small, had been driven into the town, but they had to be broadened and driven further in if they were to have any effect.

On the twenty-eighth, therefore, a new stage of the siege began, and the street-fighting, which was to last for twenty-four days more, had its commencement. Lannes had heard, from those who had served under Verdier in the first siege, of the deplorable slaughter and repeated repulses that had followed the attempt to carry by main force the internal defences of the city. To hurl solid columns of stormers at the barricades and the crenellated houses was not his intention. He had made up his mind to advance by sap and mine, as if he were dealing with regular fortifications. His plan was to use each block of houses that he gained as a base for the attack upon the next, and never to send in the infantry with the bayonet till he had breached by artillery, or by mines, the building against which the assault was directed. This form of attack was bound to be slow, but it had the great merit of costing comparatively little in the way of casualties. The fact was that the Marshal had not the numbers which would justify him in wasting lives by assaults which might or might not be successful, but which were certain to prove very bloody. The whole Third Corps, as we have already seen, did not now furnish much more than 13,000 bayonets, while Gazan’s men were all occupied in watching the suburb, and Suchet’s lay far out, as a covering corps set to watch Perena and Lazan.

There was no one single dominating position in the city whose occupation was likely to constrain the besieged to surrender. The whole town is built on a level, and its fifty-three solidly-built churches and convents formed so many forts, each of which was defensible in itself and could not be reduced save by a direct attack. All that could be done was to endeavour to capture them one by one, in the hope that at last the Saragossans would grow tired of their hopeless resistance, and consent to surrender, when they realized that things had gone so far that they could only protract, but could not finally beat off, the slow advance of the besieging army.

The work of the French, therefore, consisted in spreading out[p. 124] from their two separate lodgements on the eastern and southern sides of the city, with the simple object of gaining ground each day and of driving the Spaniards back towards the centre of the place. On the right attack the most important objective of the besiegers was the block of monastic buildings to the north of the Palafox battery, the twin convents of San Augustin and Santa Monica, which lay along the northern side of the small wedge that they had driven into the north-eastern corner of the town. As these buildings lay on ground slightly higher than that which the French had occupied, it was difficult to attack them by means of mines. But an intense converging fire was brought to bear upon them, both from batteries outside the walls, playing across the Huerba, and by guns brought inside the captured angle of the enceinte. The outer walls of Santa Monica were soon a mass of ruins: nevertheless the first attack on it [January 29] was beaten off, and it was only on the next day, after twenty-four hours more of furious bombardment, that Grandjean’s men succeeded in storming, first the convent and then its church, after a furious hand-to-hand fight with the defenders.

After establishing themselves in Santa Monica the French were able to capture some of the adjoining houses, and to turn their attention against its neighbour San Augustin. They ran two mines under it, and at the same time battered it heavily from the external batteries beyond the Huerba. On February I the explosion took place: it opened a breach in the east end of the convent church, and the storming party, entering by the sacristy, got possession of the choir chapels and the high altar. But the Spaniards rallied in the nave, ran a barricade of chairs and benches across it, and held their own for some time, firing down from the pulpit and the organ loft with effect. Some climbed up into the roof and picked off the French through the holes which the bombardment had left in the ceiling. For some hours this strange indoor battle raged within the spacious church. But at last the French carried the nave, and at night only the belfry remained untaken. Its little garrison pelted the French with grenades all day, and saved themselves at dusk by a sudden and unexpected dash through the enemy.

In the first flush of success, after San Augustin had been[p. 125] stormed, the 44th regiment, from Grandjean’s division, tried to push on through the streets towards the centre of the town. They captured several barricades and houses, and struggled on till they had nearly reached the Coso. But this sort of fighting was always dangerous in Saragossa: the citizens kept up such a fierce fire from their windows, and swarmed out against the flanks of the column in such numbers, that the 44th had to give back, lost all that it had taken beyond San Augustin, and left 200 dead and wounded behind. Even the formal official reports of the French engineers speak with respect of the courage shown by the besieged on this day. The houses which they had lost in the afternoon they retook in the dusk, by an extraordinary device. Finding the French solidly barricaded in them, and proof against any attack from the street, hundreds of the defenders climbed upon the roofs, tore up the tiles and entered by the garrets, from which they descended and drove out the invaders by a series of charges which cleared story after story[136]. Many monks, and still more women, were seen among the armed crowds which swept the assailants back towards Santa Monica. It was especially noticed that the civilians did far more of the fighting than the soldiers. This was their own special battle.

Irritated at his losses on this day, Lannes issued a general order, expressly forbidding any attempts to storm houses and barricades by main force. After an explosion, the troops were to seize the building that had been shattered, and to cover themselves in it; they were not to go forward and fall upon intact defences further to the front.

While the struggle was raging thus fiercely from January 28 to February 1, in the eastern area of street-fighting, there had been a no less desperate series of combats all around Santa Engracia, on the southern front of attack. Here Musnier’s division was endeavouring to drive the Spaniards out of the blocks of houses to the right and left of the captured convent. They worked almost entirely by mines, running tunnels forward from beneath the convent to blow down the walls of the adjoining dwellings. But even when the mines had gutted the doomed buildings, it was not easy to seize them: the few men who[p. 126] survived the explosion did not fly, but held out among the ruins, and had to be bayonetted by the assailants who rushed out from the convent to occupy the new lodgements. Time after time the defenders, though perfectly conscious that they were being undermined, and that by staying on guard they were courting certain death, refused to evacuate the threatened houses or to retire into safety. Hence their losses were awful, but the French too suffered not a little, while pushing forward to occupy each building as it was cleared by the explosion. The constant rain of musket balls from roofs and church towers searched out the ruins in which they had to effect their lodgements, and many of the assailants fell before they could cover themselves among the débris.

On the thirty-first the Spaniards made a sudden rush from the Misericordia buildings, to recover the Trinitarian convent, the most western point on the enceinte which had fallen into the hands of the French at the assault of the twenty-seventh. They charged in upon it with the greatest fury, and blew open the gate with a four-pounder gun which they dragged up by hand to the very threshold. But the French had built up the whole entrance with sandbags, which held even when the doors had been shattered; and, after persisting for some time in a fruitless attempt to break in, the Saragossans had to retire, foiled and greatly thinned in numbers.

On the following day (February 1) the French began to move forward from Santa Engracia towards the Coso, always clearing their way by explosions, and risking as few men as possible. Nevertheless they could not always keep under cover, and this day they suffered a severe loss: their chief engineer, General Lacoste, was shot through the head, while reconnoitring from a window the houses against which his next attack was to be directed[137]. He was succeeded in command by Colonel Rogniat, one of the French historians of the siege. That officer, as he tells us, discovered that his sappers were using too large charges of powder, which destroyed the roofs and four walls of each[p. 127] house that they undermined, so that the infantry who followed had no cover when they first took possession. He therefore ordered the substitution of smaller measures of powder, so as to throw down only parts of the wall of the building nearest to the French lines, and to leave the roof and the outer walls uninjured. In this way it was much more easy to establish a lodgement, since the storming-party were covered the moment that they had dashed into the shattered shell. The only plan which the Spaniards could devise against this method of procedure, was to set fire to the ruins, and to prevent the entry of the assailants by burning down all that was left of the house. As the buildings of Saragossa contained little woodwork, and were not very combustible[138], the besieged daubed the walls with tar and resin to make them blaze the better. When an explosion had taken place, the surviving defenders set fire to the débris of floors and roofs before retiring[139]. In this way they sometimes kept the French back for as much as two days, since they could not make their lodgement till the cinders had time to cool. Countermining against the French approaches was often tried, but seldom with success, for there were no trained miners in the city: the one battalion of sappers which Palafox possessed had been formed from the workmen of the Canal of Aragon, who had no experience in subterranean work. On the other hand the French had three whole companies of miners, beside eight more of sappers, who were almost as useful in the demolition of the city. They maintained a distinct ascendent underground, though they not unfrequently lost men in the repeated combats with knife and pistol which ensued when mine and countermine met, and the two sides fought for the possession of each other’s galleries.

The first week of February was now drawing to its close, and the advance of the French into the city, though steady, had been extremely slow. Every little block of five or six houses cost a day to break up, and another to entrench. The waste of life, though not excessive, was more than Lannes could really afford, and he waited impatiently, but in vain, for any signs that the[p. 128] obstinacy of the defence was slackening. But though he could not see it, the garrison were being tried far more hardly than the besiegers. It was not so much the loss by fire and sword that was ruining them as the silent ravages of the epidemic fevers. Since the French had got within the walls, and the bombardment of the city was being carried on from a shorter range than before, the civilian population had been forced to cling more closely than ever to its fetid cellars, and the infectious fever which had appeared in January was developing at the most fearful rate. Living under such insanitary conditions, and feeding on flour and salt fish, for the vegetables had long been exhausted, the Saragossans had no strength to bear up against the typhus. Whole families died off, and their bodies lay forgotten, tainting the air and spreading the contagion. Even where there were survivors, they could not easily dispose of the dead, for the urban cemeteries were gorged, and burials took place in trenches hastily opened in streets or gardens. Outside the churches there were hundreds of corpses, some coffined, others rolled in shrouds or sheets, waiting in rows for the last services of the church, which the surviving clergy were too few to read. The shells from the incessant bombardment were continually falling in these open spaces, and tearing the dead to pieces. Ere the siege was over there was a mass of mutilated and decaying bodies heaped in front of every church door. Hundreds more lay in the debatable ground for which the Spaniards and French were contending, and the whole town reeked with contagion. The weather was generally still and warm for the time of year, with a thick fog rising every morning from the low ground by the Ebro. The smoke from the burning houses lay low over the place, and the air was thick with the mingled fumes of fire and pestilence. If it nauseated the French, who had the open country behind them, and were relieved by regiments at intervals, and allowed a rest in their camps outside the walls, it was far more terrible to the Spaniards. The death rate rose, as February drew on, from 300 up to 500 and even 600 a day. The morning state of the garrison on the fourth day of the month showed 13,737 sick and wounded, and only 8,495 men under arms. As the total had been 32,000 when the siege began, nearly 10,000 men must already have[p. 129] perished by the sword or disease. The civil population, containing so many women, children, and aged persons, was of course dying at a much quicker rate. Yet the place held out for sixteen days longer! Palafox himself was struck down by the fever, but still issued orders from his bed, and poured out a string of hysterical proclamations, in which his delirium is clearly apparent.

The terrible situation of the Saragossans was to a large extent concealed from the besiegers, who only saw the line of desperate fighting-men which met them in every house, and could only guess at the death and desolation that lay behind. Every French eye-witness bears record to the low spirits of the troops who were compelled to fight in the long series of explosions and assaults which filled the early weeks of February. The engineer Belmas, the most matter-of-fact of all the historians of the siege, turns aside for a moment from his traverses and mining-galleries, to describe the murmurs of the weary infantry of the 3rd Corps. ‘Who ever heard before,’ they asked, ‘of an army of 20,000 men being set to take a town defended by 50,000 madmen? We have conquered a quarter of it, and now we are completely fought out. We must halt and wait for reinforcements, or we shall all perish, and be buried in these cursed ruins, before we can rout out the last of these fanatics from their last stronghold[140].’ Lannes did his best to encourage the rank and file, by showing them that the Spaniards were suffering far more than they, and by pointing out that the moment must inevitably come when the defence must break down from mere exhaustion. He also endeavoured to obtain reinforcements from the Emperor, but only received assurances that some conscripts and convalescents for the 3rd Corps should be sent to him from Pampeluna and Bayonne. No fresh regiments could be spared from France, when the affairs of Central Europe were looking so doubtful[141]. The best plan which the Marshal could devise for breaking down the resolution of the Spaniards was to lengthen his front of attack, and so endeavour to distract the attention of the besieged from the main front of advance towards the Coso.

[p. 130]

This was only to be done by causing the division of Gazan, which had so long remained passive in front of the suburb, to open an energetic attack on that outlying part of the fortress. The advantage to be secured in this direction was not merely that a certain amount of the defenders would be drawn away from the city. If the suburb were captured it would be possible to erect batteries in it, which would search the whole northern side of Saragossa, the one quarter of the city which was still comparatively unaffected by the bombardment. Here the bulk of the civil population was crowded together, and here too Palafox had collected the greater part of his stores and magazines. If the last safe corner of the city were exposed to a bombardment from a fresh quarter, it would probably do much to lower the hopes of the defenders.

During the last days of January Gazan’s division had pressed back the Spanish outposts in front of the suburb, and on the thirtieth of that month Lannes had sent over two companies of siege artillery, to construct batteries opposite the convents of Jesus and San Lazaro. It was not till February 2-3, however, that he ordered a serious and active attack to be pressed in this quarter. From the trench which covered the front of Gazan’s investing lines a second parallel was thrown out, and two breaching batteries erected against the Jesus convent: on the fourth an advance by zigzags was pushed still further forward, and more guns brought up. Some little delay was caused by an unexpected swelling of the Ebro, which inundated that part of the trenches which lay nearest to the river: but by the eighth all was ready for the assault. The Jesus convent, as a glance at the map will readily show, was the most projecting point of the defences of the suburb, and was not well protected by any flanking fire from the other works—indeed it was only helped to any appreciable extent by a long fire across the water from the northern side of Saragossa, and by the few gunboats which were moored near the bridge. It was a weak structure—merely a brick convent with a ditch beyond it—and the breaching batteries had found no difficulty in opening many large gaps in its masonry. On the eighth it was stormed by Taupin’s brigade of Gazan’s division: the garrison made a creditable resistance, which cost the French ninety men, and then[p. 131] retired to San Lazaro and the main fortifications of the suburb. The French established themselves in the convent, and connected it with their siege-works, finally turning its ruins into part of the third parallel, which they began to draw out against the remaining transpontine works. They would probably have proceeded to complete their operations in this direction within the next two or three days, if it had not been for an interruption from without. The two brothers, Lazan and Francisco Palafox, had now united their forces, and had come forward to the line of the Sierra de Alcubierre, only twenty miles from Saragossa, the former with his 4,000 men from Catalonia, the latter with a mass of peasants. Mortier, from his post at Perdiguera, reported their approach to Lannes, and the latter went out in person to meet them, taking with him Guérin’s brigade of Gazan’s division, and leaving only that of Taupin to hold the lines opposite the suburb. Faced by the 12,000 veteran bayonets of the 5th Corps, the two Palafoxes felt that they were helpless, and retreated towards Fraga and Lerida, without attempting to fight. On the thirteenth, therefore, Lannes came back to the siege with the troops that he had drawn away from it. While he was absent Palafox had a splendid opportunity for a sortie on a large scale against Taupin and his isolated brigade, for only 4,000 men were facing the suburb. But the time had already gone by in which the garrison was capable of such an advance. They could not now dispose of more than 10,000 men, soldiers and peasants and citizens all included, and none of these could be drawn away from the city, where the fighting-line was always growing weaker. Indeed, its numbers were so thinned by the epidemic that Palafox was guarding the Aljafferia with no more than 300 men, and manning the unattacked western front with convalescents from the hospitals, who could hardly stand, and often died at their posts during the cold and damp hours of the night. All his available efficients were engaged in the street-fighting with the 3rd Corps.

For while the attack on the suburb was being pressed, the slow advance of the besiegers within the walls was never slackened. On some days they won a whole block of houses by their mining operations: on others they lost many men and gained no advantage. The right attack was extending[p. 132] itself towards the river, and working from the convent of San Augustin into the quarter of the Tanneries. At the same time it was also moving on toward the Coso, but with extreme slowness, for the Spaniards made a specially desperate defence in the houses about the University and the Church of the Trinity. One three-storied building, which covered the traverse across the Coso to the south of the University, stood ten separate assaults and four explosions, and held out from the ninth to the eighteenth, effectually keeping back the advance of the besiegers in this direction[142]. Nor could the French ever succeed in connecting their field of operations on this front with that which centred around Santa Engracia. Down to the very end of the siege the Saragossans clung desperately to the south-eastern corner of the city, and kept control of it right down to the external walls and the bank of the Huerba, where they still possessed a narrow strip of 300 yards of the enceinte.

The left attack of the French, that from the Santa Engracia side, made much more progress, though even here it was slow and dearly bought. On February 10, however, in spite of several checks, the besiegers for the first time forced their way as far as the Coso, working through the ruined hospital which had been destroyed in the first siege. On the same day, at the north-western angle of their advance, they made a valuable conquest in the church and convent of San Francisco. A mine was driven under this great building from the ruins of the hospital, and filled with no less than 3,000 pounds of powder. It had not been discovered by the Spaniards, and the convent was full of fighting-men at the moment of the explosion. The whole grenadier company of the 1st regiment of Valencia and 300 irregulars were blown up, and perished to a man[143]. Nor was this all: in the northern part of the building was established the main factory for military equipment of the Army of Aragon: it was crammed with workpeople, largely women, for Palafox had forgotten or refused to withdraw the dép?t to a less convenient and spacious but more safe position. All these unfortunate non-combatants, to the number of at least 400, perished,[p. 133] and the roof-tops for hundreds of yards around were strewn with their dismembered limbs.

It might have been expected that, as the immediate consequence of this awful catastrophe, the French would have made a long step forward in this direction. But such was not the case: before the smoke had cleared away Spaniards rushed forward from the inner defences, and occupied part of the ruins of San Francisco. A body of peasants, headed by the émigré colonel de Fleury, got into the bell-tower of the convent, which had not fallen with the rest, and kept up from its leads a vigorous plunging fire upon the besiegers, when they stole forward to burrow into the mass of débris. But with the loss of some thirty men the French succeeded in mastering two-thirds of the ruins: next day they cleared the rest, and stormed the belfry, where de Fleury and his men were all bayonetted after a desperate fight on the winding stairs. It was first from the commanding height of this steeple that the French officers obtained a full view of the city. The sight was encouraging to them: they could realize how much the inner parts of the place had suffered from the bombardment, and noted with their telescopes the small number of defenders visible behind the further barricades, the heaps of corpses in the streets, and the slow and dejected pace of the few passengers visible. Two great gallows with corpses hanging from them especially attracted the eyes of the onlookers[144]. Other circumstances united on this and the following day (February 11-12) to show that the defence was at last beginning to slacken. A great mob of peasants, mainly women, came out of the Portillo gate towards Morlot’s trenches, and prayed hard for permission to go through the lines to their villages. They were not fired on, but given a loaf apiece, and then driven back into the city. It was still more significant that at night, on the eleventh, four or five bodies of deserters stole out to the French; they were all foreigners, belonging to the ‘Swiss’ battalion[145] which was shut up in Saragossa: several officers were among them. To excuse themselves they said that Palafox and the friars were mad, and that[p. 134] they judged that all further defence had become impossible. Yet the siege was to endure for nine days longer[146]!

Though the two main attacks continued to press slowly forward, and that on the left had now reached the Coso and covered a front of 100 yards on the southern side of that great street, it was not on this front that the decisive blow was destined to be given. On the eighteenth Lannes determined to deliver the great assault on the suburb, where the batteries in the third parallel and about the Jesus convent had now completely shattered the San Lazaro defences. All Gazan’s men being now back in their trenches, since Mortier’s expedition had driven off the Marquis of Lazan, Lannes considered that he might safely risk the storm. Fifty-two siege-guns played on San Lazaro throughout the morning of the eighteenth, and no less than eight practicable breaches were opened in it and the works to its right and left. At noon three storming columns leaped out of the trenches and raced for the nearest of these entries. All three burst through: there was a sharp struggle in the street of the suburb, and then the French reached and seized a block of houses at the head of the bridge, which cut the defence in two and rendered a retreat into Saragossa almost impossible. The Spaniards, seeing that all was lost, split into two bodies: one tried to force its way across the bridge; but only 300 passed; the rest were slain or captured. The main part, consisting of the defenders of the western front of the suburb, formed in a solid mass and, abandoning their defences, tried to escape westward up the bank of the Ebro, into the open country. They got across the inundation in their front, but when they had gone thus far were surrounded by two regiments of French cavalry, and forced to surrender. They numbered 1,500 men, under General Manso, commanding the 3rd division of Palafox’s army, the one which furnished the garrison of the suburb. The officer commanding the whole transpontine defence, Baron de Versage, had been killed by a cannon-ball on the bridge.
Map of the second siege of Saragossa

Enlarge  SECOND SIEGE of SARAGOSSA
DEC. 1808 to FEB. 1809

This was not the only disaster suffered by the Saragossans on the eighteenth: at three in the afternoon, when the news of the loss of the suburb had had time to spread round the town, [p. 135]and the attention of the besieged was distracted to this side, Grandjean’s division attacked the houses and barricades in the north-eastern part of the city, which had so long held them at bay. A great mine opened a breach in the University, which was stormed, and with it fell the houses on each side, as far as the Coso. At the same time another attack won some ground in the direction of the Trinity convent, and the Ebro. Next day the Spaniards in this remote corner of the town, almost cut off from the main body of the defenders, and now battered from the rear by new works thrown up in the suburb, in and about San Lazaro, drew back and abandoned the quarter of the Tanneries, the quays, and the outer enceinte looking over the mouth of the Huerba.

On the nineteenth it was evident that the end had come: a third of the ever-dwindling force of effective men of which Palafox could dispose had been killed or captured at the storm of San Lazaro. The city was now being fired on from the north, the only side which had hitherto been safe. The epidemic was worse than ever—600 a day are said to have died during the final week of the siege. The last mills which the garrison possessed had lately been destroyed, and no more flour was issued, but unground corn, which had to be smashed up between paving-stones, or boiled and eaten as a sort of porridge. The supply of powder was beginning to run low; not from want of material to compound it, but from the laboratories having been mostly destroyed and from the greater part of the arsenal workmen having died. Only about 700 pounds a day [six quintals] could now be turned out, and the daily expenditure in the mines and barricades came to much more.

On this morning the French noted that at many points the defence seemed to be slackening, and that parts of the line were very feebly manned. They made more progress this day than in any earlier twenty-four hours of the siege. Their main work, however, was to run six large mines under the Coso, till they got below the houses on its further side, somewhat to the right of San Francisco. Rogniat placed 3,000 pounds of powder in each, a quantity that was calculated to blow up the whole quarter.

It was not necessary to use them. The spirits of the defenders[p. 136] had at last been broken, and surrender was openly spoken of—though its mention ten days earlier would have cost the life of the proposer. Palafox on his sick bed understood that all was over; he sent for General St. March and resigned the military command to him. But in order that he might not seem to be shirking his responsibility, and trying to put the ignominy of asking for terms on his successor, he sent his aide-de-camp Casseillas to Lannes, offering surrender, but demanding that the troops should march out with the honours of war and join the nearest Spanish army in the field. Then he turned his face to the wall, and prepared to die, for the fever lay heavy upon him, and broken with despair and fatigue he thought that he had not many hours to live. St. March’s appointment not being well taken—the loss of the Monte Torrero was still remembered against him—Palafox’s last act was to give over charge of the city to a Junta of thirty-three persons[147], mainly local notables and clergy, to whom the finishing of the negotiations would fall.

Of course Lannes sent back the Captain-General’s aide-de-camp with the message that he must ask for unconditional surrender, and that the proposal that the garrison should be allowed to depart was absurd. The fighting was resumed on the morning of the twentieth, and the French were making appreciable progress, when the Junta once more sent to ask terms from the besiegers. It was not without some bitter debate among themselves that they took this step, for there was still a minority, including St. March and the priest Padre Consolation, who wished to continue the resistance. They were backed by a section of the citizens, who began to collect and to raise angry cries of Treason. But the whole of the soldiery and the major part of the civilian defenders were prepared to yield. At four o’clock in the afternoon they sent out to ask for a twenty-four hours’ truce to settle terms of surrender. Lannes granted them two hours to send him out a deputation charged with full powers to capitulate, and ordered the bombardment and the mining to cease. His aide-de-camp, who bore the message, was nearly murdered by fanatics in the street[148],[p. 137] and was rescued with difficulty by some officers of the regular army. But the Junta sent him back with the message that the deputation should be forthcoming, and within the stipulated time eleven of its members came out from the Portillo gate[149], to the Marshal’s head quarters on the Calatayud road. There was not much discussion: Lannes contented himself with pointing out to the Spaniards that the place was at his mercy: he had the plan of his siege-works unrolled before them, and pointed out the position of the six great mines under the Coso[150], as well as those of the advanced posts which he had gained during the last two days. The deputies made some feeble attempts to secure that the name of Ferdinand VII should appear in the articles of capitulation, and that the clergy should be guaranteed immunity and undisturbed possession of their benefices. Lannes waved all such proposals aside, and dictated a form of surrender which was on the whole reasonable and even generous. The garrison should march out on the following day, and lay down its arms 100 yards outside the Portillo gate. Those who would swear homage to King Joseph should have their liberty, and might take service with him if they wished. Those who refused the oath should march as prisoners to France. The city should be granted a general pardon: the churches should be respected: private property should not be meddled with. The citizens must surrender all their weapons of whatever sort. Any civil magistrates or employés who wished to keep their places must take the oath of allegiance to King Joseph.

On the following morning the garrison marched out: of peasants and soldiers there were altogether about 8,000 men, 1,500 of whom were convalescents from the Hospitals. ‘Never[p. 138] had any of us gazed on a more sad or touching sight,’ writes Lejeune; ‘these sickly looking men, bearing in their bodies the seeds of the fever, all frightfully emaciated, with long black matted beards, and scarcely able to hold their weapons, dragged themselves slowly along to the sound of the drum. Their clothes were torn and dirty: everything about them bore witness to terrible misery. But in spite of their livid faces, blackened with powder, and scarred with rage and grief, they bore themselves with dignity and pride. The bright coloured sashes, the large round hats surmounted by a few cock’s-feathers which shaded their foreheads, the brown cloaks or ponchos flung over their varied costumes, lent a certain picturesqueness to their tattered garb. When the moment came for them to pile their arms and deliver up their flags, many of them gave violent expression to their despair. Their eyes gleamed with rage, and their savage looks seemed to say that they had counted our ranks, and deeply regretted having surrendered to such a small army of enemies[151].’

Another and more matter-of-fact eye-witness adds, ‘They were a most motley crowd of men of all ages and conditions, some in uniform, more without it. The officers were mostly mounted on mules or donkeys, and were only distinguished from the men by their three-cornered hats and their large cloaks. Many were smoking their cigarillos and talking to each other with an aspect of complete indifference. But all were not so resigned. The whole garrison, 8,000 to 10,000 strong, defiled in front of us: the majority looked so utterly unlike soldiers, that our men said openly to each other that they ought not to have taken so long or spent so much trouble in getting rid of such a rabble[152].’ The column was promptly put in motion for France, under the escort of two of Morlot’s regiments. Many died on the way from the fever whose seeds they carried with them. Few or none, as might have been supposed, took advantage of the offer to save themselves from captivity by taking the oath to King Joseph.

It is sad to have to confess that the French did not keep to the terms of the capitulation. That Lannes could not restrain his men from plunder, as he had promised, was hardly surprising.[p. 139] There were so many empty houses and churches containing valuables, that it was not to be wondered at that the victors should help themselves to all they could find. But they also plundered occupied houses, and even stole the purses of the captive officers. What was worse was that many assassinations took place, especially of clergy, for the French looked upon the priests and friars as being mainly responsible for the desperate defence. Two in especial, Padre Basilio Bogiero, the chaplain of Palafox, and Santiago Sass, a parish priest, were shot in cold blood two days after the surrender[153]. Public opinion in the French ranks was convinced that they, more than any one else, had kept the Captain-General up to the mark. Palafox himself was treated with great brutality. As he lay apparently moribund, the French officer who had been made interim governor of Saragossa came to his bedside, and bade him to sign orders for the surrender of Jaca and Monzon. When he refused, this colonel threatened to have him shot, but left him alone when threats had no effect. Ere he was convalescent he was sent off to France, where the Emperor ordered that he should be treated, not as a prisoner of war, but as guilty of treason, and shut him up for many years as a close captive in the donjon of Vincennes.

The state in which Saragossa was found by the French hardly bears description. It was a focus of corruption, one mass of putrefying corpses. According to a report which Lannes elicited from the municipal officers, nearly 54,000 persons had died in the place since the siege began[154]. Of these about 20,000 were fighting-men, regular or irregular, the rest were non-combatants. Only 6,000 had fallen by fire and sword: the remainder were victims of the far more deadly pestilence. A few days after the siege was ended Lannes stated that the total population of the town was now only 15,000 souls, instead of the 55,000 which it had contained when the siege began. But his estimate does not include some thousands of citizens who had fled into the open country, the moment that they were released from investment, in order to escape from the contagion in the city. ‘Il est impossible que Saragosse se relève,’ wrote[p. 140] the marshal; ‘cette ville fait horreur à voir.’ It was weeks indeed before the dead were all buried: months before the contagion of the siege-fever died out from the miserable city. Even after five years of the capable and benevolent government of Suchet it was still half desolate, and no attempt had been made to rebuild the third of its houses and churches which had been reduced to ashes by the mines and the bombardment.

The French losses in front of Saragossa are not easy to calculate. Belmas says that the total of casualties was about 3,000 in the infantry, but he takes no notice of the losses by siege-fever, except to say that many died from it. He does not give the losses of the artillery, except of that small part of it which was not attached either to the 3rd or to the 5th Corps. Considering that the 3rd Corps alone had 13,123 sick on January 15, and that typhus is a notoriously deadly disease, it is probable that the total losses of the French during the siege amounted to 10,000 men. It is hard otherwise to explain the difference between the 37,000 men that the 3rd Corps counted in October, and the 14,000 men which it mustered when Suchet took over its command in April. The sufferings of the 5th Corps were small in comparison, for till February began it took no very serious part in the siege, and its health was notoriously far better than that of Junot’s divisions[155]. But we cannot be far wrong in concluding with Schepeler and Arteche that the total French loss must have been 10,000 men, rather than the 4,000 given by Napier, who is apparently relying on Rogniat. That officer gives only the casualties in battle, and not the losses in hospital.

So ended the siege of Saragossa—a magnificent display of civic courage, little helped by strategy or tactics. For Palafox, though a splendid leader of insurgents, was, as his conduct in[p. 141] October and November had shown, a very poor general. He made a gross initial mistake in shutting up 40,000 fighting-men in a place which could have been easily defended by 25,000. If he had sent one or two divisions to form the nucleus of an army of relief in Lower Aragon, with orders to harass, but not to fight pitched battles, it is hard to see how the siege could have been kept up. His second fault was the refusal to make sorties on a large scale during the first half of the siege, while he was still in possession of great masses of superfluous fighting-men. He sent out scores of petty sallies of a few hundred men, but never moved so many as 5,000 on a single day. Such a policy worried but could not seriously harm the French, while it destroyed the willing men of the garrison; if the Captain-General had saved up all the volunteers whom he lost by tens and twenties in small and fruitless attacks on the trenches, he could have built up with them a column-head that would have pierced through the French line at any point that he chose. Anything might have been done during the three weeks while Mortier was at Calatayud, and especially during the days when Gazan with his 8,000 men was cut off by the floods, and isolated on the further bank of the Ebro.

The Captain-General’s conduct, in short, was not that of a capable officer. But it is absurd to endeavour to represent him as a coward, or as a puppet whose strings were pulled by fanatical friars. He knew perfectly well what he was doing, and how to manage the disorderly but enthusiastic masses of the population[156]. There can be no doubt that his personal influence was all-important, and the effect of his constant harangues and proclamations immense. It would be quite as true to say that the friars and the mob-orators were his tools, as that he was theirs. He had to humour them, but by humouring them he got out of them the utmost possible service. Against the stories that his proclamations were written for him,[p. 142] and that he had to be goaded into issuing every order that came from his head quarters, we have the evidence of Vaughan and others who knew him well. It is unanimous in ascribing to him incessant activity and an exuberant fluency in composition. Arteche has preserved some minutes on the siege which he wrote long after the Peninsular War was over: they are interesting and well-stated, but more creditable to him as a patriot than as a military man[157]. There can be no doubt that the garrison might have been much more wisely handled: but it is doubtful whether under any other direction it would have shown so much energy and staying power. There is certainly no other Spanish siege, save that of Gerona, where half so much resolution was shown. If the defence had been conducted by regular officers and troops alone, the place would probably have fallen three weeks earlier. If the monks and local demagogues had been in command, and patriotic anarchy alone had been opposed to the French, Saragossa would possibly have fallen at an even earlier date, from mere want of intelligent direction. Palafox, with all his faults, supplied the connecting link between the two sections of the defenders, and kept the soldiery to work by means of the example of the citizens, while he restrained the citizens by dint of his immense personal influence over them, won in the first siege. In short, he may have been vain, bombastic, and a bad tactician, but he was a good Spaniard. If there had been a few dozen men more of his stamp in Spain, the task of the French in 1808-9 would have been infinitely more difficult. The example of Saragossa was invaluable to the nation and to Europe. The knowledge of it did much to sicken the French soldiery of the whole war, and to make every officer and man who entered Spain march, not with the light heart that he felt in Germany or Italy, but with gloom and disgust and want of confidence. They never failed to do their duty, but they fought without the enthusiasm which helped them so much in all the earlier wars of the Empire.
SECTION XII  THE SPRING CAMPAIGN IN LA MANCHA AND ESTREMADURA CHAPTER I
THE ROUT OF CIUDAD REAL

By the middle of the month of February, as we have already seen, Andalusia was once more covered by two considerable Spanish armies: Cartaojal, with the wrecks of Infantado’s host and the new levies of Del Palacio, was holding the great passes at the eastern end of the Sierra Morena. Cuesta had rallied behind the Guadiana the remains of the army of Estremadura. He was at present engaged in reducing it to order by the only method of which he was master, the shooting of any soldier who showed signs of disobedience or mutiny[158]. The army deserved nothing better: its dastardly murder of its unfortunate general in December justified any amount of severity in his successor.

Meanwhile Victor, after his victory at Ucles, and his vain attempt to surprise Del Palacio, had passed away to the west, leaving nothing in the plains of La Mancha save the dragoons of Milhaud and Latour-Maubourg, who were placed as a cavalry screen across the roads to the south, with their divisional head quarters at Oca?a and Madridejos respectively.

The Marshal drew back to the valley of the Tagus, and marched by Toledo on Almaraz; this was in strict execution of the plan dictated by Napoleon before he left Spain. It will be remembered that he had directed that, when the February rains were over, Victor should move on Badajoz, to assist by his presence[p. 144] in that direction the projected attack of Soult on Lisbon. Only when Estremadura and Portugal had been subdued was the attack on Andalusia to be carried out. Soult, as we shall see, was (by no fault of his own) much slower in his movements than Napoleon had expected, and Victor waited in vain at Talavera for any news that the invasion of Portugal was in progress. Hence the Spaniards gained some weeks of respite: the ranks of their armies were filled up, and the spirits of their generals rose.

Cartaojal remained for some time at La Carolina, reorganizing and recruiting the depleted and half-starved battalions which Infantado had handed over to him. He had expected to be attacked by Victor, but when he learnt that the Marshal had gone off to Toledo, and that La Mancha was covered only by a thin line of cavalry, he began to dream of resuming the offensive. Such a policy was most unwise: it shows that Cartaojal, like so many other Spanish generals, was still possessed with the fatal mania for grand operations and pitched battles. He had in his head nothing less than a plan for thrusting back the cavalry screen opposite to him, and for recovering the whole of La Mancha. If Victor’s corps had been the only force available to oppose him, there would have been something to say for the plan. An advance on Toledo and Madrid must have brought back the Duke of Belluno from his advance towards Estremadura. But, as a matter of fact, Jourdan and King Joseph had not left the roads to La Mancha unguarded: they had drafted down from Madrid two infantry divisions of the 4th Corps, whose command Sebastiani had now taken over from Lefebvre. The first division lay at Toledo: the third (Valence’s Poles) at Aranjuez; thus the former supported Latour-Maubourg, the latter Milhaud.

Ignorant, apparently, of the fact that there was anything but cavalry in his front, Cartaojal resolved to beat up the French outposts. With this object he told off half his infantry and two-thirds of his horse, under the Duke of Albuquerque, a gallant and enterprising, but somewhat reckless, officer, of whom we shall hear much during the next two years of the war. Marching with speed and secrecy, Albuquerque, with 2,000 horse and 9,000 infantry, fell upon Digeon’s brigade of dragoons at Mora on February 18. He tried to cut it off with his[p. 145] cavalry, while he attacked it in front with his foot. But Digeon saw the danger in time, and fell back in haste, after losing a few men of the 20th Dragoons and some of his baggage. His demand for assistance promptly brought down Sebastiani, with the 1st division of the 4th Corps, and the two remaining brigades of Latour-Maubourg’s cavalry. The moment that he heard that a heavy force had arrived in his front, Albuquerque retired as far as Consuegra, where the French caught up his rear, and inflicted some loss upon it. He then fell still further back, crossed the Guadiana, and took post at Manzanares. Sebastiani did not pursue him beyond Consuegra, giving as his excuse the exhausted condition of the country-side[159].

Cartaojal meanwhile, with the rest of his army, had come up from the passes to Ciudad Real, following in wake of Albuquerque’s advance. When he met with his lieutenant they fell to quarrelling, both as to what had already occurred, and as to what should now be done, for the Duke was anxious to induce his chief to make a general advance on Toledo, while Cartaojal desired him to take a single division of infantry and to try the adventure himself. While they were disputing, orders came from the Supreme Junta that troops were to be detached from the Army of La Mancha to strengthen that of Estremadura. Cartaojal took the opportunity of getting rid of Albuquerque, by putting him at the head of the detachment which was to be sent to Cuesta. The Duke, not loth to depart, went off with a division of 4,500 infantry and a regiment of cavalry[160], and marched down the Guadiana into Estremadura.

Cartaojal remained for the first three weeks of March at Ciudad Real and Manzanares with the main body of his force, about 2,500 horse and 10,000 foot, keeping behind him, at the foot of the passes, a reserve of 4,000 men under La Pe?a. This was tempting providence, for he was now aware that the whole[p. 146] 4th Corps, as well as a great mass of cavalry, was in front of him, and that he might be attacked at any moment. His position, too, was a faulty one; he had descended into the very midst of the broad plain of La Mancha, and had occupied as his head quarters an open town, easy to turn on either flank, and with a perfectly fordable river as its sole defence. As if this peril was not sufficient, Cartaojal suddenly resolved that he would make the dash at Toledo which Albuquerque had proposed to him, though he had refused to send his whole army against that point when the scheme was pressed upon him by his late second-in-command. The nearest hostile troops to him were a regiment of Polish lancers, belonging to Lasalle’s division, which lay at Yébenes, twenty miles outside Toledo. Making a swift stroke at this force, while it was far from expecting any advance on his part, Cartaojal drove it in, killing or taking nearly 100 of the Poles (March 24). But Sebastiani came up to their aid with an infantry division and three regiments of Milhaud’s dragoons. The Spaniard refused to accept battle, and fell hastily back to Ciudad Real, where he established his whole army behind the river Guadiana, in and about the open town. He was most unsafe in the midst of the vast plain, and was soon to rue his want of caution. Sebastiani had been joined by his Polish division and by part of his corps-cavalry, and having some 12,000 or 13,000 men in hand[161], had resolved to pay back on Cartaojal the beating up of his outpost at Yébenes. On March 26, Milhaud’s division of dragoons seized the bridge of Peralvillo, close to Ciudad Real, and crossed to the southern bank of the Guadiana. The Spanish general called up all his cavalry, and some of his foot, and marched to drive the dragoons back. They withdrew across the water, but still held the bridge, behind which they had planted their artillery. Next morning Sebastiani’s infantry came up, and he determined to attack Ciudad Real. Cartaojal, who was taken completely off his guard, was suddenly informed that column after column was pressing across the bridge and marching against him. He did[p. 147] not dream for a moment of fighting, but gave orders for an instant retreat towards the passes. He threw out his cavalry and horse artillery to cover the withdrawal of his infantry, who hurried away in half a dozen small bodies across the interminable plain. Sebastiani charged the Spanish horse with his Polish lancers and Dutch hussars, supported by Milhaud’s dragoons. The covering force broke and fled, and the pursuers came up with several of the columns of the retreating infantry. Some of them were dispersed, others were surrounded and taken prisoners. The pursuit was continued next morning, till it was interrupted by a fearful burst of rain, which darkened the horizon, hid the fugitives, and stopped the chase, or Cartaojal’s army might have been entirely destroyed. He lost in this rout, which it would be absurd to call a battle, five guns, three standards, and more than 2,000 prisoners, among whom were sixty-one officers. The loss in killed and wounded was probably not very great, for there had been no attempt at a stand, and the troops which were cut off had surrendered without resistance[162]. The loss of the French was insignificant, probably less than 100 men in all. They had stayed their pursuit at Santa Cruz de Mudela, from whence they returned to Ciudad Real, where they lived on the magazines which Cartaojal had collected before his unfortunate march on Yébenes. Sebastiani dared not follow the fugitives into the mountains, as he had received orders to clear La Mancha, but not to invade Andalusia: that was to be the task of Victor.

Cartaojal recrossed the Despe?a Perros, and established his head quarters at Sta Elena, in front of La Carolina. His army had been more frightened than hurt, and when the stragglers came in, still numbered 2,000 horse and 12,000 infantry. But he was not allowed to retain its command. Justly indignant at the carelessness with which he had allowed himself to be surprised in front of Ciudad Real, and at his general mismanagement, the Supreme Junta deposed him, and replaced[p. 148] him by Venegas, though the record of the latter’s operations at Ucles was hardly encouraging to the soldiery. By the middle of April the army had been reinforced by new Granadan levies, and could take the field, although its state of discipline was bad and its morale much shaken by the late events.
SECTION XII: CHAPTER II
OPERATIONS OF VICTOR AND CUESTA: BATTLE OF MEDELLIN

While Cartaojal and his Andalusian levies were faring so ill in La Mancha, the army of Estremadura and its obstinate old general were going through experiences of an even more disastrous kind. Cuesta, it will be remembered, had rallied about Badajoz and Merida the demoralized troops that had served under San Juan and Galluzzo. He was, contrary to all expectation, allowed to remain unmolested for some weeks. The irrational movement of Lefebvre to Plasencia and Avila[163] had left him for the moment almost without an enemy in his front. Along the middle Tagus he had nothing opposed to him save Lasalle’s four regiments of light cavalry, supported by Leval’s German division at Talavera. While Victor was engaged in the campaign of Ucles, and in his subsequent circular march through La Mancha to Toledo, the army of Estremadura enjoyed a time of complete rest. Cuesta’s fault was not want of energy: after shooting a competent number of mutineers, and disgracing some officers who had shown signs of cowardice, he distributed his troops into three new divisions under Henestrosa, Trias, and the Duke Del Parque, and began to move them back towards the Tagus. As there was nothing in his way except Lasalle’s light horse, he was able to take up, at the end of January, the same line which Galluzzo had been forced to evacuate in December. The French cavalry retired behind the river to Oropesa, abandoning the great bridge of Almaraz, the main passage of the Tagus, on January 29. Thereupon Cuesta broke the bridge, a difficult task, for his mines failed, and the work had to be completed with the pick. It was so badly managed that when the key-stone at last gave way, an engineer officer[p. 150] and twenty-six sappers were still upon the arch, and were precipitated into the river, where they were every one drowned. The Captain-General then established his head quarters at Deleytosa, a central point in the mountains, from which he commanded the two passages of the Tagus, that at Almaraz and that by the Puente del Conde, near Meza de Ibor. He arranged his 15,000 men with advanced guards at the water’s edge, opposite each of the possible points of attack, and reserves on the high ground to the rear. This forward position gave much encouragement to the peasantry of New Castile, and bands of guerrillas began (for the first time) to be seen on the slopes of the Sierra de Gredos and the Sierra de Toledo. There was a feeling of uneasiness even up to the gates of Madrid.

To restrain the advances of the Spaniards, King Joseph sent out Lasalle’s cavalry and Leval’s Germans on February 19, with orders to clear the nearer hills. They crossed the Tagus at the bridge of Arzobispo, a little below Talavera, and forced back the division of Trias, which was watching this flank of Cuesta’s position. But the country was almost impassable for cavalry, a mere mass of ravines and spurs of the Sierra de Guadalupe, and after advancing as far as the pass of San Vincente, and seeing the Spaniards begin to gather in force on his front and flank, Lasalle retreated, and recrossed the Tagus without having effected anything of importance.

It was not till a month later that the French took the offensive in earnest. Victor was now returned from his excursion into La Mancha, with his two divisions of the 1st Corps, and the six dragoon regiments of Latour-Maubourg, whom he had drawn off to Toledo, handing over the charge of observing Cartaojal to Milhaud and Sebastiani. Uniting these forces to those of Leval and Lasalle, he massed at Talavera an army of some 22,000 or 23,000 men, of whom 5,000 were admirable cavalry[164].

Joseph and Jourdan were now of the opinion that it was time for Victor to move forward on Estremadura, in accordance with the great plan for the conquest of southern Spain, which the Emperor had left behind as his legacy when he[p. 151] departed from Valladolid. It was true that this movement was to have been carried out in co-operation with the advance of Marshal Soult upon Portugal; but no news could be got of the Duke of Dalmatia’s present position. The last dispatch from him was nearly a month old. Writing from Orense on February 24 he had stated that he hoped to be at Chaves by March 1, and should then march on Oporto and Lisbon. According to Napoleon’s calculations he was to be at the last-named city within ten days of the capture of Oporto. It was therefore, in the opinion of Joseph and Jourdan, high time that Victor should start, in order to get in touch with Soult when the Portuguese capital should be occupied.

The Duke of Belluno, however, raised many difficulties, even when he had been shown the Emperor’s orders. He complained that he ought to have the help of Lapisse’s division, the second of his own Corps, which still lay at Salamanca. He doubted whether he could dare to take on with him, for an expedition into Estremadura, the German division of Leval: he ought, perhaps, to leave it at Talavera and Almaraz, in order to keep up his communications with Madrid. If this were done he would muster only 16,000 men for his great forward movement, and he had the gravest doubt whether Soult could or would give him the assistance of which the Emperor had written, even if he seized Lisbon within the appointed time. Finally, he was short of engineer officers, sappers, horses, and reserve ammunition.

Much of what the Duke of Belluno wrote was true: in particular, the idea of co-operation with Soult was perfectly chimerical: Napoleon had worked out all his logistics to an erroneous result, from want of a real conception of the conditions and difficulties of war in the Peninsula. But some of the pleas which Victor urged merely serve to show his disinclination to accept the task which had been set him; and in especial he underrated the numbers of his troops beyond the limit of fair statement. He had with him nine battalions of Ruffin’s division, twelve of Villatte’s, eight of Leval’s; of cavalry he had six regiments of Latour-Maubourg’s dragoons, three of Lasalle’s light cavalry[165], two regiments of his own corps[p. 152]-cavalry, and the Westphalian regiment of the 4th Corps which was attached to Leval’s Germans. The total must have amounted to 15,000 infantry, and about 5,500 cavalry: he had also sixty guns with 1,600 artillerymen[166].

In spite of his reluctance Victor was forced to yield to the pressure of Jourdan and the Emperor’s explicit orders. On March 14 he began to make his preparations to cross the Tagus and to attack Cuesta: it was reported to him that the roads starting from the two bridges which were in his power, those of Talavera and Arzobispo, were neither of them practicable for artillery, and that only the route by Almaraz was suitable for the guns and heavy baggage. But the bridge of Almaraz was broken, and beyond it were visible entrenchments thrown up by the Spaniards, and a considerable body of troops—the division of General Henestrosa. The Duke of Belluno determined to clear the way for a crossing at Almaraz, by sending infantry across the Tagus by the passages higher up-stream, with orders to sweep the southern bank till they came opposite to the broken bridge. They were to dislodge the force behind it, and then the artillery, the baggage, and cavalry were to cross on a bridge of rafts, which was being prepared close to Almaraz, in order to be ready the moment that it should be wanted.

On March 15, therefore, Leval’s Germans crossed the Tagus by the bridge of Talavera, with some of Lasalle’s cavalry, while on the next morning Victor himself passed at Arzobispo with the divisions of Villatte and Ruffin. The combined column pushed westward by a bad road on the hillside overhanging the river, in a difficult country of rocks and woods, seamed with countless ravines, where cavalry could barely act and artillery would have been perfectly useless. Cuesta, on hearing of this movement to turn his flank, threw back his right wing, and bade[p. 153] it make a stand behind the ravine of the little river Ibor, which falls into the Tagus half-way between Arzobispo and Almaraz. His force in this direction consisted of the division of the Duke del Parque, about 5,000 strong, with six guns. On the seventeenth Victor’s columns, with the Germans of Leval at their head, arrived before the defiles of Meza de Ibor, and found themselves confronted by the Duke, who was firmly established on the other side of the ravine, in a fine position, with his guns on a projecting rock which enfiladed the high-road. Victor directed Leval’s eight[167] battalions to cross the ravine, and storm the heights on the other side. This they did in very gallant style, but not without heavy losses, for the Estremadurans, confident in the strength of their rugged fighting-ground, made a long and vigorous resistance, till the Germans actually came to close quarters with them and ran in with the bayonet. Del Parque’s line then crumpled up, and dispersed over the hillsides: finding it impossible to bring off his guns, he cast them over the precipice into the ravine below. The Germans lost seventy killed and 428 wounded while climbing the difficult slopes: Del Parque’s men probably suffered far less, as they absconded when the enemy closed, and had been under cover till that moment. The supposition of some French authorities that the defenders of Meza de Ibor lost 1,000 men is most improbable. The country was one exactly suited for a cheap defence, and for an easy scattering over the hills in the moment of defeat.

The Duke fell back on Deleytosa, higher up the side of the Sierra de Guadalupe, where Cuesta had established his head quarters. Here he was joined by another of the Estremaduran divisions, that of General Trias, nearly 5,000 strong. Henestrosa, with the rest of the army, was still watching the passage at Almaraz, where Cuesta had made up his mind that the main attack of the French would be delivered. He persisted for some time in believing that Victor’s movement across the Talavera and Arzobispo bridges was merely a feint; and thus it was that Del Parque had been left alone to bear the first brunt of the attack. When he was at last convinced that the bulk of Victor’s infantry was on his flank, and that Almaraz was hopelessly[p. 154] turned, the old Captain-General hastily sent orders to Henestrosa to abandon his entrenchments opposite the bridge, and to retreat on Truxillo across the mountains. He himself took that path without delay, and got off in safety with his two leading divisions, but Henestrosa had to brush across the front of the advancing French, and was in some danger. Luckily for him Victor was more set on clearing the road from Almaraz than on pursuing the enemy.

When Henestrosa had disappeared, the passage was open, and the cavalry of Latour-Maubourg and Beaumont, guarding the artillery and baggage-train of the 1st Corps, crossed on the rafts which had been prepared long before, and joined the infantry and the Marshal. The passage presented more difficulties than had been expected, for it proved impossible to construct a permanent bridge; the stream was very fierce, and the anchors by which the floats were moored found no hold in the smooth rocky bottom. The guns passed either by being sent over on rafts or by means of a rope ferry, which was with some difficulty rigged up. It was not till some time later that a solid bridge of boats was built at this most important passage[168]. One cavalry regiment was left behind to protect it[169].

Cuesta, when he had united his three divisions, would have dearly loved to give battle to Victor behind Truxillo, in the excellent position of the Puerto de Santa Cruz, where the chaussée from Madrid to Badajoz crosses the Sierra de Guadalupe. His love for general engagements was by no means cured by the event of his experiments at Cabezon and Medina de Rio Seco. But he was withheld from offering battle not by mere prudence, but by the fact that he was expecting to receive two considerable reinforcements. The Marquis de Portago was bringing up a detachment from Badajoz—three battalions[170] which had been intended to form the nucleus of a new Fourth division that was being organized in that fortress. At the same moment Albuquerque was expected from the east, at the head of the 4,500 men whom the Supreme Junta had detached from the[p. 155] army of La Mancha, and had sent down the Guadiana to join that of Estremadura. Cuesta wished to pick up these 7,000 men before he gave battle.

Accordingly he evacuated the pass of Santa Cruz, and fell back southward towards his reinforcements, leaving Henestrosa with the bulk of his cavalry to act as a rearguard. That officer carried out his duty with a dash and a vigour that were rare in Spanish armies at this date. When the fiery Lasalle came pressing up against him with his usual fury, the Spanish general contrived to inflict on him two distinct checks. At Berrocal, half-way down the defile of Santa Cruz, he made a sudden halt and drove in the leading squadron of the French by a charge of his Royal Carbineers, a small remnant of the Guard-Cavalry which had been serving with the Army of Estremadura since its formation [March 20]. The French lost ten killed and fifteen wounded[171].

This was a trifle, but on the next day Henestrosa scored a far more tangible advantage. Noting that Lasalle’s leading regiment, the 10th Chasseurs, had got far ahead of the rest of the division, and was pushing on with reckless haste, he laid a trap for it in front of the village of Miajadas. Presenting a small body of cavalry on the high-road, he hid on each side of it a strong regiment of his own horse, with orders to fall upon the flank and rear of the French when they should have passed the ambush. The two corps set aside for this surprise were Infante and Almanza, both regiments of La Romana’s army from Denmark, which had not yet drawn their sabres since the war commenced.

Colonel Subervie of the 10th Chasseurs, advancing with heedless confidence to charge the body of Spaniards in front of him, suddenly saw himself enveloped and surrounded by the two regiments placed in ambush. There was a furious mêlée, in which the chasseurs lost one officer and sixty-two men killed and about seventy more wounded, before they could cut their way out of the snare. The sight of Lasalle’s main body coming up in haste to the rescue made Henestrosa give the order for a prompt retreat, which he accomplished without loss. ‘We arrived,’ writes a French officer of one of the supporting regiments, ‘too late, and saw nothing but a cloud of dust in the distance,[p. 156] made by the Spaniards as they rode away, and the colonel of the 10th tearing his hair at the sight of his numerous wounded[172].’ This lesson taught Lasalle more caution: it was creditable to Henestrosa, though it must be confessed that he had two men to one in the skirmish, in addition to the advantage of taking his enemy by surprise. Oddly enough the regiments which accomplished this successful coup on the twenty-first were the same which behaved worst in the great battle of the next week[173].

At Miajadas, where this skirmish had taken place, the road descending from the pass of Santa Cruz forks in two directions. One branch goes towards Merida and Badajoz, the other and less important to Medellin, La Serena, and the upper Guadiana. It would have been natural for Cuesta to take the former route, which brought him nearer to his base at Badajoz, and at the same time enabled him to cover the main road to Andalusia, at which Victor was presumably aiming. But the old general left this line unprotected, and retired by the eastern path to Medellin. His main object was to secure his junction with the reinforcements from La Mancha, which Albuquerque was bringing to him. They were nearing La Serena, and would be cut off from him if he took the road to Badajoz. At the same time he argued that, as he had thus placed himself on the flank of the French, they could not afford to march past him, since the moment that they left Merida behind them he would be enabled to cut their communications with Madrid. He imagined that Victor would prefer to fight him, and would not dare either to take in hand the siege of Badajoz, or to advance against Andalusia, without clearing his flank by a general action. The moment that he should have picked up Albuquerque, Cuesta was prepared to indulge the enemy with a fight, and if he were not attacked himself he intended to take the offensive. This was sheer madness; even when he had drawn in his last reserves the old general had but 20,000 foot and 3,000 horse[174], a number which only exceeded Victor’s total by[p. 157] three or four thousand men because the latter had been dropping detachments between Almaraz and Merida. Considering the relative value of the individual soldiery of the two armies, Cuesta’s behaviour was that of a criminal lunatic. We shall see that his tactics were as bad as his strategy.

The Marshal had left the two Dutch battalions of Leval’s division at Truxillo, in charge of his sick: he dropped the 1st Dragoons of Latour-Maubourg’s division at Miajadas, to guard the cross-roads, and sent out the 4th and 9th from the same division along the upper Guadiana, where they soon learnt of Cuesta’s presence on the other side of the river. Lasalle’s light horse rode down to Merida, and occupied the old Roman capital of western Spain without having to strike a blow. Learning that the Spaniards had not retreated in this direction, but by the eastern road, the Marshal (as Cuesta had supposed likely) directed the bulk of his infantry on Medellin; only the division of Ruffin remained behind, at the cross-roads of Miajadas.

Meanwhile Cuesta had evacuated Medellin, and fallen back to La Serena, where Albuquerque joined him on the twenty-seventh. The moment that the army was united, he turned back, and retraced his steps towards his former position. On the twenty-eighth he reached the town of Don Benito, only five miles from Medellin, and learnt to his great pleasure that Victor was before him and quite ready to fight. The Marshal had swept the whole country-side with his numerous cavalry during the last four days, and discovering that there was no Spanish force opposite him in any direction save that of La Serena, had ordered Lasalle and Ruffin to march up and join him from Merida and Miajadas. On the morning of the twenty-ninth he had his entire army united, save the two Dutch battalions left at Truxillo, two more of Leval’s battalions left at Merida[175], the 1st Dragoons at Miajadas, and one other cavalry regiment which had been told off to guard the bridge of Almaraz. He cannot have had less than 13,000 infantry and 4,500 horse, even when allowance is made for the sick and the losses at Meza de Ibor and Miajadas. Cuesta outnumbered him by 6,000 infantry,[p. 158] but was overmatched in cavalry by more than three to two, since he had but 3,000 sabres, and even more hopelessly in artillery, since Victor had brought over fifty guns to the field, while he had only thirty.

Having been joined in the early morning by Lasalle’s and Ruffin’s detachments, Victor had drawn out his army in front of Medellin, when his cavalry brought him the news of the approach of the Spaniards. Medellin, an ancient town dominated by a Moorish citadel on a lofty hill, lies in the angle between the river Guadiana and the Hortiga torrent. The latter, easily fordable in March and dry in June, is an insignificant stream but flows at the bottom of a steep ravine. The Guadiana, on the other hand, is a river of the first class: the great bridge which leads into Medellin is no less than 450 yards long. There were several fords up-stream from the bridge, but in March, when the river was high, it is doubtful whether they were practicable. Victor’s line, drawn in a quarter of a circle from the Hortiga to the Guadiana, was well protected on either flank by the broad river and the steep ravine. His order of battle was rather odd: its front line was composed of a division of infantry (Villatte’s of twelve battalions) in the centre, with two projecting wings, each composed of a cavalry division supported by two battalions of Leval’s Germans. On the right, near the Hortiga, was Latour-Maubourg with five of his six regiments of dragoons[176] and ten horse artillery guns. On the left, beside the Guadiana, was Lasalle with three of his own light cavalry regiments, and the 2nd Hussars of Victor’s corps-cavalry. The remaining battalion of Leval’s division[177] was with Villatte in the centre. Ruffin’s division, forming the reserve, lay far to the rear on the further side of the Hortiga. He had with him one cavalry regiment[178] and a reserve of artillery: one[p. 159] battalion was detached to guard the baggage, which was parked at the bridge-head below the town.

Victor’s army, therefore, formed a short and compact arc of a circle, a mile and a half outside of Medellin. Facing him, three or four miles away, was the Spanish army, ranged in a much larger arc, also extending from the Hortiga to the Guadiana, in front of the town of Don Benito. It was deployed along a series of gentle heights, on either side of the main road from Medellin. The position, though rather long for the Spanish numbers, presented many advantages for a defensive battle: but it was Cuesta’s intention to go forward, not to receive the attack of the French. He saw with pleasure that the enemy had come half-way to meet him, and was about to fight with a difficult defile (the bridge of Medellin) in his rear. Secure from being outflanked by Victor’s numerous cavalry, for the two streams covered his wings, he resolved to march straight before him and to bear down the French line by a direct frontal attack. On his left were the divisions of Del Parque and Henestrosa, eight battalions in a single line, all deployed four deep. They had no supports whatever, save one battalion of grenadiers which marched behind their centre. On their outside flank rode three regiments of cavalry, close to the ravine of the Hortiga[179]. The centre was composed of the four battalions of the division of Trias, all drawn up in the same fashion as the left wing. The right was formed by Portago’s incomplete division[180] (only three battalions) and by the contingent from La Mancha which Albuquerque had just brought up—seven strong battalions with 4,500 bayonets. Outside Albuquerque’s extreme right, and on the banks of the Guadiana, was placed a cavalry force corresponding to that on the extreme left, and also formed of three regiments[181]. A few remaining squadrons of cavalry were[p. 160] posted in the intervals between the wings and the centre[182]. The artillery went forward, each battery with the division to which it was attached. This was a most extraordinary order of battle: with the object of securing his flanks and of covering the whole space between the rivers, Cuesta was advancing with a front of nearly four miles and a depth of only four men! There is no parallel in modern history for such a dangerous array. If any single point in the long line gave way, there was no reserve with which to fill the gap and save the day. And it was morally certain that a weak point would be found somewhere, for many of the battalions were raw troops which had never seen fire, and the greater part of the others had graduated in the school of panic under Belvedere and San Juan.

Cuesta, however, was eminently satisfied with himself and with his order of battle: he intended to envelop the shorter French line with converging fire, to thrust it back on to the defile of Medellin, and if possible to seize the bridge behind its left flank, and to endeavour to cut off its retreat. Blind self-confidence could go no further!

When Victor advanced from Medellin he was aware of the proximity of the Spaniards, and could see their cavalry vedettes on all the hills in front of Don Benito, but it was not till his army had marched some distance across the bare and level fields, that Cuesta revealed his order of battle. When the French were well advanced in the plain, the whole Army of Estremadura crowned the heights, and then swept downward from them, in one continuous line forming an exact quarter of a circle. The infantry was well closed up; each regiment had its mounted officers in front, and the generals were riding up and down the line, perpetually supervising the dressing of their battalions, for they were quite conscious that in the order which Cuesta had chosen any gap or wavering in the line would be ruinous. Each division had its battery in front, and in the long intervals between the guns a very thick line of skirmishers covered the advance of the main body.

Facing this imposing line, as it will be remembered, the[p. 161] French had the five dragoon regiments of Latour-Maubourg on the right, and the four light cavalry regiments of Lasalle on the left, each supported by two of Laval’s German battalions. The centre under Villatte was somewhat ‘refused,’ and was much farther from the Spaniards than were the two powerful wings of cavalry. As the enemy advanced, Victor bade Latour-Maubourg and Lasalle to seize any good opportunity for a charge, but not to risk, unless circumstances favoured them, a general attack on the Spaniards, until they should have begun to lose their order. The wings of the enemy being covered by the two rivers, there could be no question of flank attacks, and frontal charges by cavalry on unbroken infantry are proverbially dangerous.

When, however, the armies drew near, Latour-Maubourg thought that he saw his chance, and bade one of his brigades (2nd and 4th Dragoons) charge Del Parque’s infantry in the Spanish left-centre. The attack completely failed: a fortunate discharge of the Duke’s divisional battery blew a gap in the centre of the charging line; the battalions on each side stood firm and opened a heavy fire, and the dragoons went to the rear in disorder. Their flight exposed the flank of the two German battalions which formed the centre of Latour-Maubourg’s line. The Spanish infantry pressed forward, and engaged them with vigour. This determined Victor to order his right wing to fall back and to get into line with Villatte, before making another stand. Accordingly Latour-Maubourg retired, his unbroken regiments moving off in very good order, but suffering considerably from the fire of the Spanish skirmishers, who ran forward with great rapidity and pressed them hard.

The retreat of the right wing made it necessary for Lasalle on the left to conform to the general movement. He also began to draw back towards Medellin. ‘For two hours,’ writes one of his officers[183], ‘we gave back slowly and quietly, facing about at every fifty yards to show a front, and to dispute the ground. Amid the endless whizzing of bullets flying over our heads, and the deafening roar of the shells, which rent the air and tore up the earth around us, we heeded only the voice of our commanders. The further we retired the louder shouted our foes. Their skirmishers were so numerous and daring that[p. 162] they sometimes compelled ours to fall back for protection into our ranks. They kept calling to us from a distance that no quarter should be given, and that Medellin should be the Frenchman’s grave. General Lasalle was riding backward and forward in front of his division, with a lofty, fearless air. In the space which separated us there might be seen the horses of disabled friends and foes, running on every side, most of them wounded, some of them dragging their dead masters by the stirrup, and struggling to free themselves from the unmanageable load.’

In this fashion the French retired before the advancing army of Cuesta, till they drew near the point where Victor intended to make his stand. The right wing reached the new line of defence first: it halted on the crest of the rising-ground to the north of the point where Villatte’s infantry stood. The Marshal placed ten guns in line, ordered the two German battalions to stand firm on each flank of the artillery, and sent up the 94th of the Line from Villatte’s division to aid them, as well as a battalion of picked grenadiers. Latour-Maubourg’s horsemen, now all in good order again, covered their flanks.

Then came the critical moment of the battle. If the Spaniards could still push their advance, and thrust back the French infantry, Victor’s position would be very serious. For a moment it seemed that they might succeed. The battalions of Henestrosa and Del Parque came forward with a steadiness that Spanish troops had not yet often shown during the war. They closed upon the guns, in spite of their rapid fire, and attacked the three battalions on their flanks, which had been thrown into square for fear of cavalry attacks, and were therefore not in very good order for defending themselves against infantry.

The leading Spanish officers had actually ridden into the battery[184], and were cutting down the gunners, when Latour-Maubourg ordered his dragoons to charge. The moment that he saw them on the move, Cuesta, who had been riding on this flank, with the three regiments of cavalry which covered the end of his line, ordered a counter-charge against the flank[p. 163] of the advancing French. Then followed a disgraceful scene: the Spanish squadrons rode forward in an irresolute way for a few score yards, and then suddenly halted, turned, and galloped to the rear in a disorderly mass before they had arrived anywhere near the French dragoons. They collided with Cuesta, upset him and rode over him[185]: the old man was with difficulty saved and set upon his horse by his aides-de-camp. The fugitives never drew rein, and fled far away to the north, almost without losing a man. Their conduct was all the more disgraceful, because two of the three regiments were old troops from the Baltic, which had come back with La Romana and had not shared in any of the early disasters of the Spanish armies.

The result of this shameful panic was instant disaster to the whole Spanish right wing. Of Latour-Maubourg’s division one brigade went off in pursuit of the routed cavalry, but the other three regiments charged in flank the battalions of Henestrosa and Del Parque, just as they stormed the French battery on which they were intent. A long line without supports, such as that which these two divisions presented, was helpless when attacked by cavalry on the flank—it suffered exactly the same fate which befell Colborne’s brigade at Albuera two years later. While engaged in front with the three battalions already before it, and with the regiment which Villatte had sent up to aid them, it could not throw back its flank to face the horsemen: nor had it any reserve whatever that could be utilized to hold off Latour-Maubourg. The whole line was rolled up, and dashed into atoms. Many men were cut down, a few captured, the remainder fled in utter disorder towards the north. The French urged the pursuit with cruel vigour, merciless all the more because they had for a moment doubted of their victory.

While this struggle was raging on the northern part of the field, Lasalle had been still falling back before the divisions of Albuquerque, Portago, and Trias, across the plain which borders the Guadiana. The Spanish line were still moving forward with great steadiness, but had begun to fall into a sort of échelon formation, with the cavalry near the river most in[p. 164] advance, the infantry of Albuquerque a little behind, and the Estremaduran battalions of the centre still further to the rear. The fact was that General Eguia, to whom Cuesta had given the charge of his whole right wing, was trying to edge his cavalry between Lasalle and the Guadiana, in order to cut him off from the bridge of Medellin. This end of the line, therefore, was pushing forward very rapidly, while Trias, on the other hand, was coming forward rather slowly, from a desire not to lose touch with Del Parque’s division, the nearest troops to him in the other half of the army.

Lasalle was keeping an anxious eye on the development of the action further to the north, and the moment that he saw Latour-Maubourg halt and prepare to charge, followed his example. His first blow was delivered at the cavalry next the river: he flung against them the 2nd Hussars, with a chasseur regiment in support. These two corps, charging with great fury, easily broke the Andalusian lancers, who were leading the pursuit, and hurled them back upon the other squadrons of the Spanish right. The whole body was thrown into disorder and driven off the field, leaving the flank of Albuquerque’s division completely uncovered. Lasalle then re-formed his men and prepared to charge the infantry. He had been reinforced meanwhile by one of Villatte’s brigades (63rd and 95th of the Line) and by the one battalion of Leval’s Germans, which had hitherto remained with the centre. While these seven battalions of fresh troops delivered a frontal attack on Albuquerque and Trias, Lasalle hurled his four regiments of cavalry upon their unprotected right flank. The Spaniards were doomed to destruction, but for some time kept up a show of resistance; Albuquerque had got two or three of his battalions out of line into column, and for a moment these held back Lasalle’s chasseurs. But the fight lasted for a few minutes only: a new French force was coming up. Latour-Maubourg, returning from the pursuit of Cuesta with two of his dragoon regiments, appeared upon the flank and rear of Trias’ division and charged in upon it from behind. This last assault was decisive: the whole Spanish line broke up and fled eastward over the open ground along the river. The six regiments of French cavalry were soon in pursuit, and rode in among the flying horde, using the sabre[p. 165] with reckless cruelty, and far more intent on slaughter than on taking prisoners. Lasalle’s chasseurs were specially savage, having to avenge the bloody check which they had received at Miajadas in the preceding week[186]. ‘Our troops,’ says a French witness, ‘who had been threatened with no quarter by the Spaniards if they had been overpowered, and who were enraged by five hours of preliminary fighting, at first spared no one. The infantry, following behind at a distance, dispatched the wounded with their bayonets. Most of all they were pitiless to such of the Spanish regiments as were without a proper military uniform[187].’ Another eye-witness describes the pursuit as ‘one continuous slaughter till night fell.’ Some of the Spanish battalions dispersed in the most helpless confusion, and fled in all directions when the line was broken. Others tried to close up and to defend themselves: this made their flight slower, and sometimes led to their complete extermination. Rocca says that he saw the two regiments of Spanish and Walloon Guards lying dead en masse in the order which they had occupied at the moment of the breaking of the line[188]. The statement is borne out, at least as to the Walloons, by the fact that the next morning-state of Cuesta’s army which has been preserved shows that regiment with only 300 men surviving out of two whole battalions[189]. If any of the infantry of the Spanish right wing escaped at all, it was partly owing to the fact that the two cavalry regiments in the centre of the line[190] showed a much better spirit than their comrades on the wings, and protected the flight of some battalions. Moreover a frightful thunderstorm swept over the plains late in the afternoon, darkened the whole horizon, and caused the French squadrons to halt and cease their pursuit.

[p. 166]
Map of the battle of Medellin

Enlarge  BATTLE of MEDELLIN
MARCH 28TH 1809

The slaughter, nevertheless, had been terrible. Of the 10,000 men whom the Spaniards lost on this fatal day three-fourths fell by the edge of the sword: only 1,850 prisoners were sent back to Talavera, and even if some others had succeeded in escaping during their march to the rear, it is certain that the Spanish casualty-list amounted to at least 7,500 men. Nine standards were taken—less than might have been expected, for the twenty-three Spanish battalions present must have brought forty-six to the field. Twenty pieces of artillery fell into the hands of the French, out of the thirty which Cuesta had possessed. Some few batteries therefore (perhaps the horse artillery of the evasive cavalry brigades) had succeeded in escaping from the rout.

Most French authors unite in stating that the total loss on their side was only 300 men[191]. This figure is as absurd as that given for Soult’s losses at Corunna: there were five hours of fighting, and for a long time the battle had gone by no means in favour of Victor’s men. It is improbable that they suffered less than 1,000 casualties, and the figure may have been higher, for one brigade of Latour-Maubourg’s dragoons was beaten back while charging guns—always a bloody business for cavalry—while the German battalions which retired across the plain in column, played on by artillery and harassed by skirmishers, must also have suffered severely.

Cuesta’s cavalry, owing to the disgraceful cowardice shown by the majority of the regiments, had got off comparatively intact. The whole of his dreadful losses had fallen on his infantry, and they had been scattered so far and wide over the Estremaduran plain that it was many days before he could get together a respectable force. He took refuge at Monasterio[192] in the mountains in the direction of Andalusia, and sent urgent appeals for reinforcements to the Central Junta. It might [p. 167]have been expected that the Junta would disgrace him and remove him from command, as they had Cartaojal, Infantado, and Casta?os. But apparently they were rather cheered by the fact that Cuesta had seriously disputed the victory with the French, than angered with the want of generalship which he had shown. They voted that he and his army had deserved well of the State, and distributed honours and promotion to all the officers whom he recommended for good conduct during the action. Rocca remarks that they must have had in their minds the doings of the Romans after Cannae, when the steadfast Senate thanked the consul Varro ‘for not having despaired of the republic,’ instead of removing him for rashness and incompetence[193]. At any rate, they conferred on Cuesta the post of Captain-General of Estremadura, and hurried up to reinforce him all the troops that they could spare, a strong brigade of new Granadan levies[194], and a division drawn from the army of Cartaojal consisting of nine old battalions of regular troops with a force of 6,000 bayonets[195]. Thus reinforced the host of Cuesta was as strong as on the eve of Medellin, and once more mustered 20,000 foot and 3,000 horse. By the middle of April the whole had been drawn together, and reorganized into five divisions of foot and two of horse. This was the army that was to co-operate with Wellesley in the campaign of Talavera.

‘In any other country of Europe,’ wrote Marshal Jourdan, ‘the gaining of two such successes as Medellin and Ciudad Real would have reduced the country-side to submission, and have enabled the victorious armies to press forward to new conquests. In Spain the reverse was the case: the greater the disaster suffered by the national troops, the more willing were the population to rise and take arms. Already the communications between Victor and Sebastiani were cut: several bearers of dispatches were massacred, and even some detachments cut off. An insurrection almost burst out at Toledo, where a garrison of insufficient strength had been left. It was only averted by[p. 168] the providential arrival of an officer with a reinforcement of 500 men. The communications of the 1st Corps with Madrid were in no better state: bands of insurgents gathered in the valley of the Tietar, and threatened to fall upon Almaraz and to break the bridge of boats. The King had to send down in haste 600 bayonets from Madrid to preserve this all-important post[196].’ At the same time the road from Almaraz to Salamanca was closed by a trifling Spanish force of two battalions under the brigadier Carlos d’Espa?a which had been levied about Caceres and Bejar, and occupied the pass of Ba?os. It was aided by a battalion of the Loyal Lusitanian legion, which Sir Robert Wilson had sent forward from Almeida. Thus Lapisse at Salamanca could only communicate with Victor at Merida by the circuitous route of Arevalo, Madrid, and Almaraz.

The Duke of Belluno had been ordered by the Emperor to beat the Army of Estremadura, and then to get into touch with Soult, who should have been due at Lisbon long ere this. But no news of the 2nd Corps had come to hand: it was known to have penetrated into northern Portugal, but its exact position could not be learnt. Victor, refusing to move till he had news of his colleague, cantoned his army at Merida and Medellin, and put the old castles of both these places, as well as that of Truxillo, in a state of defence. He would probably have done well to utilize the time of necessary waiting in laying siege to Badajoz. But he contented himself with watching that fortress and observing the reorganized army of Cuesta, which had now grown once more to a respectable force, and might have harassed considerably any part of the 1st Corps which should attempt to molest the capital of Estremadura. Instead of attacking the place, Victor contented himself with sending to it vain summonses to surrender, and with endeavouring to discover whether it might not contain traitors ready to negotiate with King Joseph. He brought down from Madrid, as his agent, a Spanish magistrate named Sotelo, who had become a zealous Afrancesado. Through this person he addressed letters both to the governor of Badajoz and to the Central Junta at Seville. After setting forth all the evils which the continuance of the war was bringing upon Spain, Sotelo stated that his king was ready to grant the most[p. 169] liberal and benevolent terms to the Junta, in order to spare further effusion of blood. The letter was duly forwarded to Seville, where it was laid before the government. The ironical answer was promptly returned ‘that if Sotelo possessed full powers to negotiate for peace on the basis of the restoration of Ferdinand VII, and the prompt evacuation of Spain by the French armies, peace would be possible. If not, the Junta must continue to carry out the mandate conferred upon it by the nation; according to which it could conclude no truce or treaty except on the two conditions stated above.’ Sotelo tried to continue the negotiation, but his offers were disregarded, and Victor soon realized that he would obtain no further advantages save by his sword. He remained at Merida waiting in vain for the news of Soult’s advance on Lisbon, which was, according to Napoleon’s orders, to be the signal for the 1st Corps to resume its advance.

N.B.—For the campaign of Medellin I have used the narratives of Rocca and Sémélé (the latter often very inaccurate), the Mémoires of Jourdan, the day-book of the Frankfort regiment of Laval’s division, and Victor’s correspondence with King Joseph, and on the Spanish side the dispatches of Cuesta, also two letters from D’Urban (British attaché on Cuesta’s staff) to Cradock, and some enclosures sent by Frere to Castlereagh.
SECTION XIII  SOULT’S INVASION OF PORTUGAL CHAPTER I
SOULT’S PRELIMINARY OPERATIONS IN GALICIA
(JANUARY 19-MARCH 6, 1809)

After the departure of Bonaparte for Paris there were, as we have already shown, only two points in the Peninsula where the strength of the French armies was such as to allow them to continue the great movement of advance which their master had begun. We have already seen how Victor, after advancing from the Tagus to the Guadiana, found his initiative exhausted, even after his victory at Medellin. He had halted, and refused to take the offensive against Lisbon or Andalusia till he should be heavily reinforced.

It remains to be seen how the other French army available for immediate field operations had fared. Moore’s daring march and the ensuing retreat had drawn up into the extreme north-west of the Peninsula the 2nd, 6th, and 8th corps d’armée. Of these the last-named had been dissolved at the new year, and the bulk of its battalions had been transferred to Soult’s corps, which on January 20 had a nominal effective of more than 40,000 men. Ney’s Corps, the 6th, was much smaller, and does not seem to have amounted to more than 16,000 or 18,000 sabres and bayonets. But between Astorga, the rearmost point occupied by Ney, and Corunna, which Soult’s vanguard had entered on January 19, there were on paper 60,000 men available for active operations. Nor had they to guard their own communications with Madrid or with France. Lapisse’s numerous division had been left at Salamanca; there was a provisional[p. 171] brigade at Leon[197]; Bonnet held Santander with another division; there were detachments in Zamora, Valladolid, and the other chief towns of the Douro valley. Somewhat later, in April, the Emperor moved another whole army corps, that of Mortier, into Old Castile, when it became available after the fall of Saragossa. Even without this reinforcement he thought that the rear of the army in Galicia was adequately covered. The parting instructions of Bonaparte to Soult have already been cited: when the English should have embarked, the Duke of Dalmatia was to march on Oporto, and ten days later was to occupy Lisbon. We have already seen that the scheme of dates which Napoleon laid down for these operations was impossible, even to the borders of absurdity: Oporto was to be seized by February 1, and Lisbon by February 10! But putting aside this error, which was due to his persistent habit of ignoring the physical conditions of Spanish roads and Spanish weather, the Emperor had drawn up a plan which seemed feasible enough. Ney’s corps was to move up and occupy all the chief strategical points in Galicia, taking over both the garrison duty and the task of stamping out any small lingering insurrections in the interior. This would leave Soult free to employ the whole of his four divisions of infantry and his three divisions of cavalry for the invasion of Portugal. Even allowing for the usual wastage of men in a winter campaign, the Emperor must have supposed that, with a nominal effective of 43,000 men, Soult would be able to provide more than 30,000 efficients for the expedition against Lisbon[198]. Considering that the Portuguese army was still in the making, and that no more than 8,000[p. 172] British troops remained in and about Lisbon, the task assigned to the Duke of Dalmatia did not on the face of it appear unreasonable.

But in Spain the old saying that ‘nothing is so deceptive as figures—except facts,’ was pre-eminently true. No map—those of 1809 were intolerably bad—could give the Emperor any idea of the hopeless condition of Galician or Portuguese mountain-roads in January. No tables of statistics could enable him to foresee the way in which the population would receive the invading army. We may add that even an unrivalled knowledge of the realities of war would hardly have prepared him to expect that the campaign of Galicia would, in one month, have worn down Soult’s available effectives to a bare 23,000 men. Such was the modest figure at which the 2nd Corps stood on January 30, for it had no less than 8,000 men detached, and the incredible number of over 10,000—one man in four—in hospital. For this figure it was not the muskets of Moore’s host which were responsible: it was the cold and misery of the forced marches from Astorga to Corunna, which seem to have tried the pursuer even more than the pursued. The 8,000 ‘detached’ were strung out in small parties all the way from Leon to Lugo—wherever the Marshal had been obliged to abandon stores or baggage that could not travel fast, he had been forced to leave a guard: he had also dropped small garrisons at Villafranca, Lugo, and Betanzos, to await Ney’s arrival; but the most important drain had been that of his dismounted dragoons[199]. In his cavalry regiments half the horses had foundered or perished: the roads so deadly to Moore’s chargers had taken a corresponding toll from the French divisions, and at every halting-place hundreds of horsemen, unable to keep up[p. 173] with the main body, had been left behind. In any other country than Spain these involuntary laggards would have found their way to the front again in a comparatively short time. But Soult was commencing to discover that one of the main features of war in the Peninsula was that isolated men, or even small parties, could not move about in safety. The peasantry were already beginning to rise, even before Moore’s army took its departure; they actually cut the road between Betanzos and Lugo, and between Lugo and Villafranca, within a few days after the battle of Corunna. This forced the stragglers to mass, under pain of being assassinated. Hundreds of them were actually cut off: the rest gathered in small wayside garrisons, and could not get on till they had been formed into parties of considerable strength. The rearmost, who had been collected at Astorga by General Pierre Soult, the Marshal’s brother, did not join the corps for months—and this body was no less than 2,000 or 2,500 strong. The other detachments could not make their way to Corunna even when Marshal Ney had come up: it was only by degrees, and after delays covering whole weeks, that they began to rejoin. The only solid reinforcement received by Soult, soon after the departure of the English army, consisted of his rear division, that of Heudelet, which came up from Lugo, not many days after the battle of January 16.

Soult was still far from suspecting the full difficulty of the task that was before him. He had been much encouraged by the tame way in which the Governor of Corunna had surrendered on January 19. If Alcedo had made the least semblance of fight he could have detained the Marshal before his walls for an indefinite time. The city was only approachable by a narrow and well-fortified isthmus, and the French could not have battered this formidable front to any effect with the six-pounders which formed their only artillery. The surrender of the place gave Soult some food, the considerable resources of a rich harbour town, and (most important of all) a large number of guns of position, suitable for use against the other fortress which he must take ere he moved on against Portugal.

This place was Ferrol, the second naval arsenal of Spain, which faces Corunna across the broad inlet of Ares Bay—only thirteen miles distant by water, though the land road thither[p. 174] by Betanzos, round the head of the fiord, is forty miles long. To make sure of this place was obviously Soult’s first duty: if left unmolested it would prove a dangerous nucleus round which the Galician insurgents could concentrate. For it contained a regular garrison, consisting of the dép?ts and half-trained recruits of La Romana’s army, and of 4,000 or 5,000 sailors. There were lying in the harbour, mostly half-dismantled and unready for sea[200], no less than eight line-of-battle ships and three frigates. Their crews, much depleted, but still numerous, had been landed to assist the soldiers in garrisoning the forts[201]. In addition several thousand citizens and peasants had taken arms, for muskets abounded in Ferrol, from the stores lately received from England. With these resources it is clear that a governor of courage and resolution might have made a long defence; they were far greater than those with which Palafox had preserved Saragossa; and Ferrol was no open town, but a fortress which had been kept in good repair for fear of the English. But, for the misfortune of Galicia, the commander of Ferrol, Admiral Melgarejo, was a traitor at heart. He was one of the old bureaucrats who had only followed the patriotic cause because it seemed for the moment to be in the ascendant; if patriotism did not pay, he was perfectly prepared to come to terms and to do homage to Joseph Bonaparte.

On January 23 Soult marched against Ferrol with the infantry division of Mermet, the dragoons of Lorges, and the heavy guns which he had found in Corunna. He left Delaborde in garrison at the latter place, posted Merle at Betanzos, a half-way house between the two fortresses, and directed Franceschi’s cavalry division on Santiago and Lahoussaye’s on Mellid, in order to see whether there was any Spanish field-force visible in western Galicia. On the twenty-fifth the Marshal presented himself in front of Ferrol, and summoned the place to surrender. Melgarejo was determined not to fight, and several of his chief subordinates supported him. The[p. 175] armed citizens persisted in their idea of defending the place, but when the French broke ground in front of the walls and captured two small outlying redoubts, they allowed themselves to be overpersuaded by their treacherous chief. On January 26 the place surrendered, and on the following day Soult was received within the walls. The capitulation had two shameful clauses: by the first the civil and military authorities undertook to take the oath of allegiance to King Joseph. By the second the splendid men-of-war in the harbour were handed over intact, a most valuable acquisition for the Emperor if Galicia was to remain under his control. Any one but a traitor would have burnt or scuttled them before surrendering. But Melgarejo, after receiving high testimonials from Soult, hastened up to Madrid and took office under the Rey Intruso[202]. Along with the squadron 1,500 naval cannon, an immense quantity of timber, cordage, and other stores, and 20,000 muskets newly imported from England, fell into the hands of the French.

On the day after Ferrol was occupied, Soult received the last communication from the Emperor which was to reach him for many a day[203]. It was dated from Valladolid on January 17. We have already had occasion to refer to it more than once, while dealing with the controversies of King Joseph and Marshal Victor. This dispatch repeated the Emperor’s former orders, with some slight concession in the matter of dates. Instead of reaching Oporto on February 1 the Marshal was to be granted four extra days, and after taking Oporto on February 5, he was to reach Lisbon on the sixteenth instead of the tenth. Soult was also told that he would not have to depend on his own resources alone: Victor with the 1st Corps would be at Merida by the time that the 2nd Corps was approaching the Portuguese capital: he would be instructed to send a column in the direction of Lisbon, to make a diversion in favour of the attack from the north, and at the same time Lapisse from Salamanca should move on Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida. Bessières was, so the Emperor said, under strict orders to send Lapisse forward into Portugal the moment that the news should reach him that the[p. 176] 2nd Corps had captured Oporto. This combination sinned against the rules of strategy, as they had to be practised in Spain. The Emperor had yet to realize that in order to make operations simultaneous, when troops starting from bases several hundred miles apart are to co-operate, it is necessary that their generals should be in free communication with each other. But Soult, when he had advanced into Portugal, was as much out of touch with the other French corps as if he had been operating in Poland or Naples. It was literally months before accurate information as to his situation and his achievements reached Salamanca, Merida, or Madrid. The movements of Victor and Lapisse being strictly conditioned by the receipt of news concerning Soult’s progress, and that news being never received, or received too late, the combination never did and never could take place. Napoleon had forgotten to reckon with the ubiquitous Spanish insurgent: here, as in so many cases, he was unconsciously assuming that the bearer of dispatches could ride freely through the country, as if he were in Saxony or Lombardy; and that Soult could make known his movements and his desires as often as he pleased. French critics of the Emperor generally confine themselves to censuring him for sending the 2nd Corps to attempt unaided a task too great for it[204]; this is not quite fair, for he had intended to support Soult by two strong diversions. The real fault lay in ignoring the fact that in Spain combined operations, which presuppose constant communication between the participants, were practically impossible. The same error was made in 1810, when Drouet was told to co-operate in Masséna’s invasion of Portugal, and in 1811 when Soult was directed to lend a helping hand to that same invasion. It is impossible to give effective aid to a colleague whose condition and whose whereabouts are unknown.

On January 29 the Duke of Dalmatia set to work to reor[p. 177]ganize his army for the great expedition that had been assigned to him. It was impossible to march at once, as the Emperor had commanded, because Ney had not yet arrived at the front, and it was necessary to turn over the charge of Corunna and Ferrol to him before departing further south. Moreover, there were many other arrangements to be made: a base hospital had to be organized at Corunna for the thousands of sick and wounded belonging to the 2nd Corps. Its transport had to be reconstructed, for most of the animals had died during the forced marches in pursuit of Moore[205]. A new stock of munitions had to be served out from the stores so fortunately captured at Ferrol. The military chest of the corps had been left behind at Astorga, and showed no signs of appearing: to provide for the more urgent day-by-day needs of the army, the Marshal had to squeeze forced contributions out of the already exhausted towns of Corunna, Ferrol, and Santiago, which had long ago contributed all their surplus resources to the fitting out of Blake’s army of Galicia. These same unhappy places had to submit to a heavy requisition of cloth and leather, for the replacing of the garments and boots worn out in the late marches. But even with the aid of 2,500 English greatcoats discovered in store at Corunna, and other finds at Ferrol, the wants of the army could not be properly supplied; it started on the campaign in a very imperfectly equipped condition[206]. The most dangerous point in its outfit was the want of mules: most of the valleys of inner Galicia and northern Portugal are destitute of carriage roads. To bring up the food and the reserve ammunition pack-animals were absolutely necessary, and Soult could only collect a few hundreds. Even if his men should succeed in living on the country, and so solve the problem of carrying provisions, they could not hope to pick up powder and lead in the same way. When, therefore, the heavy baggage on[p. 178] wheels had to be left behind, the 2nd Corps was only able to carry a very insufficient stock of cartridges: twice, as we shall see, it almost exhausted its ammunition and was nearly brought to a standstill on the way to Oporto.

It was not till February had already begun that Soult was able to move forward the whole of his army, for he refused to withdraw Delaborde’s division from Corunna and Mermet’s from Ferrol, till Ney should have brought up troops of the 6th Corps to relieve them. The Duke of Elchingen, though apprised of the Emperor’s orders, lingered long at Lugo, and it was not till he came down in person to the coast that Soult could call up his rear divisions. Meanwhile a small exchange of troops between the two corps was carried out: Ney, being short of cavalry, received a brigade of Lorges’ dragoons to add to his own inadequate force of two regiments of light horse. In return he made over to the 2nd Corps three battalions of the 17th Léger, which had accompanied him hitherto. They were added to Delaborde’s division, which had been only eight battalions strong.

Even before the troops from Ferrol and Corunna were able to move, Soult had put the rest of his army on the march for Portugal. On January 30 Franceschi’s light horsemen started along the coast-road from Santiago to Vigo and Tuy, while further inland Lahoussaye’s division of dragoons, quitting Mellid, took the rough mountain path across the Monte Testeyro, by Barca de Ledesma and Cardelle, which leads to Rivadavia and Salvatierra on the lower Minho. Merle’s and Heudelet’s infantry started several days later, and were many miles behind the advanced cavalry.

Lahoussaye’s division met with no opposition in the rugged region which it had to cross, and occupied Salvatierra without difficulty. Franceschi scattered a few peasants at the defile of Redondela outside Vigo, and then found himself at the gates of that harbour-fortress. The governor, no less weak and unpatriotic than those of Ferrol and Corunna, surrendered without firing a shot. His excuse was that he had only recruits, and armed townsfolk, to man his walls and handle his numerous artillery. But his misconduct was even surpassed by that of the Governor of Tuy, who capitulated to Franceschi’s 1,200 horsemen three days later in the same style, though he was in[p. 179] command of 500 regular troops, and was implored to hold out by the local junta. Throughout Galicia, in this unhappy month, the officials and military chiefs showed a most deplorable spirit, which contrasted unfavourably with that of the lower classes, both in the towns and the country-side.

The way to the frontier of Portugal had thus been opened, with an ease which seemed to justify Napoleon’s idea that the Spaniards would not hold out, when once their field armies had been crushed. Franceschi and Lahoussaye reported to the Duke of Dalmatia that they had swept the whole northern bank of the Minho, and that there was nothing in front of them save the swollen river and a few bands of Portuguese peasantry, who were observing them from Valenza, the dilapidated frontier fortress of the neighbouring kingdom.

Both the French and the Galicians of the coast-line might well have forgotten the fact that there was still a Spanish army in existence within the borders of the province. It is long since we have had occasion to mention the fugitive host of the Marquis of La Romana. After being hunted out of Ponferrada by Soult on January 3, he had followed in the wake of Craufurd’s brigades on their eccentric retreat down the valley of the Sil. But while the British troops pushed on to Vigo and embarked, the Spaniards halted at Orense. There the Marquis endeavoured to rally his demoralized and starving host, with the aid of the very limited resources of the district. He had only 6,000 men left with the colours, out of the 22,000 who had been with him at Leon on December 25, 1808. But there were several thousands more straggling after him, or dispersed in the side valleys off the road which he had followed. Most of these men had lost their muskets, many were frost bitten, or suffering from dysentery. The surviving nucleus of the army was composed almost entirely of the old regulars: the Galician militia and new levies had not been able to resist the temptation to desert, when they found themselves among their native mountains. The Marquis hoped that, when the spring came round, they would find their way back to the army: in this expectation, as we shall see, he was not deceived. For nearly a fortnight the wrecks of the army were undisturbed, and La Romana was able to collect enough efficients to constitute[p. 180] two small corps of observation, one of which he posted in the valley of the Sil, to watch for any signs of a movement of the French from the direction of Ponferrada, while the other, in the valley of the Minho, kept a similar look out in the direction of Lugo. The latter force was unmolested, but on January 17 General Mendizabal, who was watching the southern road, reported the approach of a heavy hostile column. This was Marchand’s division of Ney’s corps: the Marshal had divided his force at Ponferrada; he himself with Maurice Mathieu’s division had kept the main road to Lugo, while Marchand had been told off to clear the lateral valleys and seize Orense. La Romana very wisely resolved that his unhappy army was unfit to resist 8,000 French troops. On January 19 he evacuated Orense, and fled across the Sierra Cabrera to Monterey on the Portuguese frontier. Here at last he found rest, for Marchand did not follow him into the mountains, but, after a short stay in Orense, marched to Santiago, where he was directed to relieve Soult’s garrison.

The Marquis was completely lost to sight in his frontier fastnesses, and was able to do his best to reorganize his battered host. By February 13 he had 9,000 men under arms, nearly all old soldiers, for the Galician levies were still scattered in their homes. His dispatches during this period are very gloomy reading: he complains bitterly of the apathy of the country-side and the indiscipline of his officers. What could be expected of subalterns, he asks, when a general (Martinengo of the 2nd division) had absconded without asking leave or even reporting his departure? ‘I know not where the patriotism, of which every one boasted, is now to be found, since on the smallest reverse or misfortune, they lose their heads, and think only of saving themselves—sacrificing their country and compromising their commander.’ Much harassed for want of food, La Romana kept moving his head quarters; he was sometimes at Verin and Monterey, sometimes at Chaves just inside the Portuguese frontier, more frequently at Oimbra. He had only nine guns left; there was no reserve of ammunition, and the soldiers had but few cartridges remaining in their boxes. The strongest battalion left in the army had only 250 bayonets—many had but seventy or eighty, and others (notably the Galician local[p. 181] corps) had completely disappeared. He besought the Central Junta to obtain from the British money, muskets, clothing, and above all ammunition, or the army would never be fit to take the field[207]. A similar request in the most pressing terms was sent to Sir John Cradock at Lisbon.

Soult could not but be aware that La Romana’s army, or some shadow of it, was still in existence: but since it sedulously avoided any contact with him, and had completely evacuated the coast-land of Galicia, he appears to have treated it as a ‘negligible quantity’ during his first operations. Its dispersion, if it required any further dispersing, would fall to the lot of Ney and the 6th Corps, not to that of the army sent against Portugal.

Franceschi and Lahoussaye, as we have already seen, reached the Minho and the Portuguese border on February 2. It was only on the eighth that the Duke of Dalmatia set out from Santiago to follow them, in company with the division of Merle. Those of Delaborde and Mermet, released by the arrival of Ney, took the same route on the ninth and tenth respectively. The rear was brought up by the reserve and heavy artillery, and by that brigade of Lorges’ dragoons which had not been handed over to the 6th Corps. The coast-road being very good, Soult was able to concentrate his whole army within the triangle Tuy, Salvatierra, Vigo by the thirteenth, in spite of the hindrances caused by a week of perpetual storm and rain.

It was the Marshal’s intention to enter Portugal by the great coast-road, which crosses the Minho at Tuy and proceeds to Oporto by way of Valenza and Braga. But as Valenza was a fortress, and its cannon commanded the broad ferry at which the usual passage was made, it was clearly necessary to choose some[p. 182] other point for crossing the frontier river. After a careful survey Soult fixed on a village named Campo Saucos, only two miles from the mouth of the Minho, as offering the best starting-point. He established a battery of heavy guns on his own side of the river, and collected a number of fishing-boats[208], sufficient to carry 300 men at a voyage. As he could not discover that the Portuguese had any regular force opposite him, he resolved to attempt the passage with these modest resources.

There would have been no great difficulty in the enterprise during ordinary weather. But the incessant rains had so swelled the Minho that it was now a wild, ungovernable torrent, which it was hard to face and still harder to stem. When the heavy Atlantic surf met the furious current of the stream, during the rising of the tide, the conflict of the waters made the passage absolutely impossible. It had to be attempted at the moment between the flow and the ebb—though there was at that hour another danger—that the boats might be carried past the appointed landing-place and wrecked on the bar at the mouth of the river. But this chance Soult resolved to risk: on February 16, long before daybreak, his twenty or thirty fishing-boats, each with a dozen men on board, launched out from the northern shore, and struck diagonally across the stream, as the current bore them. They were at once saluted by a heavy but ill-directed fire from the Portuguese bank, where hundreds of peasants were at watch even during the hours of darkness. The soldiers rowed and steered badly—Soult had only been able to give them as guides a mere handful of men trained to the water[209]. The furious current swept them away: probably also their nerve was much tried by the fusillade, which, though more noisy[p. 183] than dangerous, yet occasionally picked off a rower or a helmsman. The general result was that only three boats with thirty-five or forty men got to the appointed landing-place, where they were made prisoners by the Portuguese. The rest were borne down-stream, and came ashore at various points on the same side from which they had started, barely avoiding shipwreck on the bar.

The attempt to pass the Minho, therefore, ended in a ridiculous fiasco: it showed the limitations of the French army, which among its numerous merits did not possess that of good seamanship. Soult was deeply chagrined, not because of the insignificant loss of men, but because of the check to his prestige. He resolved that he would not risk another such failure, and at once gave orders for the whole army to march up-stream to Orense, the first point where there was a bridge over the Minho. This entailed a radical change in his general plan of operations, for he was abandoning the good coast-road by Tuy and Valenza for a very poor mountain-way from Orense to Chaves along the valley of the Tamega. There was another important result from the alteration—the new route brought the French army down upon La Romana’s camp of refuge: his cantonments in and about Monterey lay right across its path. But neither he nor Soult had yet realized the fact that they were about once more to come into collision. The Marshal did not know where the Marquis was; the Marquis did not at first understand the meaning of the Marshal’s sudden swoop inland. Some of the Spanish officers, indeed, were sanguine enough to imagine that the French, after their failure on the lower Minho, would abandon Galicia altogether[210]!

The whole French army had now made a half-turn to the left, and was marching in a north-easterly direction. Lahoussaye’s dragoons, starting from Salvatierra, led the advance, Heudelet’s division marched at the head of the infantry; Delaborde, Mermet, and Merle, each at a convenient interval from the preceding division, stretched out the column to an interminable length. The heavy artillery and wagon train brought up the rear. Nine hundred sick, victims of the detestable weather[p. 184] of the first fortnight of February, were left behind at Tuy under the guard of a half-battalion of infantry.

It was on the march from Tuy to Orense that Soult began to realize the full difficulties of his task. He had already met with small insurgent bands, but they had been dispersed with ease, and he had paid little attention to them. Now however, along the steep and tiresome mountain road above the Minho, they appeared in great force, and showed a spirit and an enterprise which were wholly unexpected by the French. The fact was that in the month which had now elapsed since the battle of Corunna, the peasantry and the local notables had found time to take stock of the situation. The first numbing effect of the presence of a large hostile army in their midst had passed away. Ruthless requisitions were sweeping off their cattle, the only wealth of the country. Although Soult had issued pacific proclamations, and had tried to keep his men in hand, he could not restrain the usual plundering propensities of a French army on the march. Enough atrocities had already been committed to make the Galicians forget the misconduct of Moore’s men. La Romana, from his refuge at Monterey, had been dispersing appeals to the patriotism of the province, and sending out officers with local knowledge to rouse the country-side. These probably had less effect on the Galicians—the Marquis was a stranger and a defeated general—than the exhortations of their own clergy. In the first rising of the peasantry most of the leaders were ecclesiastics: in the region which Soult was now traversing the peasantry were raised by Mauricio Troncoso, Abbot of Couto, and a friar named Giraldez, who kept the insurgents together until, some weeks later, they handed over the command to military officers sent by La Romana or by the Central Junta. In the valley of the Sil, beyond Orense, it was Quiroga, Abbot of Casoyo, who first called out the country-side[211]. Every narrative of the Galician insurrection, whether French or Spanish, bears witness to the fact that in almost every case the[p. 185] clergy, regular and secular, were the earliest chiefs of the mountaineers. It was characteristic of the whole rising that many of the bands took the field with the church-banners of their parishes as substitutes for the national flag.

This much is certain, that as soon as the violent February rains showed signs of slackening, the whole of rural Galicia flew to arms. From Corcubion on the surf-beaten headland of Finisterre, to the remote headwaters of the Sil under the Sierra de Penamarella, there was not a valley which failed to answer the appeal which La Romana had made and which the clergy had circulated. From the weak and sporadic movements of January there sprang in February a general insurrection, which was all the more formidable because it had no single focus, was based on no place of arms, and was directed not by one chief but by fifty local leaders, each intimately acquainted with the district in which he was about to operate.

The first result of this widespread movement was to complete the severance of the communications between the various French divisions in Galicia. From the earliest appearance of the invaders, as we have already seen, there had been intermittent attempts to cut the lines of road by which the 2nd and 6th Corps kept touch with each other and with Madrid. But hitherto a convoy, or escort of a couple of hundred men, could generally brush aside its assailants, and get through from post to post. In February this power of movement ceased: the insurgents became not only more numerous and more daring, but infinitely more skilful in their tactics. Instead of endeavouring to deliver combats in the open, they broke the bridges, burnt the ferry-boats, cut away the road in rocky places, and then hung persistently about any corps that was on the move, as soon as it began to get among the obstacles. They fired on it from inaccessible side-hills, attacked and detained its rearguard so as to delay its march, thus causing a gap to grow between it and the main body, and only closed when the column was beginning to get strung out into a series of isolated groups. The convoys which were being sent up from Astorga to the 2nd and 6th Corps were especially vulnerable to such tactics: the shooting of a few horses in a defile would hopelessly block the progress of everything that was coming on from behind. The massing of[p. 186] men to repair or rehorse disabled wagons only gave the lurking insurgent a larger and an easier target. Hence the bringing up to the front of the heavy transport of the French army became such a slow and costly business, that the attempt to move it was after a time almost abandoned. Another point which the insurgents soon perceived was the helplessness of the French cavalry among rocks and defiles. A horseman cannot get at an enemy who lurks above his head in precipitous crags, refuses to come down to the high-road, and takes careful shots from his eyrie into the squadron below. If, worried beyond endurance, the French officers dismounted some of their men to charge the hillside, the lightly-equipped peasants fled away, and were out of sight before the dragoons in their heavy boots could climb the first fifty yards of the ascent. The copious annals of the Galician guerrilla bands almost invariably begin with tales of the annihilation of insufficiently guarded convoys, or of the defeat and extermination of small bodies of cavalry caught in some defile. A very little experience of such petty successes soon taught them the right way to deal with the French. The invaders could not be beaten en masse, but might be cut off in detail, harassed into exhaustion, and so isolated one from the other that it would require the sending out of a considerable expedition to carry a message between two neighbouring garrisons, or to forward a dispatch down the high-road to Madrid.

In a very short time intercommunication between the various sections of the French army in Galicia became so rare and uncertain, that each commander of a garrison or chief of a column found himself in the condition of a man lost in a fog. His friends might be near or far, might be faring ill or prosperously, but it was almost impossible to get news of them. Every garrison was surrounded with a loose screen of insurgents, which could only be pierced by a great effort. Each column on the march moved on surrounded by a swarm of active enemies, who closed around again in spite of all attempts to brush them off. In March and April Ney, on whom the worst stress of the insurrection fell, could only communicate with his outlying troops by taking circular tours at the head of a force of several thousand men. Sometimes he found, instead of the post which he had intended to visit, only a ruined village full of corpses.[p. 187] Ere the Galician rising was three months old, the bands had become bold and skilful enough to cut off a strong detachment or to capture a place held by a garrison several hundreds strong. In June they actually stopped the Marshal himself, with a whole division at his back, in his attempt to march from Santiago to recapture Vigo.

But these times were still far in the future: and when, on February 17, Soult started on his march along the Minho from Tuy to Orense, the peasantry were far from being the formidable opponents that they afterwards became. Nevertheless, the progress of the 2nd Corps was toilsome and slow in the extreme. The troops had been divided between two paths, of which the so-called high-road, a mile or two from the river, was only a trifle less impracticable than the rougher path along the water’s edge. Lahoussaye’s dragoons had been put upon the latter track; Heudelet’s infantry division led the advance on the upper road. All day long the march was harassed by the insurgents, who descended from the hills and hung on the left flank of Heudelet’s column, delivering partial attacks whenever they thought that they saw an opportunity. The French advanced with difficulty, much incommoded by the need of dragging on their cannon, which could hardly be got forward even with the aid of the infantry. Lahoussaye, on the other path, was assailed in a similar way, besides being molested by the Portuguese, who moved parallel to him on the south side of the Minho, taking long shots at his dragoons wherever the path was close enough to the water’s edge to be within range of their own bank. If the peasantry had confined themselves to these tactics, they might have harassed Soult at small cost to themselves. But they had not yet fully learnt the guerrilla’s trade. At Mourentan on the path by the river, and at Francelos on the high-road, they had resolved to offer direct resistance to the enemy, and so put themselves within reach of the invader’s claws. At each place they had barricaded the village, had run a rough entrenchment across the road, and stood to receive the frontal shock of the French attack. They were, of course, routed with great slaughter when they thus exposed themselves in close combat: several hundred perished, among whom were many of their clerical leaders. Thus Soult[p. 188] was able to push on and occupy Rivadavia, which he found evacuated by its inhabitants. His soldiery had sacked and burnt all the villages on the way, and (according to the Spanish narratives) shot all adult males whom they could catch, whether found with arms or not[212].

On the eighteenth, having cut his way as far as Rivadavia, the Duke of Dalmatia came to the conclusion that it was hopeless to endeavour to carry on with him his heavy artillery and his baggage. On such roads as he had been traversing, and amid the continual attacks of the insurgents, they would be of more harm than use. In all probability they would ere long fall so far behind that, along with their escort, they would become separated from the army, and perhaps fall into the hands of the Spaniards. Accordingly he sent orders to the rear of the column that Merle’s division should conduct back to Tuy all the heavy baggage and thirty-six guns of large calibre. Only twenty pieces, mostly four-pounders, were to follow the expedition. When the wagons had been turned back, there were only pack-horses and mules sufficient to carry 3,000 rounds for the guns, and 500,000 cartridges for the infantry. This was a dangerously small equipment for an army which had a whole kingdom to conquer, and which was forced to waste many shots every day on keeping off the irrepressible insurgents. But Soult was determined that he should not be accused of shrinking from the task imposed on him, or allowing himself to be thwarted by bands of half-armed peasants.

The heavy guns and the train, therefore, were deposited at Tuy, along with the large body of sick and wounded who had already been left there. General Lamartinière, an officer in whom Soult placed much confidence, was left in command. He was warned that he would have to take care of himself, as his communication with the army would be cut the moment that[p. 189] Merle’s troops resumed their march to join the rear of the advancing column. Nor did Soult err in this: when the 2nd Corps had gone on its way, Tuy and the neighbouring post of Vigo were immediately beset by a thick swarm of peasants, who kept them completely blockaded.

Having thus freed himself from every possible incumbrance, the Duke of Dalmatia pushed briskly on for Orense and its all-important bridge. The insurgents had not fallen back very far, and on the nineteenth Heudelet’s division had two smart engagements with them, and drove them back to Masside, in the hills to the left of the road. The valley was here wider and the route better than on the previous day, and much more satisfactory progress was made. On the twentieth, still pushing on, Soult found that the ferry of Barbantes, ten miles below Orense, was passable. The Galicians had scuttled the ferry-boat in an imperfect fashion: some voltigeurs crossed on a raft, repaired the boat, and set it working again. Soult then pushed across the river some of Mermet’s battalions, intending to send them to Orense by the south bank, if it should be found that the bridge was broken. Meanwhile Heudelet continued to advance by the road on the north side: his column arrived at its goal, and found Orense undefended and its bridge intact. The townsfolk made no attempt to resist: they had not left their dwellings like the peasants, and their magistrates came out to surrender the place in due form. They appealed to Soult’s clemency, by showing him that they had kept safe and properly cared for 136 sick French soldiers, left behind by Marchand when he had marched through the town in the preceding month.

Where, meanwhile, it will be asked, was the army of La Romana? The Marquis had now 9,000 men collected at Oimbra and Monterey, and it might have been expected that he would have moved forward to defend the line of the Minho and the bridge of Orense, as soon as he heard of the eastward march of the 2nd Corps. He made no such advance: his dispatches show that the sole precautions which he took were to send some officers with fifty men to aid the peasants of the lower Minho, and afterwards to order another party, only 100 strong, to make sure that the ferry-boats between Tuy and[p. 190] Orense were all destroyed or removed—a task which (as we have already seen) they did not fully perform. If he had brought up his whole force, instead of sending out these paltry detachments, he would have made the task of Soult infinitely more bloody and dangerous, though probably he could not have prevented the Marshal from carrying out his plan. His quiescence is not to be explained as resulting from a reluctance to fight, though he was fully conscious of the low morale of his army, and was at his wits’ end to complete its dilapidated equipment. It came from another cause, and one much less creditable to his military capacity. Underrating Soult’s force, which he placed at 12,000 instead of 22,000 men, he was labouring under the idea that the 2nd Corps was about to retire from Galicia altogether, in face of the general insurrection and the want of food. The march of the French to Orense appeared in his eyes as the first stage of a retreat up the valley of the Sil to Ponferrada and Astorga, and he imagined that the province would soon be quit of them. Hence he contented himself with stirring up the peasantry, and left to them the task of harassing Soult’s columns, being resolved to make the proverbial ‘bridge of gold’ for a flying enemy. From this vain dream he was soon to be awakened.

From the 21st to the 24th of February the Duke of Dalmatia was busily employed in bringing up the rear divisions of his army to Orense. None of them reached that place without fighting, for the bands which had been driven off by Heudelet and Lahoussaye returned to worry the troops of Delaborde, Merle, and Mermet, when they traversed the route from Salvatierra to Orense. Jardon’s brigade of the last-named division had a sharp fight near Rivadavia, and Merle had to clear his way at Crecente by cutting to pieces a body of insurgents which had fortified itself in that village. When the whole army was concentrated between Rivadavia and Orense, the Marshal sent out large detachments to sweep the valleys in the immediate neighbourhood of those places. They found armed peasantry in every direction, but in each case succeeded in thrusting them back into their hills, and returned to Orense driving before them large herds of cattle, and dragging behind them country wagons with a considerable amount of grain. The longest and[p. 191] most important of these expeditions was one made by Franceschi, who marched, with his own horsemen and one of Heudelet’s brigades, along the road which the whole army was destined to take in its invasion of Portugal. They routed one band of peasants at Allariz, and another at Ginzo, half way to Monterey [February 23]. Still there was no sign of La Romana’s army, which remained behind the mountains of the Sierra Cabrera in complete quiescence, though Franceschi’s advanced posts were only twenty miles away[213].

Soult kept his head quarters at Orense for nine days, during which he was busied in collecting stores of food, repairing his artillery, whose carriages had been badly shaken by the villainous roads, and in endeavouring to pacify the country-side by proclamations and circular letters to the notables and clergy. In this last scheme he met with little success; from the bishop of Orense downwards almost every leading man had taken refuge in the hills, and refused to return. Silence or defiant replies answered the Marshal’s epistolary efforts. His promises of protection and good government were sincere enough; but the commentary on them was given by the excesses and atrocities which his troops were committing in every outlying village. It was not likely that the Galicians would come down from their fastnesses to surrender[214].

The general advance of the army towards Portugal had been fixed for March 4. It was not made under the most cheerful conditions. Not only were the neighbouring peasantry still defiant as ever, but bad news had come from the north. An aide-de-camp of Marshal Ney, who had struggled through to Orense in despite of the insurgents, brought a letter from his chief, which reported that the rising had become general throughout the province, and apparently expressed strong[p. 192] doubts as to the wisdom of invading Portugal before Galicia was subdued. The Duke of Elchingen, as it would seem, wished his colleague to draw back, and to aid him in suppressing the bands of the coast and the upper Minho[215]. He might well doubt whether the 6th Corps would suffice for this task, if the 2nd Corps marched far away towards Oporto, and got completely out of touch. Soult, however, had the Emperor’s orders to advance into Portugal in his pocket. He knew that if he disobeyed them no excuse would propitiate his master. Probably he was not sorry to leave to Ney the unenviable task of dealing with the ubiquitous and irrepressible Galician insurgents. He sent back the message that he should march southward on March 4, and continued his preparations. This resolve was not to the liking of some of his subordinates: many of the officers who had served with Junot in Portugal by no means relished the idea of returning to that country. They did not conceal their feelings, and made the most gloomy prophecies about the fate of the expedition. It was apparently Loison who formed the centre of this clique of malcontents: he found many sympathizers among his subordinates. Their discontent was the basis upon which, two months later, the strange and obscure ‘Oporto Conspiracy’ of Captain D’Argenton was to be based. At the present moment, however, they contented themselves with denunciations of the madness of the Emperor in planning the expedition, and of the blind obedience of the Marshal in undertaking it. They told their comrades that the numbers, courage, and ferocity of the Galicians were as nothing compared with those of their southern neighbours, and that during the oncoming operations those who found a sudden death upon the battle-field would be lucky, for the Portuguese not only murdered but tortured the prisoners, the wounded, and the stragglers. It was fortunate for Soult that the majority of his officers paid comparatively little attention to these forebodings, which they rightly ascribed to the feelings of resentment and humiliation with which the members of Junot’s army remembered the story of their former disasters[216]. But it did[p. 193] not make matters easier for the Marshal that even a small section of his lieutenants disbelieved in the feasibility of his undertaking, and expected disaster to ensue. Yet the opening scenes of the invasion of Portugal were to be so brilliant and fortunate, that for a time the murmurs of the prophets of evil were hushed.

On March 4 the Marshal’s head quarters were moved forward from Orense to Alariz, on the road to Monterey and the frontier. The main body of the army accompanied him, but Franceschi and Heudelet were already far in front at Ginzo, only separated from La Romana’s outposts by the Sierra Cabrera. From that point there are two difficult but practicable roads[217] into Portugal: the one descends the valley of the Lima and leads to Oporto by Viana and the coast. It is easier than the second or inland route, which after crossing the Sierra Cabrera descends to Monterey and Chaves, the frontier town of the Portuguese province of Tras-os-Montes. But every military reason impelled Soult to choose the second alternative. By marching on Viana he would leave La Romana, whose presence he had now discovered, far in his rear. The Marquis would be a bad general indeed if he did not seize the opportunity of slipping back into Galicia, reoccupying Orense, and setting the whole country-side aflame. It was infinitely preferable to fall upon him from the front, rout him, and fling him back among the Portuguese. Accordingly Franceschi, leading the whole army, crossed the mountains on the fifth, and came hurtling into La Romana’s cantonments long ere he was expected. Heudelet was just behind him, Mermet and Delaborde a march further back: Merle brought up the rear, guarding a convoy of 800 sick and wounded whom the Marshal had resolved to bring on with him, rather than to leave them at Orense to fall a prey to the insurgents. The dragoons of Lorges and Lahoussaye were kept out on the right and left[p. 194] respectively, watching the one the valley of the Lima, the other the head waters of the Tamega.

Down to the last moment the Marquis had been giving out his intention of retiring into Portugal and co-operating with General Silveira, the commandant of the Tras-os-Montes, in the defence of Chaves and the line of the Tamega. But he was on very strained terms with his ally, who showed no great alacrity to receive the Spaniards across the frontier: his troops had been quarrelling with the Portuguese, and he was very reluctant to expose his half-rallied battalions to the ordeal of a battle, which Silveira openly courted.

On the very day on which Soult started from Orense, La Romana made up his mind that, instead of joining the Portuguese, he would escape eastwards by the single road, over and above that of Chaves, which was open to him. Accordingly his army suddenly started off, abandoning the meagre magazines which it had collected at Oimbra and Verin, and made for Puebla de Senabria, on the borders of the province of Leon, by the road which coasts along the north side of the Portuguese frontier, through Oso?o and La Gudina. This sudden move bore the appearance of a mean desertion of the Portuguese in their day of peril: but it was in other respects wise and prudent. It discomfited all Soult’s plans, since he failed to catch the army of Galicia, which escaped him and placed itself on his flank and rear instead of on his front. It was small consolation to the Marshal that Franceschi came on the rearguard of the Spaniards at La Trepa near Oso?o and routed it. Seven skeleton regiments, only 1,200 bayonets in all, under General Mahy, were caught retiring along a hillside and completely ridden down by the French cavalry. Three standards and 400 prisoners were captured, 300 men more were killed, the rest dispersed. But La Romana’s main body, meanwhile, had got away in safety, and Soult had failed to strike the blow which he intended[218]. He was soon to[p. 195] hear of the Marquis again, in quarters where he little expected and still less desired to find him[219].

Meanwhile the Portuguese were left alone to bear the brunt of the attack of the 2nd Corps. It is time to relate and explain their position, their resources, and their designs.

SECTION XIII: CHAPTER II
PORTUGAL AT THE MOMENT OF SOULT’S INVASION: THE NATION, THE REGENCY, AND SIR JOHN CRADOCK

Soult’s vanguard crossed the Portuguese frontier between Monterey and Chaves on March 9, 1809: it was exactly five months since the last of Junot’s troops had evacuated the realm on October 9, 1808. In the period which had elapsed between those two dates much might have been done to develop—or rather to create—a scheme of national defence and a competent army. Unhappily for Portugal the Regency had not risen to the opportunity, and when the second French invasion came upon them the military organization of the realm was still in a state of chaos.

During the autumn months of 1808 the Portuguese Government had been almost as sanguine and as careless as the Spanish Supreme Junta. They had seen Junot beaten and expelled: they still beheld a large British army in their midst; and they did not comprehend the full extent of the impending danger, when the news came that Bonaparte was nearing the Pyrenees, and that the columns of the ‘Grand Army’ were debouching into the Peninsula. It was not till Moore had departed that they began to conceive certain doubts as to the situation: nor was it till Madrid had fallen that they at last realized that the invader was once more at their gates, and that they must prepare to defend themselves.

There were still two months of respite granted to them. Portugal—like Andalusia—was saved for a moment by Moore’s march to Sahagun. The great field army which Napoleon had collected for the advance on Lisbon was turned off northwards to pursue the British, and on the New Year’s day of 1809 the only French force in proximity to the frontier of the realm was the division of Lapisse, which Bonaparte had dropped at[p. 197] Salamanca to form the connecting link between Soult and Ney in Galicia, and the troops under Victor and King Joseph in the vicinity of Madrid.

But the danger was only postponed, not averted, by Moore’s daring irruption into Old Castile. This the Portuguese Regency understood; and during the first two months of 1809 they displayed a considerable amount of energy, though it was in great part energy misdirected. Their chief blunder was that instead of straining every nerve to complete their regular army, on which the main stress of the invasion was bound to fall, they diverted much of their zeal to the task of raising a vast levée en masse of the whole able-bodied population of the realm. This error had its roots in old historical memories. The deliverance of Portugal from the Spanish yoke in the long war of independence in the seventeenth century, had been achieved mainly by the Ordenanza, the old constitutional force of the realm, which resembled the English Fyrd of the Middle Ages. It had done good service again in the wars of 1703-12, and even in the shorter struggle of 1762. But in the nineteenth century it was no longer possible to reckon upon it as a serious line of defence, especially when the enemy to be held back was not the disorderly Spanish army but the legions of Bonaparte. When there were not even arms enough in Portugal to supply the line-battalions with a musket for every man, it was insane to summon together huge masses of peasantry, and to make over to them some of the precious firearms which should have been reserved for the regulars. The majority, however, of the Ordenanza were not even supplied with muskets, they were given pikes—weapons with which their ancestors had done good service in 1650, but which it was useless to serve out in 1809. The Regency had procured some 17,000[220] from the British Government, and had caused many thousands more to be manufactured. Both on the northern and the eastern frontier great hordes of country-folk, equipped with these useless and antiquated arms, were gathered together. Destitute of discipline and of officers, insufficiently supplied with food, the prey of every rumour, true or false, that ran along the border, they were a source of danger[p. 198] rather than of strength to the realm. The cry of ‘treachery,’ which inevitably arises among armed mobs, was always being raised in their encampments. Hence came tumults and murders, for the peasantry had a strong suspicion of the loyalty of the governing classes—the result of the subservience to the French invader which had been displayed by many of the authorities, both civil and military, in 1808. Orders which they did not understand, or into which a sinister meaning could be read by a suspicious mind, generally caused a riot, and sometimes the assassination of the unfortunate commander whom the Regency had placed over the horde. In Oporto the state of affairs was particularly bad: the bishop, though a sincere patriot and a man of energy, had drunk too deeply of the delights of power during his rule in the summer months. After being made a member of the Regency by Dalrymple, he should have remained at Lisbon and worked with his colleagues. But returning to his own flock, he reassumed the authority which he had possessed during the early days of the insurrection, and pursued a policy of his own, which often differed from that of his Regency at large, and was sometimes in flagrant opposition to it. His position, in fact, was similar to that of Palafox at Saragossa, and like the Aragonese general he often practised the arts of demagogy in order to keep firm his influence over the populace. He was all for the system of the levée en masse; and summoned together unmanageable bands which he was able neither to equip nor to control. He praised their zeal, was wilfully blind to their frequent excesses, and seldom tried to turn their energies into profitable channels. Indeed, he was so ignorant of military matters himself, that he had no useful orders to give. He ignored the advice of the Portuguese generals in his district, and got little profit from that of two foreign officers whom the British Government sent him—the Hanoverian General Von der Decken and the Prussian Baron Eben. These gentlemen he seems to have conciliated, and to have played off against the native military authorities. But if they gave him good counsel, there are no signs in his actions that he turned it to account. All the British witnesses who passed through Oporto in January and February 1809, describe the place as being in a state of patriotic frenzy, and under mob law[p. 199] rather than administered by any regular and legal government[221]. The only fruitful military effort made in this part of Portugal was that of the gallant Sir Robert Wilson, who raised there in November and December his celebrated ‘Loyal Lusitanian Legion.’ This was intended to be the core of a subsidiary Portuguese division in British pay, distinct from the national army. When Wilson arrived in Oporto the bishop welcomed him, and forwarded in every way the formation of the corps. In a few days the Legion had 3,000 recruits of excellent quality, of whom Wilson could arm and clothe only some 1,300, for the equipment which he had brought with him was limited. He soon discovered, however, that the bishop’s zeal in his behalf was mainly due to the desire to have a solid force at hand which should be independent of the Portuguese generals. He wished the Legion to be, as it were, his own body-guard. Sir Robert was ill pleased, and being unwilling to mix himself in the domestic feuds of the bishop and the Regency, or to become the tool of a faction, quitted Oporto as soon as his men could march. With one strong battalion, a couple of squadrons of cavalry, and an incomplete battery—under 1,500 men in all—he moved first to Villa Real (Dec. 14), and then to the frontier, where he posted himself near Almeida and took over the task of observing Lapisse’s division, which from its base at Salamanca was threatening the Portuguese border. Of his splendid services in this direction we shall have much to tell. The unequipped portion of the Legion, left behind at Oporto, was handed over to Baron Eben, and became involved in the tumultuous and unhappy career of the bishop[222].

Meanwhile Lisbon was almost as disturbed as Oporto, and might have lapsed into the same state of anarchy, if a British garrison had not been on the spot. The mistaken policy of the[p. 200] Regency had led to the formation of sixteen so-called ‘legions[223]’ in the capital and suburbs. These tumultuary levies had few officers and hardly any arms but pikes. They were under no sort of discipline, and devoted themselves to the self-imposed duty of hunting for spies and ‘Afrancesados.’ Led by demagogues of the streets, they paraded up and down Lisbon to beat of drum, arresting persons whom they considered suspicious, especially foreign residents of all nationalities. The Regency having issued a decree prohibiting this practice [January 29], the armed levies only assembled in greater numbers next night, and engaged in a general chase after unpopular citizens, policemen, and aliens of all kinds. Many fugitives were only saved from death by taking refuge in the guard-houses and the barracks where the garrison was quartered. Isolated British soldiers were assaulted, some were wounded, and parties of ‘legionaries’ actually stopped aides-de-camp and orderlies carrying dispatches, and stripped them of the documents they were bearing. The mob was inclined, indeed, to be ill-disposed towards their allies, from the suspicion that they were intending to evacuate Lisbon and to retire from the Peninsula. They had seen the baggage and non-combatants left behind by Moore put on ship-board; early in February they beheld the troops told off for the occupation of Cadiz embark and disappear. When they also noticed that the forts at the Tagus mouth were being dismantled[224] they made up their minds that the British were about to desert them, without making any attempt to defend Portugal. Hence came the malevolent spirit which they displayed. It died down when their suspicions were proved unfounded by the arrival of Beresford and other British officers, at the beginning of March, with resources for the reorganization of the Portuguese army, and still more when a little later heavy reinforcements from England began to pour into the city. But in the last days of January and the first of February matters at[p. 201] Lisbon had been in a most dangerous and critical condition: the Regency, utterly unable to keep order, had hinted to Sir John Cradock that he must take his own measures against the mob, and for several days the British general had kept the garrison under arms, and planted artillery in the squares and broader streets—exactly as Junot had done seven months before. The ‘legions’ were cowed, and most fortunately no collision occurred: if a single shot had been fired in anger, there would have been an end of the Anglo-Portuguese alliance, and it is more than likely that Cradock—a man of desponding temperament—would have abandoned the country.

His force at this moment was by no means large: when Moore marched for Salamanca in October he had left behind in Portugal six battalions of British and four of German infantry[225], three squadrons of the 20th Light Dragoons (the regiment that had been so much cut up at Vimiero), one of the 3rd Light Dragoons of the King’s German Legion, and five batteries, only one of which was horsed. From Salamanca, when on the eve of starting on the march to Sahagun, Sir John had sent back two regiments to Portugal, in charge of his great convoys of sick and heavy baggage[226]. To compensate for this deduction from his army he had called up a brigade of the troops left in Portugal; but only one battalion of it—the 82nd—reached him in time to join in his Castilian campaign[227]. The net result was that seven British infantry regiments from Moore’s army were left behind, in addition to the four German corps. Two more had arrived from England in November[228], and a fresh regiment of dragoons in December[229].

Thus when Sir John Cradock took over the command at[p. 202] Lisbon on December 14, 1808, he had at his disposal in all thirteen battalions of infantry, seven squadrons of cavalry, and five batteries, a force of about 12,000 men[230]. But not more than 10,000 were effective, for Sir John Moore had left behind precisely those of his regiments which were most sickly, when he marched for Spain. He had moreover discharged more than 2,000 additional sick upon Portugal ere he began field operations: they were encumbering the hospitals of Almeida and Lamego when Cradock appeared. The 10,000 men fit for service were scattered all over Portugal: the two battalions, which had just come back from Spain, and the two others which had been too late to join Moore, were in the north, at Almeida and Lamego[231]. One battalion was in garrison at Elvas[232]. Six lay in Lisbon, as also did the whole of the cavalry and guns[233]: two were on the march from Abrantes to Almeida[234].

Such a dispersion of forces would have appalled the most enterprising of generals, and this was a title to which Cradock had certainly no claims. The two obvious courses between which he had to choose, were either to concentrate his little army on the frontier and make as much display of it in the face of the French as might be possible, or to abandon all idea of protecting exterior Portugal, and collect the scattered regiments in or about Lisbon. Cradock chose the second alternative. He argued that he was too weak to be of any effectual service on the frontier, and moreover found that there would be a vast difficulty in moving forward even the Lisbon garrison, for nearly all the available transport had been requisitioned for the use of Moore’s army, and had been carried off into Spain. Neither of these pleas is convincing: with regard to the first, it is merely necessary to point out that Sir Robert Wilson, with 1,500 men of the Lusitanian Legion, not yet three months old, made his[p. 203] presence felt on the frontier, checked Lapisse, and kept the whole province of Salamanca in a state of unrest. Ten thousand British bayonets and sabres could have done much more. As to the food and supplies, Cradock was arguing in the old eighteenth-century style, as if a British army was bound to move with all its baggage and impedimenta, its women and children. If he had chosen to ‘march light,’ and to take the route through the fertile and well-peopled Estremadura, he could have reached Abrantes or Almeida or any other goal that he chose.

The fact was that the reasons for refusing to adopt a ‘forward policy’ were moral and not physical. Cradock, in common with Sir John Moore and many other British officers, believed that Portugal could not be defended, and was thinking more of securing himself a safe embarkation than of exercising any influence on the main current of the war.

When Moore’s army had passed out of sight, and was known to be retiring in the direction of Galicia, it seemed to Cradock that his own position was hopeless. Even if granted time to concentrate his scattered battalions, he would be forced to fly to the sea and take shipping the moment that any serious French force crossed the frontier. He had not sufficiently accurate information to enable him to see that both Lapisse at Salamanca, and the weak divisions of the 4th Corps which lay in the valley of the Tagus, could not possibly move forward against him. It would have been insane for either of these forces to have attacked Portugal—the one was at this moment less than 10,000, the other about 12,000 strong—they were without communications, and separated by 100 miles of pathless sierras. Moreover the troops in the valley of the Tagus were fully occupied in observing the Spanish army of Estremadura. At the opening of the New Year, therefore, Cradock was in absolutely no danger, and might have gone forward either to Abrantes or to Almeida in perfect security. In the first position he would have menaced the flank of the 4th Corps: in the second he would have exercised a useful pressure on Lapisse. In either case he would have encouraged the Portuguese and lent moral support to the Spaniards.

But Cradock was possessed by that miserable theory which was so frequently expounded by the men of desponding mind[p. 204] during the early years of the Peninsular War, to the effect that Portugal was indefensible, and would have to be evacuated whenever a strong French force approached its frontier[235]. It was fortunate for England and for Europe that Wellesley had other views. The history of the next three years was to show that a British general could find something better to do than to pack up his baggage and prepare to embark, whenever the enemy came down in superior strength to the Portuguese border.

No doubt Cradock would have had to take to his transports if the French had possessed on January 1, 1809, an army of 40,000 men available for the invasion of Portugal, and ready to advance. They did not happen to own any such force; and till he was certain that such a force existed, Cradock was gravely to blame for ordering every British soldier to fall back on Lisbon, and for openly commencing to destroy the sea-forts of the capital. It is true that the dispatches which he received from home gave him many directions as to what he was to do if the enemy appeared in overpowering strength: he was to blow up the shore batteries, destroy all military and naval stores, and embark with the British troops and as many Portuguese as could be induced to follow. But this was only to take place ‘upon the actual approach of the enemy towards Lisbon in such strength as may render all further resistance ineffectual[236].’ To commence these preparations when the nearest troops of the enemy were at Salamanca and Almaraz was premature and precipitate in the highest degree. Till the French began to move, every endeavour should have been made to encourage the Portuguese and to maintain a show—even if it were but a vain show—of an intention to defend the frontier. If Lapisse[p. 205] had heard that Cradock was at Almeida he would have been nailed down to Salamanca: if Victor had heard that he was at Alcantara, or even at Abrantes, he would never have dared to pursue Cuesta into southern Estremadura.

Cradock, however, drew into Lisbon every available man: Brigadier Cameron, with the troops from Almeida and Oporto, started back on a weary march from the north, via Coimbra, bringing not only his own four battalions, but 1,500 convalescents and returned stragglers from Moore’s army. Richard Stewart, with the two battalions that had been at Abrantes, also came in to the capital, and all the British troops were concentrated by the beginning of February, save the 40th regiment, which still lay at Elvas. Having thus got together about 10,000 men, Cradock, with almost incredible timidity, began to draw them back to Passo d’Arcos, a place behind Lisbon near the mouth of the Tagus, from which embarkation was easy. When Villiers, the British minister at Lisbon, remonstrated with him on the deplorable political consequences of assuming this ignoble position on the water’s edge, Cradock replied, “I must object to take up a ‘false position,’ say Alcantara, or to occupy the heights in front of Lisbon, which would only defend a certain position, and leave the remainder [of Portugal?] to the power of the enemy, one which we must leave upon his approach, and seek another, bearing the appearance of flight, and yet not securing our retreat. The whole having announced the intention of defending Lisbon, but giving up that idea upon the approach of the enemy, for positions liable to be turned on every side cannot be persevered in by an inferior force.”

On the day [February 15] upon which Cradock wrote this extraordinary piece of English prose composition, whose grammar is as astounding as its argument, the nearest French troops were at Tuy in Galicia, Salamanca in Leon, and the bridge of Arzobispo on the central Tagus, points respectively 230, 250, and 240 miles distant from Lisbon as the crow flies, and infinitely more by road. Further comment is hardly necessary.

At this moment Cradock might have had at his disposal 2,000 more British troops, but he had chosen to fall in with Sir George Smith’s hasty and unauthorized scheme for the[p. 206] occupation of Cadiz[237], and had sent off to that port a whole brigade[238], under General Mackenzie. He also dispatched orders to Colonel Kemmis of the 40th to hand over Elvas to the Portuguese, and march to Seville. The battalion moved into Andalusia, and placed itself at the disposition of Mr. Frere, who found it as useless as the force which Smith had drawn off to Cadiz. It was several months before the 40th rejoined the army of Portugal.

Influenced by the remonstrances of Mr. Villiers, and somewhat comforted by the fact that the French armies had nowhere crossed the Portuguese frontier, Cradock was at last persuaded to give up his position at Passo d’Arcos; he fixed his head quarters at Lumiar, left 2,000 men in garrison at Lisbon, and cantoned the remainder of his army at Saccavem and other places a few miles in front of the city. This was better than leaving them on the sea-shore; but the move was no more than a miserable half measure. It was almost as indicative of an intention to depart without fighting as the retreat to Passo d’Arcos had been. In short, from January to the end of April the British army exercised no influence whatever on the military affairs of the Peninsula. Yet by March it was beginning to grow formidable in numbers: early in that month all the troops which had been drawn off to Cadiz were sent to Lisbon, and by the addition of seven good battalions to his corps[239] Cradock found himself at the head of over 16,000 men. There were but 800 effective cavalry, and of the six batteries only two, incredible as it may seem, were properly horsed, though three months had passed by since the general had begun his first complaints on this point[240]. But 16,000 British troops were a force not to be despised, and if Wellesley or some other competent officer had been in command, we cannot doubt that they would have been[p. 207] turned to some profitable use. Under Cradock they remained cantoned in the suburbs of Lisbon for the whole time during which Soult was completing his conquest of Oporto and northern Portugal, and Victor executing his invasion of Estremadura. It was not till Soult’s advanced guard was on the Vouga [April 6] that Hill and Beresford[241] succeeded in inducing the general to carry forward his head quarters to Leiria and his outposts to Thomar[242]. Fortunately his tenure of command was at last drawing to an end. On April 22 Sir Arthur Wellesley arrived in Lisbon and took over charge of the troops in Portugal. How startling were the consequences of this change of generals we shall soon see: ere May was out the whole Peninsula realized once more that there was a British Army within its limits—a fact that might well have passed unnoticed during the last four months.

SECTION XIII: CHAPTER III
THE PORTUGUESE ARMY: ITS HISTORY AND ITS REORGANIZATION

While the Regency was wasting much of its energy on the arming of the undisciplined masses of the Ordenanza, and while Cradock sat supine at Passo d’Arcos and at Saccavem, one useful piece of work at least was being taken in hand. This was the reorganization of the Portuguese regular army, a task which the Regency determined, though only so late as February, 1809, to hand over to a British general officer.

To explain the chaotic condition of the force at the moment when Soult was just about to enter Portugal, a short account of its previous history is necessary. It had received its existing shape from a foreign hand, that of the well-known ‘Conde de La Lippe,’ i.e. the German Marshal, Frederick Count of Lippe-Bückeburg, who had been entrusted with its command during the short war with Spain in 1762. He it was who first gave Portugal an army of the modern type, modelled on the ordinary system of the eighteenth century, and showing many traces of adaptations from a Prussian original. The Marshal was a great organizer and a man of mark: his name is perhaps best remembered in connexion with the citadel of Elvas, which he rebuilt, and christened La Lippe after himself: under that designation we shall repeatedly have to mention it while describing the early years of the Peninsular War.

As he left it, the Portuguese army consisted of twenty-four regiments of the line, each forming a single battalion of seven companies and 806 men. There were twelve regiments of cavalry, each originally composed of no more than 240 sabres, and three regiments of artillery of eight batteries each, besides a few garrison companies of that arm. After La Lippe’s departure the army had shared in the general decay of strength and organization in the kingdom, which prevailed during the[p. 209] reign of the mad queen Maria, and her son the feeble Prince-Regent John. But the lack of mere numerical strength was not nearly so fatal to its efficiency as the rustiness and rottenness of its internal machinery. Under an octogenarian commander-in-chief, the Duke of Alafoens, every department of the army had been decaying in the latter years of the eighteenth century. All the typical faults of an army of the ancien régime after a long period of peace were developed to the highest possible pitch. Commissions were sold, or given away by intrigue and corruption, often to persons of unsuitable rank and education[243]: promotion was slow and perfectly arbitrary: the pay of the officers was very low, while every incentive to petty jobbing and embezzlement was afforded by the vicious system under which the colonel contracted with the government for his regiment, and the captain with the colonel for his company. In the Portuguese army, as in all others where this antiquated practice prevailed, the temptation to fill the muster-rolls with ‘dead-heads’ and absentees, so that the contractor might save their food and pocket their pay, had been too strong for the ordinary officer to resist. Hence came the empty ranks of the battalions, the ludicrous disproportion of horses to men in[p. 210] the cavalry, the depleted condition of the regimental stores and equipment.

The short Spanish war of 1801-2 had revealed the complete disorganization of the army. Hasty measures were taken to strengthen it: in the moment of panic every infantry regiment was ordered to raise a second battalion, and though the number of companies per battalion was lowered from seven to five, yet as each of them was now to consist of 150 instead of 116 men, the total strength of each infantry corps was raised to 1,500 officers and men. At the same time the cavalry regiments were supposed to have been increased to 470 sabres[244], and a fourth regiment of artillery was created. Nor was this all: an ‘Experimental Legion’ for light infantry service, eight companies strong, with a couple of squadrons and a horse-artillery battery attached to it, was soon afterwards raised by the Marquis D’Alorna.

But after the peace of Badajoz had been signed the army was allowed to sink back into its old sloth and inefficiency. When Junot entered Portugal in December, 1807, it is doubtful if there were as many as 20,000 troops really embodied, though the nominal total of the national army reached nearly 50,000 men[245].

Portugal had a few keen soldiers (such as Gomez Freire de Andrade, and the renegade D’Alorna), who had received abroad a good military education, and had even written military books. But the majority of the officers were slack, ignorant, and incompetent; while the men were half-drilled, badly disciplined, and ill-equipped. The only attempt which had been made to introduce any of the modern military discoveries which had been worked out in the wars of the French Revolution,[p. 211] consisted in the creation of the already-mentioned ‘Experimental Legion’ which D’Alorna had been allowed to raise and to train with a new light-infantry drill, adapted by himself from French models. The main body of the army looked with some jealousy and suspicion on this corps, and had made no effort to copy it.

The French invasion of Portugal had dashed to pieces the old regular army. Junot, it will be remembered, had disbanded the greater part of the men, and formed with the remainder a few battalions, which he had begun to send off to France ere the insurrection of June, 1808, broke out. Some of them took an involuntary share in the first siege of Saragossa: others were hurled into the red holocaust of Wagram.

When Portugal rose against the invader, the local juntas endeavoured to call back to arms all the dispersed officers and men, to serve as a nucleus for the insurrectionary hosts. The system of recruiting which La Lippe had introduced made this comparatively easy: he had instituted regimental districts in a very complete form. Each corps was named after a particular town or region[246], drew its conscripts from that locality, and was usually quartered in it. When Junot disbanded the old army, the men naturally returned to their homes. It resulted that when, for example, the Oporto Junta summoned out to service the late members of the 6th and 18th regiments of the line, the two units belonging to the Oporto district, it could be certain of finding the greater part of the rank and file without much difficulty. To reconstitute in a hurry the corps of officers was a much harder matter: a disproportionate number of the more competent holders of commissions had been drafted into the contingent sent to France: comparatively few resided in their proper regimental districts, many in Lisbon, which was still in Junot’s hands. Hence the battalions which fought under Leite at Evora, or accompanied Wellesley to Vimiero, bore their old names indeed, but were not merely ill-equipped and low in numbers, but lacked a due supply of officers. Considering the inefficiency of the regiments even before they were destroyed by Junot,[p. 212] they might now be described as no more than ‘the shadow of a shade.’

When the French had been driven out of Portugal, and the Junta of Regency took in hand the reconstruction and enlargement of the army, the problem of organization seemed almost insoluble. The government decreed that the regiments of infantry of the line should be raised to their full establishment of 1,500, a figure which they had never really attained in the old days. It was also decided to create six new battalions of riflemen (Cazadores), a class of infantry of which D’Alorna’s ‘Experimental Legion’ had hitherto been the sole representatives in Portugal. As to the cavalry and artillery, it was an obvious fact that the dearth of horses in the kingdom made it impossible to enlarge the number of units. The twelve old regiments of horse[247], the thirty-two old batteries of artillery were to be reconstructed, but no new ones were to be created.

Considering that the old corps of officers in Portugal was notoriously incompetent, it was hard to see how the expanded army was to be drilled and disciplined. About 25,000 recruits were suddenly shot into the old cadres; they could be readily procured, for not only were volunteers forthcoming in great numbers, but if they ran short a stringent conscription law was in existence. But how were the regiments to be officered? It was true that a considerable amount of the raw material for officers was obtainable, for patriotic enthusiasm was driving the young men of the upper classes into the army, in a way that had never before been seen—the service had not hitherto been popular, owing to its poor pay and prospects. But one cannot officer raw recruits with equally raw ensigns, and call the result a regular army. Moreover, arms and equipment were lamentably deficient: Junot had confiscated and destroyed almost all the store of arms belonging to the old army: it is said that the insurgents had not 10,000 serviceable muskets among them when Wellesley landed. The British had distributed some 42,000 more between August and December[248]; but what were these among so many? There were to be over 50,000 regulars, [p. 213]when the establishment was completed, and the Regency hoped to call out some 40,000 militia when the first line of defence had been equipped, and after that to arm the vast masses of the Ordenanza.
A Portuguese Cavalry Soldier

Portuguese Dragoon of the 1st (Alcantara) Regiment
From a drawing of 1809.
Walker & Cockerell Ph. Sc.

The natural results followed. In obedience to the decree issued by the Regency, a considerable number of men were collected at each regimental dép?t. Of these about one-third, on an average, were old soldiers: but the proportion varied, for some corps had suffered more than others from the drafts of trained men which Junot had sent off to France. A good many of the regiments succeeded, so far as numbers went, in constituting their two battalions without much difficulty. Others were less fortunate, and could only raise one: two were so hopelessly incomplete that Beresford distributed the few hundred men whom they could produce among other corps, and temporarily disbanded them[249]. It was the same with the cavalry, of which two regiments were wholly without horses, and several were so absurdly short of mounts that they could not be used[250]. Even of the corps which were not dissolved, several were so weak that they had not recruited themselves up to half their nominal strength even by September[251]. This was more especially the case in the Alemtejo, where the population displayed an apathy that contrasted strongly with the turbulent enthusiasm prevalent in Lisbon and in the North.

Two invaluable sets of Returns, in the Record Office, show us that, as far as mere numbers went, the Regency had not done so much as it should, in the way of increasing the total of men under arms, during the two months that followed the Convention of Cintra. On September 13, according to a report from Baron Decken, who had gone round the insurrectionary armies of Freire, Leite, and the Monteiro Mor, there were under arms 13,272 line infantry, 3,384 light infantry (Cazadores), 1,812 cavalry, and 19,000 militia: the force of artillery is not[p. 214] given. But of these 37,000 men only 13,600 had serviceable weapons and equipment, and were fit to take the field[252].

On November 26 these figures had risen to 22,361 infantry, 3,422 cavalry, 4,031 artillery, and 20,880 militia. But, owing to the importation of English muskets during the last two months, there were now 31,833 men properly equipped, of whom 2,052 were mounted men. The remaining 19,000 had still nothing more than pikes, or non-military firearms, such as fowling-pieces and blunderbusses: 1,400 cavalry were still without horses[253].

The figures are very moderate, but the worst part of the situation was that a collection of 1,000 or 1,500 men does not constitute a regiment, even if 300 or 400 of them chance to have been old soldiers. There were not, it is clear, muskets enough to arm more than two-thirds of the rank and file: belts, pouches, knapsacks, and other equipment were still more deficient. Yet the really fatal point was that there was a wholly inadequate number of officers, and that of those who were forthcoming the elder men were mostly incompetent, and the younger entirely untrained. In the official correspondence of the early months of 1809 the most prominent fact that emerges is the difficulty that was found in discovering colonels and majors capable of licking into shape the incoherent mass of men at the regimental head quarters, and of teaching the newly-appointed junior officers their duty. It seemed that their long peace-service in small garrison towns had taken all energy and initiative out of the seniors of the army of the ancien régime. They gazed with despair on the task before them, and seemed quite incapable of coping with it. When a British general took over the command of the Portuguese army, he complained that ‘Long habits of disregard to duty, and consequent laziness, make it not only difficult but almost impossible to induce the senior officers of this service to enter into any regular and continued attention to the duties of their situations, and neither reward nor punishment will induce them to bear up against the fatigue[254].’ It was only when a whole generation of colonels had been cleared away[p. 215] that the army grew efficient, and the reorganized regiments began to distinguish themselves in the field.

For the purpose of mobilization every regiment had been sent in the autumn of 1808 to its proper head quarters, in the centre of its recruiting district. There they still lay in the end of February, when Soult was drawing near the frontier. There was absolutely no Portuguese army in the field, only a number of battalions, squadrons, and batteries, in a more or less imperfect state of organization, scattered broadcast over the country. They were, as we have already seen, still insufficiently supplied with arms and equipment. Of transport and train, to enable them to move, there was hardly a trace. The only thing approaching a concentration of force was that in Lisbon and its immediate vicinity there were seven regiments of foot and three of horse, which were there assembled simply because their head quarters and their recruiting ground lay in this quarter[255]. Of the remainder of the infantry two regiments were in Algarve, in the far south; five in the Alemtejo; four in Beira; two in the Tras-os-Montes, four in Oporto and the adjoining province of Entre-Douro-e-Minho. It was with the last six alone that Soult had to deal when he invaded northern Portugal[256]: not one of the others was moved up to aid the northern regiments in holding him back.

Impressed with the state of hopeless disarray in which their army lay, and conscious that for stores and weapons to equip it, and money to pay it, they could look only to Great Britain, the Regency asked in February for the appointment of a British commander-in-chief. This was the best pledge that they could give of their honest intention to place all their military resources at the disposition of their allies. It had another obvious advantage: Bernardino Freire, Leite, Silveira, the Monteiro Mor, and the other Portuguese generals commanding military[p. 216] districts were at feud with each other. It would be very difficult to place one above the rest, and to secure for him loyal co-operation from his subordinates. It was probable that an Englishman, a stranger to their quarrels and intrigues, would be better obeyed.

The Regency, it would seem, suggested that they would be glad to see the post of commander-in-chief given to Sir Arthur Wellesley. But the victor of Vimiero refused to accept it, probably because he had already secured from Lord Castlereagh the promise that he should be sent out again to Portugal to supersede Cradock. When he had declined the offer it was, to the surprise of most men, passed on to General Beresford. This officer had the advantage of knowing Portuguese; he had commanded one of Moore’s brigades during the Corunna retreat, and had seen much service on both sides of the Atlantic. He was a comparatively young man, being only in his forty-first year, and was very junior in his rank, having only become a major-general in 1807. Many officers who were his elders had coveted the post, and some friction was caused by the fact that with his new Portuguese commission he outranked several of his seniors in Cradock’s army. Beresford was a good fighting-man, and a hard worker; but he was neither a tactician nor a strategist, and did not shine when placed in independent command—as witness Albuera. When Wellington had learnt his limitations, he never gave him a task of any great difficulty, and in the later years of the war either kept him under his own eye or sent him on errands where it was not easy to go wrong. For really responsible work in 1812-14 he always used Hill, Hope, or Graham. But in 1809 Beresford was, but for his undoubted courage, more or less of an unknown quantity to his colleagues and his subordinates. Fortunately he turned out a good organizer, if a mediocre general. For what he did in the way of reforming, and almost recreating, the Portuguese army he deserves considerable credit. Every one will remember the quaint story of how he was received by his army after a short absence, with the ingenuous cry of ‘Long live Marshal Beresford—who takes care of our stomachs[257].’ This in one way was a high compliment—it was not every general, English, French,[p. 217] or Spanish, who succeeded in filling his soldiers’ bellies during the Peninsular War. The power to do so was not the least among the qualities necessary for a commander-in-chief.

Why the British cabinet chose Beresford, from among many possible candidates, for the very responsible post now put in his charge, it is hard to see. Castlereagh knew him, as being (like himself) one of a powerful Anglo-Irish family connexion, with strong parliamentary influence. This may have told in his favour: it was perhaps also remembered that he was a personal friend of Wellesley, whom Castlereagh was intending to send out to command the British army in Portugal, and moreover his junior. This would facilitate matters when the two generalissimos had to act together; Beresford would probably prove a more tractable colleague and subordinate to the self-confident, autocratic, and frigid Wellesley, than any officer who was a stranger to him or his senior in years and service. It is by no means impossible that Castlereagh nominated him at Sir Arthur’s private suggestion. But into the secrets of ministerial patronage it is useless to pry.

Appointed to his new post in February, only a month after he had returned from the Corunna expedition, Beresford at once set sail for Lisbon, and took up the command ere three weeks had expired since his appointment. He arrived at the very moment at which Soult was about to pass the northern frontier, and was at once gazetted as a Portuguese field marshal. After a short survey of those parts of his command which lay in and about Lisbon, he reported to the Regency that the dearth of officers, and especially of competent superior officers, was so great, that he could not hope to reorganize the army unless he were allowed to give commissions in the Portuguese service to many foreigners. As a preliminary measure he asked for volunteers from Sir John Cradock’s army, and obtained about enough English officers to give three to each regiment. The main inducement which attracted candidates was Beresford’s pledge that every one accepted for the Portuguese service should gain a step—a lieutenant would become a captain, a captain a major. The Marshal at once placed all the battalions with notoriously inefficient commanders in charge of British officers, and drafted into them a larger proportion of his volunteers than was given[p. 218] to those which were in better state. He also got leave from the British cabinet to offer Portuguese commissions to officers serving in corps on the home station. This gave him by the end of the year some scores of men of the sort required, and it was by them that the new army was mainly formed and disciplined[258]. The British drill was introduced, and to teach it Beresford was allowed to borrow many non-commissioned officers from Cradock’s regiments[259]. As was but natural, there arose considerable friction between the new comers and the native Portuguese officers, over whose heads they were often placed. This was inevitable, but led to less harm than might have been expected, because the rank and file, quick to recognize soldierly qualities, took kindly to their new commanders, and served them loyally and well.

In the beginning Beresford’s reorganization only extended to the regiments in Lisbon and the south. Those stationed beyond the Douro were already in the field, and actively engaged with Soult. They had hardly received any assistance, either of officers or of arms and equipment, before they became involved in the campaign of March, 1809[260]. In fairness to them this must be borne in mind, when their conduct in battle is compared with that of the reorganized army in the following year. The Portuguese Regency, in their report on the Oporto campaign sent to their Prince on May 31, 1809, pleaded with truth ‘that the armies formed in the northern provinces were motley assemblies, whose numbers and good will bore witness to the zeal of the people, and their determination not to accept the French yoke, but which could not with any propriety be called regular troops. They were composed of incomplete and fractional regiments, and the larger proportion of the rank and file consisted of recruits, many of whom had not been a month under[p. 219] arms. Some of the corps were short of muskets: those which had them were armed with weapons of bad quality[261], and various calibre. All were deficient in the most essential articles of equipment. It was not fair to expect that such troops could oppose with any prospect of success a well-armed and well-disciplined veteran army like that of France[262].’

The regular troops, and the totally undisciplined Ordenanza levies, did not form the whole military force of Portugal. There also existed, mainly on paper, another line of defence for the kingdom. This was the militia: according to the old military system of the realm each regimental district had to supply not only its line battalion, but also two (or sometimes one) battalions of militia. There should have been forty-three such regiments in existence in 1808, and early in 1809 the Regency ordered that they should be raised to forty-eight, and that each should consist of two battalions of 500 men each[263]. This force, however, was purely a paper army: the militia had not been called out since the war of 1802; there were a few officers bearing militia commissions, but no rank and file. When the Regency decreed its mobilization, all that could be done was that the local authorities should tell off such eligible young men as had not been embodied in the regular army, for militia recruits. But as there were neither officers to drill them, nor muskets to arm them, the conscription was but a farce. The men were not even called out in many districts, since it was useless to do so till arms could be procured for them. But in the two northern provinces, when Soult crossed the frontier, the militia-men took the field alongside with the Ordenanza, from whom they were distinguished by name alone, for they were almost as destitute of uniform, weapons, and officers as the levée en masse itself. It would seem that most of the other border regiments[p. 220] of militia were also mobilized in the spring of 1809, in the neighbourhood of Almeida, Castello Branco, and Elvas. That they were perfectly useless was shown in Mayne’s fight with Victor at the bridge of Alcantara (May 14), when their conduct contrasted shamefully with the steady and obstinate fighting of the Lusitanian Legion[264]. In June, Wellesley ordered that all men for whom there were no arms should be sent home on furlough, and that the regiments should endeavour to drill and exercise their men by relays of 200 at a time, each batch being kept two months under arms. This was apparently because there were not arms, officers, or drill-sergeants enough to provide for more than a small proportion of the available number of militia-men[265]. In this way between 8,000 and 10,000 militia were to be out during the times of the year when the country-side could best spare them from the labour of the fields. The rest were to be left at home, unless an actual invasion of Portugal should occur. From the modest scope of this plan, it may easily be guessed what the state of the militia had been four months earlier, when Soult was in the Tras-os-Montes, and Beresford had barely begun his work of reorganization.

The militia-men were supposed to provide their own uniforms, the result of which was that few save the officers ever owned uniforms at all. In 1810 Wellesley had to make formal representation to Masséna that they were part of the armed force of the Portuguese kingdom, and not banditti, as the Marshal threatened to deny the rights of regular combatants to any prisoners not wearing a military dress. The officers, however, had a blue uniform similar to that of the line, save that they had silver instead of gold lace on their collars and wrists. The militia were not entitled to any pay when mobilized within the limits of their own province. When taken over its border officers and men were supposed to draw half the pay of the regulars of corresponding rank, but did not find it easy to obtain the modest stipend to which they were entitled.

Throughout the war the Portuguese militia were only intermittently in the field: the longest continuous piece of service[p. 221] which they performed was that during Masséna’s invasion, when they were all mobilized for more than a year on end, from June 1810 to July 1811. At other times, the whole or parts of various regiments were under arms for periods of varying length, either to relieve the regulars from garrison duty, or to watch the less-exposed frontier points in times when the French were active in the neighbouring districts of Spain. They were very seldom exposed to the ordeal of battle, as their presence in the line would have been a source of danger rather than a help. But they were useful for secondary work, such as guarding convoys, maintaining lines of communication, and (most of all) restraining minor raids by small bodies of the enemy. During Masséna’s invasion the greater part of them were not drawn within the lines of Torres Vedras, like the Portuguese regulars, but left out in the country-side, to shift for themselves. Here they did invaluable service in cutting the Marshal’s line of communication with Spain, and harassing all his detachments. It was they who surprised and captured his wounded and his dép?t at Coimbra, who worried Drouet, and who turned back Gardanne, when he tried to push forward from Almeida in order to join the main French army.

But all this was in the far future when the spring campaign of 1809 began. At that date, as we have already seen, the militia were as undisciplined, as ill-armed, and as useless as the mass of Ordenanza levies, with which they were confused.

A word must be added as to the theoretical organization of this last force. It dated back to the Middle Ages, and had been regularly used during the days of the enfranchisement of Portugal from the yoke of the Spanish Hapsburgs, in the seventeenth century. The ‘ordinance’ was a Royal decree summoning to arms all males between sixteen and sixty with the exception of ecclesiastics. In districts owning a feudal lord, that person was ex-officio declared chief-captain (capit?o mor) of his fief, and charged with the summoning of his vassals to the field. Where manorial customs had disappeared, the senior magistrate of the town, village, or district had to take up the post of capit?o mor, unless a substitute was named by the crown. It was the duty of this commander to call out all the able-bodied men of his region, to divide them into companies of 250 men,[p. 222] and to name a captain, ensign, sergeant, clerk (meirinho), and ten corporals for each of these bodies. Persons able to provide a horse were to serve apart, as cavalry, under separate commanders; but no one ever saw or heard of mounted Ordenanza troops during the Peninsular War; all the horses of the country did not suffice to provide chargers even for the twelve regiments of the regular army. The whole levy was supposed to be called out twice a year by the capit?o mor, in order that it might be seen that every man was properly enrolled in a company. But as a matter of fact the Ordenanza had not been summoned out, save in 1762 and 1802, since the end of the War of the Spanish Succession. Nor had any care been taken to see that every householder possessed a weapon of some sort, as the law directed. When they mustered in 1809, the men with pikes outnumbered those with fowling-pieces or blunderbusses, and the men furnished with no more than scythes on poles, or goads, or such-like rustic weapons, were far more numerous than the pikemen.

The whole mass was perfectly useless; it was cruel to place it in the field and send it against regular troops. Tumultuous, undisciplined, unofficered, it was doomed to massacre whenever it allowed the enemy to approach. It would have been well to refrain from calling it out altogether, and to turn over the few serviceable arms which it possessed to the militia.

Note.—By far the best account of the Portuguese army and military system is to be found in Halliday’s Present state of Portugal and the Portuguese Army, an invaluable book of 1812. Something can be gleaned from Dumouriez’s Essay on the military topography of Portugal [1766]. A little information comes from Foy, but many of his statements in his vol. ii. are inaccurate. The Wellington and Beresford dispatches in the Record Office are, of course, full of information, but would be very unintelligible but for Halliday’s explanatory memoir, as they presuppose knowledge of the details of organization, but do not generally describe them. For the Lusitanian Legion, see Mayne’s monograph on that corps, and the dispatches of Sir Robert Wilson. I have inserted in an appendix a table of the reorganized army as it stood in the autumn of 1809.
A Portuguese Infantry Soldier, and a Man of the Ordenanza

Portuguese Infantry
a Private of the Lisbon Regiment and a man of the Algarve Ordenanza.
From a drawing of 1809.
Walker & Cockerell Ph. Sc.

SECTION XIII: CHAPTER IV
COMBATS ABOUT CHAVES AND BRAGA: CAPTURE OF OPORTO (MARCH 10-29, 1809)

When La Romana marched off to the east, and abandoned his Portuguese allies to their own resources, the duty of defending the frontier fell upon General Francisco Silveira, the military governor of the Tras-os-Montes. He had mobilized his forces at Chaves the moment that Soult’s departure from Orense became known, and had there gathered the whole levy of his province. The total amounted to two incomplete line regiments[266] four battalions of disorderly and ill-equipped militia[267], the skeletons of two cavalry regiments, with hardly 200 horses between them[268], and a mass of the local Ordenanza, armed with pikes, goads, scythes, and fowling-pieces. The whole mass may have numbered some 12,000 men, of whom not 6,000 possessed firearms of any kind[269]. Against them the French marshal was marching at the head of 22,000 veterans, who had already gained experience in the art of mountain-warfare from their recent campaign in Galicia. The result was not difficult to foresee. If the Portuguese dared to offer battle they would be scattered to the winds.

Silveira’s levies were not the only force in arms on the frontier. The populous province of the Entre-Douro-e-Minho[270], roused to tumultuous enthusiasm by the bishop of Oporto, had sent every available man, armed or unarmed, to the front. A screen of militia and regulars under General Botilho was watching the line of the lower Minho: a vast mass of Ordenanza, backed[p. 224] by a very small body of line troops lay in and about Braga, under General Bernardino Freire; another multitude was still thronging the streets of Oporto and listening to the windy harangues of the bishop. But none of these masses of armed men were sent to the aid of Silveira. He was not one of the bishop’s faction, nor was he on good terms with his colleague Freire. Neither of them showed any inclination to combine with him, and their followers, in the true spirit of provincial particularism, thought of nothing but defending their own hearths and homes, and left the Tras-os-Montes to take care of itself. Yet they had for the moment no enemy in front of them but the small French garrison of Tuy, and could have marched without any risk to join their compatriots.

Relying on the aid of La Romana, General Silveira had taken post at Villarelho on the right bank of the Tamega, leaving the defence of the left bank to the Spaniards, whom he supposed to be still stationed about Monterey and Verin. On the very day upon which the Army of Galicia absconded, the Portuguese general sent forward a detachment, consisting of a line regiment and a mass of peasants, to menace the flank of the French advance. This force, having crossed the Spanish frontier, got into collision with the enemy near Villaza. Since Franceschi’s horsemen and Heudelet’s infantry had turned off to the east in pursuit of La Romana, the Portuguese fell in with the leading column of Soult’s main body—a brigade of Lahoussaye’s dragoons supported by Delaborde’s division. This force they ventured to attack, but were promptly beaten off by Foy, the brigadier of the advanced guard, who routed them and captured their sole piece of artillery. The shattered column fell back on the main body at Villarelho, and then Silveira, hearing of the departure of the Spaniards, resolved to retire and to look for a defensive position which he might be able to hold by his own unaided efforts. There was none such to be found in front of Chaves, for the valley of the Tamega widens out between Monterey and the Portuguese frontier fortress, and offers no ground suitable for defence. Accordingly Silveira very prudently decided to withdraw his tumultuary army to the heights of San Pedro, a league to the south of the town, where the space between the river and the mountains narrows down[p. 225] and offers a short and compact line of resistance. But he waited to be driven in, and meanwhile left rear-guards in observation at Feces de Abaxo on the left, and Outeiro on the right bank, of the Tamega.

Soult halted three days at Monterey in order to allow his rearguard and his convoy of sick to close up with the main body. But on March 10 he resumed his advance, using the two parallel roads on the two banks of the Tamega. Franceschi’s light horse and Heudelet’s division pushed down the eastern side, Caulaincourt’s brigade of dragoons[271] and Delaborde’s infantry down the western side of the river. Merle and Mermet were still near Verin. As the Tamega was unfordable in most places, the army seemed dangerously divided, but Soult knew well that he was running little or no risk. Both at Feces and Outeiro the Portuguese detachments, which covered Silveira’s main body, tried to offer serious resistance. They were of course routed, with the loss of a gun and many prisoners.

On hearing that his enemy was drawing near, Silveira ordered his whole army to retreat behind Chaves to the position of San Pedro[272]. This command nearly cost him his life; the ignorant masses of militia and Ordenanza could only see treason in the proposed move, which abandoned the town to the French. The local troops refused to march, and threatened to shoot their general: he withdrew with such of his men as would still obey orders, but a mixed multitude consisting of part of the 12th regiment of the line (the Chaves regiment), and a mass of Ordenanza and militia, remained behind to defend the dilapidated town. Its walls had never been repaired since the Spaniards had breached them in 1762; of the fifty guns which armed them the greater part were destitute of carriages, and rusting away in extreme old age; the supply of powder and cannon-balls was wholly insufficient for even a short siege. But encouraged by the advice of an incompetent engineer officer[273], who said that a few barricades would make[p. 226] the place impregnable, 3,000 men shut themselves up in it, and aided by 1,200 armed citizens, defied Soult, and opened a furious fire upon the vedettes which he pushed up to the foot of the walls. The Marshal sent in a fruitless summons to surrender, and then invested the place on the evening of the tenth; all night the garrison kept up a haphazard cannonade, and shouted defiance to the French. Next morning Soult resolved to drive away Silveira from the neighbouring heights, convinced that the spirits of the defenders of Chaves would fail the moment that they saw the field army defeated and forced to abscond. The divisions of Delaborde and Lahoussaye soon compelled Silveira to give ground: he displayed indeed a laudable prudence in refusing to let himself be caught and surrounded, and made off south-eastward towards Villa Real with 6,000 or 7,000 men. The Marshal then summoned Chaves to surrender for the second time; the garrison seem to have tired themselves out with twelve hours of patriotic shouting, and to have used up great part of their munitions in their silly nocturnal fireworks. When they saw Silveira driven away, their spirits sank, and they allowed their leader, Magelhaes Pizarro, to capitulate, without remonstrance. In short, they displayed even more cowardice on the eleventh than indiscipline upon the tenth of March. On the twelfth the French entered the city in triumph.

Soult was much embarrassed by the multitude of captives whom he had taken: he could not spare an escort strong enough to guard 4,000 prisoners to a place of safety. Accordingly he made a virtue of necessity, permitted the armed citizens of Chaves to retire to their homes, and dismissed the mass of 2,500 Ordenanza and militia-men, after extracting from them an oath not to serve against France during the rest of the war. The 500 regulars of the 12th regiment were not treated in the same way. The Marshal offered them the choice between captivity and enlisting in a Franco-Portuguese legion, which he proposed to raise. To their great discredit the majority, both officers and men, took the latter alternative—though it was with the sole idea of deserting as soon as possible. At the same moment Soult made an identical offer to the Spanish prisoners captured from Mahy’s division at the combats of[p. 227] Oso?o and La Trepa on March 6: they behaved no better than the Portuguese: several hundred of them took the oath to King Joseph, and consented to enter his service[274].

The Duke of Dalmatia had resolved to make Chaves his base for further operations in Portugal. He brought up to it from Monterey all his sick and wounded, including those who had been transported from Orense; the total now amounted to 1,325, of whom many were convalescents already fit for sedentary duty. To guard them a single company of a French regiment, and the inchoate ‘Portuguese Legion,’ were detailed, while the command was placed in the hands of the chef de bataillon Messager. The flour and unground wheat found in the place fed the army for several days, and the small stock of powder captured was utilized to replenish its depleted supply of cartridges.

From Chaves Soult had the choice of two roads for marching on Oporto. The more obvious route on the map is that which descends the Tamega almost to its junction with the Douro, and then strikes across to Oporto by Amarante and Penafiel. But here, as is so often the case in the Peninsula, the map is the worst of guides. The road along the river, frequently pinched in between the water and overhanging mountains, presents a series of defiles and strong positions, is considerably longer than the alternative route, and passes through difficult country wellnigh from start to finish.

The second path from Chaves to Oporto is that which strikes westward, crosses the Serra da Cabrera, and descends into the valley of the Cavado by Ruivaens and Salamonde. From thence it leads to Braga, on the great coast-road from Valenza to Oporto. The first two or three stages of this route are rough and difficult, and pass through ground even more defensible than that on the way to Amarante and Penafiel. But when the rugged defiles of the watershed between the Tamega and the Cavado have been passed, and the invader has reached Braga, the country becomes flat and open, and the coast plain, crossed by two excellent roads, leads him easily to his goal. It has also to be remembered that, by adopting this alternative, Soult[p. 228] took in the rear the Portuguese fortresses of the lower Minho, and made it easy to reopen communications with Tuy and the French forces still remaining in Galicia.

If any other persuasion were needed to induce the Marshal to take the western, and not the eastern, road to Oporto, it was the knowledge of the position of the enemy which he had attained by diligent cavalry reconnaissances. It was ascertained that Silveira with the remains of his division had fallen back to Villa Pouca, more than thirty miles away, in the direction of Villa Real. He could not be caught, and could retreat whithersoever he pleased. Freire, on the other hand, was lying at Braga with his unwieldy masses, and had made no attempt to march forward and fortify the passes of the Serra da Cabrera. By all accounts that the horsemen of Franceschi could gather, the defiles were blocked only by the Ordenanza of the mountain villages.

This astounding news was absolutely correct. Freire’s obvious course was to defend the rugged watershed, where positions abounded. But he contented himself with placing mere observation posts—bodies of thirty or 100 men—in the passes, while keeping his main army concentrated. The truth was that he was in a state of deep depression of mind, and prepared for a disaster. Judging from the line which he adopted in the previous year, while co-operating with Wellesley in the campaign against Junot, we may set him down as a timid rather than a cautious general. He had no confidence in himself or in his troops: the indiscipline and mutinous spirit of the motley levies which he commanded had reduced him to despair, and he received no support from the Bishop of Oporto and his faction, who were omnipotent in the province. Repeated demands for reinforcements of regular troops had brought him nothing but the 2nd battalion of the Lusitanian Legion, under Baron Eben. The Bishop kept back the greater part of the resources of which he could dispose, for the defence of his own city, in front of which he was erecting a great entrenched camp. Freire had also called on the Regency for aid, but they had done no more than order two line battalions under General Vittoria to join him, and these troops had not yet crossed the Douro. When he heard that the French were on the march, and that he[p. 229] himself would be the next to receive their visit, he so far lost heart that he contemplated retiring on Oporto without attempting to fight. Instead of defending the defiles of Ruivaens and Salamonde, he began to send to the rear his heavy stores, his military chest, and his artillery of position. This timid resolve was to be his ruin, for the excitable and suspicious multitude which surrounded him had every intention of defending their homes, and could only see treason and cowardice in the preparations for retreat. In a few days their fury was to burst forth into open mutiny, to the destruction of their general and their own ultimate ruin.

Soult meanwhile had set out from Chaves on March 14, with Franceschi and Delaborde at the head of his column, as they had been in all the operations since their departure from Orense. Mermet and Lahoussaye’s dragoons followed on the fifteenth: Heudelet, with whom were the head quarters’ staff and the baggage, marched on the sixteenth: Merle, covering the rear of the army, came in from Monterey on that day, and started from Chaves on the seventeenth. Only Vialannes’ brigade of dragoons[275] was detached: these two regiments were directed to make a feint upon Villa Real, with the object of frightening and distracting Silveira, lest he should return to his old post when he heard that the French army had departed, and fall upon the rear of the marching columns. They beat up his outposts at Villa Pouca, announced everywhere the Marshal’s approach with his main body, and retired under cover of the night, after having deceived the Tras-os-Montes troops for a couple of days.

The divisions of Delaborde and Franceschi, while clearing the passes above Chaves, met with a desperate but futile resistance from the Ordenanza of the upper Cavado valley. Practically unaided by Freire, who had only sent to the defile of Salamonde 300 regular troops—a miserable mockery of assistance—the gallant peasantry did their best. ‘Even the smallest villages,’ wrote an aide-de-camp of Soult, ‘tried to defend themselves. It was not rare to see a peasant barricade himself all alone in his house, and fire from the windows on our men, till his door was[p. 230] battered in, and he met his death on our bayonets. The Portuguese defended themselves with desperation, and never asked for quarter: if only these brave and devoted fellows had possessed competent leaders, we should have been forced to give up the expedition, or else we should never have got out of the country. But their resistance was individual: each man died defending his hamlet or his home, and a single battalion of our advanced guard easily cleared the way for us. I saw during these days young girls in the fighting-line, firing on us, and meeting their death without recoiling a step. The priests had told them that they were martyrs, and that all who died defending their country went straight to paradise. In these petty combats, which lasted day after day, we frequently found, among the enemy’s dead, monks in their robes, their crucifixes still clasped in their hands. Indeed, while advancing we could see from afar these ecclesiastics passing about among the peasants, and animating them to the combat[276].... While the columns were on the march isolated peasants kept up a continual dropping fire on us from inaccessible crags above the road: at night they attacked our sentries, or crept down close to our bivouacs to shoot at the men who sat round the blaze. This sort of war was not very deadly, but infinitely fatiguing: there was not a moment of the day or night when we had not to be upon the qui vive. Moreover, every man who strayed from the ranks, whether he was sick, drunk, tired, or merely a marauder, was cut off and massacred. The peasants not only murdered them, but tortured them in the most horrid fashion before putting them to death[277].’

Among scenes of this description Franceschi and Delaborde forced their way down the valley of the Cavado, till they arrived at the village of Carvalho d’Este, six miles from Braga, where[p. 231] they found a range of hills on both sides of the road, occupied by the whole horde of 25,000 men who had been collected by Freire. The division which followed the French advanced guard had also to sustain several petty combats, for the survivors of the Ordenanza whom Delaborde had swept out of the way, closed in again to molest each column, as it passed by the defiles of Venda-Nova, Ruivaens, and Salamonde. Mermet’s division, which brought up the rear, had to beat off a serious attack from Silveira’s army[278]. For that general, as soon as he discovered that he had been fooled by Lorges’ demonstration, sent across the Tamega a detachment of 3,000 men, who fell upon Soult’s rear. But a single regiment drove them off without much difficulty: they drew back to their own side of the mountains, and did not quit the valley of the Tamega.

It was on March 17 that Franceschi and Delaborde pushed forward to the foot of the Portuguese position, which swept round in a semicircle on each side of the high-road. Its western half was composed of the plateau of Monte Adaufé, whose left overhangs the river Cavado, while its right slopes upward to join the wooded Monte Vallongo. This latter hill is considerably more lofty than the Monte Adaufé and less easy of access. In front of the position, and bisected by the high-road, is the village of Carvalho d’Este: at the foot of the Monte Vallongo is another village, Lanhozo, whose name the French have chosen to bestow on the combat which followed. To the left-rear of the Monte Adaufé, pressed in between its slopes and the river, is a third village, Ponte do Prado, with a bridge across the Cavado, which is the only one by which the position can be turned. The town of Braga lies three miles further to the rear. The invaders halted on seeing the whole range of hills, some six miles long, crowned with masses of men in position. Franceschi would not take it upon himself to attack such a multitude, even though they were but peasantry and militia, of the same quality as the horde that had been defeated near Chaves a few days before. He sent back word to the Marshal, and drew up in front of the position to await the arrival of the main body.[p. 232] But noting that a long rocky spur of the Monte Adaufé projected from the main block of high ground which the enemy was holding, he caused it to be attacked by Foy’s brigade of infantry, and drove back without much difficulty the advanced guard of the Portuguese. The possession of this hill gave the French a foothold on the heights, and an advantageous emplacement for artillery such as could not be found in the plain below.

It was three days before the rest of Soult’s army joined the leading division—not until the twentieth was his entire force, with the exception of Merle’s infantry, concentrated at the foot of the enemy’s position, and ready to attack. This long period of waiting, when every mind was screwed up to the highest pitch of excitement, had completely broken down the nerve of the Portuguese, who spent the hours of respite in hysterical tumult and rioting. Freire, as we have already seen, had been planning a retreat on Oporto, but he found the spirit of his army so exalted that he thought it better to conceal his project. He pretended to have abandoned the idea of retiring, and gave orders for the construction of entrenchments and batteries on the Monte Adaufé, to enfilade the main approach by the high-road. But he could not disguise his down-heartedness, nor persuade his followers to trust him. Presently the wrecks of the Ordenanza levies, who had fought at Salamonde, fell back upon Braga, loudly accusing him of cowardice, for not supporting them in their advanced position. The whole camp was full of shouting, objectless firing in the air, confused cries of treason, and mutinous assemblies. On the day when the French appeared in front of the position Freire grew so alarmed at the threats against his life, which resounded on every side, that he secretly quitted Braga to fly to Oporto. But he was recognized and seized by the Ordenanza of Tobossa, a few miles to the rear. They brought him back to the camp as a prisoner, and handed him over to Baron Eben, the colonel of the 2nd battalion of the Lusitanian Legion, who had been acting as Freire’s second-in-command. This officer, an ambitious and presumptuous man, and a great ally of the Bishop of Oporto, played the demagogue, harangued the assembled multitude, and readily took over the charge of the army. He consigned his unfortunate predecessor to the gaol of Braga, and led on the mutineers to reinforce the[p. 233] array on Monte Adaufé. When Eben had departed, a party of Ordenanza returned to the city, dragged out the wretched Freire, and killed him in the street with their pikes. The same afternoon they murdered Major Villasboas, the chief of Freire’s engineers, and one or more of his aides-de-camp. They also seized and threw into prison the corregidor of Braga, and several other persons accused of sympathy with the French. Eben appears to have winked at these atrocities—much as his friend the Bishop of Oporto ignored the murders which were taking place in that city. By assuming command in the irregular fashion that we have seen, he had made himself the slave of the hysterical horde that surrounded him, and had to let them do what they pleased, lest he should fall under suspicion himself[279].

It would seem, however, that Eben did the little that was possible with such material in preparing to oppose Soult. He threw up more entrenchments on the Monte Adaufé, mounted the few guns that he possessed in commanding situations, and did his best to add to the lamentably depleted store of munitions on hand. Even the church roofs were stripped for lead, when it was found that there was absolutely no reserve of cartridges, and that the Ordenanza had wasted half of their stock in demonstrations and profitless firing at the French vedettes. On the morning of the nineteenth he extended his right wing to some hills below the Monte Vallongo, beyond the village of Lanhozo, a movement which threatened to outflank and surround that part of the French army which was in front of him, and to cut it off from the divisions still in the rear. This could not be tolerated, and Mermet’s infantry were dispatched to[p. 234] dislodge the 2,000 men who had taken up this advanced position. They were easily beaten out of the village and off the hill, and retired to their former station on the Monte Vallongo. The French here captured two guns and some prisoners. Soult gave these men copies of a proclamation which he had printed at Chaves, offering pardon to all Portuguese who should lay down their arms, and sent them back into Eben’s lines under a flag of truce. When the Ordenanza discovered what the papers were, they promptly put to death the twenty unfortunate men as traitors, without listening to their attempts to explain the situation.

On the morning of March 20, Soult had been joined by Lorges’ dragoons and his other belated detachments, and prepared to attack the enemy’s position. To defend it Eben had now, beside 700 of his own Legion[280], one incomplete line regiment (Viana, no. 9), the militia of Braga and the neighbouring places, and some 23,000 Ordenanza levies, of whom 5,000 had firearms, 11,000 pikes, and the remaining 7,000 nothing better than scythes, goads, and instruments of husbandry. There were about fifteen or twenty pieces of artillery distributed along the front of the six-mile position, the majority of them in the entrenchments on the Monte Adaufé, placed so as to command the high-road.

Knowing the sort of rabble that was in front of him, Soult made no attempt to turn or outflank the Portuguese, but resolved to deliver a frontal attack all along the line, in the full belief that the enemy would give way the moment that the charge was pushed home. He had now about 3,000 cavalry and 13,000 infantry with him—Merle being still absent. He told off Delaborde’s division with Lahoussaye’s dragoons to assail the enemy’s centre, on both sides of the high-road, where it crosses the Monte Adaufé. Mermet’s infantry and Franceschi’s light horse attacked, on the left, the wooded slopes of the Monte Vallongo. Heudelet’s division, on the right, sent one brigade to storm the heights above the river, and left the other brigade as a general reserve for the army. Lorges’ dragoons were also held back in support.

[p. 235]

As might have been expected, Soult’s dispositions were completely successful. When the columns of Delaborde and Heudelet reached the foot of the enemy’s position, the motley horde which occupied it broke out into wild cheers and curses, and opened a heavy but ineffective fire. They stood as long as the French were climbing up the slopes, but when the infantry debouched on to the plateau of Monte Adaufé they began to waver and disperse[281]. Then Soult let loose the cavalry of Lahoussaye, which had trotted up the high-road close in the rear of Delaborde’s battalions, the 17th Dragoons leading. There was no time for the reeling mass of peasants to escape. ‘We dashed into them,’ wrote one officer who took part in the charge[282]; ‘we made a great butchery of them; we drove on among them pell-mell right into the streets of Braga, and we pushed them two leagues further, so that we covered in all four leagues at full gallop without giving them a moment to rally. Their guns, their baggage, their military chest, many standards fell into our power[283].’

Such was the fate of the Portuguese centre, on each side of the high-road. Further to the right, above the Cavado, Heudelet was equally successful in forcing his way up the northern slopes of the Monte Adaufé; the enemy broke when he reached the plateau, but as he had no heavy force of cavalry with him, their flight was not so disastrous or their loss so heavy as in the centre. Indeed, when they had been swept down into the valley behind the ridge, some of the Portuguese turned to bay at the Ponte do Prado, and inflicted a sharp check on the Hanoverian legion, the leading battalion in Heudelet’s advance. It was not till the 26th of the line came up to aid the Germans that the rallied peasantry again broke and fled. They only lost 300 men in this part of the field.

[p. 236]

Far to the left, in the woods on the slope of the Monte Vallongo, Mermet and Franceschi had found it much harder to win their way to the edge of the plateau than had the troops in the centre. But it was only the physical obstacles that detained them: the resistance of the enemy was even feebler than in the centre. By the time that the infantry of Mermet emerged on the crest of the hill, the battle had already been won elsewhere. The Portuguese right wing crumpled up the moment that it was attacked, and fled devious over the hillsides, followed by Franceschi’s cavalry, who made a dreadful slaughter among the fugitives. Five miles behind their original position a body of militia with four guns rallied under the cliffs on which stands the village of Falperra. The cavalry held them in check till Mermet’s leading regiment, the 31st Léger, came up, and then, attacked by both arms at once, the whole body was ridden down and almost exterminated. ‘The commencement was a fight, the end a butchery,’ wrote an officer of the 31st; ‘if our enemies had been better armed and less ignorant of the art of war, they might have made us pay dearly for our victory. But for lack of muskets they were half of them armed with pikes only: they could not man?uvre in the least. How was such a mob to resist us? they could only have held their ground if they had been behind stone walls[284].’

The rout and pursuit died away in the southern valleys beyond Braga, and Soult could take stock of his victory. He had captured seventeen guns, five flags, and the whole of the stores of Eben’s army: he had killed, according to his own estimate, some 4,000 men[285], and taken only 400 prisoners. This shocking disproportion between the dead and the captives was caused by the fact that the French in most parts of the field had given no quarter. Some of their historians explain that their cruelty resulted from the discovery that the Portuguese had been murdering and mutilating the stragglers who fell into their hands[286]. But it was really due to the exasperation of[p. 237] spirit that always accompanies guerrilla warfare. Constantly worried by petty ambushes, ‘sniped’ in their bivouacs, never allowed a moment of rest, the soldiers were in a state of nervous irritation which found vent in needless and unjustifiable cruelty. In the fight they had lost only forty killed and 160 wounded, figures which afford no excuse for the wholesale slaughter in the pursuit to which they gave themselves up.

In the first flush of victory the French supposed that they had made an end of the Ordenanza, and that northern Portugal was at their feet. ‘Cette journée a été fatale à l’insurrection portugaise,’ wrote one of the victors in his diary[287]. But no greater mistake could have been made: though many of the routed horde dispersed to their homes, the majority rallied again behind the Avé, only ten or twelve miles from the battle-field. Nor did the battle of Braga even open the way to Galicia: General Botilho, with the levies of the Valenza and Viana district, closed in behind Soult and blocked the way to Tuy, the nearest French garrison. The Marshal had only conquered the ground on which he stood, and already his communication with Chaves, his last base, had been intercepted by detachments sent into the passes by Silveira.

Soult halted three days at Braga, a time which he utilized for the repair of his artillery, and the replenishing of the cartridge boxes of his infantry from the not too copious supply of munitions captured from the Portuguese. His cavalry scoured the country down the Cavado as far as Barcelos, and southward to the line of the Avé, only to find insurgents everywhere, the bridges broken, and the fords dredged up and staked.

The Marshal, however, undaunted by the gloomy outlook, resolved to march straight for his destined goal, without paying any attention to his communications. He now made Braga a temporary base, left there Heudelet’s division in charge of 600 sick and wounded, and moved on Oporto at the head of his three remaining infantry divisions and all his cavalry.

Two good chaussées, and one additional mountain road of inferior character, lead from Braga to Oporto, crossing the Avé,[p. 238] the one four, the next six, the third twenty-four miles from the sea. The first and most westerly passes it at Ponte de Avé, the second at Barca de Trofa, where there is both a bridge and a wide ford, the third and least obvious at Guimaraens not far from its source in the Serra de Santa Catalina. Soult resolved to use all three for his advance, wisely taking the difficult road by Guimaraens into his scheme, since he guessed that it would probably be unwatched by the Portuguese, precisely because it was far less eligible than the other two. He was perfectly right: the Bishop of Oporto, the moment that he heard of the fall of Braga, pushed up some artillery and militia to aid the Ordenanza in defending both the Ponte de Avé and the Barca de Trofa bridges. Each was cut: batteries were hastily thrown up commanding their approaches, and entrenchments were constructed in their rear. At Barca de Trofa the ford was dredged up and completely blocked with chevaux de frise. But the remote and secondary passage at Guimaraens was comparatively neglected, and left in charge of such of the local Ordenanza as had returned home after the rout of Braga.

Soult directed Lorges’ dragoons against the western road: he himself with Delaborde’s and Merle’s infantry and Lahoussaye’s cavalry took the central chaussée by Barca de Trofa. On the difficult flanking path by Guimaraens he sent Franceschi’s light horse and Mermet’s infantry. On both the main roads the Portuguese positions were so strong that the advancing columns were held back: Soult would not waste men—he was beginning to find that he had none to spare—in attempting to force the entrenched positions opposite him. After feeling them with caution, he pushed a column up-stream to a small bridge at San Justo, which had been barricaded but not broken. Here he established by night a heavy battery commanding the opposite bank. On the morning of the twenty-sixth he opened fire on the Portuguese positions across the water, and, when the enemy had been well battered, hurled the brigade of General Foy at the fortified bridge. It was carried, and Delaborde’s division was beginning to pass, when it met another French force debouching on the same point. This was composed of Mermet and Franceschi’s men: they had beaten the local Ordenanza at Guimaraens, crossed the Avé high up, and were[p. 239] now pushing along the southern bank to take the Barca de Trofa position in the flank. Thus Soult found that, even if his frontal assault at San Justo had failed, his left-hand column would have cleared the way for him a few hours later, being already across the river and in the enemy’s rear. Indeed his lateral detachment had done all that he had expected from it, and at no great cost. For though the Ordenanza had opposed it bravely enough, they had never been able to hold it back. The only notable loss that had been sustained was that of General Jardon, one of Mermet’s brigadiers, who had met his death by his own recklessness. Finding his men checked for a moment, he had seized a musket and charged on foot at the head of his skirmishing line. This was not the place for a brigadier-general, and Jardon died unnecessarily, doing the work of a sub-lieutenant.

Finding the French across the river at San Justo, the Portuguese, who were defending the lower bridges, had to give way, or they would have been surrounded and cut off. They yielded unwillingly, and at Ponte de Avé actually beat off the first attempt to evict them. But in the end they had to fly, abandoning the artillery in the redoubts that covered the two bridges[288].

On the twenty-seventh, therefore, Soult was able to press close in to Oporto, for the line of the Avé is but fifteen miles north of the city. On approaching the heights which overhang the Douro the French found them covered with entrenchments and batteries ranged on a long front of six or seven miles, from San Jo?o de Foz on the sea-shore to the chapel of Bom Fin overlooking the river above the town. Ever since the departure of the French from Orense and their crossing of the frontier had become known, the whole of the populace had been at work on the fortifications, under the direction of Portuguese and British engineer officers. In three weeks an enormous amount of work had been done. The rounded summits of the line of hills, which[p. 240] rise immediately north of the city, and only half a mile in advance of its outermost houses, had been crowned with twelve redoubts armed with artillery of position. The depressions between the redoubts had been closed by palisades and abattis. Further west, below the city, where the line of hills is less marked, the front was continued by a deep ditch, fortified buildings, and four strong redoubts placed in the more exposed positions. It ended at the walls of San Jo?o da Foz, the old citadel which commands the mouth of the Douro, and had in this direction an outwork in another ancient fort, the castle of Quejo, on the sea-shore a mile north of the estuary. There were no less than 197 guns of various calibres distributed along the front of the lines. Nor was this all: the main streets of the place had been barricaded to serve as a second line of defence, and even south of the river a battery had been constructed on the height crowned by the Serra Convent, which overlooks the bridge and the whole city.

To hold this enormous fortified camp the Bishop of Oporto had collected an army formidable in numbers if not in quality. There was a strong nucleus of troops of the regular army: it included the two local Oporto regiments (6th and 18th of the line), two more battalions brought in by Brigadier-General Vittoria, who had been too late to join in the defence of Braga, a battalion of the regiment of Valenza (no. 21), a fraction of that of Viana (no. 9), with the wrecks of the 2nd battalion of the Lusitanian Legion, which had escaped from Eben’s rout of the twentieth, and the skeleton of an incomplete cavalry regiment (no. 12, Miranda). In all there cannot have been less than 5,000 regular troops in the town, though many of the men were recruits with only a few weeks of service. To these may be added three or four militia regiments in the same condition as were the rest of the corps of that force, i.e. half-armed and less than half-disciplined[289]. But the large majority of the garrison was composed of the same sort of levies that had already fought with such small success at Chaves and Braga—there were 9,000 armed citizens of Oporto and a somewhat greater number of the Ordenanza of the open country, who had retired into the city before Soult’s advancing columns. The[p. 241] whole mass—regulars and irregulars—may have made up a force of 30,000 men—nothing like the 40,000 or 60,000 of the French reports[290]. Under the Bishop the military commanders were three native brigadier-generals, Lima-Barreto, Parreiras, and Vittoria. Eben had been offered the charge of a section of the defences, but—depressed with the results of his experiment in generalship at Braga—he refused any other responsibility than that of leading his battalion of the Lusitanian Legion. The Bishop had allotted to Parreiras the redoubts and entrenchments on the north of the town, to Vittoria those on the north-east and east, to Lima-Barreto those below the town as far as St. Jo?o da Foz. The regulars had been divided up, so as to give two or three battalions to each general; they were to form the reserve, while the defences were manned by the militia and Ordenanza. There was a lamentable want of trained gunners—less than 1,000 artillerymen were available for the 200 pieces in the lines and on the heights beyond the river. To make up the deficiency many hundreds of raw militia-men had been turned over to the commanders of the batteries. The natural result was seen in the inferior gunnery displayed all along the line upon the fatal twenty-ninth of March.

To complete the picture of the defenders of Oporto it must be added that the anarchy tempered by assassination, which had been prevailing in the city ever since the Bishop assumed charge of the government, had grown to a head during the last few days. On the receipt of the news of the disaster at Braga it had culminated in a riot, during which the populace constituted a sort of Revolutionary Tribunal at the Porto do Olival.[p. 242] They haled out of the prisons all persons who had been consigned to them on a charge of sympathizing with the French, hung fourteen of these unfortunates, including the brigadier-general Luiz da Oliveira, massacred many more in the streets, and dragged the bodies round the town on hurdles. The Bishop, though he had 5,000 regular troops at hand, made no attempt to intervene—‘he could not stand in the way of the righteous vengeance of the people upon traitors.’ On the night of the twenty-eighth he retired to a place of safety, the Serra Convent across the river, after bestowing his solemn benediction upon the garrison, and handing over the further conduct of the defence to the three generals whose names we have already cited.

The town of Oporto was hidden from Soult’s eyes by the range of heights, crowned by fortifications, which lay before him. For the place was built entirely upon the downslope of the hill towards the Douro, and was invisible till those approaching it were within half a mile of its outer buildings. It is a town of steep streets running down to the water, and meeting at the foot of the great pontoon-bridge, more than 200 yards long, which links it to the transpontine suburb of Villa Nova, and the adjacent height of the Serra do Pilar. The river front forms a broad quay, along which were lying at the time nearly thirty merchant ships, mostly English vessels laden with port wine, which were wind-bound by a persistent North-Wester, and could not cross the bar and get out to sea.

Although his previous attempts to negotiate with the Portuguese had not been very fortunate, the Marshal thought it worth while to send proposals for an accommodation to the Bishop. He warned him not to expose his city to the horrors of a sack, pointed out that the raw levies of the garrison must inevitably be beaten, and assured him that ‘the French came not as enemies, but as the deliverers of Portugal from the yoke of the English. It was for the benefit of these aliens alone that the Bishop would expose Oporto to the incalculable calamities attending a storm[291].’ The bearer of the Marshal’s letter was a Portuguese major taken prisoner at Braga, who would have been massacred at the outposts if he had not taken the precaution[p. 243] of explaining to his countrymen that Soult had sent him in to propose the surrender of the French army, which was appalled at the formidable series of defences to which it found itself opposed! The reply sent by the Bishop and his council of war was, of course, defiant, and bickering along the front of the lines immediately began. While the white flag was still flying General Foy, the most distinguished of Soult’s brigadiers, trespassed by some misconception within the Portuguese picquets and was made prisoner. While being conducted into the town he was nearly murdered, being mistaken for Loison, for whom the inhabitants of Oporto nourished a deep hatred[292].

On finding that the Portuguese were determined to fight, Soult began his preparations for a general assault upon the following day. He drove in the enemy’s outposts outside the town, and captured one or two small redoubts in front of the main line. Having reconnoitred the whole position, he told off Delaborde and Franceschi to attack the north-eastern front, Mermet and one brigade of Lahoussaye’s dragoons to storm the central parts of the lines, due north of the city, where the fortifications were most formidable, Merle and the other brigade of Lahoussaye to press in upon the western entrenchments below the city. There was no general reserve save Lorges’ two regiments of cavalry, and these had the additional task imposed upon them of fending off any attack on the rear of the army which might be made by scattered bodies of Ordenanza, who[p. 244] were creeping out into the woods along the sea-coast, and threatening to turn the Marshal’s right flank.

Soult had but 16,000 men available,—of whom 3,000 were cavalry, and therefore could not be employed till the infantry should have broken through the line of fortifications which completely covered the Portuguese front. Nevertheless he had no doubts of the result, though he had to storm works defended by 30,000 men and lined with 197 cannon. He now knew the exact fighting value of the Portuguese levies, and looked upon Oporto as his own.

The Marshal’s plan was not to repeat the simple and simultaneous frontal attack all along the line by which he had carried the day at Braga. There was a good deal of strategy in his design: the two flank divisions were ordered to attack, while the centre was for a time held back. Merle, in especial, was directed to do all that he could against the weakest point of the Portuguese line, in the comparatively level ground to the west of the city. Soult hoped that a heavy attack in this direction would lead the enemy to reinforce his left from the reserves of his centre, and gradually to disgarnish the formidable positions north of the city, when no attack was made on them. If they committed this fault, he intended to hurl Mermet’s division, which he carefully placed under cover till the critical moment, at the central redoubts. A successful assault at this point would finish the game, as it would cut the Portuguese line in two, and allow the troops to enter the upper quarters of the city in their first rush.

The French were under arms long ere dawn, waiting for the signal to attack. The Portuguese also were awake and stirring in the darkness, when at three o’clock a thunderstorm, accompanied by a terrific hurricane from the north-west, swept over the city. In the midst of the elemental din some of the Portuguese sentinels thought that they had seen the French columns advancing to the assault: they fired, the artillery followed their example, and for half an hour the noise of the thunderstorm was rivalled by that of 200 guns of position firing at nothing. Just as the gunners had discovered their mistake, the tempest passed away, and soon after the day broke. So drenched and weary were the French, who had been lying down under the[p. 245] torrential rain, that Soult put off the assault for an hour, in order to allow them to dry themselves and take some refreshment; the pause also allowed the sodden ground to harden.

At seven all was again ready, and Merle’s and Delaborde’s regiments hurled themselves at the entrenchments above and below the city. Both made good progress, especially the former, who lodged themselves in the houses and gardens immediately under the main line of the Portuguese left wing, and captured several of its outlying defences. Seeing the position almost forced, Parreiras, the commander of the central part of the lines, acted just as Soult had hoped, and sent most of his reserve to reinforce the left. The Marshal then bade Merle halt for a moment, but ordered Delaborde, on his eastern flank, to push on as hard as he could. The general obeyed, and charged right into the Portuguese entrenchments, capturing several redoubts and actually breaking the line and getting a lodgement in the north-east corner of the city. Parreiras, to aid his colleague in this quarter, drew off many of his remaining troops, and sent them away to the right, thereby leaving his own section of the line only half manned. Thereupon Soult launched against the central redoubts his main assaulting column, Mermet’s division and the two regiments of dragoons. The central battalion went straight for the main position above the high-road, where the great Portuguese flag was flying on the strongest redoubt. The others attacked on each side. This assault was decisive: the Portuguese gunners had only time to deliver two ineffective salvos when the French were upon them. They charged into the redoubts through the embrasures, pulled down the connecting abattis, and swept away the depleted garrison in their first rush. The line of the defenders was hopelessly broken, and Mermet’s division hunted them down the streets leading to the river at full speed.

The centre being thus driven in, the Portuguese wings saw that all was lost, and gave way in disorder, looking only for a line of retreat. Vittoria, with the right wing, abandoned his section of the city and retreated east along the Vallongo road, towards the interior: he got away without much loss, and even turned to bay and skirmished with the pursuing battalions of Delaborde when once he was clear of the suburbs. Far other[p. 246] was the lot of the Portuguese left wing, which had the sea behind it instead of the open country. General Lima-Barreto, its commander, was killed by his own men: he had given orders to spike the guns and double to the rear the moment that he saw the central redoubts carried. Unfortunately for himself, he was among a mass of men who wished to hold on to their entrenchments in spite of the disaster on their right. When he reiterated his order to retreat, he was shot down for a traitor. But Merle’s division soon evicted his slayers, and sent them flying towards St. Jo?o da Foz and the sea. There was a dreadful slaughter of the Portuguese in this direction: some escaped across the river in boats, a large body slipped round Merle’s flank and got away to the north along the coast (though Lorges’ dragoons pursued them among the woods above the water and sabred many): others threw themselves into the citadel of St. Jo?o and capitulated on terms. But several thousands, pressed into the angle between the Douro and the ocean, were slaughtered almost without resistance, or rolled en masse into the water.

The fate of the Portuguese centre was no less horrible. Their commander, Parreiras, fled early, and got over the bridge to report to the Bishop the ruin of his army. The main horde followed him, though many lingered behind, endeavouring to defend the barricades in the streets. When several thousands had passed the river, some unknown officer directed the drawbridge between the central pontoons to be raised, in order to prevent the French from following. This was done while the larger part of the armed multitude was still on the further bank, hurrying down towards the sole way of escape. Nor was it only the fighting-men whose retreat was cut off: when the news ran round the city that the lines were forced, the civil population had rushed down to the quays to escape before the sack began. It was fortunate that half the people had left Oporto during the last two days and taken refuge in Beira. But tens of thousands had lingered behind, full of confidence in their entrenchments and their army of defenders. A terrified mass of men, women, and children now came pouring down to the bridge, and mingled with the remnants of the routed garrison. The pontoons were still swinging safely on their cables, and no one, save those in the front of the rush, discovered that there was a fatal gap[p. 247] in the middle of the passage, where the drawbridge had been raised. There was no turning back for those already embarked on the bridge, for the crowds behind continued to push them on, and it was impossible to make them understand what had happened. The French had now begun to appear on the quays, and to attack the rear of the unhappy multitude: their musketry drowned the cries of those who tried to turn back. At the same time the battery on the Serra hill, beyond the river, opened upon the French, and the noise of its twenty heavy guns made it still more impossible to convey the news to the back of the crowd. For more than half an hour, it is said, the rush of fugitives kept thrusting its own front ranks into the death-trap, forty feet broad, in the midst of the bridge. If anything more was needed to add to the horror of the scene, it was supplied by the sudden rush of a squadron of Portuguese cavalry, which—cut off from retreat to the east—galloped down from a side street and ploughed its way into the thickest of the crowd at the bridge-head, trampling down hundreds of victims, till it was brought to a standstill by the mere density of the mass into which it had penetrated. So many persons, at last, were thrust into the water that not only was the whole surface of the Douro covered with drowning wretches, but the gap in the bridge was filled up by a solid mass of the living and the dead. Over this horrid gangway, as it is said, some few of the fugitives scrambled to the opposite bank[293].

At first the French, who had fought their way down to the quay, had begun to fire upon the rear of the multitude which was struggling to escape. But they soon found that no resistance was being offered, and saw that the greater part of the flying crowd was composed of women, children, and non-combatants. The sight was so sickening that their musketry died[p. 248] down, and when they saw the unfortunate Portuguese thrust by thousands into the water, numbers of them turned to the charitable work of helping the strugglers ashore, and saved many lives. The others cleared the bridge-head by forcing the fugitives back with the butt ends of their muskets, and edging them along the quays and into the side streets, till the way was open. In the late afternoon some of Mermet’s troops mended the gap in the bridge with planks and rafters, and crossed it, despite of the irregular fire of the Portuguese battery on the heights above. They then pushed into the transpontine suburb, expelled its defenders, and finally climbed the Serra hill and captured the guns which had striven to prevent their passage.

Meanwhile the parts of Oporto remote from the pontoon-bridge had been the scene of a certain amount of desultory fighting. Many small bodies of the garrison had barricaded themselves in houses, and made a desperate but ineffectual attempt to defend them. In the Bishop’s palace at the south end of the town 400 militia held out for some hours, and were all bayonetted when the gates were at last burst open. Street-fighting always ends in rapine, rape and arson, and as the resistance died down the victors turned their hands to the usual atrocities that follow a storm. It was only a small proportion of them who had been sobered and sickened by witnessing the catastrophe on the bridge. The rest dealt with the houses and with the inhabitants after the fashion usual in the sieges of that day, and Oporto was thoroughly sacked. It is to the credit of Soult that he used every exertion to beat the soldiers off from their prey, and restored order long ere the following morning. It is to be wished that Wellington had been so lucky at Badajoz and San Sebastian.
Map of the combat of Braga or Lanhozo

Enlarge  COMBAT of BRAGA (OR LANHOZO)
MARCH 20TH 1809
Oporto showing the Portuguese lines

Enlarge  OPORTO
MARCH-MAY 1809
SHOWING THE PORTUGUESE LINES

The French army had lost, so the Marshal reported, no more than eighty killed and 350 wounded, an extraordinary testimony to the badness of the Portuguese gunnery. How many of the garrison and the populace perished it will never be possible to ascertain—the figures given by various contemporary authorities run up from 4,000 to 20,000. The smaller number is probably nearer the truth, but no satisfactory estimate can be made. It is certain that some of the regiments which took part in the [p. 249]defence were almost annihilated[294], and that thousands of the inhabitants were drowned in the river. Yet the town was not depopulated, and of its defenders the greater proportion turned up sooner or later in the ranks of Silveira, Botilho, and Trant. The slain and the drowned together may perhaps be roughly estimated at 7,000 or 8,000, about equally divided between combatants and non-combatants.

Soult meanwhile could report to his master that the first half of his orders had been duly carried out. He had captured 200 cannon, a great store of English ammunition and military equipment, and more than thirty merchant vessels, laden with wine. He had delivered Foy and some dozens of other French captives—for it would be doing the Portuguese injustice to let it be supposed that they had killed or tortured all their prisoners. In short, the victory and the trophies were splendid: yet the Marshal was in reality almost as far from having completed the conquest of northern Portugal as on the day when he first crossed its frontier. He had only secured for himself a new base of operation, to supersede Chaves and Braga. For the next month he could do no more than endeavour ineffectually to complete the subjugation of one single province. The main task which his master had set before him, the capture of Lisbon, he was never able to contemplate, much less to take in hand. Like so many other French generals in the Peninsula, he was soon to find that victory is not the same thing as conquest.

N.B.—The sources for this part of the Portuguese campaign are very full. On the French side we have, besides the Marshal’s dispatches, the following eye-witnesses: Le Noble, Soult’s official chronicler; St. Chamans (one of the Marshal’s aides-de-camp); General Bigarré, King Joseph’s representative at the head quarters of the 2nd Corps; Naylies of Lahoussaye’s dragoons; and Fantin des Odoards of the 31st Léger. On the Portuguese side we have the lengthy dispatches of Eben, the narrative of Hennegan (who had brought the British ammunition to Oporto), some letters from Brotherton, who was first with La Romana and then with Silveira, and a quantity of official correspondence in the Record Office, between Beresford and the Portuguese.

SECTION XIII: CHAPTER V
SOULT’S HALT AT OPORTO: OPERATIONS OF WILSON AND LAPISSE ON THE PORTUGUESE FRONTIER: SILVEIRA’S DEFENCE OF AMARANTE

Oporto had been conquered: the unhappy levies of the Bishop had been scattered to the winds: by the captures which it had made the French army was now, for the first time since its departure from Orense, in possession of a considerable store of provisions and an adequate supply of ammunition. Soult was no longer driven forward by the imperative necessity for finding new resources to feed his troops, nor forced to hurry on the fighting by the fear that if he delayed his cartridges would run short. He had at last leisure to halt and take stock of his position. The most striking point in the situation was that he was absolutely ignorant of the general course of the war in the other regions of the Peninsula. When he had been directed to march on Oporto, he had been assured that he might count on the co-operation of Lapisse, who was to advance from Salamanca with his 9,000 men, and of Victor, who was to stretch out to him a helping hand from the valley of the Tagus. It was all-important to know how far the promised aid was being given: yet the Marshal could learn nothing. More than two months had now elapsed since he had received any dispatches from the Emperor. It was a month since he had obtained his last news of the doings of his nearest colleague, Ney, which had been brought to him, as it will be remembered, just as he was about to leave Orense. At that moment the Duke of Elchingen had been able to tell him nothing save that the communications between Galicia and Leon had been broken, and that the insurrection was daily growing more formidable. After this his only glimpse of the outer world had been afforded by Portuguese letters, seized in the post-offices of Braga and Oporto, from which[p. 251] he had learnt that his garrisons left behind at Vigo and Tuy were being beleaguered by a vast horde of Galician irregular levies. ‘The march of the 2nd Corps,’ wrote one of Soult’s officers, ‘may be compared to the progress of a ship on the high seas: she cleaves the waves, but they close behind her, and in a few moments all trace of her passage has disappeared[295].’ To make the simile complete, Fantin des Odoards should have compared Soult to the captain of a vessel in a dense fog, forging ahead through shoals and sandbanks without any possibility of obtaining a general view of the coast till the mists may lift. To all intents and purposes, we may add, the fog never dispersed till May had arrived, and Wellesley hurtled down in a dreadful collision on the groping commander, ere he had fully ascertained his own whereabouts.

When the whole country-side is up in arms, as it was in Galicia and northern Portugal in the spring of 1809, it is useless to dispatch small bodies of men in search of news. They are annihilated in a few hours: but to make large detachments and send them out on long expeditions, so weakens the main army that it loses its power of further advance. This was the fate of the 2nd Corps after the fall of Oporto. Soult, compelled to seek for information at all costs, had to send one of his four infantry divisions back towards Galicia, to succour Tuy and Vigo and obtain news of Ney, while another marched eastward to the Tras-os-Montes, to look for signs of the advance of Lapisse from Salamanca. When these detachments had been made, the remainder of the army was too weak to resume the march on Lisbon which the Emperor had commanded, and was forced to remain cantoned in the neighbourhood of Oporto.

The details of Soult’s disposition of his troops after the fall of Oporto were as follows: Franceschi’s cavalry, supported by Mermet’s division of infantry, were pushed forward across the Douro on the road to Coimbra, to watch the movements of the wrecks of the Bishop’s army, which had retired to the line of the Vouga. Merle’s division and half Delaborde’s remained in garrison at Oporto, while Lorges’ and one brigade of Lahoussaye’s dragoons were kept not far from them, in the open country north of the city, about Villa de Conde and[p. 252] Vallongo. The other brigade of Lahoussaye’s division, supported by Foy’s infantry, was sent out on an expedition towards the Tras-os-Montes, with orders to brush away Silveira and seek for news of the expected approach of Lapisse. Loison was placed in command of this detachment. Finally, Heudelet’s division, which had been guarding the sick and the stores of the army at Braga, was ordered to send on all the impedimenta to Oporto, and then to prepare to march northward in order to relieve Tuy and Vigo, and to get into touch with Ney and the 6th Corps.

It was clear that the further movements of the Duke of Dalmatia would depend on the intelligence which Loison and Heudelet might obtain. If Ney should have crushed the Galician insurgents, if Lapisse should be met with somewhere on the borders of Spain, matters would look well for the resumption of the advance on Lisbon. It was also to be hoped that Lapisse would be able to give some information as to the doings of Victor and the 1st Corps. For it was necessary to find out how the Duke of Belluno had been faring in Estremadura, and to know whether he was prepared to co-operate in that general movement against the Portuguese capital which the Emperor had prescribed in his parting instructions from Valladolid.

As a matter of fact, Victor, having beaten Cuesta at Medellin on the day before Soult captured Oporto (March 28), had reached the end of his initiative, and was now lying at Merida, incapable, according to his own conception, of any further offensive movement till he should have received heavy reinforcements. Ney in Galicia was fighting hard against the insurgents, and beginning to discover that though he might rout them a dozen times he could not make an end of them. He had not a man to spare for Soult’s assistance.

There remained Lapisse, who in his central position at Salamanca should have been, according to Napoleon’s design, the link between Ney, Victor, and Soult. He had been directed, as it will be remembered[296], to move on Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, to capture both these fortresses, and then to advance into Portugal and to strike at Abrantes: when he arrived there it was hoped that he would find Soult on his right and Victor[p. 253] on his left, and would join them in the general assault on Lisbon. There can be no doubt that Napoleon was giving too heavy a task to Lapisse: he had but a single division of infantry—though it was a strong one of twelve battalions—and one provisional brigade of cavalry[297], in all about 9,000 men. This was ample for the holding down of the southern parts of the kingdom of Leon, or even for the attack on Almeida and Rodrigo: but it was a small force with which to advance into the mountains of central Portugal or to seize Abrantes. If he had carried out his instructions, Lapisse would have had to march for nearly 200 miles through difficult mountain country, beset every day by the Ordenanza, as Soult had been in his shorter route from Orense to Oporto. And if he had ever cut his way to Abrantes, he ought to have found himself faced by Cradock’s 9,000 British troops and by the reorganized Portuguese regular army, which lay in and about Lisbon, with a strength which even in February was not less than 12,000 men.

Napoleon had given Lapisse too much to do: but on the other hand that general performed far too little. Though he could never have reached Abrantes, he ought to have reached Almeida, where his presence would have been of material assistance to Soult, more especially if he had from thence pushed exploring columns towards Lamego and Vizeu, before plunging into the mountains on the road to the south. As a matter of fact, Lapisse in February and March never advanced so much as fifty miles from Salamanca, and allowed himself to be ‘contained’ and baffled, for two whole months, by an insignificant opposing force, commanded by a general possessing that enterprise and initiative which he himself entirely lacked.

The officer who wrecked this part of Napoleon’s plan for the invasion of Portugal was Sir Robert Wilson, one of the most active and capable men in the English army, and one who might have made a great name for himself, had fortune been propitious. But though he served with distinction throughout the Napoleonic war, and won golden opinions in Belgium and Egypt, in Prussia and Poland, no less than in Spain, he never obtained that command on a large scale which would have[p. 254] enabled him to show his full powers. It may seem singular that a man who won love and admiration wherever he went, who was decorated by two emperors for brilliant feats of arms done under their eyes, who was equally popular in the Russian, the Austrian, or the Portuguese camp, who had displayed on a hundred fields his chivalrous daring, his ready ingenuity, and his keen military insight, should fail to achieve greatness. But Wilson, unhappily for himself, had the defects of his qualities. When acting as a subordinate his independent and self-reliant character was always getting him into trouble with his hierarchical superiors. He was not the man to obey orders which he believed to be dangerous or mistaken: he so frequently ‘thought for himself’ and carried out plans quite different from those which had been imposed upon him, that no commander-in-chief could tolerate him for long. His moves were always clever and generally fortunate, but mere success did not atone for his disobedience in the eyes of his various chiefs, and he never remained for long in the same post. All generals, good and bad, agree in disliking lieutenants who disregard their orders and carry out other schemes—even if they be ingenious and successful ones[298]. It must be added that Wilson dabbled in politics on the Whig side, and was not a favourite with Lord Castlereagh, a drawback when preferments were being distributed.

But when trusted with any independent command, and allowed a free hand, Wilson always did well. Not only had he all the talents of an excellent partisan chief, but he was one of those genial leaders who have the power to inspire confidence and enthusiasm in their followers, and are able to get out of them double the work that an ordinary commander can extort. He was in short one of those men who if left to themselves achieve great things, but who when placed in a subordinate position quarrel with their superiors and get sent home in disgrace. From the moment when Beresford assumed command of the Portuguese army his relations with Wilson were one long story of friction and controversy, and Wellesley (though[p. 255] acknowledging his brilliant services) made no attempt to keep him in the Peninsula. He wanted officers who would obey orders, even when they did not understand or approve them, and would not tolerate lieutenants who wished to argue with him[299].

It was Wilson who first showed that the new levies of Portugal could do good service in the field. While Silveira and Eben were meeting with nothing but disaster in the Tras-os-Montes and the Entre-Douro-e-Minho, he was conducting a thoroughly successful campaign on the borders of Leon. From January to April, 1809, he, and he alone, protected the eastern frontier of Portugal, and with a mere handful of men kept the enemy at a distance, and finally induced him to draw off and leave Salamanca, just at the moment when Soult’s operations on the Douro were becoming most dangerous.

The force at his disposal in January, 1809, consisted of nothing more than his own celebrated ‘Loyal Lusitanian Legion.’ We have already had occasion to mention this corps while speaking of the reorganization of the Portuguese army (see page 199). On December 14, as we have seen, he had led out his little brigade of Green-coats towards the frontier[300].

Wilson’s reasons for moving forward were partly political, partly military: on the one hand he wished to get away from the neighbourhood of the Bishop of Oporto, whose intrigues disgusted him; on the other he saw that it was necessary to[p. 256] bring up a force to cover the frontier of Portugal, when Moore marched forward into Spain. As long as Moore had remained at Salamanca, there was a strong barrier in front of Portugal: but when he departed it was clear that the kingdom must defend itself. Wilson therefore advanced to Pinhel, near Almeida, and there established his little force in cantonments.

He was at this place when the startling developments of the campaign in the last ten days of December, 1808, took place. Moore retired on Galicia, Napoleon’s army swept on into Leon, and Wilson found himself left alone with the whole defence of the north-eastern frontier of Portugal thrown on his hands. He soon heard of the storming of Zamora and Toro, and learnt that Lapisse’s division had arrived at Salamanca. Three marches might bring that general to the border.

A few days later Wilson received from Sir John Cradock the news that he had ordered the British garrison to evacuate Almeida[301], and to retire on Lisbon, as the whole remaining force in Portugal would probably have to embark in a few days. The new commander-in-chief added that he should advise Wilson to bring off his British officers and depart with the rest, as the Portuguese would be unable to make any head against Bonaparte, and it would be a useless sacrifice to linger in their company and be overwhelmed. This pusillanimous counsel shocked and disgusted Wilson: he called together his subordinates, and found that they agreed with him in considering Cradock’s advice disgraceful. They resolved that they could not desert their Portuguese comrades, and were in honour bound to see the campaign to an end, however black the present outlook might appear[302].

When therefore the British garrison of Almeida was withdrawn, Wilson entered that fortress with the Legion and took charge of it. He obtained from the Regency leave to appoint his lieutenant-colonel, William Mayne, as the governor, and also received permission to assume command of the local levies[p. 257] in the neighbourhood. These consisted of the skeletons of two line regiments (nos. 11 and 23) whose reorganization had but just begun. There were also two militia regiments (Guarda and Trancoso) to be raised in the district, but at this moment they existed only in name, and possessed neither officers nor arms. For immediate action Wilson could count upon nothing but the 1,300 men of the Lusitanian Legion.

Nevertheless he resolved to advance at once, and to endeavour to impose on Lapisse by a show of activity. Leaving the Portuguese regulars and 700 men of the Legion to garrison Almeida, he crossed the frontier with his handful of cavalry (not 200 sabres), two guns, and 300 men of his light companies. Passing the Spanish fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo he advanced some distance on the Salamanca road, and took up his position behind the Yeltes river, with his right resting on the inaccessible Sierra de Francia, and his left at San Felices, half way to the Douro. His whole force constituted no more than a thin line of pickets, but he acted with such confidence and decision, beating up the French outposts with his dragoons, raiding well forward in the direction of Ledesma and Tamames, and stirring up the peasants of the mountain country to insurrection, that Lapisse gave him credit for having a considerable force at his back. The French general had expected to meet with no opposition on his way to Almeida, believing that Cradock was about to embark, and that the Portuguese would not fight. He was accordingly much surprised to find a long line in his front, occupied by troops dressed like British riflemen, and commanded by British officers—whose strength he was unable to ascertain. He halted, in order to take stock of his opponent, when a bold push would have shown him that only a skeleton army was before him. In an intercepted dispatch of February[303] he reported that the peasantry informed him that Wilson had 12,000 men, and that as many more were in garrison at Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida.

As the weeks wore on, and the winter drew to an end, Wilson obtained some slight reinforcements. When he first advanced the Spaniards could give him no help, for the garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo itself consisted of nothing but its six companies of[p. 258] urban militia, and a new battalion of 500 men, which had been on the point of setting out to join La Romana when its way to Leon was intercepted by the French. There were 1,400 men to man a fortress which required a garrison of 4,000[304]! But before January was out, Pignatelli, the captain-general of Castile, had sent into the place a regiment which he had raised in the mountains of Avila, and Carlos d’Espa?a[305] had begun to form some new battalions from the peasantry of the Ciudad Rodrigo district, stiffened by stragglers from La Romana’s army[306]. In February the Central Junta gave Wilson a provisional command over the Spanish forces in Leon, and he used his authority to draw upon the garrison of Rodrigo for detachments to strengthen his outposts. He also requisitioned men from Almeida, when the Portuguese regiments there placed had begun to fill up their ranks to a respectable strength. A few cavalry of the re-formed 11th of the line were especially useful to him for scouting work.

With this small assistance, Wilson, whose total force never exceeded 400 horse and 3,000 infantry, kept Lapisse employed throughout February and March. He beat up the French quarters on several occasions, and twice captured large convoys of provisions which were being directed on Salamanca; to fall upon one of these, a great requisition of foodstuffs from Ledesma, he dashed far within Lapisse’s lines, but brought out all the wagons in safety and delivered them to the governor of Ciudad Rodrigo. At last, emboldened by his adversary’s timidity, he extended his right beyond the Sierra de Francia, and established part of the Legion under Colonel Mayne in the Puerto de Ba?os, the main pass between Salamanca and Estremadura. Thus Lapisse was completely cut off from all communication[p. 259] with Victor and the French army on the Tagus, save by the circuitous route through Madrid.

Jourdan, writing in the name of King Joseph, had duly transmitted to Lapisse the Emperor’s orders to march on Abrantes, the moment that it should be known that Soult had arrived at Oporto. He had even reiterated these directions in February, though both he and the King doubted their wisdom. Victor had written to Madrid to suggest that Alcantara would be a much better and safer objective for the division to aim at than Abrantes[307]. He wished to draw Lapisse’s troops (which properly belonged to the 1st Corps) into his own sphere of operations, and repeatedly declared that without them he had no hope of bringing his Estremaduran campaign to a happy end, much less of executing any effective diversion against Portugal. Jourdan agreed with him, opining that Lapisse would miscarry, if he invaded central Portugal on an independent line of operations. But no one was so convinced of this as Lapisse himself, who, with his exaggerated ideas of the strength of Wilson, was most reluctant to move forward. As late as the end of March the Emperor’s orders were still ostensibly in vigour[308], and the general only excused himself for not marching, by pretending that he could not venture to advance till he had certain news of Soult’s movements. This the Galician insurgents were obliging enough to keep from him.

At last, however, Jourdan yielded to Victor’s wishes, and authorized Lapisse to drop down on to Alcantara, keeping outside the limits of Portugal, instead of making the attack on Rodrigo and the subsequent dash at Abrantes which the Emperor had prescribed[309]. Overjoyed at escaping from the responsibility which he dreaded, Lapisse first prepared to march[p. 260] southward by the Puerto de Ba?os. But when he found it held by Mayne and the troops of Wilson’s right wing, he made no attempt to force the passage, but resolved to carry out his design by stratagem. Massing his division, he marched on Ciudad Rodrigo upon April 6. He pierced with ease the feeble screen of Wilson’s outposts and appeared in front of the Spanish fortress, which he duly summoned to surrender. But though the place might easily have been carried by a coup de main in January, it was now safe against anything but a formal siege, and Lapisse had neither a battering-train nor any real intention of attacking. When the governor returned a defiant answer, the French division made a show of sitting down in front of the walls. This was done in order to draw Wilson to the aid of the place, and the move was successful. Calling in all his outlying detachments from the nearer passes and collecting some of Carlos d’Espa?a’s levies, Sir Robert took post close to the walls of Ciudad Rodrigo, with a battalion of the Legion under Colonel Grant, some other Portuguese troops and four guns[310].

Having thus lured Wilson away from the passes, the French general suddenly broke up by night, and made a forced march for the Puerto de Perales, the nearest mountain-road to Alcantara. He thus obtained a full day’s start, and got off unmolested. Sir Robert and Carlos d’Espa?a followed on his track as soon as they discovered his departure, and Mayne also pursued, from the Puerto de Ba?os, but none of them could do more than harass his rearguard, with which they skirmished for three days in the passes. It would not have been wise of them to attempt more, even if they could have got into touch with the main body, for the French division was double their strength. Meanwhile the peasantry of the Sierra de Gata endeavoured to stop Lapisse’s progress, by blocking the defiles; but he swept them away with ease, and they never succeeded in delaying him for more than a few hours. Their incessant ‘sniping’ and night attacks exasperated the French, who dealt most ruthlessly with the country-side as they passed. When[p. 261] they arrived at Alcantara, and found the little town barricaded, they not only refused all quarter to the fighting-men when they stormed the place, but committed dreadful atrocities on the non-combatants. Not only murder and rape but mutilation and torture are reported by credible witnesses[311]. After the houses had been sacked, the very tombs in the churches were broken open in search of plunder. Leaving Alcantara full of corpses and ruins [April 12], the division marched on by Caceres and joined Victor in his camp near Merida[312] [April 19].

Since Lapisse, then, had moved off far to the south, and thrown in his lot with his old comrades of the 1st Corps, it was in vain that Soult sought for news of him on the Douro after the fall of Oporto. When Loison set out to cross the Tamega and to enter the Tras-os-Montes, in order that he might obtain information of the movements of the division at Salamanca, that division was making ready for its march to Alcantara; a fortnight later it had disappeared from the northern theatre of operations altogether, and Soult’s last chance of obtaining external help for his invasion of Portugal was gone. This section, in short, of Napoleon’s great plan for the march on Lisbon had been foiled, and foiled almost entirely by Sir Robert Wilson’s happy audacity and resourceful generalship. But for[p. 262] him, the timidity of Cradock, the impotence of the Spaniards, and the disorganization of the Portuguese army might have brought about the fall of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, at the same moment that Soult was entering Portugal on its northern frontier. His services have never received their proper meed of praise, either from the government which he served so well, or from the historians who have told the annals of the Peninsular War.

We must now return to the details of the Duke of Dalmatia’s operations. His movements were clearly dependent on the results of the two expeditions under Heudelet and Loison, which he had sent out to the north and the east after his victory of March 29.

Heudelet, after discharging on to Oporto the sick and wounded and the stores which he had been guarding at Braga, started out northward on April 6, with the 4,000 infantry of his own division and Lorges’ dragoons, whom the Marshal had ordered up to his aid from Villa de Conde. Heudelet was ordered to disperse the insurgents in the valleys of the Lima and Minho, and to relieve Tuy and Vigo, where the French garrisons were known to be in a state of siege. To reach them it was necessary to pierce through the screen of militia and Ordenanza under General Botilho, which had cut off all communication between Galicia and the army of Portugal since the month of February.

On April 7 the French general neared the line of the Lima, only to find the bridges barricaded and Botilho’s horde entrenched behind them. After some preliminary skirmishing, fords were discovered, which Heudelet’s infantry passed upon the following morning, sending the unfortunate Portuguese flying in every direction and capturing the three guns which formed their sole artillery. On the tenth the frontier fortress of Valenza was reached: it was found to be in a dilapidated condition, and garrisoned by only 200 men, who surrendered at the first summons. Tuy, where General Lamartinière had been shut up for the last seven weeks, faces Valenza across the broad estuary of the Minho, so that Heudelet was now in full communication with it.

Lamartinière, as it will be remembered[313], had been left behind,[p. 263] with Soult’s heavy artillery, wheeled transport, and sick, when the 2nd Corps marched for Orense on February 16. He had gathered in several belated detachments which had started from Santiago in the hope of joining the rear of the marching column, so that he had the respectable force of 3,300 men, though 1,200 of them were invalids or convalescents. The walls of Tuy were in a bad state of repair, but the governor had found no great difficulty in maintaining himself against the Galician insurgents on his own side of the Minho, and the Portuguese levies from the other bank which Botilho sent to the aid of the Spaniards. But he had been completely shut in since Soult’s departure, and could give no information concerning Ney’s operations in northern Galicia, or the general progress of the war in the other parts of Spain. The only news which he could supply was that Vigo, the next French garrison, had fallen into the hands of the enemy. On his way to Portugal Soult had dropped a force of 700 men at that fortress, lest its excellent harbour should be utilized by the British for throwing in supplies to the Galician insurgents. The paymaster-general of the 2nd Corps, with his treasure and its escort, had lagged behind during the Marshal’s advance, and, being beset by the peasantry, had entered Vigo instead of pushing on to Tuy.

When Soult had passed out of sight on the way to Orense, the Galicians of the coast-land, headed by Pablo Morillo, a lieutenant of the regular army whom La Romana had sent down from the interior, and by Manuel Garcia Del Barrio[314], a colonel dispatched by the Central Junta from Seville, had taken arms in great numbers, and blockaded Vigo. The French commander, Colonel Chalot, found himself unable to defend the whole extent of the fortifications for sheer want of men, and could not prevent the insurgents from establishing themselves close under the walls and keeping up a continual fire upon the garrison. He believed that a serious assault would infallibly succeed, and only refused to surrender because he was ashamed to yield to peasants. On March 23 two English frigates, the Lively and Venus, appeared off the harbour mouth, and began to supply the insurgents with ammunition, and to land heavy[p. 264] naval guns for their use. On the twenty-seventh one of the gates was battered in, and the Galicians were preparing to storm the place, when Chalot surrendered at discretion, only stipulating that he and his men should be handed over to the British, and not to the Spaniards. This request was granted, and Captain Mackinley received twenty-three officers and nearly 800 men as prisoners, besides a number of sick and several hundred non-combatants belonging to the train, and camp-followers. The plunder taken consisted of sixty wagons, 339 horses, and more than ￡6,000 in hard cash, composing the military chest of the 2nd Corps [March 28].

The Galicians had somewhat relaxed the blockade of Tuy in order to press that of Vigo, and on the very day when Chalot surrendered, General Lamartinière had sent out a flying column to endeavour to communicate with his colleague. It returned pursued by the Spaniards, to report to the governor that Vigo had fallen[315]. On its way back to Tuy it suffered a loss of seventy prisoners and nearly 200 killed and wounded.

Heudelet and Lamartinière had now some 7,000 men collected at Tuy, a force with which they could easily have routed the whole of the insurgents of the Minho, and forced them to retire into the mountains. But Soult’s orders to his lieutenants were to avoid operations in Galicia, and to concentrate towards Portugal. Tuy was evacuated, and its garrison transferred across the frontier-river to the Portuguese fortress of Valenza. Before the transference was completed, the French generals received an unexpected visit from some troops of the 6th Corps. Ney, disquieted as to the condition of Tuy and Vigo, had sent a brigade under Maucune to seek for news of their garrisons. This force, cutting its way through the insurgents, came into[p. 265] Tuy on April 12. Thus Heudelet was at last able to get news of the operations of Ney. The information received was not encouraging: the Duke of Elchingen was beset by the Galicians on every side: La Romana had cut off one of his outlying garrisons, that of Villafranca, and his communications with Leon were so completely cut off that he had no reports to give as to the progress of affairs in the rest of Spain. Finding that Vigo was lost, and the garrison of Tuy relieved, Maucune retraced his steps and returned to Santiago, harassed for the whole of his march by the insurgents of the coast-land.

Meanwhile Heudelet’s communication with Oporto had been interrupted, for the Portuguese, routed on the Lima a week before, had come back to their old haunts, seized Braga, and blocked the high-road and the bridges. Soult only got into touch with his expeditionary force by sending out Lahoussaye with 3,000 men to reopen the road to the North. When this was done, he bade Heudelet evacuate Valenza (whose fortifications turned out to be in too bad order to be repaired in any reasonable space of time), and to disperse his division in garrisons for Braga, Viana, and Barcelos. The whole of the convoy and the sick from Tuy were sent up to Oporto.

The net result of Heudelet’s operations was that the Marshal, at the cost of immobilizing one of his four infantry divisions, obtained a somewhat precarious hold upon the flat country of Entre-Douro-e-Minho. The towns were in his hands, but the Ordenanza had only retired to the hills, and perpetually descended to worry Heudelet’s detachments, and to murder couriers and foraging parties. Meanwhile 4,000 men were wasted for all purposes of offensive action. Vigo, Tuy, and Valenza had all been abandoned, and touch with the army of Galicia had been completely lost.

Even this modest amount of success had been denied to Soult’s second expedition, that which he had sent under Loison towards the Tras-os-Montes. The enemy with whom the French had to deal in this region was Silveira, the same officer who had been defeated between Monterey and Chaves in the early days of March, when the 2nd Corps crossed the Portuguese frontier. He had fled with the wrecks of his force towards Villa Real, at the moment when Soult marched on Braga, and[p. 266] the Marshal had fondly hoped that he was now a negligible quantity in the campaign. This was far from being the case: the moment that Silveira heard that the French had crossed the mountains and marched on Braga, he had rallied his two regular regiments and his masses of Ordenanza, and pounced down on the detachment under Commandant Messager, which Soult had left in garrison at Chaves. This, it will be remembered, consisted of no more than a company of infantry, a quantity of convalescents and stragglers, and the untrustworthy Spanish-Portuguese ‘legion,’ which had been formed out of the prisoners captured on March 6 and 12[316]. On the very day upon which Soult was routing Eben in front of Braga, Silveira appeared before the walls of Chaves with 6,000 men. Messager retired into the citadel, abandoning on the outer walls of the town a few guns, which the Portuguese were thus enabled to turn against the inner defences. After a siege of five days and much ineffective cannonading, the governor surrendered, mainly because the native ‘legion’ was preparing to open the gates to Silveira. Twelve hundred men were captured, of whom only one-third were Frenchmen capable of bearing arms, the rest being sick or ‘legionaries.’

Having made this successful stroke, Silveira marched down the Tamega to Amarante, making a movement parallel to Soult’s advance on Oporto. His recapture of Chaves brought several thousands more of Ordenanza to his standard, and at Amarante he was joined on the thirtieth by many of the fugitives who had escaped from the sack of Oporto on the previous day. He spread his army, now amounting to 9,000 or 10,000 men, along the left bank of the Tamega, whose bridges and fords he protected with entrenchments. Advanced[p. 267] guards were pushed out on the further side of the river on the three roads which lead to Oporto.

When, therefore, the troops under Loison, which Soult had sent out towards the Tras-os-Montes, drew near the Tamega, they found the Portuguese in force. The cavalry could get no further forward than Penafiel; when Foy’s infantry came up (April 7) Loison tried to force the enemy back, both on the Amarante and on the Canavezes road. He failed at each point, and sent back to the Marshal to ask for reinforcements. Seeing him halt, Silveira, whose fault was not a want of initiative, actually crossed the river with his whole army, and fell upon the two French brigades. He was checked, but not badly beaten, and Loison remained on the defensive (April 12).

At this moment Soult heard of the fall of Chaves, full seventeen days after it had happened. Realizing that Silveira was now growing formidable, he sent to Loison’s aid General Delaborde with the second of his infantry brigades, and Lorges’ dragoons. These reinforcements brought the troops facing Silveira up to a total of some 6,500 men—nearly a third of Soult’s whole disposable force. As Heudelet was still absent on the Minho with 4,000 men more, the Marshal had less than 10,000 left in and about Oporto. It was clear that the grand march on Lisbon was not likely to begin for many a long day.

On April 18 Loison advanced against Silveira, who boldly but unwisely offered him battle on the heights of Villamea in front of Amarante. Considering that he had but 2,000 regulars and 7,000 or 8,000 half-armed militia and Ordenanza, his conduct can only be described as rash in the extreme. He was, of course, beaten with great loss, and hustled back into the town of Amarante. He would have lost both it and its bridge, but for the gallantry of Colonel Patrick, an English officer commanding a battalion of the 12th of the line, who rallied his regiment in the streets, seized a group of houses and a convent at the bridge-head and beat off the pursuers[317]. Patrick was mortally wounded, but the passage of the river was prevented. This saved the situation: Silveira got his men together, planted[p. 268] his artillery so as to command the bridge, and took post in entrenchments already constructed on the commanding heights on the left bank. Next day Loison stormed the buildings at the bridge-head, but found that he could get no further forward. The town was his, but he could not debouch from it, as the bridge was palisaded, built up with a barricade of masonry and raked by the Portuguese artillery. Soult now sent up to aid Loison still further reinforcements, Sarrut’s brigade of infantry from Merle’s division and the second brigade of Lahoussaye’s dragoons. Thus no less than 9,000 French troops, nearly half the army of Portugal, were concentrated at Amarante.

The fact that twelve whole days elapsed between the arrival of these last succours and the forcing of the passage of the Tamega had no small influence on the fate of Soult’s campaign. Hitherto the initiative had lain with him, and he had faced adversaries who could only take the defensive. This period was nearly at an end, for on April 22 Wellesley had landed at Lisbon, the English reinforcements had begun to arrive, and an army, differing in every quality from the hordes which the Marshal had encountered north of the Douro, was about to assume the offensive against him. By the time that Loison at last forced the bridge of Amarante, the British were already on the march for Coimbra and Oporto.

Silveira and his motley host, therefore, were doing admirable service to the cause of their country when they occupied 9,000 out of Soult’s 21,000 men from April 20 to May 2 on the banks of the Tamega. The ground was in their favour, but far stronger positions had been forced ere now, and it was fortunate that this one was maintained for so many days. The town of Amarante, it must be remembered, lies on comparatively low ground: its bridge is completely commanded by the heights on which Silveira had planted his camp and his batteries. The river flows in a deep-sunk ravine, and was at this moment swollen into an impassable torrent by the melting of the mountain snows. Loison more than once sent swimmers by night, in search of places where the strength of the current might be sufficiently moderate to allow of an attempt to pass on rafts or boats. Not one of these explorers could get near the further[p. 269] bank: they were swept off by the rushing water and cast ashore far down stream, on the same side from which they had started. There had been bridges above Amarante at Mondim and Aroza, and below it at Canavezes, but reconnaissances showed that they had all three been blown up, and that Portuguese detachments were watching their ruins, to prevent any attempt to reconstruct them. Loison found, therefore, that he could not turn Silveira’s position by a flanking movement: there was nothing to do save to wait till the river should fall, or to attempt to force the bridge of Amarante at all costs. Continual rains made it hopeless to expect the subsidence of the Tamega for many days, wherefore Loison devoted all his energies to the task of capturing the bridge. Even here there was one difficulty to be faced which might prove fatal: the French engineers had discovered that the structure was mined. It was necessary, therefore, not only to drive back the Portuguese, but to prevent them from blowing up the bridge at the moment of their retreat.

Loison had entrusted the details of the attack on the bridge to Delaborde, whose infantry held the advanced posts. That officer first tried to approach the head of the bridge by means of a flying sap; but when it had advanced a certain distance the fire of the Portuguese from across the river became so deadly, that after many men had been killed in the endeavour to work up to the palisades on the bridge, the attempt had to be abandoned. The next device recommended by the engineers was that an attempt should be made to lay a trestle bridge at a spot some way below the town, where a mill-dam contracted the width of the angry river. This was found to be impossible, the stream proving to be far deeper than had been supposed, while the Portuguese from the left bank picked off many of the workmen [April 25].

Soult was now growing vexed at the delay, and sent two guns of position from Oporto to Loison, to enable him to subdue the fire of the enemy’s batteries. He also offered to call up Heudelet’s division from Braga, even at the cost of abandoning his hold on the northern part of the province of Entre-Douro-e-Minho. But a mere increase of his already considerable force would have been of no service to Loison; it was a device for passing the Tamega that he needed.

[p. 270]

Such a scheme was at last laid before him by Captain Bouchard, one of his engineers[318]. The French officers had discovered, by a careful use of their glasses, that the Portuguese mine, which was to destroy the bridge, was situated in its left-hand arch, and that the mechanism by which it was to be worked was not a ‘sausage’ or a train of powder[319], but a loaded musket, whose muzzle was placed in the mine, while to its trigger was attached a cord which ran to the nearest trenches beyond the river. The musket was concealed in a box, but its cord was visible to those provided with a good telescope. Bouchard argued that if the cord could be cut or broken, the enemy would not be able to touch off the mine, and he had thought out a plan for securing his end. He maintained that an explosion at the French side of the bridge would probably sever the cord without firing the mine, and that a sudden assault, made immediately after the explosion, and before the Portuguese could recover themselves, might carry the barricades. In spite of the strongly-expressed doubts of Foy and several other generals, Bouchard was finally permitted to carry out his scheme.

He executed it on the night of May 2, when a dense fog chanced to favour his daring and hazardous proceedings. Having first told off some tirailleurs to keep up a smart fire on the enemy’s trenches and distract his attention, he sent four sappers, each provided with a small powder-barrel, on to the bridge. The men, dressed in their grey capotes, crawled on hands and knees, each rolling his barrel (which was wrapped in cloth to deaden the sound) before him. They kept in the shadow, and getting close under the parapet of the bridge crept on till they reached the outermost Portuguese palisade. One after another, at long intervals, each got forward unobserved, left his barrel behind, and crawled back. The fourth sapper, starting to his feet on his return journey, was observed by the Portuguese and shot down, but Silveira’s men did not realize what he had been doing, and merely took him for some daring explorer who was[p. 271] endeavouring to spy out the state of the defences. After waiting for an hour, Bouchard sent out a fifth sapper, who dragged behind him a ‘sausage’ of powder thirty yards long, which he successfully connected with the four barrels. All was now ready, and a battalion of picked grenadiers from Delaborde’s division, filed silently down into the street near the bridge-head: a whole brigade came behind them.

At two o’clock Bouchard fired his sausage, and the explosion followed. There were two chances of failure—one that the apparatus for firing the mine might not be disturbed by the concussion, the other that the shock might prove too strong, reach the mine, and destroy the bridge. Neither of these fatalities took place: the explosion duly broke the cord, shattered the nearest palisades, but did not affect the mine. Before the smoke had cleared away Delaborde’s grenadiers had dashed out on to the bridge, scrambled over the barricades, and driven off the guard on the further side. Regiment after regiment followed them, and charged up the mountain-side towards Silveira’s batteries and entrenchments. None of the Portuguese were under arms, save the few companies guarding the debouches from the bridge. These were swept away, and the French columns came storming into the bivouacs of the enemy before he was well awake. Hardly half a dozen cannon shots were fired on them from the batteries, and the greater part of the army of the Tras-os-Montes fled without firing a shot. Silveira escaped almost naked by the back window of the house above the bridge in which he had been sleeping.

All the ten guns in the Portuguese batteries, five standards, and several hundred prisoners fell into the hands of the victorious French, who lost (it is said) no more than two killed and seven wounded. Their good fortune had been extraordinary: without the opportune fog which hid their advance, their preliminary operations would probably have been discovered. If their explosion had done a little more or a little less than was hoped, the bridge might have been totally destroyed, or its barricades left practically uninjured—either of which chances would have foiled Bouchard’s plan. But the luck of the army of Portugal was still in the ascendant, and all went exactly as had been intended.

[p. 272]

Thus the Tamega was passed, and Silveira decisively beaten: his levies had fled in all directions, and Soult opined that it would take a long time to rally them. The day after the fight Loison was joined at Amarante by Heudelet’s division from Braga, which, in obedience to the Marshal’s orders, had marched to join the expeditionary force, leaving only a single battalion behind to hold Viana. This was an unfortunate move, as on Heudelet’s departure the Ordenanza came down from the Serra de Santa Catalina, and overran the district which had been evacuated, in spite of Lorges’ dragoons, who had been directed to keep the roads clear after the infantry had been withdrawn.

Meanwhile there were far more troops at Amarante than were needed for the pursuit of Silveira, so Soult called back to Oporto the division of Delaborde, leaving to Loison the infantry of Heudelet and Sarrut, with Lahoussaye’s two brigades of dragoons, a force of about 7,000 men. He ordered his lieutenant to scour the country as far as Villa Real, and to send reconnaissances on the roads toward Chaves and Braganza, with the object of frightening the insurgents to retreat as far as possible. But Loison was not to advance for more than two days’ march into the Tras-os-Montes, for rumours were beginning to arrive concerning the appearance of British troops in the direction of Coimbra, and the Marshal wished to keep his various divisions close enough to each other to enable them to concentrate with ease. If there were any truth in the news from the south, it would be dangerous to allow a force which formed a third of the whole army of Portugal to go astray in the heart of the mountains beyond the Tamega. Loison accordingly marched off on May 8 towards Villa Real, which he occupied without meeting with resistance. He learnt that Silveira and his regulars had crossed the Douro, and gone off in the direction of Lamego; but Botilho had fled up the Tamega towards Chaves, and the Ordenanza were lurking in the hills. He then returned to Amarante, where we may leave him, at the end of his tether, while we describe the state of affairs in Oporto.
SECTION XIII: CHAPTER VI
INTRIGUES AT OPORTO: THE CONSPIRACY OF ARGENTON

It will have occurred to every student of the operations of the army of Portugal during the month of April, that it was strange that Marshal Soult should have remained quiescent at Oporto, while the fate of his entire campaign was at stake during the fighting on the Tamega. His head quarters were only thirty miles from Amarante—but one day’s ride for himself and his staff—yet he never paid a single flying visit to the scene of operations, even after he had come to the conclusion that Loison was mismanaging the whole business. He sent his lieutenant many letters of reproach, forwarded to him guns of position, and ample reinforcements, but never came himself to the spot to urge on the advance, even when ten and twelve days had elapsed since the first unsuccessful attempts to force the passage of the Tamega.

The explanation of this persistent refusal of the Marshal to quit Oporto is to be found in the political not the military state of affairs. At Chaves he had proclaimed himself Viceroy of Portugal: his viceroyalty at that moment embraced only just so much soil as was covered by the encampments of his battalions. But after the capture of Oporto and the occupation of the neighbouring towns of the Entre-Douro-e-Minho, his position assumed an air of reality, and he himself allowed the duties of the viceroy to trespass on those of the commander of the Second Corps d’Armée. Nay more, there is good reason to believe that he was not merely dreaming of setting up a stable government in northern Portugal, but of something else. The evidence as to his intentions is hard to weigh, for most of it comes from the letters and diaries of men who disliked him, but there are certain facts which cannot be disguised, and the inference from them is irresistible.

[p. 274]

With the example of Murat’s exaltation before them, the more ambitious and capable of Napoleon’s marshals could not refrain from dreaming of crowns and sceptres. Nothing seemed impossible in those astounding days, when the Emperor was creating sovereigns and realms by a stroke of the pen, whenever the notion seized him. The line between an appanaged duke and a vassal prince was a very thin one—as the case of Berthier shows. Junot had dreamed of royalty at Lisbon in 1808, and there seems little doubt that the same mirage of a crown floated before Soult’s eyes at Oporto in 1809. The city itself suggested the idea: in the Treaty of Fontainebleau Napoleon had put on paper the project for creating a ‘king of Northern Lusitania,’ with Oporto as his capital and the Entre-Douro-e-Minho as his realm. Soult was cautious and wary, but he was also greedy and ambitious. If, on the one hand, he had a wholesome fear of his master, he had on the other good reasons for believing that it might be possible to force his hand by presenting him with a fait accompli.

There was in the city the nucleus of a party which was not wholly indisposed to submit to the French domination. It was mainly composed of those enemies of the Bishop of Oporto who had been suffering from his anarchical rule of the last two months. They were the friends and relatives of those who had perished by the dagger or the rope, during the mob-law which had prevailed ever since Dom Antonio returned from Lisbon. To these may be added some men of purely material interests, who saw that the insurrection was ruining them, and a remnant of the old corrupt bureaucracy which had submitted once before to Junot—whose only thought was to keep or gain profitable posts under the government of the day, whatever that government might be. The whole body of dissidents from the cause of patriotism and independence was so small and weak, that it is impossible to believe that they would have taken any overt action if they had not received encouragement from Soult.

This much is certain—that when the disorders which accompanied the capture of Oporto were ended, Soult showed himself most anxious to conciliate the Portuguese, not only by introducing a regular and orderly government, but by going out of his way to soothe and flatter any notable who lingered in the city. In[p. 275] his anxiety to win over the clergy he caused new silver vessels and candelabra to be made to replace those which had been stolen from the churches in the sack[320]. He filled up all civil appointments, whose holders had fled, from the small number of persons who were ready to adhere to the French. He again, as already at Chaves, endeavoured to enlist a native military force, by putting tempting offers before those officers of the regular army who had been made prisoners. All this might have had no other cause than the wish to build up a party of Afrancesados, such as already existed in Spain, and Soult openly declared that such was his object[321]. This was the only purpose that he avowed in his dispatches to the Emperor, and in his communications with his colleagues.

But if the Marshal had no ulterior object in view, it is singular that all his native partisans concurred in setting on foot a movement for getting him saluted as king of northern Portugal. The new municipal authorities, whom he had established in the half-deserted towns occupied by his troops, sent in petitions begging him to assume the position of sovereign. Documents of this kind came in from Braga, Barcelos, Guimaraens, Feira, Oliveira and Villa de Conde. In Oporto proclamations were posted on the walls declaring that ‘the Prince Regent by his departure to Brazil had formally resigned his crown, and that the only salvation for Portugal would be that the Duke of Dalmatia, the most distinguished of the pupils of the great Napoleon, should ascend the vacant throne[322].’ A priest named Veloso and other persons went about in the street delivering harangues in favour of the creation of the ‘kingdom of Northern Lusitania.’ A register was opened in the municipal buildings[p. 276] to be signed by all persons who wished to join in the petition to the Marshal to assume the regal title, and a certain number of signatures were collected. A newspaper, called the Diario do Porto, was started, to support the movement, and ran for about a month. It is said that Soult’s partisans even succeeded in gathering small crowds together, before the mansion where his head quarters were established, to shout Viva o Rei Nicolao! and that the acclamations were acknowledged by showers of copper coins thrown from the windows[323]. The latter part of this story is no doubt an invention of Soult’s enemies, but it was believed at the time by the majority of the French officers, and ‘Le Roi Nicolas’ was for the future his nickname in the army of Portugal[324]. On April 19 the Marshal ordered his chief of the staff, General Ricard, to issue a circular letter to the generals of divisions and brigades[325], inviting their co-operation in the movement, and assuring them that no disloyalty to the Emperor would be involved even if the Marshal assumed regal powers[326]. This document is the most convincing piece of evidence that exists as to Soult’s intentions. In it there is no attempt made to conceal the movement that had been set on foot: the writer’s only preoccupation is to show that it was not directed against Napoleon. When, five months later, Ricard’s circular came under the Emperor’s eye, it roused his wrath to such a pitch that he wrote in the most stinging and sarcastic terms to Soult. ‘He is astounded,’ he says, ‘to find the chief of the staff suggesting to the generals that the Marshal should be requested to take up the reins of government, and assume the attributes of supreme authority. If he had assumed[p. 277] sovereign power on his own responsibility, it would have been a crime, clear lèse-majesté, an attack on the imperial authority. How could a man of sense, like Soult, suppose that his master would permit him to exercise any power that had not been delegated to him? No wonder that the army grew discontented, and that rumours got about that the Marshal was working for himself, not for the Emperor or France. After receiving this circular, it is doubtful whether any French officer would not have been fully justified in refusing to obey any further orders issued from Oporto[327].’

This was written from Vienna, before the Emperor had received any full and exact account of the details of Soult’s intrigues. Had he but known them all, it is doubtful if he would have granted his lieutenant the complete pardon and restoration to favour with which his dispatch concludes[328].

There can be no doubt that the Duke of Dalmatia might have put a stop to all the activity of his Portuguese friends by merely raising his hand. It would have sufficed for him to assure the deputations which visited him that his duty as the lieutenant of the Emperor forbade him to listen to their proposals. He[p. 278] could have caused the proclamations to be torn down, and have silenced the street orators. ‘They could not have made him king against his own will,’ as one of his officers remarked[329]. But no action of the kind was taken; and the movement was openly encouraged. The Marshal’s explanation, that he was only taking the best means in his power to build up a French party in Oporto, will not stand examination. Why should the scheme involve his own promotion to the throne, if his views were disinterested, and his actions merely intended to serve his master’s ends? Is it conceivable that the Portuguese should, of their own accord, and without any suggestion from without, have hit upon the idea of crowning a conqueror whose very name was strange to them three weeks before, and whose hands were red with the blood of thousands of their fellow countrymen? Clever and cautious though the Marshal was, it is impossible to avoid the conclusion that he had for once allowed his ambition to take the bit between its teeth, and to whirl him off into an enterprise that was worthy of the most hair-brained of adventurers.

Meanwhile the consequences of his intrigue were strange and various. The army received the news of what was going on at Oporto with puzzled surprise. Of those who were not present at the centre of affairs, some refused to believe the stories that reached them, and merely observed that the Marshal was not such a fool as to take in hand a plan that was both treasonable to his master and preposterous in itself[330]. Others, particularly his personal enemies, not only credited the information but began to concert measures for resisting him if he should try to carry out his scheme. This party was very strong among the officers of Junot’s old army of Portugal, who had been transferred in large numbers to the 2nd Corps. They disliked the expedition, had been prophesying disaster from the first, and had criticized every move of the Marshal. Now they found in the news of his intrigue another excuse[p. 279] for running counter to his orders. There is good reason for believing that Loison and Delaborde had actually conferred on the necessity for seizing and imprisoning the Marshal if he should take the final step and allow himself to be proclaimed king. Both these generals were faithful adherents of Napoleon, and had no thought save that of serving their master. But there were other officers who watched the progress of affairs with very different eyes.

There had existed in the French army from the day when the empire was first proclaimed, a party of malcontents who still regarded Bonaparte as a usurper, and were only biding their time till it might be safe to deal a blow at him. Hitherto his career had been so uniformly successful that no opportunity had arisen. But secret societies, of which the Philadelphes was the best known, were at work all through the years of the Emperor’s reign: their one object was to be ready for a coup d’état when the favourable moment should arrive. The history of these associations is so obscure that it is impossible to estimate their strength at any given time—no trustworthy historian ever arose from their ranks to tell the story of their schemes, when lips were unsealed by the fall of Napoleon[331]. It is only by the sudden appearance of phenomena like Malet’s conspiracy of 1812, and the plot which we are now about to describe, that the reality of the existence of these secret societies is proved.

In the army of Portugal there was a group of officers who belonged to the band of the discontented, and were perfectly prepared to execute a pronunciamiento against the empire if the times and circumstances proved propitious. We know the names of four[332]: Donadieu, colonel of the 47th of the line; Lafitte, colonel of the 18th Dragoons; his brother, a captain in the same regiment, who was serving on Soult’s staff; and Argenton, another captain, who was adjutant of Lafitte’s regiment; two other plotters are hidden under the assumed names of ‘Dupont’ and ‘Garis,’ by which they were introduced to Wellesley.[p. 280] There were certainly other officers implicated, for it is inconceivable that six men could have planned an insurrection unless they were sure of a certain measure of support. At this moment they were carrying on an active propaganda of discontent, especially among the officers of Delaborde’s division and of Lahoussaye’s dragoons. There were many men who saw the full iniquity of the Spanish War, and were disgusted at finding themselves involved in it[333]. Others loathed the hanging and burning, the shooting of priests and women, the riding down of half-armed peasants, which had been their lot for the last two months. Still more were simply discontented at being lost in a remote corner of Europe, where glory and profit were both absent, and where ignominious death at the hands of the lurking ‘sniper’ or the midnight assassin came all too frequently—sometimes death accompanied by torture. It was three months since the army had received a mail from France; they might as well have been in Egypt or America, and they felt themselves forgotten by their master. In many a mind the question arose whether the game was worth playing: must they for ever persist in this wretched interminable campaign, in order that the Duke of Dalmatia might become a king, or even in order that the Emperor might be able to apply the Continental System in its full rigour to this land of brutish peasants and fanatical monks? A speedy return to France seemed the one thing desirable.

It is easy to understand that the conspirators found many sympathizers, so long as they confined themselves to setting forth the miseries of the campaign, and to criticizing the Marshal and the Emperor. But they erred when they took a general readiness to grumble for a sign that the army was ripe for revolt. However discontented the officers might be, there were very few of them who were prepared to engage in the game of high treason. The vast majority were still unable to dissociate the idea of the Emperor from the idea of France.[p. 281] It was only a few who could rise (or sink) to the conception of turning their arms against Bonaparte in order to free France from autocracy. This bore too close a resemblance to treachery to be palatable to men of honour. None save exalted Jacobins, or men of overweening ambition and few scruples, could contemplate the idea with patience. When we find that the plans of the conspirators included not merely a pronunciamiento, but the conclusion of a secret pact with the enemies in arms against them, we are driven to conclude that they belonged to the last-named of these classes—that their heads were turned with the grandiose notion of getting an army into their power and changing the fate of Europe.

The conspirators, observing the course of affairs at Oporto, were fully convinced that Soult would within a few days declare himself ‘King of Northern Lusitania.’ This act would produce an outburst of wrath in the army, and they hoped to turn the inevitable mutiny to their own profit. They intended to seize the Marshal, and then to make an appeal to the soldiery, not in the name of Napoleon but in that of France. They were also prepared to lay hands on any general who might attempt to assume command of the troops in the Emperor’s interest[334]. Donadieu and Lafitte had secured some of the officers of their own regiments, and believed that the men would follow them. The other corps, as they hoped, would be drawn away after them, and the cry of liberty and the promise of an instant return to France would lure the whole army into rebellion. So far the plot, though rash and hazardous, might conceivably have been carried out. But their next step was to be the issue of an appeal to Ney’s divisions and the other French troops in northern Spain to join them, and march upon the Pyrenees. Even though there were members of the secret societies scattered all through the army, it seems absolutely impossible to believe[p. 282] that they could have carried away with them into open revolt the whole of their companions. The movement of protest against Napoleon would have begun and ended with the 2nd Corps, if even it got so far as the initial pronunciamiento[335]. To be effective it would have required a strong backing in France, and the list of the leaders in that country, on whom the conspirators said that they relied for aid, does not give us a high opinion of the strength and organization of the plot. The persons named were the old Jacobin general Lecourbe, Macdonald who—though they did not know it—had just been taken back into favour by the Emperor, and Dupont, who was in prison and incapable for the moment of helping himself or any one else[336]. They also spoke of sending for Moreau from America, and placing him at the head of the whole movement. But it is clear that they were not in actual communication with the generals in France, much less with the exiled victor of Hohenlinden. The whole plan was ill-considered; it was the result of the intense irritation against Soult and Bonaparte felt by the officers of the army of Portugal, acting upon the disordered ambition of a knot of intriguers. Anger and vain self-confidence blinded them to the inadequacy of their resources.

It was a main condition of the projected outbreak that Soult’s position should be made impossible: the most favourable course of events, so the conspirators held, would be that he should persist in his monarchical ambitions and proclaim himself king. When he did so, the party loyal to Bonaparte among his officers would make an attempt—successful or unsuccessful—to seize his person. Chaos and civil strife within the army would result, and it was then that the conspirators intended to show their hand. It would seem that their Machiavellian foresight[p. 283] went so far that they proposed to wait till the Marshal should be imprisoned, or should find himself involved in hostilities with the Bonapartists, and then offer him the aid of their regiments, on condition that he should put himself at the head of the anti-imperialist movement. All this was too ingenious for practical work. But the next development of the plot was even more astonishing in its futile cunning.

The conspirators wished to draw the English commander at Lisbon into their scheme—it was Cradock whom they had in view, for Wellesley was in England when the plot began, and when it developed he had landed indeed, but his arrival was not known. The part which they had allotted to Cradock was twofold—he was to be asked to send secret advice to the Portuguese notables of the north, ordering them to feign an enthusiastic approval of Soult’s designs on the crown, and to join with all possible clamour in the demonstrations at Oporto. When this unexpected outburst of devotion to his person should be forthcoming, they supposed that the Marshal would not hesitate any longer to assume the crown. Then would follow civil strife and the desired opportunity for intervention by the conspirators. The second request which they intended to make was that Cradock should bring up the British army to the front, and place it so as to make it dangerous or impossible for Soult to force his way out of Portugal in the direction of the middle Douro and Salamanca. They suggested Villa Real in the Tras-os-Montes as a suitable position for him. Their idea in making this proposal was that the army would be filled with despair at seeing its best line of retreat cut off (that by Galicia was growing to be considered impossible), and would therefore be more incensed against Soult, and at the same time more inclined to secure safety by coming to a pact and agreement with the enemy[337].

[p. 284]

The officer who volunteered for the dangerous task of going within the English lines was Captain Argenton, the adjutant of Lafitte’s regiment of dragoons. He was a vain, ready, plausible man, full of resources but destitute of firmness: his character is sufficiently shown by the fact that he ultimately wrecked the plot by his indiscretion in tampering with loyal Bonapartists, who delated him, and that when seized he betrayed the whole scheme to Soult in the hope of saving his life. Clearly he was deficient both in the caution and in the stoic courage required for a conspirator—successful or unsuccessful.

We must note that he started from the camp of Lahoussaye’s dragoons, near Amarante, on April 19, that he reached the French outposts on the Vouga and got into communication with Major Douglas, one of Beresford’s officers in the Portuguese service, on the twenty-first, finally, that at the invitation of Douglas and Beresford he came into Lisbon and reached that city on the twenty-fifth, just in time to meet the newly-landed Wellesley. The plot meanwhile stood still in his absence, for the Duke of Dalmatia did not take the overt step which would have given the plotters their opportunity—he refrained from accepting the crown which his Portuguese partisans were so continually pressing him to assume. Nothing decisive had occurred, when the situation was suddenly changed by the appearance of the British army upon the offensive on May 7[338].

[p. 285]

N.B.—For some documents bearing on Argenton’s conspiracy see Appendix at the end of this volume.
SECTION XIV  WELLESLEY’S CAMPAIGN IN NORTHERN PORTUGAL (MAY 1809) CHAPTER I
SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY

On Nov. 25, 1808, Sir John Moore, in answer to a question from Lord Castlereagh, wrote the following conclusions as to the practicability of defending Portugal[339]:

‘I can say generally that the frontier of Portugal is not defensible against a superior force. It is an open frontier, all equally rugged, but all equally to be penetrated. If the French succeed in Spain it will be vain to attempt to resist them in Portugal. The Portuguese are without a military force ... no dependence can be placed on any aid that they can give. The British must in that event, I conceive, immediately take steps to evacuate the country. Lisbon is the only port, and therefore the only place from whence the army, with its stores, can embark.... We might check the progress of the enemy while the stores are embarking, and arrangements are being made for taking off the army. Beyond this the defence of Lisbon or of Portugal should not be thought of.’

Four months later, on March 7, 1809, Sir Arthur Wellesley answered the same question, put to him by the same minister, in very different terms.

[p. 287]

‘I have always been of opinion that Portugal might be defended, whatever might be the result of the contest in Spain, and that in the meantime measures adopted for the defence of Portugal would be highly useful to the Spaniards in their contest with the French. My notion was that the Portuguese military establishment ought to be revived, and that in addition to those troops His Majesty ought to employ about 20,000 British troops, including about 4,000 cavalry. My opinion was that, even if Spain should have been conquered, the French would not be able to overrun Portugal with a smaller force than 100,000 men. As long as the contest may continue in Spain, this force [the 20,000 British troops], if it could be placed in a state of activity, would be highly useful to the Spaniards, and might eventually decide the contest.’

Between these two divergent views as to the practicability of defending Portugal, Lord Castlereagh had to make his decision. On it—though he could not be aware of the fact—depended the future of Britain and of Bonaparte. He carefully considered the situation; after the disasters of the Corunna retreat it required some moral courage for a minister to advise the sending of another British army to the Peninsula. Moore’s gloomy prognostications were echoed by many military experts, and there were leading men—soldiers and politicians—who declared that the only thing that now remained to be done was to withdraw Cradock’s 10,000 sabres and bayonets from Lisbon, before the French came near enough to that city to make their embarkation difficult.

Castlereagh resolved to stake his faith on the correctness of Wellesley’s conclusions: all through these years of contest he had made him his most trusted adviser on things military, and now he did not swerve from his confidence. He announced to him, privately in the end of March, and officially on April 2[340], that the experiment of a second expedition to Portugal should[p. 288] be tried, and that he himself should have the conduct of it. Reinforcements should at once be sent out to bring the British army at Lisbon up to a total of 30,000 men—the number to which Wellesley, on consideration, raised the original 20,000 of which he had spoken. Beresford had already sailed, with orders to do all that he could for the reorganization of the disorderly native forces of Portugal. The few regiments in England that were ready for instant embarkation were sent off ere March ended, and began to arrive at Lisbon early in April[341]. Others were rapidly prepared for foreign service; but it was a misfortune that the Corunna battalions were still too sickly and depleted to be able to sail, so that troops who had seen nothing of the first campaign had to be sent out. The majority of them were ‘second battalions’ from the home establishment[342], many of them very weak in numbers and full of young soldiers, as they had been drained in the previous year to fill their first battalions up to full strength. Finally, just behind the first convoys of reinforcements, Wellesley himself set sail from Portsmouth, after resigning his position as Under Secretary for Ireland, which, by a curious anomaly, he had continued to hold all through the campaign of Vimiero, and the proceedings of inquiry concerning the Convention of Cintra. He sailed upon April 14, in the Surveillante frigate, had the narrowest of escapes from shipwreck on the Isle of Wight during the first night of his voyage, but soon obtained favourable winds and reached Lisbon on the twenty-second, after a rapid passage of less than eight days. Just before he started there had been received from Portugal not only the correct intelligence that Soult had stormed Oporto upon March 29, but a false rumour that Victor had been joined by the corps of Sebastiani[343] and[p. 289] had after his victory at Medellin laid siege to Badajoz[344]. If this had been true, the Duke of Belluno would have been strong enough to move against Portugal with 25,000 men, after detaching a competent force to watch the wrecks of Cuesta’s army. Fortunately the whole story was an invention: but it kept Wellesley in a state of feverish anxiety till he reached Lisbon. His fears are shown by the fact that he drew up a memorandum for Lord Castlereagh, setting forth the supposed situation, and asking what he was to do on arriving, if he should find that Cradock had already embarked his troops and quitted Portugal[345]. The Secretary of State, equally harrassed by the false intelligence, replied that he was to make an effort to induce the Spaniards to let him land the army at Cadiz, and, if they should refuse, might reinforce the garrison of Gibraltar to 8,000 men, and bring the rest of the expeditionary force back to England[346].

It was therefore an immense relief to Wellesley to find, when he landed, that the news from Estremadura was false, that Victor had not been reinforced, and that the 1st Corps was lying quiescent at Merida. Soult was still at Oporto, Cradock had not been molested, and the French invasion was at a standstill.

It is comparatively seldom that the historian is able to compare in detail a general’s original conception of a plan of campaign with the actual scheme which he carried out. Still less common is it to find that the commander has placed on record his ideas as to the general policy to be pursued during a war, before he has assumed charge of his army or issued his first orders. It is therefore most fortunate that we have three documents from Wellesley’s hand, written early in 1809, which enable us to understand the principles on which[p. 290] he believed that the Peninsular War should be fought out. These are his Memorandum on the Defence of Portugal, which we have already had occasion to quote, and the two dispatches to Lord Castlereagh and to Mr. Frere which he wrote immediately after his arrival in Lisbon. The first gives us his general view of the war. He believed that an English army of 20,000 or 30,000 men, backed by the levies of Portugal, would be able to maintain itself on the flank of the French army in Spain. Its presence there would paralyse all the offensive actions of the enemy, and enable the Spaniards to make head against the invaders as long as Portugal remained unsubdued. The news that a British army had once more taken the field would, he considered, induce the French to turn their main efforts against Portugal[347], but he believed that considering the geography of the country, the character of its people, and the quality of the British troops, they would fail in their attempt to overrun it. They could not succeed, as he supposed, unless they could set aside 100,000 men for the task, and he did not see how they would ever be able to spare such a large detachment out of the total force which they then possessed in the Peninsula—a force whose numerical strength (in common with all British statesmen and soldiers of the day) he somewhat underrated. Being in the secrets of the Ministry, he was already aware in March that a new war in Germany was about to break out within the next few months. When Austria took the field, Napoleon would not be able to spare a single battalion of reinforcements for Spain. If the Spaniards pursued a reasonable military policy, and occupied the attention of the main armies of the French, the enemy would never be able to detach a force of 100,000 for the invasion of Portugal. He would underrate the numbers required, make his attempt with insufficient resources, and be beaten. When Wellesley landed at Lisbon, and found that Soult had halted at Oporto, that Victor lay quiescent at Merida, and that Lapisse with the troops from Salamanca [p. 291]had gone southward to join the 1st Corps, and so severed the only link which bound together the army in Northern Portugal and the army in Estremadura, he was reassured as to the whole situation. Soult and Victor, isolated as they now were, would each be too weak to beat the Anglo-Portuguese army. They were too far apart to make co-operation between them possible, considering the geography of Central Portugal, and the fact that the whole country behind each was in a state of insurrection[348].

But ‘the best defensive is a vigorous local offensive,’ and Wellesley saw the advantage of the central position of the British army upon the Tagus. A few marches would place it at a point from which it could fall either upon Victor to the right or Soult to the left, before either marshal could be in a position to lend help to his colleague, probably long before he would even be aware that his colleague was in danger. Wellesley could strike at the one or the other, with almost perfect certainty of catching him unreinforced. Ney, it was true, lay behind Soult, but he was known to be entangled in the trammels of the vigorous Galician insurrection. Victor had Sebastiani in his rear, but the 4th Corps was having occupation found for it by the Spanish army of La Mancha. It was improbable that either Soult or Victor, if suddenly attacked, could call up any appreciable reinforcements. Victor, moreover, had Cuesta to observe, and could not move off leaving 20,000 Spaniards behind him. Soult was known to be distracted by Silveira’s operations on the Tamega. Wellesley, therefore, saw that it was well within his power to strike at either of the marshals. He would, of course, be obliged to place a ‘containing force’ in front of the one whom he resolved to leave alone for the present. But this detachment need not be very large, and might be composed for the most part of Portuguese[p. 292] troops: its duty would be to distract, but not to fight the enemy.

On the whole Wellesley thought it would be best to make the first onslaught on Soult. ‘I should prefer an attack on Victor,’ he wrote, two days after landing, ‘in concert with Cuesta, if Soult were not in possession of a fertile province of this kingdom, and of the favourite town of Oporto, of which it is most desirable to deprive him. Any operation upon Victor, connected with Cuesta’s movements, would require time to concert, which may as well be employed in dislodging Soult from the north of Portugal, before bringing the British army to the eastern frontier[349].... I intend to move upon Soult, as soon as I can make some arrangement, on which I can depend, for the defence of the Tagus, to impede or delay Victor’s progress, in case he should come on while I am absent.’ ‘I think it probable,’ he wrote on the same day but in another letter, ‘that Soult will not remain in Portugal when I pass the Mondego: if he does, I shall attack him. If he should retire, I am convinced that it would be most advantageous for the common cause that we should remain on the defensive in the North of Portugal, and act vigorously in co-operation with Cuesta against Victor[350].’

Further forward it was impossible to look: a blow at Soult, followed by another at Victor, was all that could at present be contemplated. Wellesley was directed, by the formal instructions which he had received from Castlereagh, to do all that was possible to clear Portugal and the frontier provinces of Spain from the enemy, but not to strike deep into the Peninsula till he should have received permission from home to do so. Nevertheless he had devoted some thought to the remoter possibilities of the situation. If Portugal were preserved, and Soult and Victor beaten off, more ambitious combinations might become possible. He expressed his conviction that the French occupa[p. 293]tion of Spain would only be endangered when a very large force, acting in unison under the guidance of a single mind, should be brought together. The co-operation of the English army and that of Cuesta ‘might be the groundwork of further measures of the same and a more extended description[351].’ He was under no delusions as to the easiness of the task before him: he did not hurry on in thought, to dream of the expulsion of the French from the Peninsula as a goal already in sight. But he believed that he and his army ‘might be highly useful to the Spaniards and might eventually decide the contest[352].’

It is the survey of documents such as these that enables us to appreciate Wellesley at his best. He had gauged perfectly well the situation and difficulties of the French. He saw exactly how much was in his own power. The whole history of the Peninsular War for the next two years is foreseen in his prophetic statement, that with 30,000 British troops and the Portuguese levies he would guarantee to hold his own against any force of less than 100,000 French, and that he did not think that the enemy would find it easy to collect an army of that size to send against him. This is precisely what he accomplished: for the first fifteen months after his arrival he held with ease that frontier which Moore had described as ‘indefensible against a superior force.’ When at last Napoleon, free from all other continental troubles, launched against him an army under Masséna, which almost reached the figure[353] that he had described as irresistible in 1809, he showed in 1810-11 that he had built up resources for himself which enabled him to beat off even that number of enemies. Though four-fifths of Spain had been subdued, he held his own, because he had grasped the fundamental truth that (to use his own words) ‘the more ground the French hold down, the weaker will they be at any given point.’ In short, he had fathomed the great secret, that Napoleon’s[p. 294] military power—vast as it was—had its limits: that the Emperor could not send to Spain a force sufficient to hold down every province of a thoroughly disaffected country, and also to provide (over and above the garrisons) a field army large enough to beat the Anglo-Portuguese and capture Lisbon. If the French dispersed their divisions, and kept down the vast tracts of conquered territory, they had no force left with which to take the offensive against Portugal: if they massed their armies, they had to give up broad regions, which immediately relapsed into insurrection and required to be subdued again. This was as true in the beginning of the war as in the end. In 1809 the army that forced Wellesley to retreat after Talavera was only produced by evacuating the whole province of Galicia, which passed back into the hands of the insurgents. In 1812, in a similar way, the overpowering force which beat him back from Burgos, had been gathered only by surrendering to the Spanish Government the whole of the four kingdoms of Andalusia. On the other hand, during the long periods when the enemy had dispersed himself, and was garrisoning the whole south and centre of Spain, e.g. for the first six months of 1810, and for the last six months of 1811, Wellesley held his own on the Portuguese frontier in complete confidence, assured that no sufficient force could be brought up against him, till the enemy either procured new troops from France or gave up some great section of the regions which he was holding down. A detailed insight into the future is impossible to any general, however great, but already in April 1809 Wellesley had grasped the main outlines of the war that was to be.

Before passing on to the details of the campaign on the Douro, with which Wellesley’s long series of victories began, it is well to take a glance at the man himself, as he sat at his desk in Lisbon dictating the orders that were to change the face of the war.

Arthur Wellesley was now within a few days of completing his fortieth year. He was a slight but wiry man of middle stature, with a long face, an aquiline nose, and a keen but cold grey eye. Owning an iron constitution on which no climate or season seemed to make the least impression, he was physically fit for all the work that lay before him—work more fatiguing[p. 295] than that which falls to most generals. For in the Peninsula he was required, as it soon appeared, to be almost as much of a statesman as of a general; while at the same time, owing to the inexperience of the British officers of that day in warfare on a large scale, he was obliged for some time to discharge for himself many of the duties which properly fall to the lot of the chief of the staff, the commissary-general, the paymaster-general, and the quartermaster-general in a well organized army. No amount of toil, bodily or mental, appeared too much for that active and alert mind, or for the body which seven years of service in India seemed to have tanned and hardened rather than to have relaxed. During the whole of his Peninsular campaigns, from 1808 to 1814, he was never prostrated by any serious ailment. Autumn rains, summer heat, the cold of winter, had no power over him. He could put up with a very small allowance of sleep, and when necessary could snatch useful moments of repose, at any moment of the twenty-four hours when no pressing duty chanced to be on hand. His manner of life was simple and austere in the extreme; no commander-in-chief ever travelled with less baggage, or could be content with more Spartan fare. Long after his wars were over the habit of bleak frugality clung to him, and in his old age men wondered at the bare and comfortless surroundings that he chose for himself, and at the scanty meals that sustained his spare but active frame. Officers who had long served in India were generally supposed to contract habits of luxury and display, but Wellesley was the exception that proved the rule. He hated show of any kind; after the first few days of the campaign of 1809 he discarded the escort which was wont to accompany the commander-in-chief. It was on very rare occasions that he was seen in his full uniform: the army knew him best in the plain blue frock coat, the small featherless cocked hat, and the short cape, which have been handed down to us in a hundred drawings. Not unfrequently he would ride about among his cantonments dressed like a civilian in a round hat and grey trousers[354]. He was as careless about the dress of his subordinates as about his[p. 296] own, and there probably never existed an army in which so little fuss was made about unessential trappings as that which served in the Peninsula from 1809 to 1814[355]. Nothing could be less showy than its head-quarters’ staff—a small group of blue-coated officers, with an orderly dragoon or two, riding in the wake of the dark cape and low glazed cocked hat of the most unpretentious of chiefs. It contrasted in the strangest way with the plumes and gold lace of the French marshals and their elaborately ornate staffs[356].

Considered as a man Wellesley had his defects and his limitations; we shall have ere long to draw attention to some of them. But from the intellectual point of view he commands our undivided admiration as a practical soldier[357]. A careful study of his dispatches leaves us in a state of wonder at the imbecility of the school of writers—mostly continental—who have continued to assert for the last eighty years that he was no more than a man of ordinary abilities, who had an unfair share of good luck, and was presented with a series of victories by the mistakes and jealousies of the generals opposed to him. Such assertions are the results of blind ignorance and prejudice. When found in English writers they merely reflect the bitter hatred that was felt toward Wellesley by his political opponents during the second and third decades of the nineteenth century. In French military authors they only represent the resentful[p. 297] carpings of the vanquished army, which preferred to think that it was beaten by anything rather than by the ability of the conqueror. In 1820 every retired colonel across the Channel was ready to demonstrate that Toulouse was an English defeat, that Talavera was a drawn battle, and that Wellesley was over-rash or over-cautious, a fool or a coward, according as their thesis of the moment might demand[358]. They were but echoing their Emperor’s rancorous remark to Soult, on the hillside of La Belle Alliance, when after telling the Marshal that he only thought his old adversary a good general because he had been beaten by him, he added, ‘Et moi, je vous dis que Wellington est un mauvais général, et que les Anglais sont de mauvaises troupes[359].’

Bonaparte consistently refused to do justice to the abilities of the Duke. He regarded him as a bitter personal enemy, and his whole attitude towards Wellesley was expressed in the scandalous legacy to Cantillon[360] which disgraces his last will and testament. In strict conformity with their master’s pose, his followers, literary and military, have refused to see anything great in the victor of June 18, 1815. Even to the present day too many historians from the other side of the straits continue to follow in the steps of Thiers, and to express wonder at the inexplicable triumphs of the mediocre general who routed in succession all the best marshals of France.

To clear away any lingering doubts as to Wellesley’s extraordinary ability, the student of history has only to read a few of his more notable dispatches. The man who could write the two Memoranda to Castlereagh dated September 5, 1808, and March 7, 1809[361], foresaw the whole future of the Peninsular War. To know, at that early stage of the struggle, that the Spaniards would be beaten when—and wherever they offered battle, that the French, in spite of their victories, would never[p. 298] be able to conquer and hold down the entire country, that 30,000 British troops would be able to defend Portugal against any force that could be collected against them, required the mind of a soldier of the first class. When the earliest of those memoranda was written, most Englishmen believed that the Spaniards were about to deliver their country by their own arms: Wellesley saw that the notion was vain and absurd. When, on the other hand, he wrote the second, the idea was abroad that all was lost, that after Corunna no second British army would be sent to the Peninsula, and that Portugal was indefensible. Far from sharing these gloomy views he asks for 30,000 men, and states that though Spain may be overrun, though the Portuguese army may be in a state of hopeless disarray, he yet hopes with this handful of men to maintain the struggle, and eventually to decide the contest. How many generals has the world seen who could have framed such a prophecy, and have verified it?

To talk of the good fortune of Wellesley, of his ‘lucky star,’ is absurd. He had, like other generals, his occasional uncovenanted mercies and happy chances: but few commanders had more strokes of undeserved disappointment, or saw more of their plans frustrated by a stupid subordinate, an unexpected turn of the weather, an incalculable accident, or a piece of false news. He had his fair proportion of the chances of war, good and bad, and no more. If fortune was with him at Oporto in 1809, or at El Bodon in 1811, how many were the occasions on which she played him scurvy tricks? A few examples may suffice. In May 1809 he might have captured the whole of Soult’s army, if Silveira had but obeyed orders and occupied the impregnable defile of Salamonde. On the night of Salamanca he might have dealt in a similar fashion with Marmont’s routed host, if Carlos d’Espa?a had not withdrawn the garrison of Alba de Tormes, in flat disobedience to his instructions, and so left the fords open to the flying French. It is needless to multiply instances of such incalculable misfortune; any serious student of the Peninsular War can cite them by the dozen. Masséna’s invasion of Portugal in 1810 would have been checked by the autumn rains, and never have penetrated far within the frontier, but for the unlucky bomb which blew up the grand magazine at[p. 299] Almeida, and reduced in a day a fortress which ought to have held out for a month. In the autumn of 1812 the retreat beyond the Douro need never have been made, if Ballasteros had obeyed orders, and moved up from Granada to threaten Soult’s flank, instead of remaining torpid in his cantonments 200 miles from the theatre of war.

Wellington was not the child of fortune; he was a great strategist and tactician, placed in a situation in which the military dangers furnished but half his difficulties. He had to cherish his single precious British army corps, and to keep it from any unnecessary loss, because if destroyed it could not be replaced. With those 30,000 men he had promised to keep up the war; the home government was reluctant to risk the whole of its available field army in one quarter, and for years refused to raise his numbers far above that total. It was not till the middle of 1810 that his original five divisions of infantry were increased to six, nor till 1811 that his seventh and eighth divisions were completed[362]. Right down to 1812 it was certain that if he had lost any considerable fraction of his modest army, the ministry might have recalled him and abandoned Portugal. He had to fight with a full consciousness that a single disaster would have been irreparable, because it would have been followed not by the sending off of reinforcements to replace the divisions that might be lost, but by an order to evacuate the Peninsula. His French opponents fought under no such disabilities; when beaten they had other armies at hand on which to fall back, and behind all the inexhaustible reserve of Napoleon’s conscription. Considering the campaigns of 1809-10-11 it is not Wellington’s oft-censured prudence that we find astonishing, but his boldness. Instead of wondering that he did not attempt to relieve Rodrigo or Almeida in July-August 1810, or to fall upon Masséna at Santarem in January 1811, we are filled with surprise at the daring which inspired the storming of Oporto, and the offering of battle at Busaco and Fuentes d’O?oro. When a defeat spelt ruin and recall, it required no small courage to take any risks: but Wellesley had the sanest of minds; he could draw the line with absolute accuracy between enterprise and rashness, between[p. 300] the possible and the impossible. He had learned to gauge with wonderful insight the difficulties and disabilities of his enemies, and to see exactly how far they might be reckoned upon in discounting the military situation. After some time he arrived at an accurate estimate of the individual marshals opposed to him, and was ready to take the personal equation into consideration, according as he had to deal with Soult or Masséna, Marmont or Jourdan. In short, he was a safe general, not a cautious one. When once the hopeless disparity between his own resources and those of the enemy had ceased to exist, in the year 1812, he soon showed the worth of the silly taunts which imputed timidity to him, by the smashing blows which reduced Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, and the lightning-stroke which dashed to pieces Marmont’s army at Salamanca. In the next year, when for the first time he could count on an actual superiority of force[363], his irresistible march to Vittoria displayed his mastery of the art of using an advantage to the uttermost. Napoleon himself never punished a strategic fault on the part of the enemy with such majestic ease and confidence.

Of Wellington as a tactician we have already had occasion to speak in the first volume of this work[364]. It is only necessary to repeat here that the groundwork of his tactics was his knowledge of the fact that the line could beat the column, whether on the offensive or the defensive. The data for forming the conclusions had been in possession of any one who chose to utilize them, but it was Wellesley who put his knowledge to full account. Even before he left India, it is said, he had grasped the great secret, and had remarked to his confidants that ‘the French were sweeping everything before them in Europe by the use of the formation in column, but that he was fully convinced that the column could and would be beaten by the line[365].’ Yet even[p. 301] though the epoch-making, yet half-forgotten, fight of Maida had occurred since then, the first Peninsular battles came as a revelation to the world. After Vimiero and Talavera it became known that the line was certainly superior for the defensive, but it was only the triumphant line-advance of Salamanca that finally divulged the fact that the British method was equally sure and certain for the attack. If Wellesley’s reputation rested on the single fact that he had made this discovery known to the world, he would have won by this alone a grand place in military history. But his reputation depends even more on his strategical than on his tactical triumphs. He was a battle-general of the first rank, but his talents on the day of decisive action would not have sufficed to clear the French out of Spain. His true greatness is best shown by his all-embracing grasp of the political, geographical, and moral factors of the situation in the Peninsula, and by the way in which he utilized them all when drawing up the plans for his triumphant campaigns.

As to tactics indeed, there are points on which it would be easy to point out defects in Wellesley’s method—in especial it would be possible to develop the two old, but none the less true, criticisms that he was ‘pre-eminently an infantry general,’ and that ‘when he had won a battle he did not always utilize his success to the full legitimate end.’ The two charges hang closely together, for the one defect was but the consequence of the other; a tendency to refrain from making the greatest possible use of his cavalry for breaking up an enemy who had already begun to give ground, and for pursuing him à outrance when he was well on the run, was the natural concomitant of a predilection for the use of infantry in the winning of battles. If Napoleon[p. 302] had commanded the British army at Salamanca, Marmont’s troops would have been annihilated by a rapid cavalry pursuit, instead of merely scattered. If Wellington had commanded the French army in the Jena-Auerstadt campaign, it is reasonably certain that Hohenl?he’s broken divisions would have escaped into the interior, instead of being garnered in piecemeal by the inexorable and untiring chase kept up by the French horse. The very distrust which Wellington expressed for the capacities of the British cavalry[366], who after all were admirable troops when well handled, is but an illustration of the fact that he was no true lover of the mounted arm. But of this we have already spoken, and it is unnecessary to dwell at greater length on his minor deficiencies than on his numerous excellencies on the day of battle.

A far more serious charge against Wellesley than any which can be grounded on his tactical faults, is that, though he won the confidence of his army, he could never win their affection. ‘The sight of his long nose among us on a battle morning,’ wrote one of his veterans, ‘was worth ten thousand men, any day of the week[367].’ But it was not personal attachment to him which nerved his soldiers to make their best effort: he was feared, respected, and followed, but never loved. He was obeyed with alacrity, but not with enthusiasm. His officers and his men believed, and believed rightly, that he looked upon them as admirable tools for the task that had been set him, and did his best to keep those tools unbroken and in good repair, but that he felt no deep personal interest in their welfare. It is seldom that the veterans who have served under a great commander have failed to idolize as well as to respect him. But Wellesley’s men, while acknowledging all his greatness, complained that he systematically neglected both their feelings and their interests[368].[p. 303] It was but too true: he showed for his army, the officers no less than the rank and file, a certain coldness that was partly bred of intellectual contempt, partly of aristocratic hauteur. There are words of his on record concerning his men which can never be forgiven, and words, too, not spoken in the heat of action or the moment of disappointment, but in the leisure of his later years. Take, for example, the passage in Lord Stanhope’s Conversations with the Duke of Wellington, where he is speaking of the rank and file: ‘they are the scum of the earth; English soldiers are fellows who have enlisted for drink. That is the plain fact—they have all enlisted for drink[369].’ He described the men who won Talavera as ‘a rabble who could not bear success,’ and the Waterloo troops as ‘an infamous army’—the terms are unpardonable. His notions of discipline were worthy of one of the drill sergeants of Frederic the Great. ‘I have no idea of any great effect being produced on British soldiers,’ he once said before a Royal Commission, ‘by anything but the fear of immediate corporal punishment.’ Flogging was the one remedy for all evils, and he declared that it was absolutely impossible to manage the army without it. For any idea of appealing to the men’s better feeling, or moving them by sentiment, he had the greatest contempt.

The most distressing feature in Wellington’s condemnation of the character of his soldiery is that he was sinning against the light: officers, of less note but of greater heart, were appealing to the self-respect, patriotism, and good feeling of their men, with the best results, at the very moment that Wellesley was denouncing them as soulless clods and irreclaimable drunkards. It was not by the lash that regiments like Donnellan’s 48th or Colborne’s 52nd, or many other corps of the Peninsular army were kept together. The reminiscences of the Napiers, and many other regimental officers of the better class, are full of anecdotes illustrating the virtues of the rank and file. There are dozens of diaries and autobiographies of sergeants and privates of Wellesley’s old divisions, which prove that there were plenty of[p. 304] well-conditioned, intelligent, sober and religious men in the ranks—it is only necessary to cite as examples the books of Surtees, Anton, Morris, and Donaldson[370]. If there were also thousands of drunkards and reckless brutes in the service, the blame for their misdoings must fall to a great extent on the system under which they were trained. The ruthless mediaeval cruelty of the code of punishment alone will account for half the ruffianism of the army.

The same indiscriminate censure which Wellesley poured on his men he often vented on his officers, denouncing them en masse in the most reckless fashion. There were careless colonels and stupid subalterns enough under him, but what can excuse such sweeping statements as that ‘When I give an order to an officer of the line it is, I venture to say, a hundred to one against its being done at all,’ or for his Circular of November, 1812, declaring that all the evils of the Burgos retreat were due ‘to the habitual inattention of the officers of regiments to their duty.’ It was a bitter blow to the officers of the many battalions which had kept their order and discipline, to find themselves confused with the offending corps in the same general blast of censure. But by 1812 they were well accustomed to such slashing criticism on the part of their commander.

Such a chief could not win the sympathy of his army, though he might command their intellectual respect. Equally unfortunate were his autocratic temper and his unwillingness to concede any latitude of instructions to his subordinates, features in his character which effectually prevented him from forming a school of good officers capable of carrying out large independent operations. He trained admirable generals of division, but not commanders of armies, for he always insisted on keeping the details of operations, even in distant parts of the theatre of war, entirely under his own hand. His preference for Hill as a com[p. 305]mander of detached corps came entirely from the fact that he could trust that worthy and gallant officer to make no movements on his own initiative, and to play a safe waiting game which gave his chief no anxiety. In his younger days, while serving under other generals, Wellesley had been by no means an exponent of blind obedience or unquestioning deference to the orders of his superiors. But when placed in command himself he was autocratic to a fault. He was prone to regard any criticism of his directions as insubordination. He preferred a lieutenant on whom he could rely for a literal obedience to orders, to another of more active brain who possessed initiative and would ‘think for himself.’ There was hardly an officer in the Peninsular army to whom he would grant a free hand even in the carrying out of comparatively small tasks[371]. His most trusted subordinates were liable to find themselves overwhelmed with rebukes delivered in the most tempestuous fashion if they took upon themselves to issue a command on their own responsibility, even when the great chief was many leagues away. Sometimes when their inspirations had been obviously useful and successful, he would wind up his harangue, not with an expression of approval, but with a recommendation to the effect that ‘matters had turned out all right, but they must never again act without orders[372].’ This was not[p. 306] the way to develop their strategical abilities, or to secure that intelligent co-operation which is more valuable than blind obedience. It may be pleaded in Wellesley’s defence that at the commencement of the war he had many stupid and discontented officers under him, and that their carpings at his orders were often as absurd as they were malevolent. But it was not only for them that he reserved his thunders. They fell not unfrequently on able and willing men, who had done no more than think for themselves, when an urgent problem had been presented to them. He was, it must be confessed, a thankless master to serve: he was almost as pitiless as Frederic the Great in resenting a mistake or an apparent disobedience to orders. The case of Norman Ramsay may serve as an example. Ramsay was perhaps the most brilliant artillery officer in the Peninsular army: the famous charge of his guns through a French cavalry regiment at Fuentes d’O?oro is one of the best-known exploits of the whole war. But at Vittoria he made an error in comprehending orders, and moved forward from a village where the commander-in-chief had intended to keep him stationed. He was placed under arrest for three weeks, cut out of his mention in dispatches, and deprived of the brevet-majority which had been promised him. His career was broken, and two years later he fell, still a captain, at Waterloo.

It would almost seem that Wellesley had worked out for himself some sort of general rule, to the effect that incompetent being more common than competent subordinates, it would be safer in the long run to prohibit all use of personal initiative, as the occasions on which it would be wisely and usefully employed would be less numerous than those on which it would result in blunders and perils. He had a fine intellectual contempt for many of the officers whom he had to employ, and never shrank from showing it. When once he had made up his mind, he could not listen with patience to advice or criticism. It was[p. 307] this that made him such a political failure in his latter days: he carried into the cabinet the methods of the camp, and could not understand why they were resented. His colleagues ‘started up with crotchets,’ he complained: ‘I have not been used to that in the early part of my life. I was accustomed to carry on things in quite a different manner. I assembled my officers and laid down my plan, and it was carried into effect without any more words[373].’ For councils of war, or other devices by which a weak commander-in-chief endeavours to discharge some of the burden of responsibility upon the shoulders of his lieutenants, Wellesley had the greatest dislike. He never allowed discussion as long as he held supreme authority in the field: he would have liked to enforce the same rule in the cabinet when he became prime minister of England. Sometimes he had glimpses of the fact that it is unwise to show open scorn for the opinion of others, especially when they are men of influence or capacity[374]. But it was not often that the idea occurred to him. His reception of an officer who came with a petition or a piece of advice was often such that the visitor went away boiling with rage, or prostrated with nervous exhaustion. Charles Stewart is said to have wept after one stormy interview with his chief, and Picton, whose attempts at familiarity were particularly offensive to the Duke, would go away muttering words that could not be consigned to print[375]. A passage from the memoir of the chief of one of his departments may suffice to paint the sort of scene which used to occur:—

‘One morning I was in his Lordship’s small apartment, when two officers were there, to request leave to go to England. A general officer, of a noble family, commanding a brigade, advanced, saying, “My Lord, I have of late been suffering much from rheumatism—.” Without allowing him time to proceed further, Lord Wellington rapidly said—“and you must go to[p. 308] England to get cured of it. By all means. Go there immediately.” The general, surprised at his Lordship’s tone and manner, looked abashed, while he made a profound bow. To prevent his saying anything more, his Lordship turned to address me, inquiring about the casualties of the preceding night[376],’ &c.

Hardly less humiliating to many of Wellesley’s subordinates than personal interviews of this kind, were the letters which they received from him, when he chanced to be at a distance. He had not the art, probably he had not the wish, to conceal the fact that he despised as well as disliked many of those whom the fortune of war, or the exigencies of home patronage, placed under his command. The same icy intellectual contempt which he showed for the needy peers, the grovelling place-hunters, and the hungry lawyers of Dublin, when he was under-secretary for Ireland, pierces through many of his letters to the officers of the army of Portugal. Very frequently his mean opinion of their abilities was justifiable—but there was no need to let it appear. In this part of the management of men Wellesley was deficient: he failed to see that it is better in the end to rule subordinates by appealing to their zeal and loyalty than to their fears, and that a little commendation for work well performed goes further in its effect on an army than much censure for what has been done amiss. When he has to praise his officers in a dispatch, the terms used are always formal and official in the extreme—it is the rarest thing to find a phrase which seems to come from the heart. The careful reader will know what importance to attach to these expressions of approval, when he notes that the names of subordinates whom Wellesley despised and distrusted are inserted, all in due order of seniority, between those of the men who had really done the work[377]. All commanders-in-chief have to give vent to a certain amount of these empty and meaningless commendations, but few have shown more neglect in discriminating between the really deserving men and the rest than did the victor of Salamanca and Waterloo. Occasionally this carelessness as to the merits and the feelings of others took the form of gross injustice, more frequently it led to nothing worse[p. 309] than a complete mystification of the readers of the dispatch as to the relative merits of the persons mentioned therein[378].

The explanation of this feature in Wellesley’s correspondence is a fundamental want of broad sympathy in his character. He had a few intimates to whom he spoke freely, and it is clear that he often showed consideration and even kindness to his aides-de-camp and other personal retainers; there were one or two of his relatives to whom he showed an unswerving affection, and whose interests were always near his heart[379]. Among these neither his wife nor his elder brother Richard, the great Governor-General of India, were to be numbered. He quarrelled so bitterly with the latter that for many years they never met. No doubt there were faults on both sides, yet Wellington might have borne much from the brother who started him on his career. But for him the position of Resident in Mysore would not have been given to so junior an officer, nor would the command of the army that won Assaye and Argaum have been placed in his hands. It is small wonder that the grievances and petty ambitions of the average line officer never touched the heart of the man who could be estranged from his own brother by a secondary political question.

It has often been noted that when the wars were over he showed little predilection for the company of his old Peninsular officers. Some of his most trusted subordinates hardly looked upon his face after 1815: he clearly preferred the company of politicians and men of fashion to that of the majority of his old generals. They only met him at the formal festivity of the annual Waterloo Banquet.

[p. 310]

The remembrance of the countless panegyrics upon Wellington, not only as a general but as a man, which have appeared during the last sixty years, has made it necessary, if painful, to speak of his limitations. For two whole generations it seemed almost treasonable to breathe a word against his personal character—so great was the debt that Britain owed him for Salamanca and Waterloo. His frigid formalism was regarded with respect and even admiration: his lack of geniality and his utter inability to understand the sentimental side of life were even praised as signs of Spartan virtue. Certain episodes which did not fit in too happily with the ‘Spartan hero’ theory were deliberately ignored[380]. The popular conception of Arthur Wellesley has been largely built up on laudatory sketches written by those who knew him in his old age alone. He lives in our memories as a kind of Nestor, replete with useful and interesting information, as Lord Stanhope drew him in his Conversations with the Duke of Wellington. This was not the man known to his contemporaries in the years of the Peninsular War.

Yet there was much to admire in Wellesley’s personal character. England has never had a more faithful servant. Though intensely ambitious, he never allowed ambition to draw him aside from the most tedious and thankless daily tasks. When once convinced that it was his duty to undertake a piece of work, he carried it through with unswerving industry and perseverance, if not always with much tact or consideration for the feelings of others[381]. He was unsparing of himself, careless of praise or blame, honest in every word and deed. He was equally ready to offend his king or to sacrifice his popularity with the multitude, when he[p. 311] thought that he had to face a question in which right and wrong were involved. He was essentially, what he once called himself, using a familiar Hindustani phrase, ‘a man of his salt.’ In spite of all his faults he stands out a majestic figure in the history of his time. It is the misfortune of the historian that when he sees so much to admire and to respect, he finds so little that commands either sympathy or affection.
SECTION XIV: CHAPTER II

WELLESLEY RETAKES OPORTO

On arriving at Lisbon, Wellesley, as we have already seen, was overjoyed to find that the situation in Portugal remained just as it had been when he set sail from Portsmouth: Victor was still quiescent in his cantonments round Merida: Soult had not moved forward on the road toward Coimbra, and was in the midst of his unfruitful bickerings with the army of Silveira. Lapisse had disappeared from his threatening position in front of Ciudad Rodrigo, and had passed away to Estremadura. All the rumours as to an immediate French advance on Badajoz and Abrantes, which had arrived just as the new commander-in-chief was quitting England, had turned out to be baseless inventions. There were reassuring dispatches awaiting him from the English attachés with the armies of Cuesta and La Romana[382], which showed that Galicia was in full insurrection, and that a respectable force was once more threatening Victor’s flank. Accordingly it was possible to take into consideration plans for assuming the offensive against the isolated French armies, and the defensive campaign for the protection of Lisbon, which Wellesley had feared to find forced upon him, was not necessary.

Within thirty-six hours of his arrival the British commander-in-chief had made up his mind as to the strategy that was incumbent on him. He resolved, as we have already seen, to leave a containing force to watch Victor, while he hastened with the main body of his army to strike a blow at Soult, whose corps was clearly in a state of dispersion, which invited attack. The Duke of Dalmatia was operating at once upon the Minho, the Tamega, and the Vouga, and it seemed likely that a prompt stroke might surprise him, in the midst of the movement for[p. 313] concentration which he would be compelled to make, when he should learn that the British were in the field.

The forces available for Wellesley’s use consisted of some 25,000 British[383] and 16,000 Portuguese troops. Cradock, urged on by Hill and Beresford, had advanced with the main body of his army to Leiria and lay there upon the twenty-fourth, the day upon which he received Wellesley’s notification that he had been superseded and was to sail to take up the governorship of Gibraltar. But four or five newly arrived corps still lay at Lisbon, and more were expected. The army was very weak in cavalry, there were but four regiments and fractions of two others available[384]. Of the infantry there were only present five of the battalions[385] which had served at Vimiero and knew the French and their manner of fighting. The rest were all inexperienced and new to the field, and the majority indeed were weak second battalions, which had not originally been intended for foreign service, and had been made up to their present numbers by large and recent drafts from the militia[386]. Even at Talavera, six months after the campaign had begun, it is on record that many of the men were still showing the names and numbers of their old militia regiments on their knapsacks. The battalions which had joined in Moore’s march into Spain only began to reappear in June, when Robert Craufurd brought back to Lisbon the 1/43rd, 1/52nd and 1/95th, which were to form the nucleus of the famous Light Division. The remainder of the Corunna troops, when they had been rested and recruited, were drawn aside to take part in the miserable expedition to Walcheren. When Wellesley first took the field therefore, these veterans of the campaign of 1808 were only represented[p. 314] by the two ‘battalions of detachments’ which General Cameron had organized from the stragglers and convalescents of Moore’s army.

The Portuguese troops which Wellesley found available for the campaign against Soult consisted entirely of the line regiments from Lisbon and the central parts of the realm, which Beresford had been reorganizing during the last two months. The troops of the north had been destroyed at Oporto, or were in arms under Silveira on the Tamega. Those of the south were garrisoning Elvas, or still endeavouring to recruit their enfeebled cadres at their regimental head quarters. But Beresford had massed at Thomar and Abrantes ten[387] line regiments, some with one, some with their statutory two battalions, three newly raised battalions of Cazadores, and three incomplete cavalry regiments, a force amounting in all to nearly 15,000 sabres and bayonets. Though Wellesley considered that they ‘cut a bad figure,’ and that the rank and file were poor and the native officers ‘worse than anything he had ever seen,’ he was yet resolved to give them a chance in the field. Beresford assured him that they had improved so much during the last few weeks, and were showing such zeal and good spirit, that it was only fair that they should be given a trial[388].

Accordingly Wellesley resolved to brigade certain picked battalions among his English troops, and to take them straight to the front, while he told off others to form part of the ‘containing force’ which was to be sent off to watch Victor[p. 315] and the French army of Estremadura. The remainder, under Beresford himself, were to act as an independent division during the march on Oporto.

Five days of unceasing work had to be spent in Lisbon before Wellesley could go forward, but while he was making his arrangements with the Portuguese regency, drawing out a new organization for Beresford’s commissariat, and striving to get into communication with Cuesta, the British troops were already being pushed forward from Leiria towards Coimbra, and the Portuguese were converging from Thomar on the same point, so that no time was being lost. It was during this short and busy stay at Lisbon that Wellesley was confronted with the conspirator Argenton, who had come up to the capital in company with Major Douglas. He did not make a good impression on the commander-in-chief, who wrote home that he had no doubt as to the reality of the plot against Soult, and the discontent of the French army, but thought it unlikely that any good would come from the plot[389]. He refused to promise compliance with Argenton’s two requests, that he would direct the Portuguese to fall in with Soult’s plans for assuming royal power, and that he would bring the British army forward to a position in which it would threaten the retreat of the 2nd Corps on Leon. The former savoured too much of Machiavellian treachery: as to the latter, he thought so little of the profit likely to result from the plot, that he would not alter his plans to oblige the conspirators. The only information of certain value that he had obtained from the emissary was that Soult had no idea of Victor’s position or projects. All that he granted to Argenton was passports to take him and his two friends, ‘Captains Dupont and Garis,’ to England, from whence they intended to cross into France, in order to set their friends in the interior on the move. Great care was taken that Argenton on his return journey to Oporto should see as little as possible of the British army, lest he should be able to tell too much about its numbers[p. 316] and dispositions. He was conducted back by Douglas to the Vouga, by a circuitous route, and safely repassed Franceschi’s outposts[390].

On the twenty-ninth Wellesley at last got clear of Lisbon, where the formal festivities and reception arranged in his honour had tried him even more than the incessant desk-work which had to be got through before the organization of his base for supplies was completed. On April 30 he pushed forward to Leiria, on May 1 to Pombal, on the second he reached Coimbra and found himself in the midst of his army, which had only concentrated itself at that city during the last five days.

All was quiet in the front: Trant, who was holding the line of the Vouga with 3,000 disorderly militia and some small fragments rallied from the line regiments which had been dispersed at Oporto, reported that Franceschi and the French light cavalry had remained quiescent for many days. The same news came in from Wilson, who, after pursuing Lapisse to Alcantara, had come back with part of his troops to the neighbourhood of Almeida, and had a detachment at Vizeu watching the flank of the French advance. Silveira reported from Amarante that he was still holding the line of the Tamega, and had at least 10,000 enemies in front of him. All therefore seemed propitious for the great stroke.

Wellesley’s plan, as finally worked out in detail, was to push forward his main body upon Oporto with all possible speed, while sending a flanking column under Beresford to cross the Douro near Lamego, join Silveira, and intercept Soult’s line of retreat upon the plains of Leon by way of the Tras-os-Montes. If he could move fast enough, he hoped to catch the Marshal with his army still unconcentrated. His design, as he wrote to Castlereagh, was ‘to beat or cripple Soult,’ to thrust him back into Galicia; he doubted whether it would be possible to accomplish more with the force that was at his disposal, but if any chance should occur for destroying or surrounding the enemy he would do his best. Rumours that the Marshal was preparing to evacuate Oporto were in the air: if they were true, and the French were already making ready to retreat, it was unlikely that they would stand long enough to run into danger.

[p. 317]

The detailed arrangements for the distribution of the troops were as follows:—

It was first necessary to provide a ‘containing force’ to hold back Victor, in case he should make an unexpected move down the Tagus or the Guadiana. For this purpose Wellesley told off one of his brigades, that of Mackenzie, together with two regiments of heavy cavalry and one of infantry which had lately arrived at Lisbon, and were now on their march to Santarem. With these four battalions, one field battery, and eight squadrons, Mackenzie was to take post at Abrantes, and behind the line of the Zezere[391]. There he was to be joined by the larger half of Beresford’s reorganized Portuguese army—seven battalions of line troops, three of Cazadores, five squadrons of cavalry, and three batteries[392]. He would also have three regiments of militia at his disposal, to garrison the fortress of Abrantes. His whole force, excluding the militia, would amount to 1,400 British and 700 Portuguese cavalry, nearly 3,000 British infantry, 6,000 Portuguese infantry, and four batteries. These 12,000 men ought to be able to hold back any force that Victor could detach for a raid along the Tagus: for, having Cuesta’s army in his front, it was absolutely impossible that he could march with his whole corps into Portugal. If the Marshal moved forward south of the Tagus, that river should be held against him, and since it was in full flood it would be easy to keep him back, as all the boats and ferries could be destroyed, and it would be useless for him to present himself opposite Vella Velha, Abrantes,[p. 318] or Santarem. If he advanced north of the Tagus, the line of the Zezere was to be maintained against him as long as possible, then those of the Nabao and Rio Mayor. But the main army would be back from the north, to reinforce the ‘containing force,’ long ere the Marshal could push so far. As an outlying post on this front Wellesley ordered Colonel Mayne, with the part of Wilson’s Lusitanian Legion that had not returned to the north and a militia regiment, to occupy Alcantara. He was to break its bridge if forced out of the position.

Victor being thus provided for, Wellesley could turn the rest of his army against Soult at Oporto. For the main operation he could dispose of 17,000 British and 7,000 Portuguese troops present with the colours, after deducting the sick, the men on detached duty, and one single battalion left in garrison at Lisbon. He divided them, as we have already stated, into a larger force destined to execute the frontal attack upon Soult, and a smaller one which was to cut off his retreat into central Spain.

The flanking column, 5,800 men in all, was entrusted to Beresford: it was composed of one British brigade (that of Tilson) consisting of 1,500 bayonets[393], a single British squadron (the 4th of the 14th Light Dragoons) with five battalions[394], three squadrons[395], and two field-batteries of Portuguese. These troops were originally directed to join Silveira at Amarante, and co-operate with him in defending the line of the Tamega. But on May 3 there arrived at Coimbra the unwelcome news that Loison had forced the bridge of Amarante, and that Silveira in consequence had retired south of the Douro and was lying at Lamego with the wrecks of his army, some 4,000 men at most. This untoward event did not cause Wellesley to change the direction of Beresford’s column, but rendered him more cautious as to pushing it beyond the Douro. He ordered his lieutenant to pick up Sir Robert Wilson’s small force at Vizeu[396], to join[p. 319] Silveira at Lamego, and then to guide his further operations by the attitude of the French. If they tried to pass the Douro he was to oppose them strenuously; if they still clung to the northern bank and had not advanced far beyond Amarante, he might cross, and occupy Villa Real, if he thought the move safe and the position behind that town defensible. But he was to risk nothing; if the whole of Soult’s corps should retreat eastward he was not to attempt to stop them, ‘for,’ wrote Wellesley, ‘I should not like to see a single British brigade, supported by 6,000 or 8,000 Portuguese, exposed to be attacked by the French army in any but a very good post[397].’ If Loison alone were left on the Tamega, Beresford might take post at Villa Real and fight: if, however, Soult should appear at the head of his entire force, it would be madness to await him: the column must fall back and allow him to pass. ‘Remember,’ added Wellesley in another letter[398], ‘that you are a commander-in-chief and must not be beaten: therefore do not undertake anything with your troops if you have not some strong hope of success.’ Beresford’s column was sent off a day before the rest of the army, in order to allow the flanking movement time to develop before the frontal attack was pushed home. He left Coimbra on May 6, was at Vizeu on the eighth, and joined Silveira at Lamego on the tenth; all his movements passed completely unobserved by the enemy, owing to the wide sweep to the right which he had been ordered to make.

The infantry of Wellesley’s main force, with which the frontal attack on Oporto was to be made, consisted of six brigades of British, one of the King’s German Legion, and four picked battalions of Portuguese who were attached respectively to the brigades of A. Campbell, Sontag, Stewart, and Cameron. Of cavalry, in which he was comparatively weak, he had the whole of the 16th, three squadrons of the 14th, and two of the 20th Light Dragoons, with one squadron more from the 3rd Light Dragoons of the King’s German Legion. The artillery, twenty-four guns in all, was composed of two British and two German field-batteries.[p. 320] No horse artillery had yet been received from England, though Wellesley had been urging his need for it on the home authorities, at the same time that he made a similar demand for good light infantry, such as that which had formed the light brigade of Moore’s army[399], and for remounts to keep his cavalry up to full fighting strength. The army was not yet distributed into regular divisions, but the beginnings of the later divisional arrangement were indicated by the telling off the brigades of Richard Stewart and Murray to serve together under Edward Paget (who had commanded Moore’s reserve division with such splendid credit to himself during the Corunna retreat), while those of H. Campbell, A. Campbell, and Sontag were to take their orders from Sherbrooke, and those of Hill and Cameron to move under the charge of the former brigadier. The cavalry was under General Cotton, with Payne as brigadier; the senior officer of artillery was General E. Howorth[400].

[p. 321]

It will be noted that of the total force with which Wellesley was about to assail the 2nd Corps, about 16,400 were British troops and 11,400 Portuguese. Considering that Soult had at least 23,000 sabres and bayonets, of whom not more than 2,200 were in his hospitals, and that over three-eighths of the allies were untried and newly-organized levies, it cannot be denied that the march on Oporto showed considerable self-confidence, and a very nice and accurate calculation of the chances of war on the part of the British Commander-in-chief.

On the very day on which the vanguard marched out from Coimbra upon the northern road, Wellesley received a second visit from the conspirator Argenton, who had returned from consulting his friends at Oporto and Amarante. He brought little news of importance: Soult had not yet proclaimed himself king, and therefore the plotters had taken no open steps against him. The French army had not begun to move, but it appeared that the Marshal was pondering over the relative advantages of the lines of retreat available to him, for Argenton brought a memorandum given him by (or purloined from) some staff-officer, which contained a long exposition of the various roads from Oporto, and stated a preference for that by Villa Real and the Tras-os-Montes[401]. He had a number of futile propositions to lay before Wellesley, and especially urged him to make sure of Villa Real and to cut off the Marshal’s retreat on Spain. The traitor was sent back, with no promises of compliance; and every endeavour was made to keep from him the fact that the allied army was already upon the move. Unfortunately he had passed many troops upon the road from Coimbra to the Vouga, and had guessed at what he had not seen. On the following day he passed through the French lines on his return journey, and by the way endeavoured to spread the propaganda of treason. One of the infantry brigades which lay in support of Franceschi’s cavalry was commanded by a general Lefebvre, with whom Argenton had long served as aide-de-camp. Knowing that his old chief was weak and discontented[402], the emissary of[p. 322] the malcontents paid a midnight visit to him, revealed to him the outlines of the conspiracy, and endeavoured to enroll him as a fellow plotter. He had misjudged his man: Lefebvre listened to everything without showing any signs of surprise or anger, but hastened to bear the tale to Soult, and arranged for Argenton’s arrest on his return to Oporto upon the following morning. Confronted with the Marshal, the traitor held his head high, and boasted that he was the agent of a powerful body of conspirators. He invited Soult to declare against the Emperor, and deliver France from servitude. He also warned him that Wellesley had arrived at Coimbra, and told him that 30,000 British troops of whom 3,000 at least were cavalry, would fall upon Franceschi that day. Thus, owing to his conference with Argenton, Wellesley lost the chance of surprising Soult, who was warned of the oncoming storm exactly at the moment when it was most important that he should still be kept in the dark as to the force that was marching against him [May 8].

Soult sent back Argenton to his prison, after threatening him with death: but uncertain as to the number of the conspirators, he was thrown for a moment into a state of doubt and alarm. He probably suspected Loison and Lahoussaye of being in the plot against him, as well as the real traitors—possibly Mermet also[403]. Feeling the ground, as it were, trembling beneath his feet, he began to make instant preparations for retreat: orders were sent to Franceschi to fall back on Oporto, and not to risk anything by an attempt to hold off Wellesley longer than was prudent. Loison was informed that he must clear the road beyond Amarante, as the army was about to retire by the Tras-os-Montes, and he would now form its advanced guard. Lorges at Braga was directed to gather in the small fractions of Heudelet’s division which had been left at Viana and other places in[p. 323] the north, and to march in their company upon Amarante by the way of Guimaraens. The Marshal saw, with some dismay, that these isolated detachments would not be able to join the main body till the fourteenth or fifteenth of May; it was necessary to hold Oporto as long as possible in order to give them time to come up.

Next day Soult contrived to extort some more information from the unstable Argenton. Receiving a promise of life for himself and pardon for his fellow conspirators (which the Marshal apparently granted because he thought that accurate information concerning the plot would be worth more to him than the right to shoot the plotters), the captain gave up the names of all the leaders. Much relieved to find that none of his generals were implicated, Soult did no more than arrest the two colonels, Lafitte and Donadieu, leaving the smaller fry untouched[404]. He kept his promise to Argenton by hushing up the whole matter. The colonels suffered no harm beyond their arrest: Argenton escaped from custody (probably by collusion with the officer placed in charge of his person)[405], and got back to the English lines the day after the capture of Oporto[406]. Some months later he secretly revisited France, was recognized, captured, and shot on the Plain of Grenelle[407].

At the very moment when Soult was cross-examining Argenton, issuing hurried orders for the concentration of his troops, and preparing for a retreat upon Amarante, Wellesley’s advanced guard was drawing near the Vouga and making ready to pounce[p. 324] upon Franceschi. Two roads lead northward from Coimbra, the main chaussée to Oporto which runs inland via Ponte de Vouga and Feira, and a minor route near the coast, which passes by Aveiro and Ovar. Five of Wellesley’s brigades and the whole of his cavalry marched by the former route. Moving forward under the screen of Trant’s militia, which still held the line of the Vouga, they were to fall on the enemy’s front at dawn on May 10. The five squadrons of the 14th and 16th Light Dragoons under Cotton led the advance: then followed the infantry of Edward Paget—the two brigades of Murray and Richard Stewart. Sherbrooke’s column marched in support, ten miles to the rear. It was intended that the whole mass should rush in upon Franceschi’s pickets, and roll them in upon his main body before the advance from Coimbra was suspected. Unhappily Soult had already warned his cavalry commander of the coming storm upon the ninth, and he was not caught unprepared.

Meanwhile the remaining two infantry brigades of Wellesley’s army, those of Hill and Cameron, were to execute a turning movement against Franceschi’s flank. Orders had been sent to the magistrates of the town of Aveiro, bidding them collect all the fishing-boats which were to be found in the great lagoon at the mouth of the Vouga—a broad sheet of shallow water and sandbanks which extends for fifteen miles parallel to the sea, only separated from it by a narrow spit of dry ground. At the northern end of this system of inland waterways is the town of Ovar, which lay far behind Franceschi’s rear. Hill was directed to ship his men upon the boats, and to throw them ashore at Ovar, where they were to fall upon the flank of the French, when they should be driven past them by the frontal advance of the main body.

If all had gone well, the French detachment might have been annihilated. Franceschi had with him no more than the four weak cavalry regiments of his own division[408], not more than 1,200 sabres, with one light battery, and a single regiment of infantry. But not far behind him was the rest of Mermet’s division, eleven battalions of infantry with a strength of some 3,500 men. One regiment, the 31st Léger, lay at Feira, near[p. 325] Ovar, while Ferrey’s brigade was five miles further back, at Grijon.

On the night of the ninth the British advanced guard reached the Vouga: after only a few hours’ repose the cavalry mounted again at 1 A.M., and pushed forward in order to fall upon the enemy at daybreak. The night march turned out a failure, as such enterprises often do in an unexplored country-side seamed with rocks and ravines. The rear of the cavalry column got astray and fell far behind the leading squadrons: much time was lost in marching and countermarching, and at dawn the brigade found itself still some way from Albergaria Nova, the village where Franceschi’s head quarters were established[409]. It was already five o’clock when they fell in with and drove back the French outlying pickets: shortly after they came upon the whole of Franceschi’s division, drawn out in battle array on a rough moor behind the village, with a few companies of infantry placed in a wood on their flank and their battery in front of their line. General Cotton saw that there was no chance of a surprise, and very wisely declined to attack a slightly superior force of all arms with the 1,000 sabres of his two regiments. He resolved to wait for the arrival of Richard Stewart’s infantry brigade, the leading part of the main column. When Franceschi advanced against him he refused to fight and drew back a little[410]. Thus some hours of the morning were wasted, till at last there arrived on the field Lane’s battery and a battalion of the 16th Portuguese, followed by the 29th and the 1st Battalion of Detachments. Like the cavalry, the infantry had been much delayed during[p. 326] the hours of darkness, mainly by the impossibility of getting the guns up the rocky defile beyond the Vouga, where several caissons had broken down in the roadway. It was only after daylight had come that they were extricated and got forward on to the upland where lies the village of Albergaria.

Wellesley himself came up along with Stewart’s brigade, and had the mortification of seeing all his scheme miscarry, owing to the tardiness of the arrival of his infantry. For at the very moment when Franceschi caught sight of the distant bayonets winding up the road, he hastily went to the rear, leaving the 1st Hussars alone in position as a rearguard. This regiment was charged by the 16th Light Dragoons, and driven in with some small loss. Under cover of this skirmish the French division got away in safety through the town of Oliveira de Azemis, which lay behind them, and after making two more ineffectual demonstrations of a desire to stand, fell back on the heights of Grijon, where Mermet’s infantry division was awaiting them.

The whole day’s fighting had been futile but spectacular. ‘I must note,’ says an eye-witness, ‘the beautiful effect of our engagement. It commenced about sunrise on one of the finest spring mornings possible, on an immense tract of heath, with a pine wood in rear of the enemy. So little was the slaughter, and so regular the man?uvring, that it all appeared more like a sham-fight on Wimbledon Common than an action in a foreign country[411].’ The picturesque side of the day’s work must have been small consolation to Wellesley, who thus saw the first stroke of his campaign foiled by the chances of a night march in a rugged country—a lesson which he took to heart, for he rarely, if ever again, attempted a surprise at dawn in an unexplored region.

An equal disappointment had taken place on the flank near the sea. Hill’s brigade had marched down to Aveiro, where the local authorities had worked with excellent zeal and collected a considerable number of boats, enough to carry 1,500 men at a[p. 327] trip. During the night of the ninth-tenth the flotilla was engaged in sailing up the long lagoon which leads to Ovar. It was quite early in the morning when the brigade came to land, and if Franceschi had been driven in at an early hour he would have found Hill in a most threatening position on his flank. But the French cavalry was still ten or twelve miles away, engaged in its bloodless demonstration against Cotton’s brigade. Finding from the peasants that there were French infantry encamped quite close to him, at Feira, and that the English main column was still at a distance, Hill kept his men within the walls of Ovar, instead of engaging in an attempt to intercept Franceschi’s retreat. He was probably quite right, as it would have been dangerous to thrust three battalions, without cavalry or guns, between Mermet’s troops at Feira and the retiring columns of the French horsemen. Hill therefore sent back his boats to bring up Cameron’s brigade from Aveiro, and remained quiet all the morning. At noon his pickets were driven in by French infantry: Mermet had at last heard of his arrival, and had sent out the three battalions of the 31st Léger from Feira to contain him and protect Franceschi’s flank. The voltigeur companies of this force pressed in upon Hill, but would not adventure themselves too far. The afternoon was spent in futile skirmishing, but at last the retreating French cavalry went by at a great pace, and the English Light Dragoons, following them in hot pursuit, came up with the 31st Léger. Hill, seeing himself once more in touch with his friends, now pushed out of Ovar in force, and pressed on the French voltigeur companies, which hastily retired, fell back on their regiment, and ultimately retired with it and rejoined Mermet’s main body on the heights above Grijon. The skirmishing had been almost bloodless—Hill lost not a single man, and the French infantry only half-a-dozen wounded[412].

On the morning of May 11, therefore, Hill’s troops on the left and Cotton’s and Paget’s on the right lay opposite the posi[p. 328]tion which Mermet and Franceschi had taken up. Sherbrooke was still more than ten miles to the rear, having barely crossed the Vouga, while Cameron had not yet sailed up from Aveiro. Wellesley had therefore some 1,500 cavalry and 7,000 infantry under his hand, with which to assail the 1,200 horse and 4,200 foot of the two French divisions. The enemy were strongly posted: Grijon lies in a valley, with woods and orchards around it and a steep hillside at its back. The French tirailleurs held the village and the thickly-wooded slopes on each side of it: behind them the fifteen battalions of Mermet were partly visible among the trees on the sky-line of the heights.

Wellesley was anxious to see whether the enemy intended to hold his ground, or would retire before a demonstration: he therefore threw the light companies of Richard Stewart’s brigade into the woods on each side of Grijon. A furious fire at once broke out, and the advancing line of skirmishers could make no headway. Realizing that the French intended to fight a serious rearguard action, Wellesley refused to indulge them with a frontal attack and determined to turn both their flanks. While Cotton’s cavalry and the two English battalions of Stewart’s brigade drew up opposite their centre, Murray’s Germans marched off to the left, to get beyond Mermet’s flank, while Colonel Doyle, with the battalion of the 16th Portuguese which belonged to Stewart’s brigade, entered the woods on the extreme right. Hill’s brigade, a mile or two to the left of Murray, pushed forward on the Ovar-Oporto road, at a rate which would soon have brought them far beyond the enemy’s rear.

The meaning of these movements was not long hidden from the French: the 1st and 2nd battalions of the King’s German Legion, led by Brigadier Langwerth, were soon pressing upon their right flank, while the Portuguese battalion plunged into the woods on the other wing with great resolution. Wellesley himself was watching this part of the advance with much interest: it was the first time that he had sent his native allies into the firing line, and he was anxious to see how they would behave. They surpassed his expectations: the 16th was a good regiment, with a number of students of the University of Coimbra in its ranks. They plunged into the thickets without a moment’s hesitation, and in a few minutes the retiring sound of the[p. 329] musketry showed that they were making headway in the most promising style. This sight was an enormous relief to the Commander-in-chief: if the Portuguese could be trusted in line of battle, his task became immeasurably more easy. ‘You are in error in supposing that these troops will not fight,’ he wrote to a down-hearted correspondent: ‘one battalion has behaved remarkably well under my own eyes[413].’

Mermet and Franceschi did not hesitate for long, when they saw their flank guard beaten in upon either side, and heard that Hill was marching upon their rear. They gave orders for their whole line to retire without delay: the plateau behind them was so cut up with stone walls enclosing fields, that the cavalry could be of no use in covering the retreat, so Franceschi went to the rear first at a round trot. Mermet followed, leaving the three battalions of the 31st Léger to act as a rearguard[414].

The whole British line now pressed in as fast as was possible in the woods and lanes: the infantry could never overtake the enemy, but two squadrons of the 16th and 20th Light Dragoons, galloping along the high road, came up with Mermet’s rear a mile beyond the brow of the hill. Charles Stewart, who was leading them on, was one of those cavalry officers who thoroughly believe in their arm, and think that it can go anywhere and do anything. He at once ordered Major Blake of the 20th to charge the enemy, though the French were retiring along a narrow chaussée bordered with stone walls. Fortunately for the dragoons their opponents were already shaken in morale: the three battalions were not well together, isolated companies were still coming in from the flanks, and the colonel of the 31st had completely lost his head. On being charged, the rearguard fired a volley, which brought down the front files of the pursuing cavalry, but then wavered, broke, and began scrambling over the walls to escape out of the high road into the fields. There followed a confused mêlée, for the English dragoons also leaped the walls, and tried to follow the broken enemy among thickets and ploughland. Of those of the French[p. 330] who fled down the high road many were sabred, and a considerable number captured: indeed the eagle of the regiment was in considerable danger for some time. But the British had no supports at hand; they scattered in reckless pursuit of the men who had taken to the fields, and many were shot down when they had got entangled among trees and walls. However, the charge, if somewhat reckless, was on the whole successful: the dragoons lost no more than ten killed, one officer and thirty troopers wounded, with eight or ten missing, while the French regiment into which they had burst left behind it over 100 prisoners and nearly as many killed and wounded[415].

For the rest of the day Mermet and Franceschi continued to fall back before the advancing British, without making more than a momentary stand. At dusk they reached Villa Nova, the transpontine suburb of Oporto, which they evacuated during[p. 331] the night. The moment that they had crossed the bridge of boats Soult caused it to be blown up, and vainly believed himself secure, now that the broad and rapid Douro was rolling between him and his enemy. The total loss of the French in the day’s fighting had been about 250 men, of whom 100 were prisoners. That of the British was two officers and nineteen men killed, six officers and sixty-three men wounded, and sixteen men missing. Nearly half the casualties were in the ranks of the two squadrons of dragoons, the rest were divided between the light companies of the 1st Battalion of Detachments, the 1st and 2nd battalions of the German Legion, and the 16th Portuguese[416].

On the night of the eleventh-twelfth, when Mermet and Franceschi had joined him, Soult had collected in Oporto the main body of his army: he had in hand of cavalry Franceschi’s four regiments, and of infantry fifteen battalions of Mermet’s division, seven battalions of Merle’s (forming Reynaud’s brigade), and seven of Delaborde’s, a force in all of about 10,000 bayonets and 1,200 sabres. Only a few miles away, at Baltar, on the road to Amarante, were Caulaincourt’s dragoons and the remaining regiment of Delaborde’s division, an additional force of somewhat over 2,000 men. With 13,000 men at his disposal and a splendid position behind the Douro, he imagined that he might retreat at leisure, maintaining the line of the impassable river for some days more. He intended to hold Oporto long enough to enable Loison to clear the road to Villa Real, and to allow Lorges and the belated troops from the north time to march in to Amarante. He was somewhat vexed to have received no news from Loison for four days, but, when last heard of [on May 7], that general was moving forward into the Tras-os-Montes, with orders to push on and open a way for[p. 332] the army as far as the Spanish border. Silveira having retired to the south bank of the Douro, the Marshal had no doubt that Loison would easily brush away the Ordenanza, and open for the whole corps d’armée the passage to Zamora and the plains of Leon.

Meanwhile the only danger which the Marshal feared was that Wellesley might send forward the fleet of fishing-boats which had carried Hill to Ovar, bring them to the estuary of the Douro, and use them to pass troops across its lowest reach, just within the bar at its mouth. Accordingly he told Franceschi to patrol carefully the five miles of the river that lie between Oporto and the sea. The infantry was comfortably housed in the city, with pickets watching the quays: every boat on the river, as it was supposed, had either been destroyed or brought over to the north bank. Wellesley would, as Soult calculated, be compelled to spend several days in making his preparations for passing the Douro, since he had no means of pushing his army across the broad stream, save the fishing-smacks which he might bring round from the lagoon of Ovar.

The Marshal therefore was quite at his ease, even though he knew that Wellesley’s vanguard was at Villa Nova in force. He imagined that he could count on ample time for the evacuation of Oporto, and began to make arrangements for a leisurely retreat. His first care was to send off eastward all his convalescents, his reserve ammunition, and his wheeled vehicles, of which he had collected a fair supply during his seven weeks’ halt at Oporto. These were to march, under the convoy of Mermet’s division, during the course of the morning. The other troops from Merle’s and Delaborde’s divisions, together with Franceschi’s horse, were to watch the lower Douro and check any attempt of the British to cross. The Marshal was himself lodged at a villa on the high ground west of the city, from which he commanded a fine view of the whole valley from Oporto to the sea: the view up-stream was blocked by the hill crowned by the Serra Convent, where the river makes a slight bend in order to get round the projecting heights on the southern bank. So thoroughly were both Soult and his staff impressed with the idea that Wellesley would endeavour to operate below, and not above, the city, that while the lower reaches of the Douro were[p. 333] watched with the greatest care, a very inefficient look-out was kept on the banks above Oporto: there would seem to have been but a single battalion placed in that direction, and this small force was lying far back from the river, with no proper system of pickets thrown forward to the water’s edge. Yet the opposite bank was full of cover, of thickets, gardens and olive groves, screening several lanes and by-paths that had led down to ferries. Such of the boats as had not been scuttled had been brought over to the north bank, but they were not all protected by proper guards. All this was inexcusably careless—the main blame must fall on the Marshal for his parti pris in refusing to look up-stream: though some must also be reserved for General Quesnel, the governor of Oporto, and for Foy, the brigadier whose battalions were in charge of the eastern suburb of the city. But the fact was that none of the French officers dreamed of the possibility that Wellesley might make an attempt, on the very morning of his arrival, to cross the tremendous obstacle interposed in his way by the rolling stream of the Douro. That he would deliver a frontal attack on them in full daylight was beyond the limits of the probable. They had no conception of the enterprise of the man with whom they had to deal.

There was this amount of truth in their view, that the British General would not have made his daring stroke at Oporto, unless he had ascertained that the carelessness of his adversaries had placed an unexpected chance in his hands. By ten o’clock in the morning Wellesley had concentrated behind Villa Nova the whole of his force—the three columns of Paget, Hill, and Sherbrooke were now up in line. They were kept out of sight of the enemy, some in the lateral lanes of the suburb, but the majority hidden behind the back slope of the hills, where orchards and vineyards gave them complete cover from observers on the northern bank.

While the troops were coming up, Sir Arthur mounted the Serra height, and reconnoitred the whole country-side from the garden of the convent. He had with him Portuguese notables who were well acquainted with Oporto and its suburbs, including several persons who had come over the river on the preceding day, and could give him some notion of the general disposition and emplacement of the French army. Sweeping the valley with his[p. 334] glasses he could see Franceschi’s vedettes moving about on the heights down-stream, and heavy columns of infantry forming up outside the north-eastern gates of the city. At eleven o’clock this body moved off, escorting a long train of wagons—it was Mermet’s division starting for Amarante in charge of Soult’s convoy of sick and reserve artillery. On the quays, below the broken bridge, many French pickets were visible, ensconced at the openings of the streets which lead down to the water. But turning his glass to the right, Wellesley could note that up-stream matters looked very quiet, the rocky banks above the deep-sunk river were deserted, and nothing was visible among the gardens and scattered houses of the south-eastern suburb. It was possible that French troops might be ensconced there, but no sign of them was to be seen.

Many intelligence-officers had already been sent off, to scour the southern bank of the river, and to ascertain whether by any chance the enemy had overlooked some of the boats belonging to the riverside villages. In a short time two valuable pieces of news were brought up to the Commander-in-chief. The large ferry-boat at Barca d’Avintas, four miles above the city, had been scuttled, but not injured beyond the possibility of hasty repairs. It was already being baled out and mended by the villagers. Nearer at hand a still more important discovery was made. Colonel Waters, one of the best scouts in the army, had met, not far south of the suburban village of Cobranloes, an Oporto refugee, a barber by trade, who had crossed over from the north bank in a small skiff, which he had hidden in a thicket. The man reported that the opposite bank was for the moment unguarded by the French, and pointed to four large wine-barges lying stranded below the brink of the northern shore, with no signs of an enemy in charge. Yet the position was one which should have been well watched: here a massive building, the bishop’s Seminary, surrounded by a high garden wall, lies with its back to the water. It was an isolated structure, standing well outside the eastern suburb, in fairly open ground, which could be easily swept by artillery fire from the dominating position of the Serra heights. Waters had with him as guide the prior of Amarante, and by his aid collected three or four peasants from the neighbouring cottages. After[p. 335] some persuasion from the ecclesiastic, these men and the barber consented to join the British officer in a raid on the stranded barges on the further bank. It was a hazardous undertaking, for one French picket had lately been seen to pass by, and another might appear at any moment. But the necessary half-hour was obtained; Waters and his fellows entered the barber’s skiff, crossed the river unseen, got the four barges afloat, and returned with them to the southern bank. They turned out to be big clumsy vessels, capable of holding some thirty men apiece. The explorer had noted that the Seminary buildings above were perfectly empty.

On receiving this intelligence, Wellesley resolved to take the chance which the fates offered him. If the French had shown themselves alert and vigilant, he could not have dared to throw troops across the river into their midst. But they seemed asleep at high noon, and their manifest negligence encouraged him. His mind was soon made up: he ordered Murray with two battalions of his brigade[417], two guns, and two squadrons of the 14th Light Dragoons, to march hard for Barca d’Avintas, cross on the ferry, and seize a position on the opposite bank capable of being defended against superior numbers. But this (as the small force employed sufficiently demonstrates) was only intended as a diversion. The main blow was to be delivered nearer at hand. Wellesley had resolved to endeavour to seize the abandoned Seminary, and to throw his main body across the river at this point if possible. The local conditions made the scheme less rash in fact than it appears on the map. The east end of the Serra hill completely commands all the ground about the Seminary: three batteries[418] were quietly pushed into the convent garden and trained upon the roads leading to that isolated building—one along the shore, the other further inland. If the place could once be seized, it would be possible to protect its garrison by fire across the water. There were only two artillery positions on the French bank, from which the Seminary could be battered: one, close to the water’s edge, was completely under the guns of the Serra convent. The other, on the[p. 336] heights by the chapel of Bom Fin, was rather distant, and could not be used against boats crossing the river, as they would be invisible to gunners working on this emplacement. Cannon placed there might do some damage to the Seminary buildings, but could not prevent the garrison from being reinforced. Realizing all this at a glance, Wellesley hurried down Hill’s brigade to the water’s edge, and the moment that the leading company of the Buffs had got on board the barges, bade them push off. In a quarter of an hour the first vessel was over, and a subaltern and twenty-five men rushed up into the empty enclosure of the Seminary, and closed the big iron gate opening into the Vallongo road, which formed its only land-exit. The men from the other barges were just behind: they set themselves to lining the garden wall and to piling up wood and earth against it, in order to give themselves a standing-place from which they could fire over the coping. The barges went back with all speed, and were again loaded and sent off. Meanwhile Wellesley and his staff were looking down in breathless anxiety on the quiet bend of the river, the silent suburb, and the toiling vessels. At any moment the alarm might be given, and masses of the enemy might debouch from the city and dash in upon the Seminary before enough men were across to hold it. For the best part of an hour the Commander-in-chief must have been fully aware that his daring move might end only in the annihilation of two or three companies of a good old regiment, and a check that would appear as the righteous retribution for recklessness.

But no stir was seen in Oporto: the barges crossed for a second time unmolested: on their third trip they carried over General Edward Paget, whom Wellesley had placed in command of the whole movement. More than half the Buffs had passed, and the Seminary was beginning to be adequately manned, when at last some shots were heard outside the gates, and a few minutes later a line of French tirailleurs, supported by three battalions in column, came rushing down upon the enclosures. A full hour had passed between the moment when the first boatload of British soldiers had been thrown across the river, and the time when the French discovered them!
The Douro above Oporto

WELLESLEY’S PASSAGE OF THE DOURO.
N.B. The trees on the cliff to the right are close outside the enclosure of the Serra Convent: the roof of the Seminary is just visible over the crest of the hill on the other bank. In the background are the low slopes above Avintas.

The fact was that the enemy’s commander was in bed, and his staff breakfasting! The Duke of Dalmatia had sat up all night [p. 337]dictating dispatches, and making his arrangements for a leisurely flitting, for he intended to stay two days longer in Oporto, so as to cover the march of his other divisions towards Amarante and Villa Real. His desk-work finished, he went to bed at about nine o’clock[419], in full confidence that he was well protected by the river, and that Wellesley was probably engaged in the laborious task of bringing up boats to the mouth of the Douro, which would occupy him for at least twenty-four hours. The staff were taking their coffee, after a late déjeuner, when the hoof-beats of a furious rider startled them, and a moment later Brossard, the aide-de-camp of General Foy, burst into the Villa shouting that the English had got into the town. Led to the Marshal’s bedside, he hurriedly explained that Foy had just discovered the enemy passing by boats into the Seminary, and was massing his brigade for an attack upon them. The Marshal started up, sent his staff flying in all directions to warn the outlying troops, ordered all the remaining impedimenta to be sent off on the Vallongo road, and dispatched Brossard back to Foy to tell him to ‘push the English into the river.’ He was hardly dressed and on horseback, when the noise of a distant fusillade, followed by heavy artillery fire, gave the news that the attack on the Seminary had already begun.

It had been only at half-past ten that Foy, riding along the heights by the Chapel of Bom Fin, had been informed that there were boats on the river, filled with red-coated soldiery. It took him wellnigh three-quarters of an hour to bring up his nearest regiment, the 17th Léger, and only at 11.30 did the attack on the Seminary begin. The three battalions beset the[p. 338] northern and western sides of the Seminary, and made a vigorous attempt to break in, while some guns were hurried down to the river bank, just below the building, to fire upon the barges that were bringing up reinforcements.

Wellesley, from his eyrie on the Serra heights, had been watching for the long-expected outburst of the French. The moment that they came pressing forward, he gave orders for the eighteen guns in the convent garden to open upon them. The first shot fired, a round of shrapnel from the 5?-inch howitzer of Lane’s battery, burst just over the leading French gun on the further bank, as it was in the act of unlimbering, dismounted the piece, and by an extraordinary chance, killed or wounded every man and horse attached to it[420]. A moment later came the blast of the other seventeen guns, which swept the level ground to the west of the Seminary with awful effect. The French attack reeled back, and the survivors fled from the open ground into the houses of the suburb, leaving the disabled cannon behind them. Again and again they tried to creep forward, to flank the English stronghold, and to fire at the barges as they went and came, but on every occasion they were swept away by the hail of shrapnel. They could, therefore, only attack the Seminary on its northern front, where the buildings lay between them and the Serra height, and so screened them from the artillery. But in half an hour the 17th Léger was beaten off and terribly mauled; they had to cross an open space, the Prado do Bispo, in order to get near their adversaries, and the fire from the garden wall, the windows, and the flat roof of the edifice, swept them away before they could close.

Meanwhile the English suffered little: the only serious loss sustained was that of General Edward Paget, whose arm was shattered by a bullet. He was replaced in command by Hill, who (like him) had crossed in one of the earlier barges. The number of troops in the building was always growing larger, the Buffs were all across, and the 66th and 48th were beginning to follow.

After a short slackening in the engagement, General Delaborde came up, with the three battalions of the 70th of the line, to[p. 339] support his brigadier. This new force executed a far more sustained and desperate attack on the Seminary than had their predecessors. Hill in his letters home called it ‘the serious attack.’ But it had no better fortune than the last: a thousand English infantry, comfortably ensconced behind stone walls, and protected on their flanks by the storm of shot and shell from the opposite bank of the river, could not easily be moved. So well, indeed, were they covered, that in three hours’ fighting they only lost seventy-seven men[421], while the open ground outside was thickly strewn with the dead and wounded Frenchmen.

Soult was now growing desperate: he ordered up from the city Reynaud’s brigade, which had hitherto guarded the quays in the neighbourhood of the broken bridge. His intention was to make one more attack on the Seminary, and if that failed to draw off in the direction of Vallongo and Amarante. This move made an end of his chances; he had forgotten to reckon with the Portuguese. The moment that the quays were left unguarded, hundreds of citizens poured out of their houses and ran down to the water’s edge, where they launched all the boats that had been drawn ashore, and took them over to the English bank. Richard Stewart’s brigade and the Guards who had been waiting under cover of the houses of Villa Nova, immediately began to embark, and in a few moments the passage had begun. The 29th was first formed up on the northern bank, and dashed up the main street into the city, meeting little or no opposition; the 1st Battalion of Detachments and the Guards’ brigade soon followed. In half an hour they had come upon the flank of the French force which was attacking the Seminary, and had taken in the rear and captured one of Soult’s reserve batteries, whose horses were shot down before they could escape along a narrow lane. As the British went pouring through Oporto the whole population, half mad with joy, stood cheering at the windows and on the roofs, waving their handkerchiefs and shouting Viva. The rabble poured down into the streets, and began to attack the French wounded, so that Sherbrooke had to detach a company to protect them from assassination[422].

[p. 340]

When Soult found himself thus attacked in the flank, he saw that there was no more to be done, and bade the whole army retreat at full speed along the road to Vallongo and Baltar. They went off in a confused mass, the regiments all mingled together, and the artillery jammed in the midst of the column. Hill came out of the Seminary and joined in the pursuit, which was urged for three miles. ‘They made no fight,’ writes an eye-witness, ‘every man seemed running for his life, throwing away their knapsacks and arms, so that we had only the trouble of making many prisoners every instant, all begging for quarter and surrendering with great good humour[423].’

The French army might have been still further mauled, and indeed almost destroyed, if Wellesley’s detached force under Murray had been well handled by its commander. The two battalions of the German Legion, with their attendant squadrons of the 14th Light Dragoons, had crossed the Douro at the ferry of Barca d’ Avintas wholly unopposed. It was a slow business, but the detachment was over long ere Soult had abandoned his attack on the Seminary. Advancing cautiously along the river bank, Murray suddenly saw the whole French army come pouring past him in total disorder on the line of the Vallongo road. He might have made an attempt to throw himself across their path, or at least have fallen upon their flank and endeavoured to cut the column in two; but thinking them far too strong for his small force, and forgetting their demoralization, he halted and allowed them to go by. When all had passed, General Charles Stewart, who had been sent in search of Murray by the Commander-in-chief, came galloping up to the force, and took from it a squadron of the 14th[424], with which he made a dash at the enemy’s last troops. The French had now formed a sort of rearguard, but the dragoons rode into it without hesitation. The French generals were bringing up the rear, and trying to keep their men steady. Delaborde was unhorsed and for a moment[p. 341] was a prisoner, but escaped owing to his captor being killed. Foy received a sabre cut on the shoulder. The infantry broke, and nearly 300 of them were cut off and captured. But the dragoons also suffered heavily; of about 110 men who took part in the charge no less than thirty-five men were killed and wounded. Murray, who watched the whole skirmish from his position on a neighbouring hillside, gave no assistance to his cavalry, though the intervention of his two battalions would have led to the capture of the whole of Soult’s rearguard. It was to infantry of Sherbrooke’s division that the dragoons turned over their prisoners before rejoining their other squadron[425].

So ended the battle of Oporto, daring in its conception, splendidly successful in its execution, yet not so decisive as it might have been, had Murray but done his duty during the pursuit. The British loss was astoundingly small—only twenty-three killed, ninety-eight wounded, and two missing: among the dead there was not a single officer: the wounded included a general (Paget) and three majors. The casualties of the French were, as was natural, much greater: the attacks on the Seminary had cost them dear. They lost about 300 killed and wounded and nearly as many prisoners in the field, while more[p. 342] than 1,500 sick and wounded were captured in the hospitals of Oporto[426]. The trophies consisted of the six field-pieces taken during the fighting, a great number of baggage wagons, and fifty-two Portuguese guns, dismounted but fit for further service, which were found in the arsenal. Soult had destroyed, before retreating, the rest of the cannon which he had captured in the Portuguese lines on March 29.

SECTION XIV: CHAPTER III
SOULT’S RETREAT FROM OPORTO

The headlong charge of Hervey’s squadron of the 14th Light Dragoons was the last molestation which fell to the lot of Soult’s retreating column on the afternoon of May 12. Marching till dark, the disordered infantry encamped at Baltar, ten miles from Oporto, where they fell in with the detached regiment of Delaborde’s division and with Caulaincourt’s dragoons, who had been guarding this half-way stage between Amarante and Oporto, ever since Loison had marched on into the Tras-os-Montes ten days before. Of the rest of the French army, Franceschi (always in the post of danger) covered the rear at Vallongo, just west of Baltar. Mermet, with the division that had marched from Oporto before Wellesley’s attack was developed, had encamped on the Souza river, four miles ahead of the main column. The Marshal had thus nearly 13,000 men concentrated, and proposed next day to push on for Amarante, in the wake of Loison, who (as he supposed) must now be well ahead in the Tras-os-Montes, clearing for him the way into Spain. It was disquieting, however, to find that no news from that general had yet come to hand—indeed he had not been heard of since May 7, when he was just starting out on his expedition. Wherever Loison might be, the Marshal was bound to follow him in haste, since it was certain that Wellesley would be close at his heels, and that no time was to be lost in lingering.

At half-past one in the morning Soult was roused from sleep, and informed that the long-expected messenger from Loison had at last arrived[427]. The news which he brought was nothing less than appalling: the French detached corps had been not only checked but beaten, the bridge of Amarante had been lost,[p. 344] and Loison was hastily retreating to the north-west at the moment that his chief was moving eastward to join him.

Beresford’s turning movement, in fact, had been completely successful—far more so than Wellesley had thought likely; he had not only succeeded in placing himself across the French line of retreat into Spain, but had beaten Loison and thrown him back into Soult’s arms.

What had happened was shortly this. On May 8 Beresford had picked up Wilson’s detachment at Vizeu: on the tenth he had met Silveira at Lamego. He had thus concentrated some 10,500 or 11,000 men, all Portuguese save Tilson’s brigade and the single squadron of the 14th Light Dragoons. Learning at Lamego that, as late as the ninth, Loison was still in the neighbourhood of Amarante, and had not yet penetrated far into the Tras-os-Montes, Beresford resolved to take the risk of passing the Douro and to throw his army directly across the path of the advancing French. On the tenth, the same day on which the force from Coimbra reached Lamego, he sent Silveira over the river by the bridge of Peso da Regoa, which had never passed out of the hands of the Portuguese and had a strong tête-de-pont on its northern side. Silveira had barely crossed when Loison, who had spent the previous day at Mezamfrio, ten miles away on the Amarante road, came up against him with Heudelet’s and Sarrut’s infantry and Marisy’s dragoons—about 6,500 sabres and bayonets. Emboldened by having entrenchments to help him, and by knowing that Beresford was close behind, Silveira stood firm at the tête-de-pont and accepted battle.

Loison was somewhat discouraged by his adversary’s confidence, and did not fail to note the masses of troops on the southern bank of the Douro, which were moving up to the bridge to support Silveira. However, late in the afternoon he attacked the Portuguese, but was steadily met and beaten off with some loss[428]. Thereupon he drew back and retired to Mezamfrio. On the following day (May 11) he continued his[p. 345] retreat to Amarante, closely pursued by Silveira, who kept driving in his rearguard wherever it attempted to make a stand.

Beresford meanwhile brought his own troops across the Douro on May 11, in the wake of Silveira’s division. On the twelfth he pushed forward to Amarante, intending to fight Loison if the latter should try to hold his ground beyond the bridge. But on his approach he found that the French rearguard (Sarrut’s brigade) had already been driven across the water by the Portuguese[429]. The bridge, however, still remained in Loison’s hands, and as it was no less defensible from the eastern than from the western bank, the army could get no further forward.

Matters were now at a deadlock, for if Beresford could not cross the Tamega, it was clear that Loison, even if heavily reinforced from Oporto, would not be able to force the imposing position on the heights commanding the bridge, which was now held by 11,000 men, including a British brigade. But he might, and should, have continued to hold the town and the bridge-head, till further orders reached him from Soult. Instead of doing so, he made up his mind to retreat at once, and marched off early on the evening of May 12 along the road to Guimaraens and Braga. Thus at the moment when Soult was retiring on Amarante, Loison abandoned the position which covered his chief’s chosen line of retreat. Moreover, he was so tardy in sending news of his intentions to head quarters, that the aide-de-camp who bore his dispatch only reached Baltar after midnight on the twelfth-thirteenth: this was the first report that Soult had received from him since May 8. It was a military crime of the highest magnitude that he had neither informed his chief of the check at Peso da Regoa on the tenth, nor of his retreat to Amarante on the eleventh. Knowledge of these facts would have been invaluable to the Marshal, since it would have shown him that the route through the Tras-os-Montes was[p. 346] blocked, and that he must not count upon an undisturbed retreat into Spain. If he had known of this, he would not have evacuated Oporto by the Baltar road, but would have been forced to march northward on Braga or Guimaraens, instead of due east. So strange, in fact, was Loison’s slackness, that Soult’s advocates have not hesitated to accuse him of deliberate treachery, and have hinted that he was engaged in Argenton’s plot—a hypothesis which would have explained his conduct clearly enough. But, as a matter of fact, Argenton’s revelations to Wellesley show that this was not the case, and that the conspirators looked upon Loison and Delaborde as the two officers who were most likely to give them trouble. It must therefore have been sheer military incapacity, and disgust at the whole Portuguese expedition, which lay at the bottom of Loison’s misbehaviour. Disbelieving in Soult’s plan of campaign, he was probably bent on compelling his chief to retire to Braga, and was (of course) quite ignorant of the fact that Wellesley’s capture of Oporto had changed the whole face of affairs, and that the retreat in that direction was no longer open.

Despondent, tired out by the work of the preceding day, and suffering physically from a heavy fall from his horse during the retreat, Soult was roused from his slumbers to read Loison’s disastrous dispatch. When he had made out its full meaning he was appalled. All his plans were shattered, and he was clearly in imminent danger, for Wellesley from Oporto and Beresford from Amarante might converge upon him in the morning, with nearly 30,000 men, if it should chance that they had made out his position. No help could come from Loison, who, having now reached Guimaraens, was separated from the main body by the roadless expanse of the rugged Serra de Santa Catalina. Eastward lay one hostile force, westward another, to the south was the impassable Douro, to the north the inhospitable mountains. It was useless to think of making a desperate dash at Beresford’s army: in open ground an attack on the Portuguese might have been practicable, but the bridge of Amarante was a post impossible to force in a hurry, and while the attack on it was in progress, it was certain that Wellesley would come up from the rear. The situation and the results of Baylen would inevitably be reproduced.

[p. 347]

Realizing this, the Duke of Dalmatia came to the conclusion that the only course open to him was to abandon everything that could not be carried on his men’s backs, and to make a desperate attempt to cross the Serra de Santa Catalina before the news of his straits had reached the enemy. He imagined that there must be some sort of a footpath from Baltar or Penafiel to Guimaraens: in a thickly peopled country like Northern Portugal, the hill-folk have short cuts of their own—the only difficulty for the stranger is to discover them. Hasty inquiries in the bivouac of the army produced a Navarese camp-follower, who said that he knew the localities and could point out a bad mule-track, which climbed the hillside above the Souza torrent, and came down into the valley of the Avé, not far south of Guimaraens[430]. It was the kind of path in which the army would meet every sort of difficulty, and where the head of the column might be stopped by a couple of hundred Ordenanza, if it should chance that the Portuguese peasantry were on the alert. But it seemed the only practicable way out of the situation, and the Marshal resolved to try it.

At daybreak the army was warned of its danger; and wasting no time on councils of war or elaborate orders, Soult sent round word that the troops were to abandon everything that could not be carried on the backs of men or horses, and to take to the hills. An immense mass of baggage and plunder had to be left on the banks of the Souza, including the whole of the heavy convoy which Mermet had escorted out of Oporto on the previous day. The Marshal even decided that the infantry should turn out of their knapsacks everything except food and cartridges, an order which those who had in their possession gold plate and other valuable plunder of small bulk took care to disobey. The cannon were destroyed by being placed mouth to mouth and discharged simultaneously in pairs. As much of the reserve ammunition for infantry as could be packed in convenient bundles was laden on the backs of the artillery horses. The rest, with all the powder wagons, was collected in[p. 348] a mass, ready to be fired when the army should have absconded. One curious circumstance, which displays better than anything else the hurry of the retreat, is worth mentioning. The military chest of the 2nd Corps was well filled—it is said to have contained nearly ￡50,000 in Portuguese silver. The Marshal ordered the paymaster-in-chief to serve out all that he could to the regimental paymasters. Only two of these officials could be found, and they were unable to carry off more than a fraction of the money. Soult then ordered the treasure-chests to be broken open, and sent word that the men, as they passed, might help themselves. But hardly a soldier took advantage of the offer: they looked at the bulky bags of cruzados novos, shook their heads, and hurried on. Those who were tempted at first were seen, later in the day, tossing the weighty pieces into the ravine of the Souza. Perceiving that there was no way of getting rid of the mass of silver, Soult at last ordered the fourgons containing it to be dragged alongside of the powder wagons. When the train was exploded, after the rearguard had passed, the money was scattered to the winds. For years after the peasants of Penafiel were picking up stray coins on the hillside[431].

As the French army was beginning its weary climb over the Serra de Santa Catalina a heavy drenching rain commenced to fall. It lasted for three days, and added much to the miseries[p. 349] of the retreat; but it was not without its advantages to the fugitive host, for it kept the Portuguese peasantry indoors, and it would seem that no one in the mountain villages got wind of the movement for many hours. It was not till the French had crossed the ridge and descended, late in the dusk, on to the village of Pombeiro in the valley of the Avé that they began to be molested by the Ordenanza. After a few shots had been fired the peasants were driven off. Next morning [May 14] Soult got into communication with Loison, who was still lying at Guimaraens with all his troops. On the same day Lorges’ dragoons and the garrison of Viana came in from the north, and the whole army, still over 20,000 strong, was reconcentrated. The first danger, that of destruction piecemeal, had been avoided. But Soult’s desperate move had only warded off the peril for the moment: he had still to fear that Wellesley and Beresford might close in upon him before he could get clear of the mountains.

It remains to be seen how the two British generals had employed the day during which the French were scaling the heights of the Serra de Santa Catalina. Wellesley had crossed in person to Oporto long ere the fighting was over, and had established his head quarters in Soult’s villa on the heights, where he and his staff thought themselves fortunate in finding ready for their consumption the excellent dinner which had been prepared for the Marshal. As long as daylight lasted the British infantry continued to be ferried over to the city, but they were not all across when night fell. The artillery, the train, and all the regimental baggage were still on the wrong side of the river, and as the great bridge was destroyed beyond hope of repair, all the impedimenta had to be brought over in boats and barges. It was mainly this fact that delayed Wellesley from making an early move on the thirteenth. He could not advance without his guns and his reserve ammunition, and did not receive them till the day was far spent and the natural hour for marching was past. There were other circumstances which hindered him from pressing on as he would have liked to do. The infantry were tired out: they had marched more than eighty miles during the last four days, and had fought hard at Grijon and Oporto. Human nature could do no[p. 350] more without a halt, and Wellesley was forced to grant it. Moreover, there was the question of food to be taken into consideration. The troops had outrun their supplies, and the provision wagons were still trailing up from Coimbra. In Oporto no stores of any importance were discovered, for Soult had stopped collecting more than he could carry, the moment that he made up his mind to retreat, and had been living from hand to mouth during the last few days of his sojourn in the city. The only thing that abounded was port wine, and from that the soldiers had to be kept away, or results disastrous to discipline would have followed[432].

With great reluctance, therefore, Wellesley resolved to halt for a day, only sending forward Murray and the German Legion, with a couple of squadrons, along the Baltar road. This brigade did not come up with Soult’s rearguard, though they found ample traces of his passage in the shape of murdered stragglers and abandoned plunder. No doubt the Commander-in-chief would have directed them to push on further, and have supported them with every battalion that could still march ten miles, if only he had been aware of the fact that Beresford had got possession of the bridge of Amarante, and that the enemy was therefore in a trap. But he was only in communication with his lieutenant by the circuitous route of Lamego and Mezamfrio, and the last news that he had received of the turning column led him to believe that it was still in the neighbourhood of Villa Real, and that Loison continued to hold the passage of the Tamega. Writing to Beresford on the night of the capture of Oporto, he desired him to make every effort to hold on to Villa Real, and to keep Soult in check till he himself could overtake him[433].

It was not till the afternoon of the thirteenth that Wellesley obtained information that put him on the right track. The intelligence officer with Murray’s column[434] sent him back word[p. 351] that heavy explosions had been heard at Penafiel, and that the smoke of large fires was visible along the hillside above it. This gave a strong hint of what was probably taking place in that direction, but it was not till five in the afternoon that full information came to hand. This was brought by the Portuguese secretary of General Quesnel, who had deserted his employer and ridden back to Oporto, to give the valuable news which would save him from being tried for treason for serving the enemy. He gave an accurate and detailed account of all that had happened to Soult’s column, and had seen it start off on the break-neck path to Guimaraens. Only about Loison was he uncertain—that officer, he said, was probably still at Amarante, holding back Silveira and Beresford[435].

On receipt of this important intelligence Wellesley sent orders to Murray to press on his small force of cavalry, and some mounted rifles (if he could secure horses or mules) as far as Penafiel, to verify the secretary’s information[436]. A later dispatch bade him press on to Amarante, if Loison was still there, in order to take that officer in the rear; but if he were gone, the Legionary brigade was to follow Soult over the hills towards Guimaraens and Braga, and endeavour to catch up his rearguard[437]. The orders arrived too late: Murray, on the morning of the fourteenth, learnt that Loison had long ago departed, and that Soult was far on his way. He followed the Marshal across the Serra de Santa Catalina, but never got near him, though he picked up many French stragglers, and saw the bodies of many more, who had been assassinated by the peasantry[438].

Meanwhile Beresford had acted with great decision, and with an intelligence which he did not always display. When, on the morning of the thirteenth, he found that the French had disappeared, and that Amarante (after having been thoroughly sacked)[439] had been abandoned to him, he did not waste time in[p. 352] a fruitless pursuit of Loison in the direction of Guimaraens, but resolved to endeavour to cut off the retreat of the whole French army towards the north. If they had absconded by way of Braga, the chase would fall to Wellesley’s share, but if they had taken the other road by Chaves, all would depend on his own movements. Accordingly he resolved to march at once on the last named town, without waiting for orders from the Commander-in-chief. Having hastily collected three days’ provisions, he moved off himself by the high-road up the valley of the Tamega, detaching Silveira and his division to strike across country, and occupy the defiles of Ruivaens and Salamonde on the Braga-Chaves road, where it would be possible to detain, if not to stop, the retreating columns of Soult if they should take this way [May 14]. While on his march Beresford received Wellesley’s letters, which prescribed to him exactly the line of conduct that he had already determined to pursue[440]. After three difficult marches in drenching rain, which turned every rivulet into an almost impassable torrent, and spoilt the inadequate provision of bread which had been served out to the men, the division reached Chaves about 12 p.m. on the night of the sixteenth-seventeenth. The men were absolutely exhausted; though the distance covered had not exceeded some fourteen or fifteen miles per day, yet the rain, the starvation, and the bad road had much thinned the ranks, and those who had kept up with the colours were dropping with fatigue. The slowness of the column’s advance was certainly not Beresford’s fault; he had allowed only a six hours’ halt each day on the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth, and had been pushing on as hard as was, humanly speaking, possible. Nevertheless he was too late: on the seventeenth, the all-important day of the campaign, he held Chaves, but his[p. 353] troops were too tired to start early or to march far. The bad weather which made the French retreat so miserable, had at least saved the flying army from its pursuers[441].

Soult meanwhile had gathered in Loison and Lorges, and his whole army was concentrated at Guimaraens on the morning of the fourteenth. From the point where he now lay, in the upper valley of the Avé, there are only two carriage roads, that to Amarante by which Loison had arrived, and that to Braga. There was a bare chance that if Wellesley had received his information late, and moved slowly, it might be possible to escape from him by the road to Braga. If, however, he had marched promptly from Oporto, he would be able to intercept the retreating army at that place. Soult refused to take this risk, and resolved instead to plunge once more into the mountains, and to cross the watershed between the Avé and the Cavado by a rugged hill-path, no better than that which had served him between Penafiel and Guimaraens. It was accordingly necessary to sacrifice all the guns, munitions, and baggage belonging to Loison and Lorges, just as those of Mermet and Delaborde had been destroyed on the banks of the Souza. The guns were burst, the ammunition exploded, the baggage piled[p. 354] in heaps and burned. After this second holocaust the army struck up a track by the Salto torrent, which ultimately brought them over the crest, and down upon the village of Lanhozo, eight miles from Braga, and just at the foot of the position which Eben had occupied during his unhappy battle on March 20. The weather had been abominable, and the rearguard had been forced to bivouac in misery on the hills, the darkness having come down upon them before the descent into the valley of the Cavado was completed.

Next morning Soult sent out Lahoussaye’s dragoons down the valley of the Cavado towards Braga, to see if that city was already in Wellesley’s hands or whether it was still possible to escape across his front and gain the high road to Galicia. As the Marshal had feared would be the case, they met British light cavalry pushing briskly up the road towards them; it was clear that the pursuers were already in Braga, and Soult at once ordered his columns to turn their faces to the north-east, and follow the road up the Cavado towards Salamonde and Ruivaens. The British were ere long visible in close pursuit.

Sir Arthur had quitted Oporto on the fourteenth with his whole force except the brigade of Murray, which had already gone forth on the eastern line of pursuit, and the 20th Light Dragoons, which he had been ordered to send back to Lisbon. On that day his army covered twenty-two miles of road in vile weather, and slept at Villa Nova de Famelic??o. On the fifteenth the British started early, and their vanguard had already marched twelve miles and reached Braga when the French dragoons were descried. The latter, seeing themselves forestalled, retired on their main body, and when Wellesley’s men mounted the crest of the Monte Adaufé (Eben’s old position in the battle of March 20), they caught a glimpse of the whole French army retiring up the valley. Soult, immediately on hearing that the pursuers were in Braga, had commenced a new retreat. He had rearranged his order of march. Loison now led the column, with Heudelet’s division and Lorges’ dragoons: then came the droves of artillery horses and pack-mules, with the reserve ammunition and the little baggage that had been saved, followed by Delaborde and Mermet. Merle’s infantry and Franceschi’s horse were in the rear, under the Marshal’s[p. 355] own command. In this order the French remounted the stream of the Cavado as far as Salamonde, where the broad valley narrows down to a defile. They were followed by the British light dragoons, but the infantry of the pursuing column had not got far beyond Braga, where Wellesley’s head quarters were established that night. Murray’s German brigade, which had crossed the mountains from Guimaraens in Soult’s wake, joined the main body on this evening.

On reaching Salamonde Soult was informed by the cavalry in his front that they had been brought to stand at the bridge of Ponte Nova, a few miles up the defile, by a body of Ordenanza, who had taken up the wooden flooring of the bridge, torn down its balustrades, and barricaded themselves upon the further side. Unless they could be dislodged ruin stared the Marshal in the face: for the British were close in his rear, and there was no lateral line of escape from the precipitous defile. Surrender next morning must follow. In this crisis Soult saw no chance of safety before him save a dash at the half-demolished bridge. When darkness had fallen he sent for Major Dulong, an officer of the 31st Léger, who enjoyed the reputation of being the most daring man in the whole army, and told him that he must surprise the Portuguese by a sudden rush at midnight, and win the passage at all costs. He was allowed to pick 100 volunteers from his own regiment for the enterprise.

The safety of a whole army has seldom depended upon a more desperate venture than that which Dulong took in hand. Nothing remained of the bridge save the two large cross-beams, no more than three or four feet broad; they were slippery with continuous rain, and had to be passed in complete darkness under the driving sleet of a bitter north wind. Fortunately for the assailants the same cold and wet which made their enterprise so dangerous had driven the Ordenanza under cover: they had retired to some huts a little way beyond the bridge. If they left any one on guard, the sentinel had followed his friends, for when Dulong and his party crept up to the passage they found it absolutely deserted. They crossed in single file, and reached the further side unobserved, losing one man who slipped and fell into the fierce river below. A moment later they came on the Portuguese, who were surprised in their sleep: many were[p. 356] bayonetted, the rest fled in dismay—they were but a few score of peasants, and were helpless when once the passage had been won.

For six hours Soult’s sappers were working hard to replace the flooring of the ruined bridge with tree trunks, and boards torn from the houses of the neighbouring village. At eight it was practicable, and the troops began to cross. It was a long business: for 20,000 men with 4,000 cavalry horses and a great drove of pack-animals had to be passed over the narrow, rickety, and uneven structure, whose balustrades had not been replaced. All the day was spent in hurrying the troops across, but they got forward so slowly that Soult saw himself forced to place a strong rearguard in position, to hold back the pursuers till the main body was safe. He left behind a brigade of Merle’s division, and two of Franceschi’s cavalry regiments, ranged behind a lateral ravine which crosses the road some distance below the bridge. They were placed with their right on the rough river bank and their left on the cliffs which overhang the road; orders were given to the effect that they must hold on at all costs till the army had completed the passage of the Ponte Nova. At half-past one the British light dragoons arrived in front of the position, saw that they could not force it, and started a bickering fire with the French pickets, while they waited for the main body to come up.

Owing to the long distance which Wellesley’s infantry had to cover, the day wore on without any serious collision on this point. But meanwhile Soult found that another and more serious danger lay ahead of him. After crossing the Cavado at the Ponte Nova there were two paths available for the army—the main road leads eastward to Chaves by way of Ruivaens, a branch, however, turns off north to Montalegre and the sources of the Misarella, the main affluent of the Cavado. The former was the easier, but there was a grave doubt whether Chaves might not already be in the hands of Beresford and his turning column—as a matter of fact it only arrived there a few hours after Soult stood uncertain at the parting of the ways. Bearing this in mind, the Marshal resolved to take the more rugged and difficult path; but when Loison and the vanguard were engaged in it they found that the bridge over the Misarella, the[p. 357] Saltador as it was called from the bold leap which its single arch makes across the torrent, was held against them. Again it was only with Ordenanza that the army had to deal: Beresford had just reached Chaves, but his troops were some miles further back; Silveira, who ought to have been at Ruivaens that morning, had not appeared at all. But Major Warre, an officer of Beresford’s staff, had ridden ahead to rouse the peasantry, and had collected several hundred half-armed levies at the Saltador bridge, which he encouraged them to hold, promising that the regulars would be up to support them before nightfall. Unfortunately he could not persuade them to destroy the bridge, on which all the cross-communications of the Misarella valley depend. But they had thrown down its parapets, built an abattis across its head, and thrown up earthworks on each side of it so as to command the opposite bank. This, unhappily, was not enough to hold back 20,000 desperate men, who saw their only way of salvation on the opposite bank.

When Loison found his advance barred, he made an appeal to that same Major Dulong who had forced the Ponte Nova on the preceding night. Again that daring soldier volunteered to conduct the forlorn hope: he was given a company of voltigeurs to lead the column, and two battalions of Heudelet’s division to back them. Forming the whole in one continuous mass—there was only room for four men abreast—he dashed down towards the bridge amid a spluttering and ineffective fire from the Portuguese entrenchments on the opposite bank. The column reached the arch, passed it, was checked but a moment while tearing down the abattis, and then plunged in among the scared Ordenanza, who fled in every direction, leaving the passage free. Dulong was wounded, but no more than eighteen of his companions were hit, and at this small sacrifice the army was saved. Late in the afternoon the whole mass began to stream up the Montalegre road; they had no longer anything more to fear than stray shots from the scattered Ordenanza, who hung about on the hillsides, firing into the column from inaccessible rocks, but doing little damage.

If Dulong had failed at the Saltador Soult would have been lost, for just as the passage was forced the rumbling of cannon began to be heard from the rear. Merle was attacked by the[p. 358] British, and was being driven in. At five o’clock the Guards’ brigade, forming the head of Wellesley’s infantry, had come up with the French rearguard. It was formidably posted, but Sir Arthur thought that it might be dislodged. Accordingly he placed the two three-pounders, which accompanied the column, on the high road, and began to batter the French centre, while he sent off the three light companies of the brigade[442] to turn the French left flank on the cliffs to the south. When the crackling of their musketry was heard among the rocks, he silenced his guns and flung the Guards upon the enemy’s main body. They broke, turned, and fled in confusion, though the regiment on the road, the 4th Léger, was considered one of the best in the French army[443].

The chase continued as far as the Ponte Nova, which the broken troops crossed in a struggling mass, thrusting each other over the edge (where the balustrades were wanting) till the torrent below was choked with dead men and horses. The British guns were brought up and played upon the weltering crowd with dreadful effect. But the night was already coming on, and the darkness hid from the pursuers the full effect of their own fire. They halted and encamped, having slain many and taken about fifty prisoners, of whom one was an officer. It was only at daybreak that they realized the terrors through which the French had passed. ‘The rocky bed of the Cavado,’ says an eye-witness, ‘presented an extraordinary spectacle. Men and horses, sumpter animals and baggage, had[p. 359] been precipitated into the river, and literally choked its course. Here, with these fatal accompaniments of death and dismay, was disgorged the last of the plunder of Oporto. All kinds of valuable goods were left on the road, while above 300 horses, sunk in the water, and mules laden with baggage, fell into the hands of the grenadier and light companies of the Guards. These active-fingered gentry found that fishing for boxes and bodies out of the stream produced pieces of plate, and purses and belts full of gold money. Amid the scenes of death and desolation arose their shouts of the most noisy merriment[444].’

On the night of the 17th Soult’s army poured into Montalegre, a dilapidated old town on the edge of the frontier, from which all the inhabitants had fled. Little or no food could be procured, and the houses did not suffice to shelter more than a part of the troops. Next morning the 2nd Corps took to its heels once more, and climbed the Serra de Gerez, which lies just above the town. On descending its northern slope they had at last entered Spain, and had reached safety. But the country was absolutely desolate: for twenty miles beyond Montalegre there was hardly a single village on this rugged by-path. Still dreading pursuit, the Marshal urged on his men as fast as they could be driven forward, and in two long marches at last reached Orense.

Wellesley, however, had given up any hope of catching the 2nd Corps, when once it had passed the Saltador and reached the Spanish frontier. He had halted the British infantry at Ruivaens, and only sent on in chase of the flying host the 14th Light Dragoons and the division of Silveira, which had at last appeared on the scene late in the evening of the seventeenth. What this corps had been doing during the last forty-eight hours it is impossible to discover. It had started from Amarante on the same day that Beresford marched for Chaves, and ought to have been at Ruivaens on the sixteenth, when it would have found itself just in time to intercept Soult’s vanguard after it had passed the Ponte Nova. Apparently the same wild weather and constant rain which had delayed Beresford’s column had checked his subordinate. At any rate it is certain that Silveira, though he had a shorter route than his chief, only got to Ruivaens late[p. 360] on the seventeenth, while the other column had reached Chaves more than twelve hours earlier.

The French had disappeared, and it was only next morning that Silveira followed them up on the Montalegre road. He captured a few laggards by the way, but on reaching the little town found that Soult’s rearguard had quitted it two hours before his arrival[445]. By Wellesley’s orders he pushed on for one day more in pursuit, but found that the enemy was now so far ahead that he could do no more than pick up moribund stragglers. On the nineteenth, therefore, he turned back and retraced his steps to Montalegre[446].

Much the same fortune had befallen Beresford’s column. By Wellesley’s orders Tilson’s brigade and their Portuguese companions marched from Chaves by Monterey on the eighteenth, on the chance that Soult, after passing the Serra de Gerez, might drop into the Monterey-Orense road. But the Marshal had not taken this route: he had kept to by-paths, and marched by Porquera and Allariz, to the left of the line on which Beresford’s pursuit was directed. At Ginzo the cavalry of the pursuing column picked up fifty stragglers, and came into contact with a small party of Franceschi’s chasseurs, which Soult had thrown out to cover his flank. Learning from the peasantry that the French had gone off by a different route, Beresford halted and returned to Chaves. His men were so thoroughly worn out, and the strength of the column was so much reduced, that he could have done little more even if he had come upon the main body of the enemy[447].
Map of Northern Portugal

Enlarge  NORTHERN PORTUGAL
TO ILLUSTRATE MARSHAL SOULT’S CAMPAIGN
of MARCH to MAY 1809

On May 19 Soult’s dilapidated and starving host poured into Orense, where they could at last take a day’s rest and obtain a decent meal. The Marshal caused the troops to be numbered, and found that he had brought back 19,713 men. As he had started from the Spanish frontier with 22,000 sabres and [p. 361]bayonets, and had received 3,500 more from Tuy, when Lamartinière’s column joined him, it would appear that he had left in all some 5,700 men behind him. Of these, according to the French accounts[448], about 1,000 had fallen in the early fighting, or died of sickness, before Wellesley’s appearance on the Vouga. About 700, mostly convalescents, had been captured at Chaves by Silveira[449]. After the storm of Oporto the British army found 1,500 sick in the hospitals of that city, of Braga and of Viana[450]. They also took some 400 unwounded prisoners at Oporto and at Grijon[451]. It results therefore that the losses of the actual retreat from Baltar to Orense, between the thirteenth and the nineteenth of May, must have been rather more than 2,000 men. But all these had been able-bodied fighting-men—the sick, as we have seen, were abandoned before the break-neck march over the mountains began: adding them and the prisoners of the eleventh-twelfth, to the actual casualties of the retreat, on the same principle which we used when calculating the losses of Moore’s army in the Corunna campaign, we should get a total of 4,000 for the deficiency in the French ranks during the nine days which elapsed between Wellesley’s passage of the Vouga and Soult’s arrival at Orense. Thus it would seem that about one-sixth of the 2nd Corps had been destroyed in that short time—a proportion almost exactly corresponding to that which Moore’s force left behind it in the retreat from Sahagun to Corunna, wherein 6,000 men out of 33,000 were lost.

In other respects these two famous retreats afford some interesting points of comparison. Moore had an infinitely longer distance to cover: in mere mileage his men marched more than twice as far as Soult’s[452]: their journey occupied twenty days as against nine. On the other hand the French had to[p. 362] use far worse roads. From Benavente to Corunna there is a good chaussée for the whole distance: from Baltar to Orense the 2nd Corps had to follow impracticable mule-tracks for more than half the way. As to the weather, there was perhaps little to choose between the two retreats: the nine days of perpetual rain, during which Soult effected his passage of four successive mountain chains, was almost as trying as the cold and snow through which the British had to trudge. Moore’s men were not so hardly pressed by starvation as the 2nd Corps, and they were moving through a country-side which was not actively hostile, if it could scarcely be described as friendly. On the other hand they were pursued with far greater vigour than the French: their rearguard was beset every day, and had constantly to be fighting, while Soult’s troops were hard pressed only on two days—the sixteenth and seventeenth of May. This advantage the Marshal gained by choosing an unexpected line of retreat over obscure by-paths: if he had taken either of the high-roads by Braga and Chaves his fate would have been very different. On this same choice of roads depends another contrast between the two retreats: to gain speed and safety Soult sacrificed the whole of his artillery and his transport. When he arrived at Orense, as one of his officers wrote, ‘the infantry had brought off their bayonets and their eagles, the cavalry their horses and saddles—everything else had been left behind—the guns, the stores, the treasure, the sick.’ Moore, in spite of all the miseries of his march, carried down to Corunna the whole of his artillery, part of his transport, and the greater number of his sick and wounded. If he lost his military chest, it was not from necessity but from the mismanagement of the subordinates who had charge of it. His army was in condition to fight a successful battle at the end of its retreat, and so to win for itself a safe and honourable departure.

Both generals, it will be observed, were driven into danger by causes for which they did not regard themselves as responsible. Soult was placed in peril by attempting to carry out his master’s impracticable orders. Moore thought himself bound to run the risk, because he had realized that there was a political necessity that the English army should do something for the cause of Spain, for it could not with honour retire to Portugal before it[p. 363] had struck a blow. In their management of their respective campaigns both made mistakes. Moore hurried his men too much, and did not take full advantage of the many positions in which he could have held off the pursuer by judicious rearguard actions. Soult’s faults were even greater: nothing can excuse his stay at Oporto during the days when he should have been directing Loison’s movements at Amarante. That stay was undoubtedly due to his vain intrigues with the Portuguese malcontents; it was personal ambition, not any military necessity, which detained him from his proper place. Still more worthy of blame was his disposition of his forces at the moment when the British troops crossed the Vouga: they were scattered in a dangerous fashion, which made concentration difficult and uncertain. But the weakest feature of his whole conduct was that he allowed himself to be surprised in Oporto by Wellesley on May 12. When an army in close touch with the enemy is taken unawares at broad midday, by an irruption of its opponents into the middle of the cantonments, the general-in-chief cannot shift the blame on to the shoulders of subordinates. It was Soult’s duty to see that his officers were taking all reasonable precautions to watch the British, and he most certainly did not do so. Indeed, we have seen that he turned all his attention to the point of least danger—the lower reaches of the Douro—and neglected that on which the British attack was really delivered. It was only when he found himself on the verge of utter ruin, on May 13, that he rose to the occasion, and saved his army, by the daring march upon Guimaraens which foiled Wellesley’s plans for intercepting his retreat. To state that ‘his reputation as a general was nowise diminished by his Portuguese campaign’ is to do him more than justice[453]. It would be more true to assert that he showed that if he could commit faults, he could also do much towards repairing their consequences.

As to Wellesley, it is not too much to say that the Oporto campaign is one of his strongest titles to fame. He had, as we have already seen, only 16,400 British and 11,400 Portuguese troops[454], of whom the latter were either untried in the field or demoralized by their previous experiences beyond the Douro. His superiority in mere numbers to Soult’s corps of 23,000 men[p. 364] was therefore small, and he was lamentably destitute of cavalry and artillery. It was no small feat to expel the enemy from Northern Portugal in nine days, and to cast him into Galicia, stripped of his guns and baggage, and with a gap of more than 4,000 men in his ranks. This had been accomplished at the expense of no more than 500 casualties, even when the soldiers who fell by the way from sickness and fatigue are added to the 300 killed and wounded of the engagements of May 11, 12, and 17. There is hardly a campaign in history in which so much was accomplished at so small a cost. Wellesley had exactly carried out the programme which he had set before himself when he left Lisbon—the defeat of the enemy and the deliverance of the two provinces beyond the Douro. He had expressly disclaimed any intention or expectation of destroying or capturing the 2nd Corps[455], which some foreign critics have ascribed to him in their anxiety to make out that he failed to execute the whole project that he had taken in hand.

There was, it is true, one short moment at which he had it in his power to deal Soult a heavier blow than he had contemplated. On the night of May 12-13, when the Marshal in his bivouac at Baltar learnt of Loison’s evacuation of Amarante, the main body of the 2nd Corps was in a deplorable situation, and must have been destroyed, had the British been close at hand. If Wellesley had pursued the flying foe, on the afternoon of the victory of Oporto, with all his cavalry and the less fatigued regiments of his infantry, nothing could have saved the French. But the opportunity was one which could not have been foreseen: no rational officer could have guessed that Loison would evacuate Amarante, and so surrender his chief’s best line of retreat. It was impossible that Wellesley should dream of such a chance being thrown into his hands. He constructed his plans on the natural hypothesis that Soult had still open to him the route across the Tamega; and he was therefore more concerned with the idea that Beresford might be in danger from the approach of Soult, than with that of taking measures to[p. 365] capture the Marshal. His men were fatigued with the long march of eighty miles in four days which had taken them from the Mondego to Oporto: his guns and stores had not yet passed the bridgeless Douro. It was natural, therefore, that he should allow himself and his army a night’s rest before pressing on in pursuit of Soult. It will be remembered that he did push Murray’s brigade along the Baltar road in the tracks of the Marshal, but that officer never came up with the French. If blame has to be allotted to any one for the failure to discover the unhappy situation of the 2nd Corps upon the morning of the thirteenth, it would seem that Murray must bear the burden rather than the Commander-in-chief. He should have kept touch, at all costs, with the retreating French, and if he had done so would have been able to give Wellesley news of their desperate plight.

As to the pursuit of Soult, between the fourteenth and the eighteenth, it is hard to see that more could have been done than was actually accomplished. ‘It is obvious,’ as Wellesley wrote to Castlereagh, ‘that if an army throws away all its cannon, equipment, and baggage, and everything that can strengthen it and enable it to act together as a body; and if it abandons all those who are entitled to its protection, but add to its weight and impede its progress[456], it must be able to march by roads on which it can not be followed, with any prospect of being overtaken, by an army which has not made the same sacrifices[457].’ This puts the case in a nutshell: Soult, after he had abandoned his sick and destroyed his guns and wagons, could go much faster than his pursuers. The only chance of catching him was that Beresford or Silveira might be able to intercept him at the Misarella on the seventeenth. But the troops of the former were so exhausted by their long march in the rain from Amarante, that although they reached Chaves on the night of the sixteenth-seventeenth, they were not in a condition to march eighteen miles further on the following morning. Whether Silveira, who had taken a shorter but a more rugged route than Beresford, might not have reached Ruivaens ten or twelve hours earlier than he did is another matter. Had he[p. 366] done so, he might have held the cross-roads and blocked the way to Montalegre. We have no details of his march, though we know that he had a bad mountain-path to traverse in abominable weather. All military critics have joined in condemning him[458], but without a more accurate knowledge of the obstacles that he had to cross, and of the state of his troops, we can not be sure of the exact amount of blame that should fall upon him. It is at any rate clear that Wellesley was not responsible for the late arrival of the Portuguese division at Ruivaens and the consequent escape of the enemy.

[Erratum from p. xii: A dispatch of Beresford at Lisbon clears up my doubts as to Silveira’s culpability. Beresford complains that the latter lost a whole day by marching from Amarante to Villa Pouca without orders; the dispatch directing him to take the path by Mondim thus reached him only when he had gone many miles on the wrong road. The time lost could never be made up.]

Beyond Montalegre it would have been useless to follow the flying French. An advance into Galicia would have taken the British army too far from Lisbon, and have rendered it impossible to return in time to the Tagus if Victor should be on the move. That marshal, as we shall see, was showing signs of stirring from his long spell of torpidity, and it was a dispatch from Mackenzie, containing the news that the 1st Corps was on the move, that made Wellesley specially anxious to check the pursuit, and to draw back to Central Portugal before matters should come to a head in Estremadura. He could safely calculate that it would be months rather than weeks before Soult would be in a condition to cause any trouble on the northern frontier.

N.B.—There are admirable accounts of the horrors of Soult’s retreat in the works of Le Noble, St. Chamans, Fantin des Odoards, and Naylies. The pursuit of the main body of the English army is well described by four eye-witnesses—Lord Londonderry, Stothert, Hawker, and Lord Munster. For the march of Beresford’s corps I have only the details given by Lord Gough’s letter, cited heretofore.
SECTION XV  OPERATIONS IN NORTHERN SPAIN (MARCH-JUNE 1809) CHAPTER I
NEY AND LA ROMANA IN GALICIA AND THE ASTURIAS

While following the fortunes of Soult and the 2nd Corps in Northern Portugal, we have been constrained to withdraw our attention from Galicia, where we left Marshal Ney busied in a vain attempt to beat down the insurrections which had sprung up in every corner of the kingdom, at the moment when the melting of the snows gave notice that spring was at hand. It was with no good will that the Duke of Elchingen had seen his colleague depart from Orense and plunge into the Portuguese mountains. Indeed he had done his best to induce Soult to disregard the Emperor’s orders, and to join him in a strenuous effort to pacify Galicia before embarking on the march to Oporto[459]. When he found that his appeal had failed to influence the Duke of Dalmatia, and that the 2nd Corps had passed out of sight and left the whole of Galicia upon his hands, he was constrained to take stock of his position and to think out a plan of campaign.

Ney had at his disposal some 17,000 men, consisting of the twenty-four infantry battalions of his own corps, which formed the two divisions of Marchand and Maurice Mathieu, of the two regiments of his corps-cavalry, and of Fournier’s brigade of Lorges’ dragoons, which Soult, by the Emperor’s orders, had transferred to him before crossing the Minho. Among his resources it would not be fair to count the two garrisons at[p. 368] Vigo and Tuy which the 2nd Corps had left behind it. They numbered more than 4,000 men, but were so placed as to be more of a charge than a help to Ney. They failed to keep him in touch with Soult, and their necessities distracted some of his troops to their aid when he was requiring every man for other purposes.

On March 10, when he was left to his own resources, Ney had concentrated the greater part of his corps in the north-western corner of Galicia. He had placed one brigade at Lugo, a second with Fournier’s dragoons at Mondonedo, in observation of the Asturias, a third at Santiago, the remainder at Corunna and Ferrol. The outlying posts had been called in, save a garrison at Villafranca, the important half-way stage between Lugo and Astorga, where the Marshal had left a battalion of the 26th regiment, to keep open his communication with the plains of Leon. The insurgents were already so active that touch with this detachment was soon lost, the peasants having cut the road both east and west of Villafranca.

The whole month of March was spent in a ceaseless endeavour to keep down the rising in Northern Galicia: the southern parts of the kingdom had been practically abandoned, and the French had no hold there save through the garrisons of Tuy and Vigo, both of which (as we have seen in an earlier chapter) were blockaded by the local levies the moment that Soult had passed on into Portugal.

Ney’s object was to crush and cow the insurgents of Northern Galicia by the constant movement of flying columns, which marched out from the towns when his brigades were established, and made descents on every district where the peasantry had assembled in strength. This policy had little success: it was easy to rout the Galicians and to burn their villages, but the moment that the column had passed on the enemy returned to occupy his old positions. The campaign was endless and inconclusive: it was of little use to kill so many scores or hundreds of peasants, if no attempt was made to hold down the districts through which the expedition had passed. This could not be done for sheer want of numbers: 16,000 men were not sufficient to garrison the whole of the mountain valleys and coast villages of this rugged land. The French columns went far afield, even[p. 369] as far as Corcubion on the headland of Cape Finisterre, and Ribadeo on the borders of Asturias: but though they scathed the whole region with fire and sword, they made no impression. Moreover, they suffered serious losses: every expedition lost a certain number of stragglers cut off by the peasantry, and of foragers who had wandered too far from the main body in search of food. All were murdered: for the populace, mad at the burning of their homes and the lifting of their cattle—their only wealth—never gave quarter to the unfortunate soldiers who fell into their hands.

It is curious and interesting to compare Ney’s actual operations with the orders which the Emperor had sent to him[460]. In these he was directed to establish his head quarters at Lugo, and to leave no more than a regiment at Ferrol and another regiment at Betanzos and Corunna. He was to keep a movable column of three battalions at work between Santiago and Tuy, to ‘make examples’ and prevent the English from landing munitions for the insurgents. With the rest of his corps, five regiments of infantry and a brigade of cavalry, he was to establish himself at Lugo, and from thence to send out punitive expeditions against rebellious villages, to seize hostages, to lend aid if necessary to Soult’s operations in Portugal, and finally ‘to utilize the months of March and April, when there is nothing to fear on the Galician coasts, for an expedition to conquer the Asturias.’ Here we have all Napoleon’s illusions concerning the character of the Peninsular War very clearly displayed. He supposes that a movable column of one regiment can hold down a rugged coast region one hundred miles long, where 20,000 insurgents are in arms. He thinks that punitive expeditions, and the taking of hostages, will keep a province quiet without there being any need to establish garrisons in it. ‘Organize Galicia,’ he writes, ‘make examples, for severe examples well applied are much more effective than garrisons.... Leave the policing of the country to the Spanish authorities. If you cannot occupy every place, you can watch every place: if you cannot hold every shore-battery to prevent communication with the English, you can charge the natives with this duty. Your movable columns will punish any of the people of the coast who behave badly.’

[p. 370]

To Ney, when he received this dispatch, many weeks after it had been written, all this elaborate advice must have appeared very futile. Considering the present attitude of the whole population of Galicia, he must have been much amused at the proposal that he should entrust them with the task of keeping off the British, should ‘organize’ them, and ‘make them police themselves.’ As to ‘severe examples’ he had now been burning villages and shooting monks and alcaldes for two months and more: but the only result was that the insurrection flared up more fiercely, and that his own stragglers and foragers were being hung and tortured every day. As to the idea of movable columns, he had (on his own inspiration) sent Maucune to carry out precisely the operations that the Emperor desired in the country between Santiago and Tuy. The column had to fight every day, and held down not one foot of territory beyond the outskirts of its own camp. And now, in the midst of all his troubles, he was ordered to attempt the conquest of the Asturias, no small undertaking in itself. The Emperor’s letter ended with the disquieting note that ‘no further reinforcements can be sent to Galicia. It is much more likely that it may be necessary to transfer to some other point one of the two divisions of the Sixth Corps[461].’

We have hitherto had little occasion to mention the two Spanish regular armies on which Ney, in addition to all his troubles with the insurgents, had to keep a watchful eye. The first was the force in the principality of Asturias, which had been lost to sight since the day on which it fled homeward after the battle of Espinosa. The second consisted of the much-tried troops of La Romana, who since their escape from Monterey had enjoyed some weeks of comparative rest, and were once more ready to move.

The Asturian force was far the larger in point of numbers, and ought to have made its influence felt long ere now. But even more than the other Spaniards, the Asturians were given over to particularism and provincial selfishness. In 1808 they had done nothing for the common cause save that they had lent the single division of Acevedo—comprising about half their[p. 371] provincial levy[462]—to the army which Blake led to defeat in Biscay. After Espinosa this corps had not retired with La Romana to Leon, but had fallen back within the frontier of its native principality, and had joined the large reserve which had never gone forward from Oviedo. During the three winter months, the Asturians had contented themselves with reorganizing and increasing the numbers of their battalions, and with guarding the passes of the Cantabrian chain. They had refused to send either men or money to La Romana, thereby provoking his righteous indignation, and furnishing him with a grudge which he repaid in due season. When he was driven away from their neighbourhood, and forced to retire towards Portugal, they still kept quiet behind their hills, and made but the weakest of attempts to distract the attention of the enemy. There were at first no French forces near them save Bonnet’s single division at Santander, which was fully occupied in holding down the Monta?a, and a provisional brigade at Leon consisting of some stray battalions of the dissolved Eighth Corps[463]. As neither of these forces had any considerable reserves behind them[464], when once Ney and Soult had passed on into Galicia, it is clear that a demonstration in force against Santander or Leon would have thrown dismay along the whole line of the French communications, and have disarranged all the Emperor’s plans for further advance.

The only operation, however, which the Asturians undertook was a petty raid into Galicia with 3,000 or 4,000 men, who[p. 372] went to beat up Ney’s detachment at Mondonedo on April 10, and were driven off with ease[465]. The Junta had fully 20,000 men under arms, but they contrived to be weak at every point by trying to guard every point. They had sent, to observe Bonnet, the largest body of their troops, nearly 10,000 men, under General Ballasteros: he had taken up the line of the Deba, and lay with his head quarters at Colombres, skirmishing occasionally with the French outposts. At the pass of Pajares, watching the main road that descends into the plain of Leon, were 3,000 men, and 2,000 more at La Mesa guarded a minor defile. Another division of 4,000 bayonets was at Castropol, facing Ney’s detachment which had occupied Mondonedo: this was the column which had made the feeble advance in April to which we have already alluded. Finally, a Swiss Lieutenant-General named Worster lay at Oviedo, the capital of the principality, with a small reserve of 2,000 men[466]. It does not seem that Cienfuegos, the Captain-General of Asturias, exercised any real authority, as the Junta took upon itself the settling of every detail of military affairs[467]. Thus a whole army was wasted[p. 373] by being distributed all along the narrow province, awaiting an attack from an enemy who was far too weak to dream of advancing, and who, as a matter of fact, did not move till May. La Romana might well be indignant that the Asturians had done practically nothing for the cause of Spain from December to March, especially since they had obtained more than their share of the British arms and money[468] which had been distributed in the autumn of 1808.

Ney’s new troubles in April did not spring from the activity of the Asturian troops, but from that of the much-battered army of Galicia, which was destined in this month to achieve the first success that had cheered its depleted ranks since the combat of Guenes. When La Romana, on March 8, had found himself free from the pursuit of Franceschi’s cavalry, he had marched by leisurely stages to Puebla de Senabria on the borders of Leon. He doubted for a moment whether he should not turn southward and drop down, along the edge of Portugal, to Ciudad Rodrigo, the nearest place of strength in Spanish hands. But, after much consideration, he resolved to leave behind him the weakest of his battalions and his numerous sick, together with his small provision of artillery, and to strike back into Galicia with the best of his men. It would seem that he was inspired partly by the desire of cutting Ney’s communications, partly by the wish to get into touch with the Asturians, whose torpidity he was determined to stir up into action. Accordingly he left at Puebla de Senabria his guns and about 2,000 men, the skeletons of many ruined regiments, under General Martin La Carrera, while with the 6,000 infantry that remained he resolved to cross the Sierra Negra and throw himself into the upper valley of the Sil. The road by Corporales and the sources of the Cabrera torrent proved to be abominable; if the[p. 374] army had possessed cannon or baggage it could not have reached its goal. But after several hard marches La Romana descended to Ponferrada on March 16. He learnt that the insurrection had compelled the French to concentrate all their small posts, and that there was no enemy nearer than Villafranca on the one hand and Astorga on the other. Thus he found himself able to take possession of the high-road from Astorga to Lugo, and to make use of all the resources of the Vierzo, and of Eastern Galicia. He might have passed on undisturbed, if he had chosen, to join the Asturians. But learning that the French garrison at Villafranca was completely isolated, he resolved to risk a blow at it, in the hopes that he might reduce it before Ney could learn of his arrival and come down from Lugo to its aid. He was ill prepared for a siege, for he had but one gun with him—a 12-pounder which he had abandoned in January when retreating from Ponferrada to Orense, and which he now picked up intact, with its store of ammunition, at a mountain hermitage, where it had been safely hidden for two months.

Marching on Villafranca next day he fell upon the French before they had any conception that there was a hostile force in their neighbourhood. He beat them out of the town into the citadel after a sharp skirmish, and then surrounded them in their refuge, and began to batter its gates with his single gun. If the garrison could have held out for a few days they would probably have been relieved, for Ney was but three marches distant. But the governor, regarding the old castle as untenable against artillery, surrendered at the first summons. Thus La Romana captured a whole battalion of the 6th Léger, 600 strong[469], together with several hundreds more of convalescents and stragglers who had been halted at Villafranca, owing to the impossibility of sending small detachments through the mountains[470] when the insurgents were abroad[471].

Having accomplished this successful stroke La Romana was[p. 375] desirous of pursuing his way to the Asturias, where he was determined to make his power felt[472]. He took with him only one regiment (that of La Princesa, one of his old corps from the Baltic), and handed over the temporary command of the army to General Mahy, with orders to hold on to the Vierzo as long as possible, but to retire on the Asturias if Ney came up against him in force. The Marshal, however, did not move from Lugo; when he heard of the fall of the garrison of Villafranca, he was already so much entangled with the insurrection that he could spare no troops for an expedition to the Vierzo. In order to reopen the communication with Astorga he would have had to call in his outlying brigades, and at the present moment he was more concerned about the fate of Tuy and Vigo than about the operations of La Romana. Accordingly, Mahy was left unmolested for the greater part of a month in his cantonments along the banks of the Sil; it was a welcome respite for the much-wandering army of Galicia.

Romana meanwhile betook himself to Oviedo with his escort, and on arriving there on April 4 entered into a furious controversy with the Junta. Finding them obstinate, and not disposed to carry out his plans without discussion, he finally executed a petty coup d’état[473]. It bears an absurd resemblance to Crom[p. 376]well’s famous dissolution of the Long Parliament. Coming into their council-room, with Colonel Joseph O’Donnell and fifty grenadiers of the Princesa regiment, he delivered an harangue to the members, accusing them of all manner of maladministration and provincial selfishness. Then he signed to his soldiers and bade them clear the room[474].

La Romana then, on his own authority, nominated a new Junta; but many of its members refused to act, doubting the legality of his action, while the dispossessed delegates kept up a paper controversy, and sent reams of objurgatory letters to the Government at Seville. Ballasteros and his army, at the other side of the Principality, seem to have paid little attention to La Romana, but the Marquis so far got his way that he began to send much-needed stores, medicines, munitions, and clothing to his troops in the Vierzo. He even succeeded in procuring a few field-pieces for them[475], which were dragged with difficulty over the passes via Cangas de Tineo.

Thus strengthened Mahy, much to his chief’s displeasure, advanced from the Vierzo towards Lugo, with the intention of beating up the French brigade there stationed. He took post at Navia de Suarna, just outside the borders of the Asturias, and called to his standards all the peasantry of the surrounding region. La Romana wrote him urgent letters, directing him to avoid a battle and to await his own return. ‘He should remember that it was the policy of Fabius Maximus that saved Rome, and curb his warlike zeal[476].’ It is satisfactory to find that one Spanish general at least was free from that wild desire for pitched battles that possessed most of his contemporaries.

Mahy, thus warned, halted in his march towards Lugo, and remained in his cantonments in the valley of the Navia. His chief should have returned to him, but lingered at Oviedo till April was over, busy in the work of reorganization and in the [p. 377]forwarding of supplies. Meanwhile the French hold on Southern Galicia had completely disappeared: Vigo had fallen in March, Tuy had been evacuated. Maucune’s column had cut its way back to Santiago with some difficulty, bringing to Ney the news of Soult’s capture of Oporto, but also the assurance that the whole valley of the Minho and the western coast-land had passed into the hands of the insurgents.

What the Duke of Elchingen’s next move would have been, if he had not received further intelligence from without, we cannot say. But in the first week in May the long-lost communication with Madrid was at last reopened, and he was ordered to take his part in a new and broad plan of operations against La Romana’s army and the Asturias.

Ever since La Romana had stormed Villafranca, and all news from Galicia had been completely cut off, King Joseph and his adviser Jourdan had been in a state of great fear and perplexity as to the condition of affairs in the north-west. Soult had long passed out of their ken, and now Ney also was lost to sight. In default of accurate information they received all manner of lugubrious rumours from Leon and Astorga, and imagined that the Sixth Corps was in far more desperate straits than was actually the case. Fearing the worst, they resolved to find out, at all costs, what was going on in Galicia. To do so it was necessary to fit out an expedition sufficiently strong to brush aside the insurgents and communicate with Ney. Troops, however, were hard to find. Lapisse had already marched from Salamanca to join Victor. In Old Castile and Leon there were but Kellermann’s dragoons and a few garrisons, none of which could leave their posts. Marshal Bessières, to whom the general charge of the northern provinces had been given by the Emperor, could show conclusively that he was not able to equip a column of even 5,000 men for service in Galicia.

The only quarter whence troops could be procured was Aragon, where everything had remained quiet since the fall of Saragossa. The Emperor had issued orders that of the two corps which had taken part in the siege, the Third only should remain to hold down the conquered kingdom: hence Mortier and the Fifth should have been disposable to reinforce the troops in Old Castile. But, with the Austrian war upon his hands, Napoleon[p. 378] was thinking of withdrawing Mortier and his 15,000 men from Spain. In a dispatch dated April 10, he announced that the Marshal was to retire from Aragon to Logro?o in Navarre, from whence he might possibly be recalled to France if circumstances demanded it[477]. At the same moment King Joseph was writing to Mortier to summon him into Old Castile, and pointing out to him that the safety of the whole of Northern Spain depended upon his presence. Much perplexed by these contradictory orders, the Duke of Treviso took a half-measure, and marched to Burgos, which was actually in Old Castile, but lay only three marches from Logro?o and upon the direct route to France. A few days later the Emperor, moved by his brother’s incessant appeals, and seeing that it was all-important to reopen the communication between Ney and Soult, permitted Mortier to march to Valladolid, where he was in a good position for holding down the entire province of Old Castile. He also gave leave to the King to employ for an expedition to Galicia the two regiments of the Third Corps, which had escorted the prisoners of Saragossa to Bayonne, and which were now on their homeward way to join their division in Aragon.

It was thus possible to get together enough troops to open the way to Galicia. The charge of the expedition was handed over to Kellermann, who was given his own dragoons, the two regiments from Bayonne, a stray battalion of Leval’s Germans from Segovia, a Polish battalion from Buitrago, and a provisional regiment organized from belated details of the Second and Sixth Corps, which had been lying in various garrisons of Castile and Leon[478]. He had altogether some 7,000 or 8,000 men, whom he concentrated at Astorga on April 27. Marching on Villafranca he met no regular opposition, but was harassed by the way by the peasantry, who had abandoned their villages and retired into the hills. Mahy had moved off the main road by making his advance to Navia de Suarna, and was not sighted by Kellermann, nor did the Spaniard think fit to meddle with such a powerful force as that which was now passing him.

On May 2 the column reached Lugo, where it fell in with[p. 379] Maurice Mathieu’s division of the Sixth Corps, and obtained full information as to Ney’s position. The Marshal was absent at Corunna, but sent his chief of the staff to meet Kellermann and concert with him a common plan of operations. It was settled that they should concentrate their attention on La Romana and the Asturians, leaving southern Galicia alone for the present, and taking no heed of Soult, of whom they had received no news for a full month.

For the destruction of the Spanish armies of the north a concentric movement was planned. Ney undertook to concentrate the main body of his corps at Lugo, and to fall on the Asturians from the west, crushing Mahy on the way. He stipulated, however, that he should be allowed to return to Galicia as quickly as possible, lest the insurgents should make havoc of his garrisons during his absence. Kellermann was to retrace his steps to Astorga and Leon, and from thence to march on the Asturias by the pass of Pajares, its great southern outlet. At the same moment Bonnet at Santander was to be requested to fall on from the east, and to attack Ballasteros and the division that lay behind the Deba.

When it was reported to Mahy and La Romana that Kellermann had turned back from Lugo, and was retreating upon Astorga, they failed to grasp the meaning of his movement, and came to the conclusion that his expedition had been sent out with no purpose save that of communicating with Ney. Unconscious that a simultaneous attack from all sides was being prepared against them, they failed to concentrate. By leaving small ‘containing’ detachments at the outlying posts, they could have massed 20,000 men against any one of the French columns: but they failed to see their opportunity and were caught in a state of complete dispersion. Ballasteros with 9,000 men still lay opposite Bonnet; Worster at Castropol did not unite with Mahy’s army at Navia de Suarna; and La Romana remained at Oviedo with two regiments only.

Hence came hopeless disaster when the French attack was at last let loose upon the Asturias. On May 13 the Duke of Elchingen drew together at Lugo four of the eight infantry regiments which formed the Sixth Corps, with two of his four cavalry regiments, and eight mountain-guns carried by mules.[p. 380] This formed a compact force of 6,500 bayonets and 900 sabres[479]. He left behind him four battalions and a cavalry regiment under Maucune at Santiago, the same force under the cavalry brigadier Fournier at Lugo, two battalions at Corunna, one at Betanzos, and one at Ferrol.

The obvious route by which the Marshal might have advanced on Oviedo was the coast-road by Mondonedo and Castropol, which Worster was guarding. But in order to save time and to fall upon the enemy on an unexpected line, he took a shorter but more rugged mountain road by Meyra and Ibias, which led him into the valley of the Navia. This brought him straight upon Mahy’s army: but that general, when he learnt of the strength that was directed against him, retreated in haste after a skirmish at Pequin, and fled, not to the Asturias, but westward into the upper valley of the Minho. [May 14.] This move was vexatious to Ney, who would have preferred to drive him on to Oviedo, to share in the general rout that was being prepared for the Asturians. The Marshal refused to follow him, and pushed on to Cangas de Tineo in the valley of the Narcea, capturing there a large convoy of food and ammunition which was on its way from La Romana to Mahy. On May 17 he hurried on to Salas, on the 18th he was at the bridge of Gallegos on the Nora river, only ten miles from Oviedo. Here for the first time he met with serious opposition: hitherto he had suffered from nothing but casual ‘sniping’ on the part of the peasantry. His march had been so rapid that La Romana had only heard of his approach on the seventeenth[480], and had not been able to call in any of his out[p. 381]lying detachments. The Marquis was forced to attempt to defend the passage of the Nora with nothing more than his small central reserve—the one Galician regiment (La Princesa, only 600 bayonets) that he had brought with him from Villafranca, and one Asturian battalion—not more than 1,500 men. Naturally he was routed with great loss, though Ney allows that the Princesa regiment made a creditable defence at the bridge[481]. The Spanish troops therefore dispersed and fled eastward, while Romana rode down to the seaport of Gijon and took ship on a Spanish sloop of war along with the members of his Junta. The Marshal seized Oviedo on the nineteenth: the place was pillaged in the most thorough fashion by his troops. In his dispatch he makes the excuse that a few peasants had attempted to defend some barricades in the suburbs, and that they, not the soldiery, had begun the sack. Credat Judaeus Apella! The ways of the bands of Napoleon are too well known, and we shall not believe that it was Spaniards who stole the cathedral plate, or tore the bones of the early kings of Asturias from their resting-places in search of treasure[482]. On May 20 Ney marched with one regiment down to Gijon, where he found 250,000 lbs. of powder newly landed from England, and a quantity of military stores. An English merchantman was captured and another burnt[483]. A detached column occupied Aviles, the second seaport of the Asturias.

On the following day, May 21, a detachment sent inland from Oviedo up the valley of the Lena, with orders to search for the column coming from the south, got into touch with that[p. 382] force. Kellermann had duly reached Leon, where he found orders directing him to send back to Aragon the two regiments of the Third Corps which had been lent him[484], and to take instead a division of Mortier’s corps, which was now disposable for service in the north. Accordingly he picked up Girard’s (late Suchet’s) division, and leaving one of its brigades at Leon, marched with the other and the remainder of his original force, to storm the defiles of Pajares. He had with him between 6,000 and 7,000 troops, a force with which he easily routed the Asturian brigade of 3,000 men under Colonel Quixano, which had been set to guard the pass. At the end of two days of irregular fighting, Kellermann descended into the valley of the Lena and met Ney’s outposts on May 21. The routed enemy dispersed among the hills.

It remains to speak of the third French column which started to invade the Asturias, that of Bonnet. This general marched from Santander on May 17 with 5,000 men, intending to attack Ballasteros, and force his way to Oviedo by the coast-road that passes by San Vincente de la Barquera and Villaviciosa. But he found no one to fight, for Ballasteros had been summoned by La Romana to defend Oviedo, and had started off by the inland road via Cangas de O?is and Infiesto. The two armies therefore were marching parallel to each other, with rough mountains between them. On reaching Infiesto on May 21, Ballasteros heard of the fall of Oviedo and of the forcing of the pass of Pajares: seeing that it would be useless to run into the lion’s mouth by proceeding any further, he fell back into the mountains, and took refuge in the upland valley of Covadonga, the site of King Pelayo’s famous victory over the Moors in the year 718. Here he remained undiscovered, and was gradually joined by the wrecks of the force which Ney had routed at Oviedo, including O’Donnell and the Princesa regiment. Bonnet passed him without discovering his whereabouts, advanced as far as Infiesto and Villaviciosa, and got into touch with Kellermann.

Thus the three French columns had all won their way into the heart of the Asturias, but though they had seized its capital and its seaports, they had failed to catch its army, and only half their task had been performed. Of all the Asturian troops[p. 383] only the two small forces at Oviedo and Pajares had been met and routed. Worster had not been molested, Mahy had doubled back into Galicia, Ballasteros had gone up into the mountains. If the invasion was to have any definite results, it was necessary to hunt down all these three divisions. But there was no time to do so: Ney was anxious about his Galician garrisons; Bonnet remembered that he had left Santander in charge of a weak detachment of no more than 1,200 men. Both refused to remain in the Asturias, or to engage in a long stern chase after the elusive Spaniards, among the peaks of the Pe?as de Europa and the Sierras Albas. They decided that Kellermann with his 7,000 men must finish the business. Accordingly they departed each to his own province—and it was high time, for their worst expectations had been fulfilled. Mahy in the west and Ballasteros in the east had each played the correct game, and had fallen upon the small garrisons left exposed in their rear. Moreover, the insurgents of Southern Galicia had crossed the Ulla and marched on Santiago. If Ney had remained ten days longer in the Asturias, it is probable that he would have returned to find the half of the Sixth Corps which he had left in Galicia absolutely exterminated.

The Marshal, however, was just in time to prevent this disaster. Handing over the charge of the principality to Kellermann, he marched off on May 22 by the coast-road which leads to Galicia by the route of Navia, Castropol, and Ribadeo. He hoped to deal with Worster by the way, having learnt that the Swiss general had advanced from Castropol by La Romana’s orders, and was moving cautiously in the direction of Oviedo. But Worster was fortunate enough to escape: he went up into the mountains when he heard that Ney was near, and had the satisfaction of learning that the Marshal had passed him by. The rivers being in flood, and the bridges broken, the French had a slow and tiresome march to Ribadeo, which they only reached on May 26. Next day the Duke of Elchingen was at Castropol, where he received the news that Lugo had been in the gravest peril, and had only been relieved by the unexpected appearance of Soult and the Second Corps from the direction of Orense.

The sequence of events during the Marshal’s absence had[p. 384] been as follows. When Mahy found that he had escaped pursuit, he had immediately made up his mind to strike at the French garrisons. He tried to persuade Worster to join him, or to attack Ferrol, but could not induce him to quit the Asturias. So with his own 6,000 men Mahy marched on Lugo, beat General Fournier (who came out to meet him) in a skirmish outside the walls, and drove him into the town. Lugo had no fortification save a mediaeval wall, and the Spaniards were in great hopes of storming it, as they had stormed Villafranca. But when they had lain two days before the place, they were surprised to hear that a large French force was marching against them; it was not Ney returning from the Asturias, but the dilapidated corps of Soult retreating from Orense. Wisely refusing to face an army of 19,000 men, Mahy raised the siege and retired to Villalba in the folds of the Sierra de Loba. On May 22 Soult entered Lugo, where he was at last able to give his men nine days’ rest, and could begin to cast about him for means to refit them with the proper equipment of an army, for, as we have seen, they were in a condition of absolute destitution and wholly unable to take the field.

At Castropol Ney heard at one and the same moment that Lugo had been in danger and that it had been relieved. But he also received news of even greater importance from another quarter. Maucune and the detachment which he had left at Santiago had been defeated in the open field by the insurgents of Southern Galicia, and had been compelled to fall back on Corunna. This was now the point of danger, wherefore the Marshal neither moved to join Soult at Lugo, nor set himself to hunt Mahy in the mountains, but marched straight for Corunna to succour Maucune.

The force which had defeated that general consisted in the main of the insurgents who had beleaguered Tuy and Vigo in March and April. They were now under Morillo and Garcia del Barrio, who were beginning to reduce them to some sort of discipline, and were organizing them into battalions and companies. But the core of the ‘Division of the Minho,’ as this force was now called, was composed of the small body of regulars which La Romana had left at Puebla de Senabria, under Martin La Carrera. That officer, after giving his feeble detachment some[p. 385] weeks of rest, had marched via Monterey and Orense to join the insurrectionary army. He brought with him nine guns and 2,000 men. On May 22 Carrera and Morillo crossed the Ulla and advanced on Santiago with 10,000 men, of whom only 7,000 possessed firearms. Maucune came forth to meet them in the Campo de Estrella[485], outside the city, with his four battalions and a regiment of chasseurs, thinking to gain an easy success when the enemy offered him battle in the open. But he was outnumbered by three to one, and as the Galicians showed much spirit and stood steadily to their guns, he was repulsed with loss. Carrera then attacked in his turn, drove the French into Santiago, chased them through the town, and pursued them for a league beyond it. Maucune was wounded, and lost 600 men—a fifth of his whole force—and two guns. He fell back in disorder on Corunna. He had the audacity to write to Ney that he had retired after an indecisive combat: but the Marshal, reading between the lines of his dispatch, hastened to Corunna with all the troops which had returned from the Asturias, and did not consider the situation secure till he learnt that Carrera had not advanced from Santiago.

Leaving his main body opposite the ‘Division of the Minho,’ the Duke of Elchingen now betook himself to Lugo, to concert a joint plan of operation with Soult [May 30]. The results of their somewhat stormy conference must be told in another chapter.

Meanwhile the situation behind them was rapidly changing. On May 24 La Romana, who had landed at Ribadeo, rejoined Mahy and his army at Villalba. The Marquis, on surveying the situation, came to the conclusion that it was too dangerous to remain in the northern angle of Galicia, between the French army at Lugo and the sea. He resolved to return to the southern region of the province, and to get into touch with Carrera and the troops on the Minho. He therefore bade his army prepare for another forced march across the mountains. They murmured but obeyed, and, cautiously slipping past Soult’s corps by a flank movement, crossed the high-road to Villafranca and reached Monforte de Lemos. From thence[p. 386] they safely descended to Orense, where La Romana established his head quarters [June 6]. Thus the Spaniards were once more in line, and prepared to defend the whole of Southern Galicia.

We have still to deal with the state of affairs in the Asturias. After Ney’s departure on May 22, Kellermann lay at Oviedo and Bonnet at Infiesto. But a few days later the latter general received the disquieting news that Ballasteros, whose movements had hitherto escaped him, was on the move towards the east, and might be intending either to make a raid into the plains of Castile, or to descend on Santander and its weak garrison.

Ballasteros, as a matter of fact, had resolved to stir up trouble in Bonnet’s rear, with the object of drawing him off from the Asturias. Leaving his refuge at Covadonga on May 24 he marched by mule-tracks, unmarked on any map, to Potes in the upper valley of the Deba. There he remained a few days, and finding that he was unpursued, and that his exact situation was unknown to the French, resolved to make a dash for Santander. Starting on June 6 and keeping to the mountains, he successfully achieved his end, and arrived at his goal before the garrison of that place had any knowledge of his approach. On the morning of June 10 he stormed the city, driving out General Noirot, who escaped with 1,000 men, but capturing 200 of the garrison and 400 sick in hospital, as well as the whole of the stores and munitions of Bonnet’s regiments. Among his other prizes was the sum of ￡10,000 in cash, in the military chest of the division. Some of the French tried to escape by sea, in three corvettes and two luggers which lay in the harbour, but the British frigates Amelia and Statira, which lay off the coast, captured them all. This was a splendid stroke, and if Ballasteros had been prudent he might have got away unharmed with all his plunder. But he lingered in Santander, though he knew that Bonnet must be in pursuit of him, and resolved to defend the town. The French general had started to protect his base and his dép?ts, the moment that he ascertained the real direction of Ballasteros’ march. On the night of June 10 he met the fugitive garrison and learnt that Santander had fallen. Late on the ensuing day he reached its suburbs, and sent in two battalions to make a dash at the place. They were beaten off; but next[p. 387] morning Bonnet attacked with his whole force, the Asturians were defeated, and Ballasteros’ raid ended in a disaster. He himself escaped by sea, but 3,000 of his men were captured, and the rest dispersed. The French recovered their sick and prisoners, and such of their stores as the Spaniards had not consumed[486]. The wrecks of Ballasteros’ division drifted back over the hills to their native principality, save one detachment, the regulars of La Romana’s old regiment of La Princesa. This small body of 300 men turned south, and by an astounding march across Old Castile and Aragon reached Molina on the borders of Valencia, where they joined the army of Blake. They had gone 250 miles through territory of which the French were supposed to be in military possession, but threaded their way between the garrisons in perfect safety, because the peasantry never betrayed their position to the enemy.

Disastrous as was its end, Ballasteros’ expedition had yet served its purpose. Not only had it thrown the whole of the French garrisons in Biscay and Guipuzcoa into confusion, but even the Governor of Bayonne had been frightened and had sent alarming dispatches to the Emperor. This was comparatively unimportant, but it was a very different matter that Bonnet had been forced to evacuate the Asturias, all of whose eastern region was now free from the invaders.

More was to follow: Kellermann still lay at Oviedo, worried but not seriously incommoded by Worster and the Asturians of the west. But a few days after Bonnet’s departure he received a request from Mortier (backed by orders from King Joseph), that the division of the 5th Corps which had been lent him should instantly return to Castile. This was one of the results of Wellesley’s campaign on the Douro, for Mortier, hearing of Soult’s expulsion from Northern Portugal, imagined that the British army, being now free for further action, would debouch by Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo and fall upon Salamanca. He needed the aid of his second division, which Kellermann was forced to send back. But it would have been not only useless but extremely dangerous to linger at Oviedo with the small remnant of the expeditionary force, when Girard’s regiments[p. 388] had been withdrawn. Therefore Kellermann wisely resolved to evacuate the whole principality, and returned to Leon by the pass of Pajares in the third week of June.

Thus ended in complete failure the great concentric attack on the Asturias. The causes of the fiasco were two. (1) The French generals chose as their objective, not the enemy’s armies, but his capital and base of operations. Both Ney and Bonnet while marching on Oviedo left what (adapting a naval phrase) we may call an ‘army-in-being’ behind them, and in each case that army fell upon the detachments left in the rear, and pressed them so hard that the invading forces could not stay in the Asturias, but were forced to turn back to protect their communications. (2) In Spain conquest was useless unless a garrison could be left behind to hold down the territory that was overrun. But neither Ney, Kellermann, nor Bonnet had any troops to devote to such a purpose: they invaded the Asturias with regiments borrowed from other regions, from which they could not long be spared. As later experience in 1811 and 1812 showed, it required some 8,000 men merely to maintain a hold upon Oviedo and the central parts of the principality. The invaders had no such force at their disposition—the troops from the 6th Corps were wanted in Galicia, those of the 5th Corps in Castile, those of Bonnet in the Monta?a. If it were impossible to garrison the Asturias, the invasion dwindled down into a raid, and a raid which left untouched the larger part of the enemy’s field army was useless. It would have been better policy to hunt Mahy, Worster, and Ballasteros rather than to secure for a bare three weeks military possession of Oviedo and Gijon. If Soult had not dropped from the clouds, as it were, to save Lugo: if Ballasteros had been a little more prudent at Santander, the Asturian expedition would have ended not merely in a failure, but in an ignominious defeat. It should never have been undertaken while the Galician insurrection was still raging, and while no troops were available for the permanent garrisoning of the principality.

Searching a little deeper, may we not say that the ultimate cause of the fiasco was Napoleon’s misconception of the character of the Spanish war? It was he who ordered the invasion of the Asturias, and he issued his orders under the hypothesis that it[p. 389] could be not only conquered but retained. But with the numbers then at the disposal of his generals this was impossible, because the insurrection absorbed so many of their troops, that no more could be detached without risking the loss of all that had been already gained. By grasping at the Asturias Napoleon nearly lost Galicia. Only Soult’s appearance prevented that province from falling completely into the hands of Mahy and La Carrera: and that appearance was as involuntary as it was unexpected. If the Duke of Dalmatia had been able to carry out his original design he would have retreated from Oporto to Zamora and not to Orense. If Beresford had not foiled him at Amarante, he would have been resting on the Douro when Fournier was in such desperate straits at Lugo. In that case Ney might have returned from Oviedo to find that his detachments had been destroyed, and that Galicia was lost. It was not the Emperor’s fault that this disaster failed to occur.
SECTION XV: CHAPTER II
THE FRENCH ABANDON GALICIA

When, upon May 30, 1809, Ney arrived at Lugo, and met Soult in conference, it seemed that, now or never, the time had come when a serious endeavour might be made to subdue the Galician insurgents. The whole force of the 2nd and 6th Corps was concentrated in the narrow triangle between Ferrol, Corunna, and Lugo. The two marshals had still 33,000 men fit for service, after deducting the sick. If they set aside competent garrisons for the three towns that we have just named, they could still show some 25,000 men available for field operations, and with such a force Ney was of the opinion that the insurrection might be beaten down. It was true that the 2nd Corps was in a deplorable condition as regards equipment, but on the other hand Corunna and Ferrol were still full of the stores of arms and ammunition that had been captured when they surrendered. Clothing, no doubt, was lamentably deficient, and Ney could only supply hundreds where Soult asked for thousands of boots and capotes; but he refitted his colleague’s troops with muskets and ammunition, and furnished him with eight mountain-guns—field-pieces the Duke of Dalmatia would not take, though a certain number were offered him; for after his experience of the way that his artillery had delayed him in February and March he refused to accept them. Horses and mules were unattainable—nearly half Soult’s cavalry was dismounted, and he had lost most of his sumpter-beasts between Guimaraens and Montalegre. Nevertheless, the corps, after a week’s rest at Lugo, was once more capable of service. Its weakly men had been left in hospital at Oporto, or had fallen by the way in the dreadful defiles of Ruivaens and Salamonde. All that remained were war-hardened veterans, and Soult, out of his 19,000 men, had no more than 800 sick and wounded.[p. 391] He resolved to disembarrass himself of another hindrance, his dismounted cavalry, and in each regiment made the 3rd and 4th squadrons hand over their chargers to the 1st and 2nd. The 1,100 troopers thus left without mounts were armed with muskets, and formed into a column, to which were added the cadres of certain infantry battalions belonging to the regiments which had suffered most. In these the 3rd, or the 3rd and 4th, battalions turned over their effective rank and file to the others, while the officers and non-commissioned officers were to be sent home to their dép?ts to organize new units. The whole body was placed under General Quesnel, who was directed to cut his way to Astorga by the great high-road: it was hoped that he would come safely through, now that La Romana had withdrawn his army to Southern Galicia. The expedient was a hazardous one; but the column was fortunate: it was forced to fight with a large assembly of peasants at Doncos, half-way between Lugo and Villafranca, but reached its goal with no great loss, though for every mile of the march it was being ‘sniped’ and harassed by the guerrillas.

Soult’s available force, after he had sent his sick into the hospitals of Lugo, and had dismissed Quesnel’s detachment, was about 16,500 or 17,000 sabres and bayonets. Ney had about 15,000 men left. The two marshals were bound, both by the Emperor’s orders and by the mere necessities of the situation, to co-operate with each other. But there was a fundamental divergence between their aims and intentions. Ney had been given charge of Galicia, and he regarded it as his duty to conquer and hold down the province. He refused to look beyond his orders, or to take into consideration the progress of operations in other parts of the Peninsula. Soult, on the other hand, always loved to play his own game, and had no desire to stay in Galicia in order to lighten his colleague’s task. He was disgusted with the land, its mountains, and its insurgents, and was eager to find some excuse for quitting it. He had no difficulty in discovering many excellent reasons for retiring into the plains of Leon. The first was the dilapidated state of his troops: in spite of the resources which Ney had lent, the 2nd Corps still lacked clothing, pay, and transport. Soult had written to King Joseph on May 30 to ask that all these necessaries might be sent forward[p. 392] to Zamora, where he intended to pick them up. A still more plausible plea might be found in the general state of affairs in Northern Spain. The Emperor’s main object was the expulsion of the British army from the Peninsula. But if the 2nd Corps joined the 6th in a long, and probably fruitless, hunt after the evasive La Romana, Wellesley would be left free to march whithersoever he might please. He might base himself on Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo, and make a sudden inroad into Leon and Old Castile, where the small corps of Mortier would certainly prove inadequate to hold him back. Or he might go off to the south, and fall upon Victor in Estremadura, a move which might very probably lead to the loss of Madrid. Soult therefore was of opinion that his duty was to drop down into Leon, and there join with Mortier in making such a demonstration against Portugal as would compel the British army to stand upon the defensive, and to abandon any idea of invading Spain either by the valley of the Douro or that of the Tagus. ‘He could not keep his eye off Portugal,’ as Jourdan and King Joseph, no less than Ney, kept complaining[487]. There cannot be the least doubt that Soult was quite right in turning his main attention in this direction. It was the English army that was the most dangerous enemy; and it was the flanking position of Portugal that rendered the French movements toward the south of Spain hazardous or impracticable.

Nevertheless all the Duke of Dalmatia’s arguments seemed to his colleague mere excuses destined to cover a selfish determination to abandon the 6th Corps, and to shirk the duty of co-operating in the conquest of Galicia. He insisted that Soult must aid him in crushing La Romana before taking any other task in hand. And he had a strong moral claim for pressing his request, because it was from the resources which he had furnished that the 2nd Corps had been re-equipped and rendered capable of renewed service in the field. The marshals wrangled, and their followers copied them, for a fierce feud, leading to a copious exchange of recrimination and many duels, sprang up during the few days that the staffs of the two corps lay together at Lugo[488]. At last Soult yielded, or feigned to yield, to Ney’s[p. 393] instances: he promised to lend his aid for the suppression of the Galician insurrection under certain conditions. A plan for combined action was accordingly drawn up.

According to this scheme Ney was to advance from Corunna to Santiago with the 6th Corps, and was to drive the main body of the insurgents southward in the direction of Vigo and Tuy, following the line of the great coast-road. Soult meanwhile was to operate in the inland, against the enemy’s exposed flank. He was to march from Lugo down the valley of the upper Minho, pushing before him all that stood in his way, with the object of thrusting the enemy on to Orense, and then towards the sea. If all went right, La Romana’s army as well as the insurgents of the coast, would finally be enclosed between the two marshals and the Atlantic cliffs, and, as it was hoped, would be exterminated or forced to surrender. The obviously weak point of the plan was that it did not allow sufficiently for the power which the enemy possessed of escaping, by dispersion, or by taking to the mountains. Even if the details of the two movements had been carried out with perfect accuracy, it is probable that the Galicians would have crept out of some gap,[p. 394] or slipped away between the converging corps, or saved themselves by a headlong retreat into Portugal. The Marshals might have captured Vigo and Orense: it is extremely unlikely that they could have done more, especially as they had to deal with a general like La Romana, who had made up his mind that his duty was to avoid pitched battles, and to preserve his army at all costs. If Cuesta or Blake had been in command the scheme would have been much more feasible; but La Romana was the only Spanish commander then in the field who had resolved never to fight if he could help it.

On June 1 Ney and Soult parted, starting the one upon the road to Corunna, the other upon that which makes for Orense by the valley of the upper Minho. It would seem that neither of them had any great confidence in the success of the plan adopted, and that each was possessed by the strongest doubts as to the loyalty with which his colleague would support him. Soult was on the watch for any good excuse for throwing up the scheme and retiring to Zamora. Ney was determined not to risk himself and his corps overmuch, lest he should find himself left in the lurch by Soult at the critical moment[489].

Meanwhile the Spaniards had been straining every nerve to reorganize the army of Galicia, employing the short time of respite that they had gained in drafting back into the old corps the numerous stragglers who began to return to their colours as the summer drew on, and in raising new battalions of volunteers. La Romana lay in person at Orense with the main body of the original army, which had now risen to a force of about 7,000 properly equipped men, and nearly 3,000 unarmed recruits: he had still only four guns[490]. The ‘Division of the Minho’ was no longer under Carrera and Morillo: they had been superseded by the arrival of the Conde de Noro?a to whom the Central Junta had given over the command. This officer found himself at the[p. 395] head of about 10,000 men, of whom only about 2,500 were regulars, the rest were peasantry new to the career of arms, but so much exhilarated by their late successes at Vigo and the Campo de Estrella, that it was hard to hold them back from taking the offensive[491]. Fortunately Noro?a was gifted not only with tact but with caution: he knew how to keep the horde together without allowing them to get out of hand, and utterly refused to risk them in the open field[492].

On June 5 Ney arrived before Santiago with the main body of the 6th Corps—eighteen battalions, three cavalry regiments and two batteries: he had again left Corunna, Ferrol, and Lugo in the charge of very small garrisons, and was by no means without misgivings as to their fate during his absence. But he thought that his first duty was to concentrate a field force sufficiently large to face and beat the whole army of Galicia, in case La Romana should join Noro?a for a combined attack on the 6th Corps.

On the news of the Marshal’s approach the Spanish general drew back all his forces behind the estuary known as the Octavem (or Oitaben), a broad tidal stretch of water where several small mountain torrents meet at the head of a long bay. Noro?a might have disputed the lines of the Ulla and the Vedra, but neither of these rivers affords such a good defensive position as the Oitaben. Here the hills of the interior come down much nearer to the sea than they do at the mouths of the Ulla and the Vedra, so that there is a much shorter line to defend, between low-water mark and the foot of the inaccessible Sierra de Suido. There was no road inland by which the position could be turned, so that the Galicians had only to guard the six miles of river-bank between the sea and the mountain. There were two bridges to be watched: the more important was that of Sampayo, where the main chaussée to Vigo passes the Oitaben just where it narrows down and ceases to be tidal. The second was that of Caldelas, four miles further inland, where a side-road to the village of Sotomayor crosses the Verdugo, the most northern of the three torrents which unite to form the Oitaben. Noro?a had broken down four arches of the great Sampayo bridge.[p. 396] That of Caldelas he had not destroyed, but had barricaded: he had drawn a double line of trenches on the hillside that dominates it, and placed there a battery containing some of his small provision of artillery—he had but nine field-guns and two mortars taken from the walls of Vigo. Morillo was given charge of this part of the position, Noro?a took post himself at Sampayo. He had neglected no minor precaution that was possible—some gunboats, one of which was manned by English sailors drawn from the two frigates in the bay, patrolled the tidal part of the Oitaben, and flanked the broken bridge. Winter, the senior naval officer present, put his marines on shore: along with sixty stragglers from Moore’s army, who had been liberated by the peasants from French captivity, they garrisoned Vigo, which lies a few miles beyond the Oitaben.

On June 7 Ney reached the front of the position and ascertained that the bridge of Sampayo was broken. His artillery exchanged some objectless salvos with that of Noro?a, while his cavalry rode inland to look for possible points of passage. They could find none save the fortified bridge of Caldelas, and a very difficult ford just above it, commanded, like the bridge, by the Spanish trenches on the hillside. The Marshal was also informed that at the Sampayo itself there was another ford, passable only at low tide for three hours at a time.

These reports were by no means encouraging: the Spanish position was almost impregnable, and there was no way of turning it. Indeed the only road by which the enemy could be taken in flank or rear was that from Orense to Vigo, along the Minho. This Ney could not reach: but supposing that Soult had carried out the plan of operations to which he had assented on June 1, it was just possible that he might appear, sooner or later, on that line, and so dislodge the enemy. However it was equally possible that he might be still far distant, and so Ney resolved to make an attempt to force the passage of the Oitaben. On the morning of June 8 therefore, after a long but fruitless cannonade, one body of infantry endeavoured to pass at the ford opposite the village of Sampayo[493], while another, with some cavalry,[p. 397] attempted to cross the other ford at Caldelas, and to storm its bridge. At both places the Galicians stood their ground, and the heads of the column were exposed to such a furious fire that they suffered heavily and failed to reach the further bank. The Marshal therefore drew them back, and refused to persist in an attack which would only have had a chance of success if the enemy had misbehaved and given way to panic. The French lost several hundred men[494], the Galicians, safe in their trenches, suffered far less.

That evening Ney received news which convinced him that Soult had left him in the lurch, and had no intention of prosecuting his march on Orense, to turn the enemy’s flank. It was reported that the 2nd Corps, after making only two days’ march from Lugo, had stopped short at Monforte de Lemos, and showed no signs of moving forward. Indeed the Duke of Dalmatia had put the regiments into cantonments and was evidently about to make a lengthy halt.

Since the Duke of Elchingen was now convinced that the enemy could not be dislodged from behind the Oitaben without his colleague’s aid, and since that colleague showed no signs of appearing within any reasonable time, the game was up. On the morning of the ninth Ney gave orders for his troops to draw off, and to retire by the road to Santiago and Corunna. He made no secret of his belief that Soult had deliberately betrayed him, and had never intended to keep his promise[495]. Without the aid of the 2nd Corps he had no hopes of being able to suppress the Galician insurrection. But till he should learn precisely what his colleague was doing, he could not make up his mind to abandon the province. He therefore sent off on June 10 an aide-de-camp with a large escort, by the circuitous route via Lugo. This officer bore a dispatch, which explained the situation, reported the check at Sampayo, and demanded[p. 398] that the 2nd Corps should not move any further away, but should return to lend aid to the 6th in its time of need. It was more than ten days before an answer was received. But on the twenty-first Soult’s reply came to hand: he had been found marching, not towards Orense, but eastward, in the direction of the frontiers of Leon. He refused to turn back, alleging that this was not in the bond signed at Lugo, and that his troops were in such a state of exhaustion that he was forced to lead them into the plains, to rest them and refit them. Such a reply seemed to justify Ney’s worst suspicions; abandoned by his colleague, and with the care of the whole of Galicia thrown upon his hands, he refused to risk the safety of the 6th Corps in the unequal struggle. He evacuated Corunna and Ferrol on the twenty-second and concentrated his whole force at Lugo. There he picked up the sick and wounded of Soult’s corps as well as his own, and in six forced marches retired along the high-road by Villafranca to Astorga, which place he reached on June 30. Every day he had been worried and molested by the local guerrillas, but neither Noro?a nor La Romana had dared to meddle with him. In his anger at the constant attacks of the insurgents, he sacked every place that he passed, from Villafranca and Ponferrada down to the smallest hamlets. Twenty-seven Galician towns and villages are said to have been burned by the 6th Corps during its retreat. Such conduct was unworthy of a soldier of Ney’s calibre: it can only be explained by the fact that he was almost beside himself with wrath at being foiled by Soult’s breach of his plighted word, and vented his fury on the only victims that he could reach.

We must now turn back to trace the steps of the 2nd Corps in its devious march from Lugo to the plains of Leon. Soult had sent out Loison with one division by the road down the left bank of the Minho on June 1. He himself followed with the rest of the army on the next day. On the third the Marshal reached the little town of Monforte de Lemos, between the Minho and the Sil, which he found deserted by its inhabitants. In obedience to La Romana’s orders they had all gone up into the mountains.

If Soult had been honestly desirous of carrying out his compact with Ney, his next step would have been to make[p. 399] a rapid march on Orense. He must have been able to calculate that his colleague would now be in touch with Noro?a’s forces somewhere to the south of Corunna, and it was his duty to co-operate by descending the Minho in the enemy’s rear. The mere fact that he remained for the unconscionable space of eight days at Monforte, is a sufficient proof that he never intended to carry out his part of the compact. During this time [June 3-11], while Ney was fighting out to an unsuccessful end his campaign against Noro?a, Soult was absolutely quiescent, at a place only thirty miles from his starting-point at Lugo. He was unmolested save by small bands of local guerrillas, who fled to the hills whenever they were faced. His official chronicler Le Noble pleads that there were no fords to be found either over the Minho or over the Sil[496]. But in eight days, unopposed by any serious enemy, the engineers of the 2nd Corps could certainly have built bridges if the Marshal had ordered them to do so. Meanwhile the troops rested, and rejoiced in the abundant supplies of food and wine which they gathered in from the neighbourhood, for Monforte lies in the centre of a fertile upland and its neighbourhood had never before suffered from the ills of war[497].

On the eleventh Soult at last moved on. But it was not in the direction of Orense. He had no news of Ney, and professed to be concerned that the 6th Corps had not yet been heard of on the Orense road. Finally he announced that he was compelled to believe that the Duke of Elchingen had not executed his part of the joint campaign[498], and that there was no longer any reason that the 2nd Corps should carry out its share of the plan. Accordingly he marched, not toward Ney, but in the opposite direction, up the valley of the Sil, with his face set towards the east. He pretended that he hoped to catch and disperse the corps of La Romana, to whom he attributed a design of marching on Puebla de Senabria—the same movement that the Marquis had executed once before in the first days of March. But as a matter of fact La Romana was at Orense, and far from[p. 400] having any intention of retreating eastward, if he were attacked by the 2nd Corps, he was looking on Portugal as his line of retreat[499].

On the thirteenth Soult reached Montefurado, where the Sil is bridged by masses of rocks which have fallen into its bed: the river forces its way beneath them by a tunnel sixty feet broad, which is supposed to have been cut by the Romans. Crossing on this natural bridge, he turned southward to follow the valley of the Bibey, which leads to Puebla de Senabria and the plains of Leon. He met no resistance save from the local insurgents, headed by the Abbot of Casoyo and a partisan called El Salamanquino, who received little or no aid from the regular army. Indeed the only Spanish troops in this remote corner of Galicia were 200 men under an officer called Echevarria, a dép?t left behind at Puebla de Senabria by La Carrera, when he had marched to Vigo in May. This handful of men joined the local guerrillas, and the appearance of their uniforms among the enemy’s ranks served Soult as an excuse for stating that he was contending with the army of La Romana. Any reader of his dispatches would conclude that during the last days of June he was opposed by a considerable body of that force. As a matter of fact he was never anywhere near the Galician army, which lay first at Orense, then at Celanova, finally at Monterey on the Portuguese frontier, always moving to the right, parallel with the Marshal’s advance, so as to avoid being outflanked on its southern wing. It was with the peasants of the valley of the Bibey alone that Soult had to do. Thrusting them to right and left, and cruelly ravaging the country-side on both banks of the river, he reached Viana on June 16. From thence Franceschi sent a flying expedition over the hills to La Gudina, on the road from Monterey to Puebla de Senabria. It brought back news that La Romana had come down to Monterey when the 2nd Corps moved to Viana, but that he was evidently not marching eastward. It had met and[p. 401] routed a party of Spanish cavalry sent out from Monterey[500]; the prisoners taken from them said that the Marquis was returning to Orense now that he had seen the 2nd Corps committing itself to an advance up the valley of the Bibey, and passing away in the direction of the plains of Leon.

It was while halting at Larouco, during this march, that Soult received the dispatch which Ney had written to him from Santiago on June 10. His reply, as we have already seen, was a peremptory refusal to turn back to the aid of the 6th Corps. He asserted that he had fulfilled his part of the bargain made at Lugo (which he assuredly had not), and refused to undertake any further offensive operations with troops in a state of utter destitution and fatigue. He declared to his staff, and wrote to King Joseph, that he believed that Ney had deliberately mismanaged his expedition against Vigo, and had suffered himself to be checked, in order to have an excuse for detaining the 2nd Corps in Galicia[501]. Why, he asked, had not the Duke of Elchingen sent a turning column against Orense, instead of making a frontal attack against the line of the Oitaben? The plain answer to this query—viz. that Ney with a field-force of only 10,000 men, and having three weak garrisons behind him, could not afford either to divide his army or to go too far from Corunna and Lugo—he naturally did not give.

Accordingly, on June 23, Soult abandoned the valley of the Bibey, and crossed the watershed of the Sierra Segundera in two columns, one descending on to La Gudina, the other on to[p. 402] Lobian. On the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth the whole army was united at Puebla de Senabria. The town was taken without a shot being fired; and the French found there several cannon which La Carrera had not carried off when he marched to Vigo, and which Echevarria had spiked but neglected to destroy. The corps rested for five days in Puebla de Senabria, where it obtained abundance of food and comfortable lodging. But Franceschi and his light-horse, now reduced to not more than 700 sabres, were pushed on at once to Zamora, to bear news to King Joseph of the approach of the 2nd Corps, and to beg that the stores, money, artillery, and clothing, which Soult had demanded in his letter from Lugo, might be forwarded to him as soon as possible[502]. Although the authorities at Madrid had heard nothing of the doings of the Marshal since June 1, they had already prepared much of the material required, and sent it to Salamanca. From thence it was now transferred to Zamora and Benavente, where it was handed over to the war-worn 2nd Corps. Other stores were procured from Valladolid and even from Bayonne. But the artillery, the most important of all the necessaries, was long in coming.

Soult’s main body had broken up from Puebla de Senabria on June 29: from thence Mermet’s, Delaborde’s, and Lorges’ troops marched to Benavente, and those of Merle and Heudelet to Zamora. In these places they enjoyed a few days of rest and began to refit themselves. But it was not long before they were called upon to take part in another great campaign, and once more to face their old enemies the English.

[p. 403]

The first care of the Duke of Dalmatia, after he had emerged from the Galician Sierras, had been to write long justificatory dispatches to the Emperor and King Joseph. They are most interesting documents, and explain with perfect clearness his reasons for abandoning Ney and returning to the valley of the Douro. His main thesis is that it was his duty to keep the English in check, since they were the one really dangerous enemy in the Peninsula. Since it was notorious that Wellesley had quitted Northern Portugal, it was practically certain that he must be intending to march southward, to fall upon Victor, and strike a blow at Madrid. It was necessary, therefore, that the 2nd Corps should follow him, and be ready to aid in the defence of the capital. The safety of Madrid was far more important than the subjection of Galicia, and the Marshal had no hesitation in sacrificing the lesser object in order to secure the greater. Ney, he thought, would be strong enough to make head against Noro?a and La Romana united: but he could not hope to hold down the whole of Galicia, and he would have either to be reinforced, or to be permitted to evacuate the province.

As to the conquest of Galicia, it would take many men and many months. At present it would be impossible to find the forces necessary for its complete subjection. This could only be done by fortifying not merely Corunna, Ferrol, and Lugo, but also Tuy, Monterey, Viana, and Puebla de Senabria. Each of these places should be given a garrison of 5,000 or 6,000 men, and furnished with stores calculated to last for four months. In addition there would have to be blockhouses built along the high-road from Lugo to Villafranca, and on several other lines. Columns operating from each of the seven great garrisons should be continually moving about, keeping open the communication between stronghold and stronghold, and chastising the insurgents.

Thus Soult calculated that the subjection of Galicia would require from 35,000 to 42,000 men, continually on the move, and never liable to be called upon for any service outside the province. It was absurd, therefore, for him to suggest in a later paragraph that Ney might be left to hold his own. What was the use of setting 15,000 men to work on a task that would strain the energies of 35,000? And where was King Joseph[p. 404] to find the additional 20,000 men, if the 2nd Corps were withdrawn into Leon to watch the British army? No such force could be drawn from any other part of Spain, and it would be useless to ask for reinforcements from France while the Austrian War was calling every available man to the Danube. Soult’s view, clearly, was that Galicia would have to be abandoned for the present, though he did not choose to say so. Till the English had been destroyed, or driven into the sea, King Joseph would never be able to find 35,000 men to lock up in the remote and mountainous north-western corner of the Peninsula[503].

There is not the slightest doubt that Soult’s views were perfectly correct. Looking at the war in the Peninsula as a whole, it was a strategical blunder to endeavour to hold Galicia before Portugal had been conquered. And while the force of the French armies in Spain remained at its present figure, it was impossible to spare two whole army corps for this secondary theatre of operations. The attempt to subdue the province had only been made because Moore had drawn after him to Corunna the armies of Soult and Ney: and, since they were on the spot, the temptation to use them there was too great to be withstood. This is but one more instance of the way in which the famous march to Sahagun had disarranged all the Emperor’s original plans for the conquest of the Peninsula.

It has often been debated whether it would be truer to say that Galicia was delivered by Wellesley’s operations or by the valour and obstinacy of its own inhabitants. After giving all due credit to the gallant peasantry who checked Ney and harassed Soult, to the prudence of the untiring La Romana, and to Noro?a’s cautious courage, it is yet necessary to decide that the real cause of the evacuation of the province by the invaders was the presence of the victorious British army in Portugal. The two Marshals might have maintained themselves there for an indefinite time, if they could have shut their eyes to[p. 405] what was going on elsewhere. But Soult was quite right in believing that it would be mad to persist in the attempt to subdue Galicia, while Wellesley was in the field, and nothing lay between him and Madrid but the 22,000 men of the 1st Corps. If he and Ney had lingered on in the north, engaged in fruitless hunting after La Romana, while July and August wore on, Madrid would have fallen into the hands of Wellesley and Cuesta, and King Joseph would once more have been forced to go upon his travels, to Burgos or elsewhere. The Talavera campaign only failed of success because the 2nd and the 6th Corps were withdrawn from the Galician hills just in time to concentrate at Salamanca and fall upon the rear of the victors. If they had been wandering around Monterey or Mondonedo at the end of July, instead of being cantoned in the plains of Leon, the capital of Spain would undoubtedly have been recovered by Wellesley and Cuesta—though whether those ill-assorted colleagues could have held it for long is another question. Into such possibilities it is useless to make inquiry.

N.B.—My best authority for this campaign is the set of dispatches by Carrol in the Record Office. He was at Vigo from June 3 to June 14; with La Romana from June 16 to July 11. Thus he was on the spot for the fight on the Oitaben, and also for the operations against Soult. Napier’s narrative is more than usually faulty in dealing with the end of the Galician campaign. He writes as a partisan of Soult, and his whole tale is drawn from the Marshal’s dispatches and from the book of the panegyrist, Le Noble. His whole picture of the desperate condition of La Romana is untrue: the Marquis had always open to him a safe retreat into Portugal, and his army was never engaged with Soult at all. Carrol’s dispatches make this quite clear. The map (facing p. 125 of vol. ii.) is so hopelessly inaccurate both as to distances, and as to the relative positions of places to each other, that I can only compare it to those ingenious diagrams which a railway produces, in order to show that it possesses the shortest route from London to Edinburgh, or from Brussels to Berlin.
SECTION XV: CHAPTER III
OPERATIONS IN ARAGON: ALCA?IZ AND BELCHITE
(MARCH-JUNE 1809)

When, upon February 20, the plague-stricken remnant of the much-enduring garrison of Saragossa laid down their arms at the feet of Lannes, it seemed probable that the whole of North-Eastern Spain must fall a helpless prey to the invader. The time had come when the 3rd and the 5th Corps, freed from the long strain of the siege, were once more available for field-operations. For the last two months almost every dispatch that the Emperor or King Joseph wrote, had been filled with plans and projects that began with the words ‘When Saragossa shall have fallen.’ If only Palafox and his desperate bands were removed, it would be easy to trample down Aragon, to take Catalonia in the rear, and finally to march to the gates of Valencia, and end the struggle on the eastern coast.

Now at last the 30,000 men of Mortier and Junot could be turned to other tasks, and there seemed to be every reason to expect that they would suffice to carry out the Emperor’s designs. There was no army which could be opposed to them, for, only a few days after the capitulation of Saragossa, Reding had risked and lost the battle of Valls, and the wrecks of his host had taken refuge within the walls of Tarragona.

The only surviving Spanish force which was under arms in the valley of the Ebro consisted of the single division, not more than 4,000 strong, under the Marquis of Lazan. After his vain attempt to come to the rescue of Saragossa in the early days of February, Lazan had drawn back to Fraga and Monzon, forced to look on from afar at the last stage of his brother’s desperate resistance. In the rest of the kingdom of Aragon there were but two or three scattered battalions of new levies[504], and some guerrilla bands under Perena and other chiefs.

[p. 407]

The mistaken policy which had led Joseph Palafox to shut up in Saragossa not only his own army but also the succours which he had procured from Valencia and Murcia, now bore its fruit. There was no force left which could take the field against the victorious army of Lannes. It seemed therefore that the war in Aragon must come to a speedy end: the French had but to advance and the whole kingdom must fall into their hands. The national cause, however, was not quite so desperate as might have been supposed. Here, as in other regions of Spain, it was ere long to be discovered that it was one thing to destroy a Spanish army, and another to hold down a Spanish province. A French corps that was irresistible when concentrated on the field of battle, became vulnerable when forced to divide itself into the number of small garrisons that were needed for the permanent retention of the territory that it had won. Though the capital of Aragon and its chief towns were to remain in the hands of the enemy for the next five years, yet there were always rugged corners of the land where the struggle was kept up and the invader baffled and held in check.

Yet immediately after the fall of Saragossa it seemed for a space that Aragon might settle down beneath the invader’s heel. Lannes, whose health was still bad, returned to France, but Mortier and Junot, who now once more resumed that joint responsibility that they had shared in December, went forth conquering and to conquer. They so divided their efforts that the 5th Corps operated for the most part to the north, and the 3rd Corps to the south of the Ebro, though occasionally their lines of operations crossed each other.

The kingdom of Aragon consists of three well-marked divisions. On each side of the Ebro there is a wide and fertile plain, generally some thirty miles broad. But to the north and the south of this rich valley lie range on range of rugged hills. Those on the north are the lower spurs of the Pyrenees: those to the south form part of the great central ganglion of the Sierras of Central Spain, which lies just where Aragon, Valencia, and New Castile meet.

The valley of the Ebro gave the French little trouble: it was not a region that could easily offer resistance, for it was destitute of all natural defences. Moreover, the flower of its manhood[p. 408] had been enrolled in the battalions which had perished at Saragossa, and few were left in the country-side who were capable of bearing arms—still fewer who possessed them. The plain of Central Aragon lay exhausted at the victor’s feet. It was otherwise with the mountains of the north and the south, which contain some of the most difficult ground in the whole of Spain. There the rough and sturdy hill-folk found every opportunity for resistance, and when once they had learnt by experience the limitations of the invader’s power, were able to keep up a petty warfare without an end. Partisans like Villacampa in the southern hills, and Mina in the Pyrenean valleys along the edge of Navarre, succeeded in maintaining themselves against every expedition that was sent against them. Always hunted, often brought to bay, they yet were never crushed or destroyed.

But in March 1809 the Aragonese had not yet recognized their own opportunities: the disaster of Saragossa had struck such a deep blow that apathy and despair seemed to have spread over the greater part of the kingdom. When Mortier and Junot, after giving their corps a short rest, began to spread movable columns abroad, there was at first no resistance. The inaccessible fortress of Jaca in the foot-hills of the Pyrenees surrendered at the first summons; its garrison was only 500 strong, yet it should have made some sort of defence against a force consisting of no more than a single regiment of Mortier’s corps, without artillery. [March 21[505].] The fall of this place was important, as it commands the only pass in the Central Pyrenees which is anything better than mule-track. Though barely practicable for artillery or light vehicles, it was useful for communication between Saragossa and France, and gave the French army of Aragon a line of communication of its own, independent of the long and circuitous route by Tudela and Pampeluna.

[p. 409]

Other columns of Mortier’s corps marched against Monzon and Fraga, the chief towns in the valley of the Cinca. On their approach the Marquis of Lazan retired down the Ebro to Tortosa, and both towns were occupied without offering resistance. Another column marched against Mequinenza, the fortress at the junction of the Ebro and Segre: here, however, they met with opposition; the place was only protected by antiquated sixteenth-century fortifications, but it twice refused to surrender, though on the second occasion Mortier himself appeared before its walls with a whole brigade. The Marshal did not besiege it, deferring this task till he should have got all of Eastern Aragon well in hand. At this same time he made an attempt to open communications with St. Cyr in Catalonia, sending a regiment of cavalry under Colonel Briche to strike across the mountains beyond the Segre in search of the 7th Corps. Briche executed half his mission, for by great good fortune combined with very rapid movement, he slipped between Lerida and Mequinenza, got down into the coast-plain and met Chabot’s division of St. Cyr’s army at Montblanch. When, however, he tried to return to Aragon, in order to convey to the Duke of Treviso the information as to the distribution of the 7th Corps, he was beset by the somatenes, who were now on the alert. So vigorously was he assailed that he was forced to turn back and seek refuge with Chabot. Thus Mortier gained none of the news that he sought, and very naturally came to the conclusion that his flying column had been captured or cut to pieces.

Meanwhile Junot and the 3rd Corps were operating south of the Ebro. The Duke of Abrantes sent one of his three divisions (that of Grandjean) against Caspe, Alca?iz, and the valleys of the Guadalope and Martin, while another (that of Musnier) moved out against the highlands of the south, and the mountain-towns of Daroca and Molina. Most of the battalions of his third division, that of Morlot, were still engaged in guarding on their way to France the prisoners of Saragossa.

Of the two expeditions which Junot sent out, that which entered the mountains effected little. It lost several small detachments, cut off by the local insurgents, and though it ultimately penetrated as far as Molina, it was unable to hold[p. 410] the place. The whole population had fled, and after remaining there only six days, the French were forced to return to the plains by want of food. [March 22—April 10.] The Aragonese at once came back to their former position.

Grandjean, who had moved against Alca?iz, had at first more favourable fortune. He overran with great ease all the low-lying country south of the Ebro, and met with so little opposition that he resolved to push his advance even beyond the borders of Valencia. Accordingly he ascended the valley of the Bercantes, and appeared before Morella, the frontier town of that kingdom, on March 18. The place was strong, but there was only a very small garrison in charge of it[506], which retired after a slight skirmish, abandoning the fortress and a large store of food and equipment. If Grandjean could have held Morella, he would have secured for the French army a splendid base for further operations. But he had left many men behind him at Caspe and Alca?iz, and had but a few battalions in hand. He had gone too far forward to be safe, and when the Junta of Valencia sent against him the whole of the forces that they could collect—some 5,000 men under General Roca—he was compelled to evacuate Morella and to fall back on Alca?iz. [March 25.]

Mortier and Junot were concerting a joint movement for the completion of the conquest of Eastern Aragon, and an advance against Tortosa, when orders from Paris suddenly changed the whole face of affairs. The Emperor saw that war with Austria was inevitable and imminent: disquieted as to the strength of the new enemy, he resolved to draw troops from Spain to reinforce the army of the Danube. The only corps which seemed to him available was that of Mortier, and on April 5 he ordered that the Duke of Treviso should concentrate his troops and draw back to Tudela and Logro?o. It might still prove to be unnecessary to remove the 5th Corps from the Peninsula; but at Logro?o it would be within four marches of France if the Emperor discovered that he had need of its services in the north. On the same day Napoleon removed Junot from his command, probably[p. 411] on account of the numerous complaints as to his conduct sent in by King Joseph. To replace him General Suchet, the commander of one of Mortier’s divisions, was directed to take charge of the 3rd Corps[507].

Ten days later the imperial mandate reached Saragossa, and on receiving it Mortier massed his troops and marched away to Tudela. We have already seen[508] that his corps was never withdrawn from Spain, but merely moved from Aragon to Old Castile. But its departure completely changed the balance of fortune on the Lower Ebro. The number of French troops in that direction was suddenly reduced by one half, and the 3rd Corps had to spread itself out to the north, in order to take over all the positions evacuated by Mortier. It was far too weak for the duty committed to its charge, and at this moment it had not even received back the brigade sent to guard the Saragossa prisoners, which (it will be remembered) had been called off and lent to Kellermann[509]. There were hardly 15,000 troops left in the whole kingdom of Aragon, and these were dispersed in small bodies, with the design of holding down as much ground as possible. The single division of Grandjean had to cover the whole line from Barbastro to Alca?iz—places seventy miles apart—with less than 5,000 bayonets. The second division, Musnier’s, with its head quarters at Saragossa, had to watch the mountains of Upper Aragon. Of the 3rd division, that of Morlot, the few battalions that were available were garrisoning Jaca and Tudela, on the borders of Navarre. No sooner had Mortier’s corps departed, than a series of small reverses occurred, the inevitable results of the attempt to hold down large districts with an inadequate force. Junot, who was still retained in command till his successor should arrive, seemed to lack the courage to draw in his exposed detachments: probably his heart was no longer in the business, since he was under sentence of recall. Yet he had six weeks of work before him, for by some mischance the dispatch nominating Suchet to take his place reached Saragossa after that general had marched off at the head of his old division of Mortier’s corps. Cross-communi[p. 412]cation being tardy and difficult, it failed to catch him up till he had reached Valladolid. Returning from thence with a slow-moving escort of infantry, Suchet did not succeed in joining his corps till May 19. He found it in a desperate situation, for the last four weeks had seen an almost unbroken series of petty reverses, and it looked as if the whole of Aragon was about to slip out of the hands of the French. It was fortunate for the 3rd Corps that its new commander, though hitherto he had never been placed in a position of independent responsibility, proved to be a man of courage and resource—perhaps indeed the most capable of all the French generals who took part in the Peninsular War. A timid or unskilful leader might have lost Aragon, and imperilled the hold of King Joseph on Madrid. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that the entire French position in Spain would have been gravely compromised if during the last weeks of May the 3rd Corps had been under the charge of a less skilful and self-reliant commander.

In the month that elapsed before Suchet’s arrival the consequences of the withdrawal of the 5th Corps from the Lower Ebro were making themselves felt. The Aragonese were not slow to discover the decrease in the numbers of the invaders, and to note the long distances that now intervened between post and post. The partisans who had retired into Catalonia, or had taken refuge in the mountains of the south and the north, began to descend into the plains and to fall upon the outlying French detachments. On May 6 Colonel Perena came out of Lerida, and beset the detachment of Grandjean’s division which held the town and fortress of Monzon, with a horde of peasants and some Catalan miqueletes. The governor, Solnicki, thereupon fell back to Barbastro, the head quarters of Habert’s brigade. That general considered that he was in duty bound to retake Monzon, and marched against it with six battalions and a regiment of cuirassiers. He tried to cross the Cinca, not opposite the town, but much lower down the stream, at the ferry of Pomar. [May 16.] But just as his vanguard[510] had[p. 413] established itself on the other bank, a sudden storm caused such a rising of the waters that its communication with the main body was completely cut off. Thereupon Habert marched northward, and tried to force a passage at Monzon, so as to secure a line of retreat for his lost detachment. The bridge of that town however had been barricaded, and the castle garrisoned: Habert was held at bay, and the 1,000 men who had crossed at the ferry of Pomar were all cut off and forced to surrender. After marching for three days among the insurgents, and vainly endeavouring to force their way through the horde, they had to lay down their arms when their cartridges had all been exhausted. [May 19.] Only the cuirassiers escaped, by swimming the river when the flood had begun to abate, and found their way back to Barbastro.

In consequence of this disaster the French lost their grip on the valley of the Cinca, for the insurgents, under Perena and the Catalan chief Baget, moved forward into the Sierra de Alcubierre and raised the whole country-side in their aid. Habert, fearing to be cut off from Saragossa, thereupon retired to Villafranca on the Ebro, and abandoned all North-Eastern Aragon[511].

Meanwhile the other brigade of Grandjean’s division, which still lay at Alca?iz, south of the Ebro, was also driven in by the Spaniards. Its commander Laval was attacked by a large force coming from Tortosa, and was forced to draw back to San Per and Hijar [May 18-19]. At the news of his retreat all the hill-country of Southern Aragon took arms, and the bands from Molina and the other mountain-cities extended their raids down the valley of the Huerta and almost to the gates of Saragossa.

The Spanish force which had seized Alca?iz was no mere body of armed peasants, but a small regular army. General[p. 414] Blake had just been given the post of commander-in-chief of all the forces of the Coronilla—the old kingdom of Aragon and its dependencies, Valencia and Catalonia. Burning to atone for his defeats at Zornoza and Espinosa by some brilliant feat of arms, he was doing his best to collect a new ‘Army of the Right.’ From Catalonia he could draw little or nothing: the troops which had fought under Reding at Valls were still cooped up in Tarragona, and unfit for field-service. But Blake had concentrated at Tortosa the division of the Marquis of Lazan—the sole surviving fraction of the old Army of Aragon—and the troops which he could draw from Valencia. These last consisted at this moment of no more than the reorganized division of Roca from the old ‘Army of the Centre.’ Its depleted cadres had been sent back by Infantado from Cuenca, and the Junta had shot into them a mass of recruits, who in a few weeks had raised the strength of the division from 1,500 to 5,000 bayonets. Other regiments were being raised in Valencia, but in the early weeks of May they were not yet ready for the field, though by June they gave Blake a reinforcement of nearly 12,000 men[512].[p. 415] Murcia could provide in May only one single battalion for Blake’s assistance: all its field army had perished at Saragossa. The total force of the new ‘Army of the Right’ when it advanced against Alca?iz was less than 10,000 men—the Valencians in its ranks outnumbered the Aragonese by four to three.

When Suchet therefore arrived at Saragossa on May 19, and took over the command of the 3rd Corps from the hands of Junot, the prospect seemed a gloomy one for the French. Their outlying detachments had been forced back to the neighbourhood of Saragossa: the central reserve (Musnier’s two brigades) was small: the third division (with the exception of one regiment) was still absent—one of its brigades was with Kellermann in Leon[513], and some detachments were scattered among the garrisons of Navarre. After the sick and the absent had been deducted, Suchet found that he had not much more than 10,000 men under arms, though the nominal force of the 3rd Corps was still about 20,000 sabres and bayonets. Nor was it only in numbers that the Army of Aragon was weak: its morale also left much to be desired. The newly-formed regiments which composed more than half of the infantry[514] were in a deplorable condition, a natural consequence of the haste with which they had been organized and sent into the field. Having been originally composed of companies drawn from many quarters, they still showed a mixture of uniforms of different cut and colour, which gave them a motley appearance and, according to their commander, degraded them in their own eyes and lowered their self-respect[515]. They had not yet fully recovered from the physical and moral strain of the siege of Saragossa. Their pay was in arrear, the military chest empty, the food procured from day to day by marauding. There was much grumbling among the officers, who complained that the[p. 416] promotions and rewards due for the capture of Saragossa had almost all been reserved for the 5th Corps. The guerrilla warfare of the last few weeks had disgusted the rank and file, who thought that Junot had been mismanaging them, and knew absolutely nothing of the successor who had just replaced him. The whole corps, says Suchet, was dejected and discontented[516].

Nevertheless there was no time to rest or reorganize these sullen battalions: the Spaniards were pressing in so close that it was necessary to attack them at all costs: the only other alternative would have been to abandon Saragossa. Such a step, though perhaps theoretically justifiable under the circumstances, would have ruined Suchet’s military career, and was far from his thoughts. Only two days after he had assumed the command of the corps, he marched out with Musnier’s division to join Laval’s troops at Hijar. [May 21.] He had sent orders to Habert to cross the Ebro and follow him as fast as he was able: but that general, who was still on the march from Barbastro to Villafranca, did not receive the dispatch in time, and failed to join his chief before the oncoming battle[517].

[p. 417]

On May 23, however, Suchet, with Musnier’s and Laval’s men, presented himself in front of Blake’s position at Alca?iz. He had fourteen battalions and five squadrons with him—a force in all of about 8,000 men, with eighteen guns[518]. He found the Spaniards ready and willing to fight. They were drawn up on a line of hills to the east of Alca?iz, covering that town and its bridge. Their position was good from a tactical point of view, but extremely dangerous when considered strategically: for Blake had been tempted by the strong ground into fighting with the river Guadalope at his back, and had no way of crossing it save by the single bridge of Alca?iz and a bad ford. It was an exact reproduction of the deplorable order of battle that the Russians had adopted at Friedland in 1807, though not destined to lead to any such disaster. The northern and highest of the three hills occupied by the Spaniards, that called the Cerro de los Pueyos, was held by the Aragonese troops. On the central height, called the hill of Las Horcas, was placed the whole of the Spanish artillery—nineteen guns—guarded by three Valencian battalions: this part of the line was immediately in front of the bridge of Alca?iz, the sole line of retreat. The southern and lowest hill, that of La Perdiguera, was held by Roca and the rest of the Valencians, and flanked by the small body of cavalry—only 400 sabres—which Blake possessed[519].[p. 418] The whole army, not quite 9,000 strong, outnumbered the enemy by less than 800 bayonets, though in French narratives it is often stated at 12,000 or 15,000 men[520].

Suchet seems to have found some difficulty at first in making out the Spanish position—the hills hid from him the bridge and town of Alca?iz, whose position in rear of Blake’s centre was the dominant military fact of the situation. At any rate, he spent the whole morning in tentative movements, and only delivered his main stroke in the afternoon. He began by sending Laval’s brigade against the dominating hill on the right flank of the Spanish position. Two assaults were made upon the Cerro de los Pueyos, which Suchet in his autobiography calls feints, but which Blake considered so serious that he sent off to this flank two battalions from his left wing and the whole of his cavalry. Whether intended as mere demonstrations or as a real attack, these movements had no success, and were repelled by General Areizaga, the commander of the Aragonese, without much difficulty. The Spanish cavalry, however, was badly mauled by Suchet’s hussars when it tried to deliver a flank charge upon the enemy at the moment that he retired.

When all the fighting on the northern extremity of the line had died down, Suchet launched his main attack against Blake’s centre, hoping (as he says) to break the line, seize the bridge of Alca?iz, which lay just behind the hill of Las Horcas, and thus to capture the greater part of the Spanish wings, which would have no line of retreat. The attack was delivered by two of[p. 419] Musnier’s regiments[521] formed in columns of battalions, and acting in a single mass—a force of over 2,600 men. A column of this strength often succeeded in bursting through a Spanish line during the Peninsular War. But on this day Suchet was unlucky, or his troops did not display the usual élan of French infantry. They advanced steadily enough across the flat ground, and began to climb the hill, in spite of the rapid and accurate fire of the artillery which crowned its summit. But when the fire of musketry from the Spanish left began to beat upon their flank, and the guns opened with grape, the attacking columns came to a standstill at the line of a ditch cut in the slope. Their officers made every effort to carry them forward for the few hundred yards that separated them from the Spanish guns, but the mass wavered, surged helplessly for a few minutes under the heavy fire, and then dispersed and fled in disorder. Suchet rallied them behind the five intact battalions which he still possessed, but refused to renew the attack, and drew off ere night. He himself had been wounded in the foot at the close of the action, and his troops had suffered heavily—their loss must have been at least 700 or 800 men[522]. Blake, who had lost no more than 300, did not attempt to pursue, fearing to expose his troops in the plain to the assaults of the French cavalry.

The morale of the 3rd Corps had been so much shaken by its unsuccessful début under its new commander, that a panic broke out after dark among Laval’s troops, who fled in all directions, on a false alarm that the Spanish cavalry had attacked and captured the rearguard. Next morning the army poured into San Per and Hijar in complete disorder, and some hours had to be spent in restoring discipline. Suchet discovered the man who had started the cry of sauve qui peut, and had him shot before the day was over[523].

[p. 420]

The French had expected to be pursued, and many critics have blamed Blake for not making the most of his victory and following the defeated enemy at full speed. The Spanish general, however, had good reasons for his quiescence: he saw that Suchet’s force was almost as large as his own; he could not match the French in cavalry; and having noted the orderly fashion in which they had left the battle-field, he could not have guessed that during the night they would disband in panic. Moreover—and this was the most important point—he was expecting to receive in a few days reinforcements from Valencia which would more than double his numbers. Till they had come up he would not move, but contented himself with sending the news of Alca?iz all over Aragon and stimulating the activity of the insurgents. As he had hoped, the results of his victory were important—the French had to evacuate every outlying post that they possessed, and the whole of the open country passed into the hands of the patriots. Perena and the insurgents of the north bank of the Ebro pressed close in to Saragossa: other bands threatened the high-road to Tudela: thousands of recruits flocked into Blake’s camp, but he was unfortunately unable to arm or utilize them.

Within a few days, however, he began to receive the promised reinforcements from Valencia—a number of fresh regiments from the rear, and drafts for the corps that were already with him[524]. He also used his authority as supreme commander in Catalonia to draw some reinforcements from that principality—three battalions of Reding’s Granadan troops and one of miqueletes: no more could be spared from in front of the active St. Cyr. Within three weeks after his victory of Alca?iz he had collected an army of 25,000 men, and considered himself strong enough to commence the march upon Saragossa. It was in his power to advance directly upon the city by the high-road along the[p. 421] Ebro, and to challenge Suchet to a battle outside its southern gates. He did not, however, make this move, but with a caution that he did not often display, kept to the mountains and marched by a side-road to Belchite [June 12]. Here he received news of Napoleon’s check at Essling, which had happened on the twenty-second of the preceding month; it was announced as a complete and crushing defeat of the Emperor, and encouraged the Spaniards in no small degree.

From Belchite Blake, still keeping to the mountains, pursued his march eastward to Villanueva in the valley of the Huerba. This move revealed his design; he was about to place himself in a position from which he could threaten Suchet’s lines of communication with Tudela and Logro?o, and so compel him either to abandon Saragossa without fighting, or to come out and attack the Spanish army among the hills. Blake, in short, was trying to man?uvre his enemy out of Saragossa, or to induce him to fight another offensive action such as that of Alca?iz had been. After the experience of May 25 he thought that he could trust his army to hold its ground, though he was not willing to risk an advance in the open, across the level plain in front of Saragossa.

Suchet meanwhile had concentrated his whole available force in that city and its immediate neighbourhood; he had drawn in every man save a single column of two battalions, which was lying at La Muela under General Fabre, with orders to keep back the insurgents of the southern mountains from making a dash at Alagon and cutting the high-road to Tudela. He had been writing letters to Madrid, couched in the most urgent terms, to beg for reinforcements. But just at this moment the Asturian expedition had drawn away to the north all the troops in Old Castile. King Joseph could do no more than promise that the two regiments from the 3rd Corps which had been lent to Kellermann should be summoned back, and directed to make forced marches on Saragossa. He could spare nothing save these six battalions, believing it impossible to deplete the garrison of Madrid, or to draw from Valladolid the single division of Mortier’s corps, which was at this moment the only solid force remaining in the valley of the Douro.

Suchet was inclined to believe that he might be attacked[p. 422] before this small reinforcement of 3,000 men could arrive, and feared that, with little more than 10,000 sabres and bayonets, he would risk defeat if he attacked Blake in the mountains. The conduct of his troops in and after the battle of Alca?iz had not tended to make him hopeful of the result of another action of the same kind. Nevertheless, when Blake came down into the valley of the Huerba, and began to threaten his communications, he resolved that he must fight once again; the alternative course, the evacuation of Saragossa and a retreat up the Ebro, would have been too humiliating. Suchet devoted the three weeks of respite which the slow advance of the enemy allowed him to the reorganization of his corps. He made strenuous exertions to clothe it, and to provide it with its arrears of pay. He inspected every regiment in person, sought out and remedied grievances, displaced a number of unsatisfactory officers, and promoted many deserving individuals. He claims that the improvement in the morale of the troops during the three weeks when they lay encamped at Saragossa was enormous[525], and his statements may be verified in the narrative of one of his subordinates, who remarks that neither Moncey nor Junot had ever shown that keen personal interest in the corps which Suchet always displayed, and that the troops considered their new chief both more genial and more business-like than any general they had hitherto seen, and so resolved to do their best for him[526].

Forced to fight, but not by any means confident of victory, the French commander discharged on to Tudela and Pampeluna his sick, his heavy baggage, and his parks, before marching out to meet Blake upon June 14. The enemy, though still clinging to the skirts of the hills, had now moved so close to Saragossa that it was clear that he must be attacked at once, though Suchet would have preferred to wait a few days longer, till he should have rallied the brigade from Old Castile. These two regiments, under Colonel Robert, had now passed Tudela, and were expected to arrive on the fifteenth or sixteenth. But Blake had now descended the valley of the Huerba, and had pushed his outposts to within ten or twelve miles of Saragossa. He had reorganized his army[p. 423] into three divisions, one of which (mainly composed of Aragonese troops) was placed under General Areizaga, while Roca and the Marquis of Lazan headed the two others, in which the Valencian levies predominated. Of the total of 25,000 men which the muster-rolls showed, 20,000 were in line: the rest were detached or in hospital. There were about 1,000 untrustworthy cavalry and twenty-five guns.

In his final advance down the Huerba, Blake moved in two columns. Areizaga’s division kept to the right bank and halted at Botorrita, some sixteen miles from Saragossa. The Commander-in-chief, with the other two divisions, marched on the left bank, and pushing further forward than his lieutenant, reached the village of Maria, twelve miles from the south-western front of the city. A distance of six or seven miles separated the two corps. Thus Blake had taken the strategical offensive, but was endeavouring to retain the tactical defensive, by placing himself in a position where the enemy must attack him. But he seems to have made a grave mistake in keeping his columns so far apart, on different roads and with a river between them. It should have been his object to make sure that every man was on the field when the critical moment should arrive.

Already on the morning of the fourteenth the two armies came into contact. Musnier’s division met the Spanish vanguard, thrust it back some way, but then came upon Blake and the main body, and had to give ground. Suchet, on the same evening, established his head quarters at the Abbey of Santa Fé, and there dictated his orders for the battle of the following day. Having ascertained that Areizaga’s division was the weaker of the two Spanish columns, he left opposite it, on the Monte Torrero, a mile and a half outside Saragossa, only a single brigade—five battalions—under General Laval, who had now become the commander of the 1st Division, for Grandjean had been sent back to France. Protected by the line of the canal of Aragon, these 2,000 men[527] were to do their best to beat off any attack which Areizaga might make against the city, while the main bodies of both armies were engaged elsewhere. The charge[p. 424] of Saragossa itself was given over to Colonel Haxo, who had but a single battalion of infantry[528] and the sapper-companies of the army.

Having set aside these 3,000 men to guard his flank and rear, Suchet could only bring forward Musnier’s division, and the remaining brigade of Laval’s division (that of Habert), with two other battalions, for the main attack. But he retained with himself the whole of his cavalry and all his artillery, save one single battery left with the troops on Monte Torrero. This gave him fourteen battalions—about 7,500 infantry—800 horse, and twelve guns—less than 9,000 men in all—to commence the battle. But he was encouraged to risk an attack by the news that the brigade from Tudela was now close at hand, and could reach the field by noon with 3,000 bayonets more. It would seem that Suchet (though he does not say so in his Mémoires) held back during the morning hours, in order to allow this heavy reserve time to reach the fighting-ground.

Blake was in order of battle along the line of a rolling hill separated from the French lines by less than a mile. Behind his front were two other similar spurs of the Sierra de la Muela, each separated from the other by a steep ravine. On his right flank was the river Huerba, with level fields half a mile broad between the water’s edge and the commencement of the rising ground. The village of Maria lay to his right rear, some way up the stream. The Spaniards were drawn out in two lines, Roca’s division on the northernmost ridge, Lazan’s in its rear on the second, while the cavalry filled the space between the hills and the river. Two battalions and half a battery were in reserve, in front of Maria. The rest of the artillery was placed in the intervals of the first line.

The French occupied a minor line of heights facing Blake’s front: Habert’s brigade held the left, near the river, having the two cavalry regiments of Wathier in support. Musnier’s division formed the centre and right: a squadron of Polish lancers was placed far out upon its flank. The only reserve consisted of the two stray battalions which did not belong[p. 425] either to Musnier or Habert—one of the 5th Léger, another of the 64th of the Line[529].

Blake’s army was slow in taking up its ground, while Suchet did not wish to move till the brigade from Tudela had got within supporting distance. Hence in the morning hours there was no serious collision. But at last the Spaniards took the initiative, and pushed a cautious advance against Suchet’s left, apparently with the object of worrying him into assuming the offensive rather than of delivering a serious attack. But the cloud of skirmishers sent against Habert’s front grew so thick and pushed so far forward, that at last the whole brigade was seriously engaged, and the artillery was obliged to open upon the swarm of Spanish tirailleurs. They fell back when the shells began to drop among them, and sought refuge by retiring nearer to their main body[530].

About midday the bickering died down on the French left, but shortly after the fire broke out with redoubled energy in another direction. Disappointed that he could not induce Suchet to attack him, Blake had at last resolved to take the offensive himself, and columns were seen descending from his extreme left wing, evidently with the intention of turning the French right. Having thus made up his mind to strike, the Spanish general should have sent prompt orders to his detached division under Areizaga, to bid it cross the Huerba with all possible[p. 426] speed, and hasten to join the main body before the engagement had grown hot. It could certainly have arrived in two hours, since it was but six or seven miles away. But Blake made no attempt to call in this body of 6,000 men (the best troops in his army) or to utilize it in any way. He only employed the two divisions that were under his hand on the hillsides above Maria.

The attack on the French right, made between one and two o’clock, precipitated matters. When Suchet saw the Spanish battalions beginning to descend from the ridge, he ordered his Polish lancers to charge them in flank, and attacked them in front with part of the 114th regiment and some voltigeur companies. The enemy was thrown back, and retired to rejoin his main body. Then, before they were fully rearranged in line of battle, the French general bade the whole of Musnier’s division advance, and storm the Spanish position. He was emboldened to press matters to an issue by the joyful news that the long-expected brigade from Tudela had passed Saragossa, and would be on the field in a couple of hours.

The eight battalions of the 114th, 115th, and the 1st of the Vistula crossed the valley and fell upon the Spanish line between two and three o’clock in the afternoon. Roca’s men met them with resolution, and the fighting was for some time indecisive. Along part of the front the French gained ground, but at other points they were beaten back, and to repair a severe check suffered by the 115th, Suchet had to engage half his reserve, the battalion of the 64th, and to draw into the fight the 2nd of the Vistula from Habert’s brigade upon the left. This movement restored the line, but nothing appreciable had been gained, when a violent hailstorm from the north suddenly swept down upon both armies, and hid them for half an hour from each other’s sight.
Map of the battle of Alca?iz

Enlarge  BATTLE of ALCA?IZ
MAY 23RD 1809
Map of the battle of Maria

Enlarge  BATTLE of MARIA
JUNE 15TH 1809

Before it was over, Suchet learnt that Robert and his brigade had arrived at the Abbey of Santa Fé, on his right rear. He therefore resolved to throw into the battle the wing of his army which he had hitherto held back,—Habert’s battalions and the cavalry. When the storm had passed over, they advanced against the Spanish right, in the low ground near the river. The three battalions[531] of infantry led the way, but when their [p. 427]fire had begun to take effect, Suchet bade his hussars and cuirassiers charge through the intervals of the front line. The troops here opposed to them consisted of 600 cavalry under General O’Donoju—the whole of the horsemen that Blake possessed, for the rest of his squadrons were with Areizaga, far away from the field.

The charge of Wathier’s two regiments proved decisive: the Spanish horse did not wait to cross sabres, but broke and fled from the field, exposing the flank of the battalions which lay next them in the line. The cuirassiers and hussars rolled up these unfortunate troops, and hunted them along the high-road as far as the outskirts of Maria; here they came upon and rode down the two battalions which Blake had left there as a last reserve, and captured the half-battery that accompanied them.

The Spanish right was annihilated, and—what was worse—Blake had lost possession of the only road by which he could withdraw and join Areizaga. Meanwhile Habert’s battalions had not followed the cavalry in their charge, but had turned upon the exposed flank of the Spanish centre, and were attacking it in side and rear. It is greatly to Blake’s credit that his firmness did not give way in this distressing moment. He threw back his right, and sent up into line such of Lazan’s battalions from his rear line as had not yet been drawn into the fight. Thus he saved himself from utter disaster, and though losing ground all through the evening hours, kept his men together, and finally left the field in a solid mass, retiring over the hills and ravines to the southward. ‘The Spaniards,’ wrote an eye-witness, ‘went off the field in perfect order and with a good military bearing[532].’ But they had been forced to leave behind them all their guns save two, for they had no road, and could not drag the artillery up the rugged slopes by which they saved themselves. Blake also lost 1,000 killed, three or four times that number of wounded, and some hundreds of prisoners.[p. 428] The steadiness of the retreat is vouched for by the small number of flags captured by the French—only three out of the thirty-four that had been upon the field. Suchet, according to his own account, had lost no more than between 700 and 800 men.

When safe from pursuit the beaten army crossed the Huerba far above Maria, and rejoined Areizaga’s division at Botorrita on the right bank of that stream.

Next morning, to his surprise, Suchet learnt that the enemy was still in position at Botorrita and was showing a steady front. The victor did not march directly against Blake, as might have been expected, but ordered Laval, with the troops that had been guarding Saragossa, to turn the Spaniards’ right, while he himself man?uvred to get round their left. These cautious proceedings would seem to indicate that the French army had been more exhausted by the battle of the previous day than Suchet concedes. The turning movements failed, and Blake drew off undisturbed at nightfall, and retired on that same road to Belchite by which he had marched on Saragossa, in such high hopes, only four days back.

The battle of Maria had been on the whole very creditable to the Valencian troops. But the subsequent course of events was lamentable. On the way to Belchite many of the raw levies began to disband themselves: the weather was bad, the road worse, and the consciousness of defeat had had time enough to sink into the minds of the soldiery. When Blake halted at Belchite, he found that he had only 12,000 men with him: deducting the losses of the fifteenth, there should have been at least 15,000 in line. Of artillery he possessed no more than nine guns, seven that had been with Areizaga, and two saved from Maria[533].

It can only be considered therefore a piece of mad presumption on the part of the Spanish general that he halted at Belchite and again offered battle to his pursuers. The position in front of that town was strong—far stronger than the ground at Maria. But the men were not the same; on June 15 they[p. 429] had fought with confidence, proud of their victory at Alca?iz and intending to enter Saragossa in triumph next day. On June 18 they were cowed and disheartened—they had already done their best and had failed: it seemed to them hopeless to try the fortunes of war again, and they were half beaten before a shot had been fired. The mere numerical odds, too, were no longer in their favour: at Maria, Blake had 13,000 men to Suchet’s 9,000—if we count only the troops that fought, and neglect the 3,000 French who came up late in the day, and were never engaged. At Belchite, Blake had about 12,000 men, and Suchet rather more, for he had gathered in Laval’s and Robert’s brigades—full 5,000 bayonets, and could put into line 13,000 men, even if allowance be made for his losses in the late battle[534]. It is impossible to understand the temerity with which the Spanish general courted a disaster, by resolving to fight a second battle only three days after he had lost the first.

Blake’s centre was in front of Belchite, in comparatively low-lying ground, much cut up by olive groves and enclosures. His wings were drawn up on two gentle hills, called the Calvary and El Pueyo: the left was the weaker flank, the ridge there being open and exposed. It was on this wing therefore that Suchet directed his main effort; he sent against it the whole of Musnier’s division and a regiment of cavalry, while Habert’s brigade marched to turn the right: the centre was left unattacked. The moment that Musnier’s attack was well pronounced, the whole of the Spanish left wing gave way, and fell back on Belchite, to cover itself behind the walls and olive-groves. Before the French division could be re-formed for a second attack, an even more disgraceful rout occurred on the right wing. Habert’s brigade had just commenced to close in upon the Spaniards, when a chance shell exploded a caisson in rear of the battery in Blake’s right-centre. The fire communicated itself to the other powder-wagons which were standing near, and the whole group blew up with a terrific report. ‘This piece of luck threw the whole line into panic,’ writes an eye-witness, ‘the enemy thought that he was attacked in the[p. 430] rear. Every man shouted Treason! whole battalions threw down their arms and bolted. The disorder spread along the entire line, and we only had to run in upon them and seize what we could. If they had not closed the town-gates, which we found it difficult to batter in, I fancy that the whole Spanish army would have been captured or cut to pieces. But it took some time to break down the narrow grated door, and then a battalion stood at bay in the Market Place, and had to be ridden down by our Polish lancers before we could get on. Lastly, we had to pass through another gate to make our exit, and to cross the bridge over the Aguas in a narrow formation. This gave the Spaniards time to show a clean pair of heels, and they utilized the chance with their constitutional agility. We took few prisoners, but got their nine guns, some twenty munition wagons, and the whole of their very considerable magazines. General Suchet wrote up a splendid account of the elaborate man?uvres that he made. But I believe that my tale is nearer to the facts, and that the order of battle which he published was composed après coup. The whole affair did not last long enough for him to carry out the various dispositions which he details[535].’

The whole Spanish army was scattered to the winds. It was some days before the Aragonese and Catalans began to rally at Tortosa, and the Valencians at Morella. The total loss in the battle had not been large—Suchet says that only one regiment was actually surrounded and cut to pieces, and only one flag taken[536]. But of the 25,000 men who had formed the ‘Army of the Right’ on June 1, not 10,000 were available a month later, and these were in a state of demoralization which would have made it impossible to take them into action.

Suchet was therefore able to set himself at leisure to the task of reducing the plains of Aragon, whose control had passed out of his hands in May. He left Musnier’s division at Alca?iz to watch all that was left of Blake’s army, while he marched with the other two to overrun the central valley of the Ebro. On[p. 431] June 23 he seized Caspe and its long wooden bridge, and crossed the river. Next he occupied Fraga and Monzon, and left Habert[537] and the 3rd division to watch the valley of the Cinca. With the remaining division, that of Laval, he marched back to Saragossa [July 1], sweeping the open country clear of guerrilla bands. Then he sat down for a space in the Aragonese capital, to busy himself in administrative schemes for the governance of the kingdom, and in preparation for a systematic campaign against the numerous insurgents of the northern and southern mountains, who still remained under arms and seemed to have been little affected by the disasters of Maria and Belchite.

Thus ended Blake’s invasion of Aragon, an undertaking which promised well from the day of Alca?iz down to the battle of June 15. It miscarried mainly through the gross tactical error which the general made in dividing his army, and fighting at Maria with only two-thirds of his available force. His strategy down to the actual moment of battle seems to have been well-considered and prudent. If he had put the Aragonese division of Areizaga in line between the river and the hill, instead of his handful of untrustworthy cavalry, it seems likely that a second Alca?iz might have been fought on the fatal fifteenth of June. For Suchet’s infantry attack had miscarried, and it was only the onslaught of his cavalry that won the day. Had that charge failed, Saragossa must have been evacuated that night, and the 3rd Corps would have been forced back on Navarre—to the entire dislocation of all other French operations in Spain. If King Joseph had received the news of the loss of Aragon in the same week in which he learnt that Soult and Ney had evacuated Galicia, and Kellermann the Asturias, he would probably have called back Victor and Sebastiani and abandoned Madrid. For a disaster in the valley of the Douro or the Ebro, as Napoleon once observed, is the most fatal blow of all to an invader based on the north, and makes central Spain untenable. While wondering at Blake’s errors, we must not forget to lay part of the blame at the door of his lieutenant Areizaga—the incapable man who afterwards lost the fatal fight of Oca?a.[p. 432] An officer of sound views, when left without orders, would have ‘marched to the cannon’ and appeared on the field of Maria in the afternoon. Areizaga sat quiescent, six miles from the battle-field, while the cannon were thundering in his ears from eleven in the morning till six in the afternoon!

As for Suchet, we see that he took a terrible risk, and came safely through the ordeal. There were many reasons for evacuating Saragossa, when Blake came down the valley of the Huerba to cut the communications of the 3rd Corps. But an enterprising general just making his début in independent command, could not well take the responsibility of retreat without first trying the luck of battle. Fortune favoured the brave, and a splendid victory saved Saragossa and led to the reconquest of the lost plains of Aragon. Yet, with another cast of the dice, Maria might have proved a defeat, and Suchet have gone down to history as a rash officer who imperilled the whole fate of the French army in Spain by trying to face over-great odds.
SECTION XVI  THE TALAVERA CAMPAIGN (JULY-AUGUST 1809) CHAPTER I
WELLESLEY AT ABRANTES: VICTOR EVACUATES ESTREMADURA

When Wellesley’s columns, faint but pursuing, received the orders which bade them halt at Ruivaens and Montalegre, their commander was already planning out the details of their return-march to the Tagus. From the first moment of his setting forth from Lisbon, he had looked upon the expedition against Soult as no more than a necessary preliminary to the more important expedition against Victor. He would have preferred, as we have already seen[538], to have directed his first blow against the French army in Estremadura, and had only been induced to begin his campaign by the attack upon Soult because he saw the political necessity for delivering Oporto. His original intention had been no more than to man?uvre the 2nd Corps out of Portugal. But, owing to the faulty dispositions of the Duke of Dalmatia, he had been able to accomplish much more than this—he had beaten the Marshal, stripped him of his artillery and equipment, destroyed a sixth of his army, and flung him back into Galicia by a rugged and impracticable road, which took him far from his natural base of operations. He had done much more than he had hoped or promised to do when he set out from Lisbon. Yet these ‘uncovenanted mercies’ did not distract him from his original plan: his main object was not the destruction of Soult, but the clearing of the whole frontier of Portugal from the danger of invasion, and this could not be accomplished till Victor had been dealt with. The necessity for a prompt movement against the 1st Corps was emphasized[p. 434] by the news, received on May 19 at Montalegre, that its commander was already astir, and apparently about to assume the offensive. Mackenzie reported from Abrantes, with some signs of dismay, that a strong French column had just fallen upon Alcantara, and driven from it the small Portuguese detachment which was covering his front.

Accordingly Wellesley turned the march of his whole army southward, the very moment that he discovered that the 2nd Corps had not fallen into the trap set for it at Chaves and Ruivaens. He had resolved to leave nothing but the local levies of Silveira and Botilho to watch Galicia, and to protect the provinces north of the Douro. ‘Soult,’ he wrote, ‘will be very little formidable to any body of troops for some time to come.’ He imagined—and quite correctly—that the Galician guerrillas and the army of La Romana would suffice to find him occupation. He did not, however, realize that it was possible that not only Soult but Ney also would be so much harassed by the insurgents, and would fall into such bitter strife with each other, that they might ere long evacuate Galicia altogether. This, indeed, could not have been foreseen at the moment when the British turned southwards from Montalegre. If Wellesley could have guessed that by July 1 the three French Corps in Northern Spain—the 2nd, 5th, and 6th—would all be clear of the mountains and concentrated in the triangle Astorga-Zamora-Valladolid, he would have had to recast his plan of operations. But on May 19 such a conjunction appeared most improbable, and the British general could not have deemed it likely that a French army of 55,000 men, available for field-operations, would be collected on the central Douro, at the moment when he had committed himself to operations on the Tagus. Indeed, for some weeks after he had departed from Oporto the information from the north made any such concentration appear improbable. While he was on his march to the south he began to hear of the details of Ney’s and Kellermann’s expedition against the Asturias, news which he received with complacency[539], as it showed that the French were entangling themselves in new and hazardous enterprises which would make it more difficult than ever for them to collect a force opposite[p. 435] the frontier of Northern Portugal. Down to the very end of June Wellesley had no reason to dread any concentration of French troops upon his flank in the valley of the Douro. It was only in the following month that Soult was heard of at Puebla de Senabria and Ney at Astorga. By that time the British army had already crossed the frontier of Spain and commenced its operations against Victor.

At the moment when Wellesley turned back from Montalegre and set his face southward, he had not yet settled the details of his plan of campaign. There appeared to be two courses open to him. The first was to base himself upon Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo, and advance upon Salamanca. This movement, which he could have begun in the second week of June, would undoubtedly have thrown into disorder all the French arrangements in Northern Spain. There would have been no force ready to oppose him save a single division of Mortier’s corps—the rest of that marshal’s troops were absent with Kellermann in the Asturias. This could not have held the British army back, and a bold march in advance would have placed Wellesley in a position where he could have intercepted all communications between the French troops in Galicia and those in and about Madrid. The movement might appear tempting, but it would have been too hazardous. The only force that could have been used for it was the 20,000 troops of Wellesley’s own army, backed by the 12,000 or 15,000 Portuguese regulars whom Beresford could collect between the Douro and the Tagus. The Spaniards had no troops in this direction save the garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo, and a battalion or two which Carlos d’Espa?a had raised on the borders of Leon and Portugal. On the other hand, the news that the British were at Salamanca or Toro would certainly have forced Ney, Soult, and Kellermann to evacuate Galicia and the Asturias and hasten to the aid of Mortier. They would have been far too strong, when united, for the 30,000 or 35,000 men of Wellesley and Beresford. La Romana and the Asturians could have brought no corresponding reinforcements to assist the British army, and must necessarily have arrived too late—long after the French corps would have reached the Douro[540]. The idea of a movement on[p. 436] Salamanca, therefore, did not even for a moment enter into Wellesley’s mind.

The other alternative open to the British general, and that which he had from the first determined to take in hand, was (as we have already seen) a march against Victor. Such a movement might be carried out in one of two ways. (1) It would be possible to advance against his flank and rear by keeping north of the Tagus, and striking, by Coria and Plasencia, at Almaraz and its great bridge of boats, across which ran the communication between the 1st Corps and Madrid. This operation would have to be carried out by the British army alone, while the Spanish army of Estremadura, acting from a separate base, kept in touch with Victor but avoided compromising itself by any rash attack upon him. The Marshal, placed in a central position between Wellesley’s and Cuesta’s forces, would certainly try to beat one of them before they got the chance of drawing together. (2) It was equally possible to operate against Victor not on separate lines, but by crossing the Tagus, joining the Spaniards somewhere in the neighbourhood of Badajoz, and falling upon the Marshal with the united strength of both armies. This movement would be less hazardous than the other, since it would secure the concentration of an army of a strength sufficient to crush the 25,000 men at which the 1st Corps might reasonably be rated. But it would only drive Victor back upon Madrid and King Joseph’s reserves by a frontal attack, while the other plan—that of the march on Almaraz—would imperil his flank and rear, and threaten to cut him off from the King and the capital.

Before making any decision between the two plans, Wellesley wrote to Cuesta, from Oporto on May 22, a letter requesting him to state his views as to the way in which the operations of the British and Spanish armies could best be combined. He[p. 437] informed him that the troops which had defeated Soult were already on their way to the south, that the head of the column would reach the Mondego on the twenty-sixth, and that the whole would be concentrated near Abrantes early in June. It was at that place that the choice would have to be made between the two possible lines of attack on Victor—that which led to Almaraz, and that which went on to Southern Estremadura. A few days later Wellesley dispatched a confidential officer of his staff—Colonel Bourke—to bear to the Spanish general a definite request for his decision on the point whether the allied armies should prepare for an actual junction, or should man?uvre from separate bases, or should ‘co-operate with communication,’ i.e. combine their movements without adopting a single base or a joint line of advance. Bourke was also directed to obtain all the information that he could concerning the strength, morale, and discipline of Cuesta’s army, and to discover what chance there was of securing the active assistance of the second Spanish army in the south—that which, under General Venegas, was defending the defiles in front of La Carolina[541].

It was clear that some days must elapse before an answer could arrive from the camp of the Estremaduran army, and meanwhile Wellesley continued to urge the counter-march of his troops from the various points at which they had halted between Oporto and Montalegre. All the scattered British brigades were directed on Abrantes by different routes: those which had the least distance to march began to arrive there on the eleventh and the twelve of June.

The Commander-in-chief had resolved not to take on with him the Portuguese regulars whom he had employed in the campaign against Soult. Both the brigades which had marched on Amarante under Beresford, and the four battalions which had fought along with Wellesley in the main column, were now dropped behind. They were destined to form an army of observation, lest Mortier and his 5th Corps, or any other French force, might chance to assail the front between the Douro and the Tagus during the absence of the British in the south.[p. 438] Beresford, who was left in command, was directed to arrange his troops so as to be able to support Almeida, and resist any raid from the direction of Salamanca or Zamora. The main body of the army lay at Guarda, its reserves at Coimbra. The Portuguese division which had been lying on the Zezere in company with Mackenzie’s troops, was also placed at Beresford’s disposition, so that he had about eighteen battalions, four regiments of cavalry, and five or six batteries—a force of between 12,000 and 15,000 men. It was his duty to connect Wellesley’s left wing with Silveira’s right, and to reinforce either of them if necessary. The Commander-in-chief was inclined to believe, from his knowledge of the disposition of the French corps at the moment, that no very serious attack was likely to be directed against Northern Portugal during his absence—at the most Soult might threaten Braganza or Mortier Almeida. But it was necessary to make some provision against even unlikely contingencies.

The only Portuguese force which Wellesley had resolved to utilize for the campaign in Estremadura was the battalion of the Loyal Lusitanian Legion, under Colonel Mayne, which had been stationed at Alcantara watching the movements of Victor. Sir Robert Wilson, now recalled from Beresford’s column and placed once more with his own men, was to take up the command of his old force, and to add to it the 5th Cazadores, a regiment which had hitherto been lying with Mackenzie’s division at Abrantes. With these 1,500 men he was to serve as the northern flank-guard of the British army when it should enter Spain.

When Wellesley first started upon his march, he was under the impression that his plan of campaign might be settled for him by the movements of Victor rather than by the devices of Cuesta. The rapidity of his progress was partly caused by the news of the Marshal’s attack on Alcantara, an operation which might, as it seemed, turn out to be the prelude of a raid in force upon Central Portugal. That it portended an actual invasion with serious designs Wellesley could not believe, being convinced that Victor would have to leave so large a proportion of his army to observe Cuesta, that he would not be able to set aside more than 10,000 or 12,000 men for operations in the valley of the Tagus[542]. But such a force would be enough to[p. 439] sweep the country about Castello Branco and Villa Velha, and to beat up Mackenzie’s line of defence on the Zezere.

The actual course of events on the Tagus had been as follows. Victor, even after having received the division of Lapisse, considered himself too weak either to march on Cuesta and drive him over the mountains into Andalusia, or to fall upon Central Portugal by an advance along the Tagus[543]. He had received vague information of the formation of Mackenzie’s corps of observation on the Zezere, though apparently he had not discovered that there was a strong British contingent in its ranks. But he was under the impression that if he crossed the Guadiana in force, to attack Cuesta, the Portuguese would advance into Estremadura and cut his communications; while if he marched against the Portuguese, Cuesta would move northward to attack his rear. Accordingly he maintained for some time a purely defensive attitude, keeping his three French infantry divisions concentrated in a central position, at Torremocha, Montanches, and Salvatierra (near Caceres), while he remained himself with Leval’s Germans and Latour-Maubourg’s dragoons in the neighbourhood of Merida, observing Cuesta and sending flying columns up and down the Guadiana to watch the garrison of Badajoz and the guerrillas of the Sierra de Guadalupe. He had not forgotten the Emperor’s orders that he was to be prepared to execute a diversion in favour of Marshal Soult, when he should hear that the 2nd Corps was on its way to Lisbon. But, like all the other French generals, he was profoundly ignorant of the position and the fortunes of the Duke of Dalmatia. On April 22 the head-quarters staff at Madrid had received no more than a vague rumour that the 2nd Corps had entered Oporto a month before! They got no trustworthy information concerning its doings till May was far advanced[544]. Victor, therefore, depending on King Joseph for his news from Northern Portugal, was completely in the dark as to the moment when he might be called upon to execute his diversion on the Tagus. The Portuguese and Galician insur[p. 440]gents had succeeded in maintaining a complete blockade of Soult, and thus had foiled all Napoleon’s plans for combining the operations of the 1st and the 2nd Corps.

Victor was only stirred up into a spasmodic activity in the second week in May, by the news that a Portuguese force had crossed the frontier and occupied Alcantara, where the great Roman bridge across the Tagus provided a line of communication between North-Western and Central Estremadura. This detachment—as we have already seen—consisted of no more than Colonel Mayne’s 1st battalion of the Loyal Lusitanian Legion, brought down from the passes of the Sierra de Gata, and of a single regiment of newly-raised militia—that of the frontier district of Idanha. They had with them the six guns of the battery of the Legion and a solitary squadron of cavalry, Wellesley had thrown forward this little force of 2,000 men to serve as an outpost for Mackenzie’s corps on the Zezere. But rumour magnified its strength, and Victor jumped to the conclusion that it formed the vanguard of a Portuguese army which was intending to concert a combined operation with Cuesta, by threatening the communication of the 1st Corps while the Spaniards attacked its front.

Labouring under this delusion, Victor took the division of Lapisse and a brigade of dragoons, and marched against Alcantara upon the eleventh of May. As he approached the river he was met at Brozas by Mayne’s vedettes, whom he soon drove in to the gates of the little town. Alcantara being situated on the south side of the Tagus, it was impossible to defend it: but Mayne had barricaded and mined the bridge, planted his guns so as to command the passage, and constructed trenches for his infantry along the northern bank. After seizing the town, Victor opened a heavy fire of artillery and musketry against the Portuguese detachment. It was met by a vigorous return from the further bank, which lasted for more than three hours before the defence began to flag. The Marshal very properly refused to send forward his infantry to attempt the storm of the bridge till his artillery should have silenced that of the defenders. At about midday the Idanha militia, who had already suffered not inconsiderable losses, deserted their trenches and fled. Thereupon Mayne fired his mine in the bridge, but unhappily for[p. 441] him the tough Roman cement defied even the power of gunpowder; only one side of the arch was shattered; the crown of the vault held firm, and the passage was still possible. The Legion still kept its ground, though it had lost many men, and had seen one of his guns dismounted, and the rest silenced by the French artillery. But when Victor hurled the leading brigade of Lapisse’s division at the bridge he succeeded in forcing it[545]. Mayne drew off his legionaries in good order and retreated to the pass of Salvatierra, leaving behind him a gun and more than 250 killed and wounded[546] [May 14]—a heavy loss from the 1,000 men of the single battalion which bore the whole brunt of the fighting.

Victor went no further than Alcantara, having satisfied himself that the Portuguese force which had made such a creditable resistance consisted of a single weak brigade, and did not form the vanguard of an army bent on invading Estremadura. After remaining for no more than three days at Alcantara, and trying in vain to obtain news of the whereabouts of Soult—who was at that moment being hunted past Guimaraens and Braga in the far north—the Marshal drew back his troops to Torremocha near Caceres.

His advance, though it had only lasted for six days, and had not been pushed more than a few miles beyond Alcantara, had much disturbed General Mackenzie, who dreaded to find himself the next object of attack and to see the whole of the 1st Corps debouching against him by the road through Castello Branco. Wellesley wrote to him that he need not be alarmed, that Victor could not spare more than 10,000 or 12,000 men for his demonstration, and that the 8,000 British and Portuguese troops behind the Zezere were amply sufficient to maintain defensive operations till the main army from the north should come up. He expressed his opinion that the French force at Alcantara was ‘a mere reconnoitring party, sent out for the purpose of[p. 442] ascertaining what has become of Soult,’ a conclusion in which he was perfectly right. Mackenzie[547], who betrayed an exaggerated want of confidence in his Portuguese troops, was profoundly relieved to see the enemy retire upon the seventeenth. He had advanced from Abrantes and taken up a defensive position along the Sobreira Formosa to resist the Marshal, but he had done so with many searchings of heart, and was glad to see the danger pass away. When Victor had retired into Central Estremadura, Mayne came back with all due caution, and reoccupied the bridge of Alcantara.

Wellesley, therefore, had been perfectly well justified in his confidence that nothing was to be feared in this direction. The French could not possibly have dared to undertake more than a demonstration in the direction of Castello Branco. King Joseph’s orders to Victor had prescribed no more[548], and the Marshal had accomplished even less. In his letter of excuse to Jourdan he explained that he would gladly have left Lapisse’s division at Alcantara, or even have moved it forward for some distance into Portugal[549], if he had not found it absolutely impossible to feed it in the bare and stony district north of the Tagus, where Junot’s army had been wellnigh starved in November 1807. The peasantry of the villages for fifteen leagues round Alcantara had, as he declared, gone off into the mountains with their cattle, after burying their corn, and he had found it impossible to discover food for even three days’ consumption of a single division.

During Victor’s absence at Alcantara, Cuesta had sent down a part of his troops to make a raid on Merida, the Marshal’s advanced post on the Guadiana. It failed entirely; the garrison, two battalions of Leval’s German division, maintained themselves with ease in a large convent outside that town, which Victor had patched up and turned into a place of some little strength. On hearing that the Spaniards were descending[p. 443] from the mountains, King Joseph ordered the Duke of Belluno to attack them at once. But on the mere news of the Marshal’s approach Cuesta called back his detachment into the passes, sweeping off at the same time the inhabitants of all the villages along the Guadiana, together with their cattle and their stores of provisions.

At the beginning of June Victor began to press the King and Jourdan for leave to abandon his hold on Southern Estremadura, and to fall back towards the Tagus. He urged that his position was very dangerous, now that Cuesta’s army had been recruited up to a force of 22,000 infantry and 6,000 horse, especially since the Portuguese had once more got possession of Alcantara. His main contention was that he must either be reinforced up to a strength which would permit him to attack Andalusia, or else be permitted to withdraw from the exhausted district between the Guadiana and the Tagus, in order to seek a region where his men would be able to live. The only district in this neighbourhood where the country-side was still intact was that north of the Tagus, around the towns of Plasencia and Coria—the valleys of the Alagon and Tietar. To move the army in this direction would involve the evacuation of Central Estremadura—it would be necessary to abandon Merida, Truxillo, and Caceres, with the sacrifice of a certain amount of prestige. But unless the 1st Corps could be reinforced—and this, as Victor must have known, was impossible[550]—there was no other alternative. The internal condition of the army was growing worse day by day. ‘The troops are on half rations of bread: they can get little meat—often none at all. The results of starvation are making themselves felt in the most deplorable way. The men are going into hospital at the rate of several hundreds a day[551].’ A few days later Victor adds, ‘If I could even get together enough biscuit to feed the army for merely seven or eight days I should not feel so uncomfortable. But we have no flour to issue for a bread ration, so cannot bake biscuit[552].’ And again he adds, ‘The whole population of this[p. 444] region has retired within Cuesta’s lines, after destroying the ovens and the mills, and removing every scrap of food. It seems that the enemy is resolved to starve us out, and to leave a desert in front of us if we advance.... Carefully estimating all my stores I find that I have barely enough to last for five days in hand. We are menaced with absolute famine, which we can only avoid by moving off, and there is no suitable cantonment to be found in the whole space between Tagus and Guadiana: the entire country is ruined.’

Joseph and Jourdan replied to the first of these dismal letters by promising to send the 1st Corps 300,000 rations of biscuit, and by urging its commander to renew his attack on Alcantara, in order to threaten Portugal and ‘disengage the Duke of Dalmatia’—who, on the day when their dispatch was written, was at Lugo, in the north of Galicia, some 300 miles as the crow flies from Victor’s head quarters[553]. They received the answer that such a move was impossible, as Mayne had just blown up the bridge of Alcantara, and it was now impossible to cross the Tagus[554].

A few days later the news arrived at Madrid that Soult had been defeated and flung out of Portugal[555]. It had taken three weeks for information of this transcendent importance to reach the king! Seriously alarmed, Joseph and Jourdan sent Victor his long-denied permission to retire from Estremadura and place himself behind the Tagus. They do not seem to have guessed that the victorious Wellesley would make his next move against the 1st Corps, but imagined that he would debouch into Old Castile by way of Rodrigo and Salamanca, wherefore their main idea was to strengthen Mortier and the army in the valley of the Douro[556]. Thus it fell in with their views that Victor should draw back to the line of the Tagus, a general concentration of all the French troops in the Peninsula seeming advisable, in face of the necessity for resisting the sup[p. 445]posed attack on Old Castile. Another reason for assuming a defensive attitude was the gloomy news from Aragon, where Suchet, after his defeat at Alca?iz, had retired on Saragossa and was sending despairing appeals for reinforcements to Madrid.

Accordingly, the 1st Corps evacuated Estremadura between the fourteenth and the nineteenth of June, and, crossing the Tagus, disposed itself in a position on the northern bank, with its right wing at Almaraz and its left at Talavera. Here Victor intended to make his stand, being confident that with the broad river in front of him he could easily beat off any attack on the part of the Spanish army.

But when Wellesley and Cuesta first began to correspond concerning their joint movement against the French in Estremadura, Victor was still in his old cantonments, and their scheme of operations had been sketched out on the hypothesis that he lay at Merida, Torremocha, and Caceres. It was with the design of assailing him while he still held this advanced position, that Cuesta drew up his paper of answers to Wellesley’s queries and dispatched it to Abrantes to meet the British general on his arrival[557].

If the old Captain-General’s suggestions were by no means marked with the stamp of genius, they had at least the merit of variety. He offered Wellesley the choice between no less than three plans of campaign. (1) His first proposal was that the British army should descend into Southern Estremadura, and join him in the neighbourhood of Badajoz. From thence the united host was to advance against Victor and assail him in front. But meanwhile Cuesta proposed to send out two subsidiary columns, to turn the Marshal’s flanks and surround him. One was to base itself on Alcantara and march along the northern bank of the Tagus to seize Almaraz: the other was to push by La Serena through the Guadalupe mountains to threaten Talavera. By these operations, if Victor would be good enough to remain quiet in his present cantonments, he would be completely surrounded, his retreat would be cut[p. 446] off, and he would finally be compelled to surrender. The scheme was of course preposterous. What rational man could have supposed it likely that the Marshal would remain quiescent while his flanks were being turned? He would certainly have hastened to retire and to throw himself upon the detached columns, one or both of which he could have annihilated before the main armies of the allies could get within touch of him[558]. Wellesley refused to listen for a moment to this plan of campaign. (2) The second proposal of Cuesta was that the British army should pass the Tagus at Alcantara and operate against Victor’s flank, while the Spanish army attacked him in front. To this the same objection could be urged: it presupposed that the Frenchman would remain fixed in his present cantonments: but he certainly would not do so when he heard that he was to be assailed on both flanks; he would retire behind the Tagus at once, and the British army would have wasted its march, and be obliged to return to the north bank of that river: moreover, it would involve a very long movement to the south to get in touch with Victor’s flank. Probably it would be necessary to descend as far into Estremadura as Caceres, and, when that point was reached, the Marshal could make the whole man?uvre futile by retiring at once behind the Tagus at Almaraz. To follow him to the north bank the British would have to retrace their steps to Alcantara.

The third proposal of Cuesta—the only one in which Wellesley could find any prospect of success, was that the British army, keeping north of the Tagus, should march by Castello Branco on Plasencia. There it would be in the rear[p. 447] of Victor’s best line of retreat by the bridge of Almaraz. If the man?uvre could be kept very secret, and executed with great speed, Almaraz, perhaps also the subsidiary passage at Arzobispo, might be seized. Should the Marshal get early news of the movement, and hurry back across the Tagus to fend off this stab in the rear, Wellesley was prepared to fight him in the open with equal forces, conceiving that he was ‘sufficiently strong to defend himself against any attack which Victor might make.’ He hoped that Cuesta was able to guarantee that he also was competent to hold his own, supposing that the Marshal, neglecting the British diversion, should concentrate his corps and strike at the Spanish army.

On the whole, therefore, Wellesley was not disinclined to fall in with this plan, which had the extra merit of remaining feasible even if Victor withdrew north of the Tagus before either of the allied armies had completed its march. He made one countersuggestion, viz. that Cuesta might move eastward, with the whole or part of his army, join the army of Venegas in La Mancha, and attack Sebastiani, leaving the British alone to deal with Victor. But he did not wish to press this plan, thinking that an attack on the enemy’s left was on first principles less advisable than one on his right, because it did not offer any chance of cutting him off from Madrid[559].

The answer to Cuesta’s proposals was sent off from Abrantes, which Wellesley, preceding his army by three or four days’ march, reached upon June 8. He had now under his hand Mackenzie’s Anglo-Portuguese force, but the leading brigades of the troops who had fought at Oporto could not arrive before the eleventh or twelfth. There was thus ample time to concert the joint plan of campaign before the whole army would be concentrated and ready to move. But when Cuesta’s reply to the dispatch of June 8 came to hand upon June 13, Wellesley was much vexed to find that the old Captain-General had expressed a great dislike for the idea that the British army should march upon Plasencia and Almaraz—though it had been one of his own three suggestions. He now pleaded urgently in favour of the first of his original alternatives—that Wellesley[p. 448] should come down to Badajoz and join him in a frontal attack upon Victor. With much reluctance the British general resolved to comply, apparently moved by his ally’s openly expressed dislike to being left to face Victor alone. ‘I must acknowledge,’ he wrote to Colonel Bourke, ‘that I entertain no apprehension that the French will attack General Cuesta: I am much more afraid that they are going away, and strengthening themselves upon the Tagus[560].’ To the Spanish General he sent a dispatch to the same effect, in which he pledged himself to march to join the army of Estremadura, though he frankly stated that all his information led him to believe that Victor had no intention of taking the offensive, and that the junction was therefore unnecessary. He expressed his hope that Cuesta would avoid all fighting till they had met, the only possible danger to the allied cause being that one of the two armies should suffer a defeat before the other had started on the combined movement to which they were committed[561].

Fortunately for all parties concerned, the march on Badajoz which Wellesley so much disliked never had to be begun, for on the day after he had sent off his dispatch to Cuesta he received reliable information from several sources, to the effect that Victor had evacuated and blown up the fortified convent of Merida, and had sent off all his baggage and heavy artillery towards Almaraz. During the next four days the whole of the 1st Corps marched for that all-important bridge, and crossed it. On the nineteenth Victor had established his entire army north of the Tagus, at Almaraz, Arzobispo, and Talavera. Thus the whole face of affairs was changed, and the advance of the British army into Southern Estremadura was rendered unnecessary. It was fortunate that the news of the retreat of the 1st Corps was received at Abrantes just in time to allow of the countermanding of the march of Wellesley’s army on Badajoz, for that fruitless movement would have begun if the Duke of Belluno had been able to retain his starving army in its positions for a few days longer.
SECTION XVI: CHAPTER II
WELLESLEY ENTERS SPAIN

The retreat of Victor beyond the Tagus forced Wellesley to concert yet another plan of operation with Cuesta, since the position of the French army, on which the whole of the recently adopted scheme depended, had just suffered a radical change. It was clear that every consideration now pointed to the necessity for adopting the combination which Wellesley had urged upon his colleague in his letter of June 8, viz. that the British army should move on Plasencia and Almaraz. It would now be striking at the flank instead of the rear of Victor’s corps, but it was clear that under the new conditions it would still be in a position to roll up his whole army, if he should endeavour to defend the passages of the Tagus against the Spaniards, who were now approaching them from the front. For Cuesta had descended from the mountains when he heard of Victor’s retreat, and was now approaching Almaraz.

It took some time, however, to induce the Captain-General to consent to this move. To the extreme vexation of his colleague he produced other plans, so gratuitously impracticable that Wellesley wrote to Castlereagh to say that he could conceive no explanation for the old man’s conduct save a desire to refuse any scheme urged on him by others, and a resolve to invent and advocate alternative plans of his own out of mere pride and wrongheadedness. ‘The best of the whole story,’ he added[562], was that Cuesta was now refusing to accept a plan which he himself had suggested in one of his earlier letters, merely because that plan had been taken up and advocated by his ally. ‘The obstinacy of this old gentleman,’ he concluded, ‘is[p. 450] throwing out of our hands the finest game that any armies ever had[563].’

The necessity for working out a new scheme for the combined operations of the British and Spanish armies, in view of Victor’s retreat to Almaraz, entailed the loss of a few days. It would have been impossible to start on the advance to Plasencia till Cuesta had promised to accept that movement as part of the joint campaign. There was also some time to be allowed for concluding an agreement with Venegas, the General of the La Carolina army, whose connexion with the campaign must become much more intimate, now that the fighting was to take place not in Estremadura, but further north, in the valley of the Tagus. For while Victor lay at Merida and Sebastiani at Manzanares and Ciudad Real, the Spanish forces which faced them were very far apart. But when Victor retired to Talavera, and Sebastiani to Madridejos, in the end of June, Cuesta and Venegas—each following the corps opposed to him—could draw closer together. It was evident that the Andalusian army ought to be made to play an important part in the combined operations of July.

It would be unfair to the Spanish generals to let it be supposed that the necessity for settling on a common scheme of operations with them was the sole cause which detained Wellesley at Abrantes from the eighth to the twenty-seventh of June. The leading brigades of the British troops from Oporto had begun to reach Abrantes on the eleventh, and the more belated columns came up on the fourteenth and fifteenth. But it would have been impossible to have moved forward without some further delay, even if Wellesley had been in possession of a complete and satisfactory plan of operations on the day upon which his whole force was concentrated on the line of the Zezere. At the least he would have required another week for preparations.

His hindrances at this moment were manifold. The first was the distressed condition of those of his brigades which had seen most service during the Oporto campaign. Many regiments had been constantly on the march from May 9 to June 14, without obtaining more than two days’ rest in the whole time. Their shoes were worn out, their jaded baggage-animals had dropped to the rear, and they were leaving so many stragglers[p. 451] on the way that it was absolutely necessary to give them a moderate rest at Abrantes, in order to allow the ranks to grow full and the belated baggage to come up. The regiments which had followed Beresford in the forced march from Amarante to Chaves were worst off—they had never completely recovered from the fatigues of those three days of constant rain and storm spent on the stony roads of the Tras-os-Montes[564]. In any case some delay must have occurred before all the troops were ready to march. But many circumstances conspired to detain the army at Abrantes for several days after the moment at which Wellesley had determined to start for Plasencia. The first was the non-arrival of convoys of shoes and clothing which he had ordered up from Lisbon. The transport of the army was not yet fully organized, its officers were lacking in experience, if not in zeal, and orders were slowly executed. Many corps had, in the end, to start for Spain without receiving the much-needed stores, which were still trailing up from Santarem to Abrantes when Wellesley gave the signal to advance. Another hindrance was the lack of money: the army was obliged to pay for its wants in coin, but hard cash was so difficult to procure both in London and in Lisbon that arrears were already beginning to grow up. At first they vexed the soul of Wellesley almost beyond endurance, but as the war dragged on they only grew worse, and the Commander-in-chief had to endure with resignation the fact that both the pay of the men and the wages of the Portuguese muleteers and followers were overdue for many months. In June 1809 he had not yet reached this state of comparative callousness, and was endeavouring to scrape together money by every possible device. He had borrowed ￡3,000 in Portuguese silver from the merchants of the impoverished city of Oporto: he was trying to exchange bills on England for dollars at Cadiz, where the arrival of the American contribution had produced a comparative plenty of the circulating medium. Yet after all[p. 452] he had to start from Abrantes with only a comparatively moderate sum in his military chest[565], the rest had not reached him on June 28, the treasure convoy having taken the unconscionable time of eleven days to crawl forward from Lisbon to Abrantes—a distance of no more than ninety miles[566].

A third cause of delay was the time spent in waiting for reinforcements from Lisbon. Eight or nine regiments had landed, or were expected to arrive within the next few days. It was in every way desirable to unite them to the army before the campaign should begin. This was all the more necessary because several corps had to be deducted from the force which had been used in the Oporto campaign. Under stringent orders from home, Wellesley had sent back two infantry battalions and part of two cavalry regiments to Lisbon, to be embarked for Gibraltar and Sicily[567]. In return he was to receive a much larger body of troops. But while the deduction was immediate, the addition took time. Of all the troops which were expected to reinforce the army, only one battalion caught him up at Abrantes, while a second and one regiment of Light Dragoons[568] joined later, but yet in time for Talavera. Thus at the commencement of the actual campaign the force in the field was, if anything, slightly less in numbers than that which had been available in May. It was particularly vexatious that the brigade of veteran light infantry, for which Wellesley had made a special demand on Castlereagh as early as April, did not reach Abrantes till long after the army had moved forward. These three battalions, the nucleus of the famous Light Division[569],[p. 453] had all gone through the experiences of Moore’s campaign, and were once more under their old leader Robert Craufurd. Detained by baffling winds in the Downs, the transports that bore them only reached Lisbon at various dates between June 28 and July 2, though they had sailed on May 25. Their indefatigable brigadier hurried them forward with all speed to the front, but in spite of his exertions, they only came up with the main army after the day of battle was over. The same was the fate of two batteries of horse artillery[570]—an arm in which Wellesley was wholly deficient when he marched into Spain. They arrived late, and were still far to the rear when the march from Abrantes began.

It thus resulted that although there were over 33,000 British troops in the Peninsula at the commencement of July 1809, less than 21,000 could be collected for the advance on Plasencia which was now about to begin. More than 8,000 men lay at Lisbon, or were just starting from that city, while 4,500 were in hospital[571]. The sick seemed more numerous than might have been expected at the season of the year: though the fatigues of the Oporto campaign accounted for the majority of the invalids, yet Wellesley was of opinion that a contributory cause might be found in the slack discipline of certain regiments, where inefficient commanding officers had neglected sanitary precautions, and allowed their men to neglect personal cleanliness, or to indulge to excess in wine and unripe fruit and vegetables. It was his opinion that the number of men in hospital should never exceed ten per cent. of the total force. But all through the war he found that this proportion was exceeded.

[p. 454]

With the internal condition of many of his regiments Wellesley was far from satisfied. His tendency to use the plainest, indeed the harshest, terms concerning the rank and file, is so well known that we are not surprised to find him writing that ‘the army behave terribly ill: they are a rabble who cannot bear success any more than Sir John Moore’s army could bear failure[572].’ He complained most of all of the recruits sent him from the Irish militia, who were, he said, capable of every sin, moral or military. Though he was ‘endeavouring to tame the troops,’ yet there were several regiments in such bad order that he would gladly have sent them home in disgrace if he could have spared a man. The main offence, of course, was robbery of food from the Portuguese peasantry, often accompanied by violence, and now and then by murder. The number of assistant-provost-marshals was multiplied, some offenders were caught and hanged, but marauding could not be suppressed, even while the troops were receiving full rations in their cantonments at Abrantes. When they were enduring real privation, in the wilds of Estremadura, matters grew much worse. Though many regiments were distinguished for their good behaviour, yet there were always some whose excesses were a disgrace to the British army. Their Commander never shrank from telling them so in the most incisive language; he was always complaining that he could not get a sufficient number of the criminals flogged or hanged, and that regimental court-martials were far too lenient in their dealings with offenders[573].

It was at Abrantes that Wellesley first arranged his army in divisions, and gave it the organization which, with certain modifications, it was to maintain during the rest of the war. His six regiments of cavalry were to form a single division consisting of one heavy and two light brigades, commanded respectively by Fane, Cotton, and Anson. The twenty-five[p. 455] battalions of infantry were distributed into four divisions of unequal strength under Generals Sherbrooke, Hill, Mackenzie, and A. Campbell. Of these the first was by far the largest, counting four brigades of two battalions each: the first (Henry Campbell’s) was formed of the two battalions of Guards, the second (Cameron’s) of two line regiments, the third and fourth, under Low and Langwerth, comprised the infantry of the King’s German Legion. The second and third divisions each consisted of two brigades of three battalions each[574]. The fourth, and weakest, showed only five battalions in line. Of artillery there were only thirty guns, eighteen English and twelve German: all were field-batteries, as none of the much-desired horse artillery had yet reached the front[575]. They were all of very light calibre, the heaviest being a brigade of heavy six-pounders belonging to the German Legion.

On June 28 the army at last moved forward: that day the head quarters were at Corti?ada, on the Sobreira Formosa. On the thirtieth Castello Branco, the last Portuguese town, was reached. On July 3 the leading brigades passed the Elga, the frontier river, and bivouacked on the same night around Zarza la Mayor, the first place in Spanish Estremadura. At the same time Sir Robert Wilson’s small column of 1,500 Portuguese crossed the border a little further north, and advanced in a direction parallel to that of the main army, so as to serve as a flank guard for it in the direction of the mountains.

King Joseph meanwhile was in a state of the most profound ignorance concerning the impending storm. As late as July 9 he wrote to his brother that the British had not as yet made any pronounced movement, and that it was quite uncertain whether they would invade Galicia, or strike at Castile, or remain in the neighbourhood of Lisbon[576]! On that day the head of the British army had entered Plasencia, and was only 125 miles from Madrid. It is impossible to give any better testimonial than this simple fact to the way in which the insurgents and the guerrillas served the cause of the allies. Wellesley[p. 456] had been able to march from Oporto to Abrantes, and from Abrantes to Plasencia, without even a rumour of his advance reaching Madrid. All that Joseph had learnt was that there was now an allied force of some sort behind Alcantara, in the direction of Castello Branco. He took it for granted that they were Portuguese, but in one dispatch he broaches the theory that there might be a few English with them—perhaps from having heard a vague report of the composition of Mackenzie’s division on the Zezere in May. He therefore wrote in a cheerful tone to the Emperor that ‘if we have only got to deal with Cuesta and the Portuguese they will be beaten by the 1st Corps. If they have some English with them, they can be beaten equally well by the 1st Corps, aided by troops which I can send across the Tagus via Toledo’ (i.e. the 5,000 or 6,000 men of the Central Reserve which could be spared from Madrid). ‘I am not in the least disquieted,’ he continued, ‘concerning the present condition of military affairs in this part of Spain[577].’ In another epistle to his brother he added that ‘if the English should be at the back of Cuesta, it would be the happiest chance in the world for the concluding of the whole war[578].’

It was lucky for the King that he was not induced to try the experiment of falling upon Wellesley and Cuesta with the 28,000 men of Victor and the Central Reserve. If he had done so, he would have suffered a frightful disaster and have lost Madrid.

In the end of June and the first days of July Joseph’s main attention had been drawn off to that part of his front where there was least danger, so that he was paying comparatively little heed to the movements of the allies on the lower Tagus. He had been distracted by a rash and inexplicable movement of the Spanish army of La Mancha. When General Venegas had heard of the retreat of Victor from Estremadura, and had been informed that Cuesta was about to move forward in pursuit of the 1st Corps, he had concluded that his own troops might also advance. He argued that Sebastiani and the 4th Corps must[p. 457] beat a retreat, when their right flank was uncovered by Victor’s evacuation of the valley of the Guadiana. He was partly justified in his idea, for Joseph had drawn back Sebastiani’s main body to Madridejos when Victor abandoned Merida. It was safe therefore to advance from the Despe?a Perros into the southern skirts of La Mancha, as far as Manzanares and the line of the Guadiana. But to go further forward was dangerous, unless Venegas was prepared to risk a collision with Sebastiani. This he was certainly not in a condition to do: his troops had not yet recovered from the moral effects of the rout of Ciudad Real, and his brigades were full of new battalions of untried Andalusian reserves. He should have been cautious, and have refused to move without concerting his operations with Cuesta: to have had his corps put hors de combat at the very beginning of the joint campaign of the allied armies would have been most disastrous.

Nevertheless Venegas came down from the passes of the Sierra Morena with 18,000 infantry, 3,000 horse, and twenty-six guns, and proceeded to thrust back Sebastiani’s cavalry screen and to push in his outposts in front of Madridejos. The French general had in hand at this moment only two infantry divisions and Milhaud’s dragoons; his third division and his light cavalry were still absent with Victor, to whom they had been lent in March for the campaign of Medellin. But with 13,000 foot and 2,000 horse[579] he ought not to have feared Venegas, and could have given a good account of him had he chosen to attack. But having received exaggerated reports of the strength of the Spanish army, he wrote to the King that he was beset by nearly 40,000 men and must be reinforced at once, or he would have to fall back on Madrid[580]. Joseph, fully believing the news, sent orders to Victor to restore to the 4th Corps the divisions of Leval and Merlin, and then, doubting whether these troops could arrive in time, sallied out[p. 458] of Madrid on June 22 with his Guards and half the division of Dessolles—about 5,500 men.

It was lucky for Venegas that Sebastiani had refused to fight him, but still more lucky that the news of the King’s approach reached him promptly. On hearing that Joseph had joined the 4th Corps on June 25 he was wise enough to turn on his heel and retreat in all haste towards his lair in the passes of the Sierra Morena. If he had lingered any longer in the plains he would have been destroyed, for the King, on the arrival of Leval’s and Merlin’s divisions, would have fallen upon him at the head of 27,000 men. As it was, Venegas retired with such promptitude to Santa Cruz de Mudela, at the foot of the passes, that the French could never catch him. Joseph pursued him as far as Almagro and El Moral, on the southern edge of La Mancha, and there stopped short. He had received, on July 2, a dispatch from Victor to the effect that Cuesta had repaired the bridge of Almaraz and begun to cross the Tagus, while a body of 10,000 allied troops, presumably Portuguese, had been heard of in the direction of Plasencia[581]. (This was in reality the whole army of Wellesley!) Rightly concluding that he had pushed the pursuit of Venegas too far, the King turned back in haste, left Sebastiani and the 4th Corps behind the Guadiana, and returned with his reserve to Toledo, in order to be in a position to support Victor. His excursion to Almagro had been almost as reckless and wrongheaded as Venegas’s advance to Madridejos, for he had separated himself from Victor by a gap of 200 miles, at the moment when the British army was just appearing on the Marshal’s flank, while Cuesta was in his front. If the allied generals had concentrated their forces ten days earlier—a thing that might well have happened but for the vexatious delays at Abrantes caused by Cuesta’s impracticability—the 1st Corps might have been attacked at the moment when Joseph lay at the foot of the Sierra Morena, in a position too remote from Talavera to allow him to come up in time to succour Victor.

While the King was absent on his expedition in pursuit of Venegas the most important change in the situation of affairs[p. 459] on the Tagus was that the Duke of Belluno had drawn back his troops from the line of the Tagus, where they had been lying since June 19, and had retired behind the Alberche. His retreat was not caused by any apprehension as to the appearance of Wellesley on his flank—a fact which was completely concealed from him—but by sheer want of provisions. On June 25 he sent to the King to say that his army was again starved out of its cantonments, and that he had eaten up in a week the small remnant of food that could be squeezed out of the country-side between the Tagus and the Tietar, and was forced to transfer himself to another region. ‘The position,’ he wrote, ‘is desperate. The 1st Corps is on the eve of dissolution: the men are dropping down from mere starvation. I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to give them. They are in a state of despair.... I am forced to fall back on Talavera, where there are no more resources than here. We must have prompt succour, but where can it be found? If your Majesty abandons me in my present wretched situation, I lose my honour, my military record—everything. I shall not be to blame for the disaster which menaces my troops, but I shall have to bear the blame. Tomorrow I shall be at Talavera, waiting your Majesty’s orders. The enemy [Cuesta] has a pontoon-train: if he wishes to cross the Tagus he can do so, for the 1st Corps can no longer remain opposite him. Never was there a more distressing situation than ours[582].’

On June 26, therefore, Victor transferred himself to Talavera, and adopted a position behind the Alberche, after burning the materials of the late pontoon bridge at Almaraz, which he had taken up and stored in case they might again be needed. His movement was a lucky one for himself, as it took him further away from Wellesley’s army, which was just about to start from Abrantes with the object of turning his flank. It puzzled Cuesta, who sought for some other explanation of his departure than mere starvation, and was very cautious in taking advantage of it. However, on the day after the French had withdrawn, he pushed troops across the Tagus, and prepared to construct[p. 460] another bridge at Almaraz to replace that which the French had destroyed. His cavalry pushed out to Navalmoral and Oropesa, and further to the east he passed some detachments of infantry across the bridge of Arzobispo, which Victor—most unaccountably—had left intact. Fortunately he did no more, and refrained from advancing against Talavera, a step which from his earlier record we should judge that he might well have taken into consideration.

On the part of the allies things were now in a state of suspense from which they were not to stir for a fortnight. Cuesta was waiting for Wellesley, Wellesley was pushing forward from Zarza la Mayor to join Cuesta. Venegas was recovering at Santa Cruz de Mudela from the fatigues of his fruitless expedition into La Mancha.

But on the French side matters suffered a sudden change in the last days of July—the hand of the Emperor was stretched out from the banks of the Danube to alter the general dispositions of the army of Spain. On June 12 he had dictated at Sch?nbrunn a new plan of campaign, based on information which was already many weeks old when it reached him. At this date the Emperor was barely aware that Soult was being pressed by Wellesley in Northern Portugal. He had no detailed knowledge of what was taking place in Galicia or the Asturias, and was profoundly ignorant of the intrigues at Oporto which afterwards roused his indignation. But he was convinced that the English army was the one hostile force in Spain which ought to engage the attention of his lieutenants. Acting on this belief he issued an order that the 2nd, 5th, and 6th Corps—those of Soult, Mortier, and Ney—were to be united into a single army, and to be told off to the task of evicting Wellesley from Portugal. They were to put aside for the present all such subsidiary enterprises as the subjection of Galicia and the Asturias, and to devote themselves solely to ‘beating, hunting down, and casting into the sea the British army. If the three Corps join in good time the enemy ought to be crushed, and then the Spanish war will come to an end. But the troops must be moved in masses and not march in small detachments.... Putting aside all personal considerations, I give the command of the united army to the Duke of Dalmatia, as the senior marshal. His three[p. 461] Corps ought to amount to something between 50,000 and 60,000 men[583].’

This dispatch reached King Joseph at El Moral in La Mancha on July 1, and Soult at Zamora on July 2. It had been drawn up in view of events that were taking place about May 15. It presupposed that the British army was still in Northern Portugal, in close touch with Soult, and that Victor was in Estremadura[584]. As a matter of fact Soult was on this day leading his dilapidated corps down the Esla, at the end of his retreat from Galicia. Ney, furious at the way in which his colleague had deserted him, had descended to Astorga three days before. Mortier was at Valladolid, just about to march for Villacastin and Madrid, for the King had determined to draw him down to aid in the defence of the capital. Finally, Cuesta, instead of lying in the Sierra Morena, as he was when Napoleon drew up his orders, was now on the Tagus, while Wellesley was no longer in touch with Soult on the Douro, but preparing to fall upon Victor in New Castile. The whole situation was so changed that the commentary which the Emperor appended to his orders was hopelessly out of date—as was always bound to be the case so long as he persisted in endeavouring to direct the course of affairs in Spain from the suburbs of Vienna.

Soult was overjoyed at receiving the splendid charge which the Emperor’s decree put into his hands, though he must have felt secret qualms at the idea that ere long some account of his doings at Oporto must reach the imperial head quarters and provoke his master’s wrath. There was a bad quarter of an hour to come[585]. But meanwhile he was given a formidable army, and might hope to retrieve the laurels that he had lost in Portugal, being now in a position to attack the British with an overwhelming superiority of numbers. It must have been specially[p. 462] delightful to him to find that Ney had been put under his orders, so that he would be able to meet his angry colleague in the character of a superior officer dealing with an insubordinate lieutenant.

Soult’s first action, on finding himself placed in command of the whole of the French forces in North-western Spain, was to issue orders to Mortier to march on Salamanca, and to Ney to bring the 6th Corps down to Benavente. These dispositions clearly indicate an intention of falling upon Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, and assailing Northern Portugal—the plan which the Duke of Dalmatia had broached to the King in his letter from Puebla de Senabria on June 25, before he had received the news that the 5th and 6th Corps had been added to his command.

It is clear that on July 2 Soult had no knowledge of Wellesley’s movements, and thought that the British army was quite as likely to be aiming at Salamanca as at Madrid. It is also evident that he was aware that he would be unable to move for some weeks. Till the 2nd Corps should have received the clothing, munitions, and artillery which had been promised it, it could not possibly take the field for the invasion of Portugal.

Soult, therefore, was obliged to wait till his stores should be replenished, and till the two corps from Astorga and Valladolid should concentrate on his flanks. It was while he was remaining perforce in this posture of expectation that the news of the real condition of affairs in New Castile was at last brought to him.
SECTION XVI: CHAPTER III
WELLESLEY AND CUESTA: THE INTERVIEW AT MIRABETE

It was not till the third day of July that Wellesley had been able to cross the Spanish border. Since Victor had assumed his new position to the north of the Tagus as early as the nineteenth of the preceding month, there was a perilous fortnight during which Cuesta and his army were left alone to face the French. All through this time of waiting, the British Commander-in-chief was haunted by the dread that the old Captain-General might repeat his earlier errors, and once more—as at Rio Seco and Medellin—court a pitched battle. Wellesley had done his best to urge caution, by letters written not only to Cuesta himself, but to his Chief-of-the-staff O’Donoju and to Colonel Roche, who had now replaced Bourke as British representative at the head quarters of the Army of Estremadura. Fortunately they were not needed: the Spanish General was for once cautious: he followed Victor at a respectful distance, and when he had reached the Tagus and repaired the bridge of Almaraz, held back his army to the southern bank and only pushed a few small detachments beyond the stream to search for the enemy. Since the French had withdrawn to Talavera on June 26 there was no collision. The cavalry of the 1st Corps were discovered upon the upper Tietar and the Alberche, but they preserved a defensive attitude, and the Spaniards did not provoke them by any rash attempt to drive them back upon their main body. All remained quiet, as Wellesley had rather desired than expected.

Cuesta’s strategical position, therefore, was perfectly secure, since he kept his main body to the south of the river, and showed no desire to meddle with Victor before the arrival of the British. At this moment military affairs were not the only things that were engaging the attention of the old Captain-General. He[p. 464] was watching with considerable anxiety the course of events at Seville, where he was aware that he had many enemies. Ever since his high-handed action against the deputies of Leon in the preceding autumn, he knew that the Central Junta, and especially its Liberal wing, viewed him with suspicion and dislike. It was with great reluctance that they had placed him in command of the Estremaduran army, and if he had not been popular with the Conservative and clerical party and with some of the military cliques, he would not have retained his post for long. At this moment there were many intrigues stirring in Andalusia, and if some of them were directed against the Junta, others had no other end than the changing of the commanders of the various armies. While the Junta were debating about forms of government, and especially about the summoning of a national Cortes in the autumn, there were a number of officers of damaged reputation whose main object was to recover the military rank of which they had been deprived after misfortunes in the field. Infantado, who thought that it was absurd that he should have been disgraced after Ucles, while Cuesta had been rewarded after Medellin, was at the head of one party of intriguers, which included Francisco Palafox and the Conde de Montijo, and had secured the aid of Colonel Doyle, late British agent in Aragon and Catalonia, an officer who showed a lamentable readiness to throw himself into the intestine quarrels of the Spanish factions[586]. Their actions went to the very edge of high treason, for Montijo stirred up a riot at Granada on April 16, attacked the provincial authorities, and almost succeeded in carrying out a pronunciamiento which must have led to civil war. The Junta did no more than banish him to San Lucar, from which place he continued his plots with Infantado, in spite of the warning that he had received.

In Seville, faction if not so openly displayed was equally violent. There was, as we have already said, a large section of the Junta whose dearest wish would have been to displace Cuesta: it was they who had obtained the nomination of Venegas[p. 465] to take charge of the troops in La Mancha, merely because he was known to be an enemy of the elder general. Yet since the two armies would have to co-operate in any attempt to recover Madrid, it was clearly inexpedient that their commanders should be at enmity. Some of the politicians at Seville were set on giving high command to the Duke of Albuquerque, an energetic and ambitious officer, but one gifted with the talent of quarrelling with every superior under whom he served: he was now bickering with Cuesta just as in March he had bickered with Cartaojal. The Duke was a great admirer of all things English, and a personal friend of Frere, the British minister. The latter did his best to support his pretensions, often expressing in official correspondence with the Junta a desire that Albuquerque might be given an independent corps, and entrusted with the charge of the movement that was to be concerted in conjunction with Wellesley’s army.

But it was not so much Albuquerque as Wellesley himself that Cuesta dreaded as a possible successor. For Frere was possessed with the notion that the time had now arrived at which it would be possible to press for the appointment of a single Commander-in-chief of all the Spanish armies. The obvious person to fill this post was the victor of Vimiero and Oporto, if only Spanish pride would consent to the appointment of a foreigner. Frere had sufficient sense to refrain from openly publishing his idea. But he was continually ventilating it to his private friends in the Junta, in season and out of season. There can be no doubt that both from the military and the political point of view the results of Wellesley’s exaltation to the position of Generalissimo would have been excellent. If he had controlled the whole of the Spanish armies in the summer of 1809, the course of affairs in the Peninsula would have taken a very different turn, and the campaign of Talavera would not have been wrecked by the hopeless want of co-operation between the allied armies. But it was not yet the time to press for the appointment: great as Wellesley’s reputation already was, when compared with that of any Spanish general, it was still not so splendid or so commanding as to compel assent to his promotion[587]. Legitimate national pride stood in the way, and[p. 466] even after Espinosa, and Tudela, and Medellin the Spaniards could not believe that it was necessary for them to entrust the whole responsibility for the defence of their country to the foreigner. Only a few of the politicians of Seville showed any liking for the project. Wellesley himself would have desired nothing so much as this appointment, but being wiser and less hopeful than Frere, he thought it useless to press the point. When the sanguine diplomat wrote to him, early in June, to detail his attempts to bring home the advisability of the project to his Spanish friends, the general’s reply was cautious in the extreme. ‘I am much flattered,’ he said, ‘by the notion entertained by some of the persons in authority at Seville, of appointing me to the command of the Spanish armies. I have received no instruction from Government upon that subject: but I believe that it was considered an object of great importance in England that the Commander-in-chief of the British troops should have that situation. But it is one more likely to be attained by refraining from pressing it, and leaving it to the Spanish themselves to discover the expediency of the arrangement, than by any suggestion on our parts.’ He concluded by informing Frere that he could not conceive that his insinuation was likely to have any effect, and that the opinion of the British Ministry was probably correct—viz. that at present national jealousy made the project hopeless[588].

Now it was impossible that Frere’s well-meaning but mistaken endeavours should escape the notice of Cuesta’s friends in Seville. The British Minister had spoken to so many politicians on the subject, that we cannot doubt that his colloquies were promptly reported to the Captain-General of Estremadura. This fact goes far to explain Cuesta’s surly and impracticable behaviour towards Wellesley during the Talavera campaign. He disliked his destined colleague not only because he was a foreigner, and because he showed himself strong-willed and outspoken during[p. 467] their intercourse, but because he believed that the Englishman was intriguing behind his back to obtain the post of Generalissimo. This belief made him determined to assert his independence on the most trifling matters, loth to fall in with even the most reasonable plans, and suspicious that every proposal made to him concealed some trap. He attributed to Wellesley the design of getting rid of him, and was naturally determined to do nothing to forward it.

The English officers who studied Cuesta’s conduct from the outside, during the Talavera campaign, attributed his irrational movements and his hopeless impracticability to a mere mixture of pride, stupidity, and obstinacy. They were wrong; the dominant impulse was resentment, jealousy, and suspicion—a combination far more deadly in its results than the other. He awaited the approach of Wellesley with a predisposition to quarrel and a well-developed personal enmity, whose existence the British general had not yet realized.

We have dealt in the last chapter with the strength and organization of the British army at the moment when Wellesley crossed the frontier on July 3. It remains to speak of the two Spanish armies which were to take part in the campaign. We have already seen that Cuesta’s host had been reinforced after Medellin with a new brigade of Granadan levies, and a whole division taken from the army of La Mancha[589]. Since that date he had received large drafts both of infantry and cavalry from Andalusia. Six more regiments of horse had reached him, besides reinforcements for his old corps. All were now strong in numbers, and averaged between 400 and 500 sabres, so that by the middle of June he had fully 7,000 mounted men under his orders. Eight or nine additional regiments of infantry had also come to hand since April—some of them new Andalusian levies, others old corps whose cadres had been filled up since the disaster of Ucles. His infantry counted about 35,000 bayonets, divided into[p. 468] five divisions and a ‘vanguard’: the latter under Zayas was about 4,000 strong, each of the others exceeded 5,000. The cavalry formed two divisions, under Henestrosa and Albuquerque, one composed of seven, one of six regiments. There were thirty guns—some of heavy calibre, nine-and twelve-pounders—with about 800 artillerymen. The whole army, inclusive of sick and detached, amounted to 42,000 men, of whom perhaps 36,000 were efficients present with the colours[590].

The second Spanish army, that of La Mancha under Venegas, was much weaker, having furnished heavy detachments to reinforce Cuesta before it took the field in June. Its base was the old ‘Army of the Centre,’ which had been commanded by Casta?os and Infantado. Some twenty battalions that had seen service in the campaign of Tudela were still in its ranks: they had been recruited up to an average of 500 or 600 bayonets. The rest of the force was composed of new Andalusian regiments, raised in the winter and spring, some of which had taken part in the rout of Ciudad Real under Cartaojal, while others had never before entered the field. The gross total of the army on June 16 was 26,298 men, of whom 3,383 were cavalry. Deducting the sick in hospital, Venegas could dispose of some 23,000 sabres and bayonets, distributed into five divisions. The horsemen in this army were not formed into separate brigades, but allotted as divisional cavalry to the infantry units. There was little to choose, in point of efficiency, between the Estremaduran army and that of La Mancha; both contained too many raw troops, and in both, as was soon to be proved, the bulk of the cavalry was still as untrustworthy as it had shown itself in previous engagements.

The Spaniards therefore could put into the field for the campaign of July on the Tagus some 60,000 men. But the fatal want of unity in command was to prevent them from co-ordinating their movements and acting as integral parts of a single army guided by a single will. Venegas was to a certain degree supposed to be under Cuesta’s authority, but as he was continually receiving orders directly from the Junta, and was[p. 469] treated by them as an independent commander, he practically was enabled to do much as he pleased. Being a personal enemy of Cuesta, he had every inducement to play his own game, and did not scruple to do so at the most important crisis of the campaign,—covering his disregard of the directions of his senior by the easy pretext of a desire to execute those of the central government.

On July 15, the day when his share in the campaign commenced, the head quarters of Venegas were at Santa Cruz de Mudela, just outside the northern exit of the Despe?a Perros. His outposts lay in front, at El Moral, Valdepe?as, and Villanueva de los Infantes. He was divided by a considerable distance—some twenty-five miles—from the advanced cavalry of Sebastiani’s corps, whose nearest detachment was placed at Villaharta, where the high-road to Madrid crosses the river Giguela.

Meanwhile we must return to Wellesley, who having crossed the frontier on July 3, was now moving forward by short marches to Plasencia. On the fourth the head quarters were at Zarza la Mayor, on the sixth at Coria, on the seventh at Galisteo; on the eighth Plasencia was reached, and the general halted the army, while he should ride over to Almaraz and confer in person with Cuesta on the details of their plan of campaign. In the valley of the Alagon, where the country was almost untouched by the hand of war, provisions were obtainable in some quantity, but every Spanish informant agreed that when the troops dropped down to the Tagus they would find the land completely devastated. Wellesley was therefore most anxious to organize a great dép?t of food before moving on: the local authorities professed great readiness to supply him, and he contracted with the Alcaldes of the fertile Vera de Plasencia for 250,000 rations of flour to be delivered during the next ten days[591]. Lozano de Torres, the Spanish commissary-general sent by the Junta to the British head quarters, promised his aid in collecting the food, but even before Wellesley departed to visit Cuesta, he had begun to conceive doubts whether supplies would be easily procurable. The difficulty was want of transport—the army had marched from Portugal with a light equipment, and had no carts to spare for scouring the country[p. 470]-side in search of flour. The General had relied on the assurances sent him from Seville to the effect that he would easily be able to find local transport in the intact regions about Coria and Plasencia: but he was disappointed: very few carts could be secured, and the store of food in the possession of the army seemed to shrink rather than to increase during every day that the army remained in the valley of the Alagon, though the region was fruitful and undevastated. It is certain that the British commissaries had not yet mastered the art of gathering in provisions from the country-side, and that the Spanish local authorities could not be made to understand the necessity for punctuality and dispatch in the delivery of the promised supplies.

On July 10 Wellesley started off with the head-quarters staff to visit Cuesta, at his camp beyond the bridge of Almaraz, there to concert the details of their joint advance. Owing to an error made by his guides he arrived after dusk at the hamlet below the Puerto de Mirabete, around which the main body of the Army of Estremadura was encamped. The Captain-General had drawn out his troops in the afternoon for the inspection of the British commander. When at last he appeared they had been four hours under arms in momentary expectation of the arrival of their distinguished visitor, and Cuesta himself, though still lame from the effect of his bruises at Medellin, had sat on horseback at their head during the greater part of that time.

Two admirable accounts of the review of the Estremaduran host in the darkness were written by members of Wellesley’s staff. It is well worth while to quote one of them[592], for the narrative expresses with perfect clearness the effect which the sight of the Spanish troops made upon their allies:—

‘Our arrival at the camp was announced by a general discharge of artillery, upon which an immense number of torches were made to blaze up, and we passed the entire Spanish line in review by their light. The effect produced by these arrangements was one of no ordinary character. The torches, held aloft at moderate intervals, threw a red and wavering light over the whole scene, permitting at the same time its minuter parts[p. 471] to be here and there cast into the shade, while the grim and swarthy visages of the soldiers, their bright arms and dark uniforms, appeared peculiarly picturesque as often as the flashes fell upon them. Nor was Cuesta himself an object to be passed by without notice: the old man preceded us, not so much sitting upon his horse as held upon it by two pages, at the imminent risk of being overthrown whenever a cannon was discharged, or a torch flamed out with peculiar brightness. His physical debility was so observable as clearly to mark his unfitness for the situation which he held. As to his mental powers, he gave us little opportunity of judging, inasmuch as he scarcely uttered five words during the continuance of our visit: but his corporal infirmities were ever at absolute variance with all a general’s duties.

‘In this way we passed by about 6,000 cavalry drawn up in rank entire, and not less than twenty battalions of infantry, each of 700 to 800 bayonets. They were all, without exception, remarkably fine men. Some indeed were very young—too young for service—particularly among the recruits who had lately joined. But to take them all in all, it would not have been easy to find a stouter or more hardy looking body of soldiers in any European service. Of their appointments it was not possible to speak in the same terms of commendation. There were battalions whose arms, accoutrements, and even clothing might be pronounced respectable[593]: but in general[p. 472] they were deficient, particularly in shoes. It was easy to perceive, from the attitude in which they stood, and the manner in which they handled their arms, that little or no discipline prevailed among them: they could not but be regarded as raw levies. Speaking of them in the aggregate they were little better than bold peasantry, armed partially like soldiers, but completely unacquainted with a soldier’s duty. This remark applied to the cavalry as much as to the infantry. Many of the horses were good, but the riders manifestly knew nothing of movement or of discipline: and they were on this account, as also on that of miserable equipment, quite unfit for service. The generals appeared to have been selected by one rule alone—that of seniority. They were almost all old men, and, except O’Donoju and Zayas, evidently incapable of bearing the fatigues or surmounting the difficulties of a campaign. It was not so with the colonels and battalion commanders, who appeared to be young and active, and some of whom were, we had reason to believe, learning to become skilful officers.... Cuesta seemed particularly unwilling that any of his generals should hold any serious conversation with us. It is true that he presented them one by one to Sir Arthur, but no words were exchanged on the occasion, and each retired after he had made his bow.’ Albuquerque, of whom the Captain-General was particularly jealous, had been relegated with his division to Arzobispo, and did not appear on the scene.

The all-important plan of campaign was settled at a long conference—it lasted for four hours—on the morning of the following day. According to all accounts the scene at the interview must have been curious. Cuesta could not, or would not, speak French: Wellesley was not yet able to express himself fluently in Spanish. Accordingly, O’Donoju, the chief of the staff of the Army of Estremadura, acted as interpreter between them, rendering Wellesley’s views into Spanish and Cuesta’s into English. The greater part of the discussion consisted in the bringing forward of plans by the British commander and their rejection by the Captain-General. Cuesta was full of suspicion,[p. 473] and saw a trap in every proposal that was made to him: he imagined that Wellesley’s main object was to edge him out of the supreme command. He was almost silent throughout the interview, only opening his lips to give emphatic negatives, for which O’Donoju proceeded to find ingenious and elaborate explanations.

It was not the principles on which the campaign was to be conducted, but the details of the distribution of the troops on which the trouble arose. The enemy’s position and force was fairly well known to both generals, except in one all-important particular. They were aware that Victor lay behind the Alberche with not much more than 22,000 men, that Sebastiani was at Madridejos with a somewhat smaller force[594], and that King Joseph with his central reserve, which they over-estimated at 12,000 men, was able at any moment to join the 1st Corps. Hence they expected to find some 34,000 French troops at Talavera, and rightly considered that with the 55,000 men of their two armies they ought to give a good account of them. Sebastiani, as they supposed, might be left out of the game, for occupation for him would be found by the army of La Mancha, which was to be told off for this purpose and directed to cling to the skirts of the 4th Corps and never to lose sight of it. As Venegas would have, according to their calculations, nearly double the numbers of Sebastiani, he would have no difficulty in keeping him in check.

But it was not only on the French troops in New Castile that watch had to be kept. It was necessary to take into account the enemy beyond the mountains, in the valley of the Douro. The allied generals were aware that Mortier and Soult must both be considered. The former they knew to be at Valladolid, and they had learnt that King Joseph was proposing to bring him down towards Madrid—as was indeed the fact. Accordingly they expected that he might turn up in a few days somewhere in the direction of Avila. Soult they knew to be at Zamora, and from the dispatches captured with General Franceschi ten days before, they had a good knowledge of his force and intentions. A study of these documents led them to conclude[p. 474] that he could not move for many weeks, owing to the dilapidated state of his corps—which he had painted in the most moving terms in his letters to King Joseph[595]. They also gathered that if he moved at all, he would be inclined to threaten Northern Portugal or Ciudad Rodrigo: in the dispatches captured with Franceschi he had named Braganza as a point at which he might strike. Accordingly they opined that he need not be taken very seriously into consideration, especially as he was wholly destitute of artillery[596]. Yet he might be drawn into the field by the news that Madrid was in danger. If he were induced to bring help to the King, he would almost certainly work by making a diversion against the communications of the British army, and not by directly joining himself to Joseph’s army by the long and circuitous march from Zamora to Madrid. To carry out such a diversion he would be obliged to cross the lofty Sierra de Francia by one of the passes which lead from the Salamanca region into the valley of the[p. 475] Alagon—perhaps by the defile of Perales, but much more probably by the better known and more practicable pass of Ba?os. Wellesley took the possibility of this movement into serious consideration, but did not think that it would be likely to cause him much danger if it should occur, for he believed that Soult would bring with him no more than the 15,000 or 18,000 men of his own 2nd Corps. That he would appear not with such a small force, but with Ney and Mortier in his wake, leading an army of 50,000 bayonets, did not enter into the mind of the British commander. Mortier was thought to be moving in the direction of Avila: Ney was believed to be contending with the Galician insurgents in the remote regions about Lugo and Corunna. The news of his arrival at Astorga had not yet reached the allied camps, and he was neglected as a factor in the situation. Wellesley and Cuesta had no conception that any force save that of Soult was likely to menace their northern flank and their line of communications when they committed themselves to their advance on Madrid. To provide against a possible movement of the 2nd Corps into the valley of the Tagus, therefore, all that was necessary was to hold the defiles of Perales and Ba?os. The former had already been seen to, for even before the meeting of Wellesley and Cuesta, Carlos d’Espa?a had blocked it with two or three battalions drawn from the garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo. For the latter Wellesley hoped that Cuesta would provide a sufficient garrison[597]. The old Captain-General promised to do so, but only sent 600 men under the Marquis Del Reino, a wholly inadequate detachment[598].

Wellesley’s first proposal to his Spanish colleague was that the main bodies of both armies should advance against Victor, while a detachment of 10,000 men should move out to the left, in the direction of Avila, to look for Mortier, if he were to be[p. 476] found in that direction, and if not to turn the enemy’s right and threaten Madrid. He hoped that Venegas and the army of La Mancha might at the same time move forward against Sebastiani, and keep him so fully employed that he would not be able to spare a man to aid Victor and King Joseph.

Cuesta at once refused to make any detachment in the direction of Avila from his own army, and suggested that Wellesley should find the 10,000 men required for this diversion. The English general objected that it would take exactly half his force, and that he could not split up such a small unit, while the Spaniards could easily spare such a number of troops from their total of 36,000 men. This argument failed to move Cuesta, and the project was dropped, Wellesley thinking that it was not strictly necessary, though very advisable[599].

The only flanking force which was finally set aside for operations on the left wing, for the observation of the French about Avila and the feint at Madrid, consisted of Sir Robert Wilson’s 1,500 Portuguese, and a corresponding body of two battalions and one squadron from the Spanish army[600]—about 3,500 men in all. It played a part of some little importance in the campaign, but it is hard to see that it would have exercised any dominant influence even if it had been raised to the full strength that Wellesley had desired. Mortier, as a matter of fact, was not near Avila, and so the 10,000 men sent in this direction would not have served the end that the British general expected. The 5th Corps had been called off by Soult, contrary to the wishes of the King, and no body of troops was needed to contain it, on this part of the theatre of war. It was ultimately to appear at a very different point, where no provision had been made for its reception.

[p. 477]

Far more important were the arrangements which Wellesley and Cuesta made for the diversion on their other flank. It was from the miscarriage of this operation, owing to the wilful disobedience of the officer charged with it, that the failure of the whole campaign was to come about. They agreed that Venegas with the 23,000 men of the army of La Mancha, was to move up the high-road from his position at Santa Cruz de Mudela, and drive Sebastiani before him. Having pushed back the 4th Corps to the Tagus, Venegas was then to endeavour to force the passage of that river either at Aranjuez or at Fuentedue?as, and to threaten Madrid. It was calculated that Sebastiani would be forced to keep between him and the capital, and would be unable to spare a man to reinforce Victor and King Joseph. Thus Wellesley and Cuesta with 56,000 men would close on the King and the Marshal, who could not have more than 35,000, and (as it was hoped) defeat them or at least man?uvre them out of Madrid. A glance at the map will show one peculiarity of this plan: it would have been more natural to bid Venegas march by the bridge of Toledo rather than by those of Aranjuez and Fuentedue?as; to use the latter he would have to move towards his right, and to separate himself by a long gap from the main army of the allies. At Toledo he would be within thirty-five miles of them—at Aranjuez seventy, at Fuentedue?as 100 miles would lie between him and the troops of Wellesley and Cuesta. It would appear that the two generals at their colloquy came to the conclusion that by ordering Venegas to use the eastern passages of the Tagus they would compel Sebastiani to remove eastward also, so that he would be out of supporting distance of Victor. They recognized the bare possibility that Sebastiani might refuse to devote himself to the task of holding back the army of La Mancha, might leave Madrid to its fate, and then hurry off to join the King and the 1st Corps in an assault on the main Anglo-Spanish army. In this case they settled that Venegas should march on the capital and seize it, a move which (as they supposed) would force Joseph to turn back or to re-divide his army[601]. But it is clear that[p. 478] they did not expect to have to fight Victor, the King, and Sebastiani combined, as they were ultimately forced to do at Talavera on July 28. They supposed that Venegas would find occupation for the 4th Corps, and that they might count on finding only the 1st Corps and Joseph’s Madrid reserves in front of them.

When armies are working in a joint operation from separate bases it is all-important that they should time their movements with the nicest exactitude. This Wellesley and Cuesta attempted to secure, by sending to Venegas an elaborate time-table. He was ordered to be at Madridejos on July 19, at Tembleque on the twentieth, at Santa Cruz de la Zarza on the twenty-first, and at the bridge of Fuentedue?as on the twenty-second or twenty-third. All this was on the supposition that Sebastiani would have about 12,000 men and would give ground whenever pressed. If he turned out by some unlikely chance—presumably by having rallied the King’s reserves—to be much stronger, Venegas was to man?uvre in the direction of Tarancon, to avoid a general action, and if necessary to retreat towards the Passes from which he had started. It would be rather an advantage than otherwise if (contrary to all probability) the French had concentrated their main force against the army of La Mancha, for this would leave Victor helpless in front of the united hosts of Wellesley and Cuesta, which would outnumber him by two to one.
A Portuguese Cavalry Soldier

Enlarge  SPANISH COINS OF THE PERIOD OF THE PENINSULAR WAR

What the allied generals never expected was that Venegas would let Sebastiani slip away from his front, without any attempt to hold him, and would then (instead of marching on Madrid) waste the critical days of the campaign (July 24-29) in miserable delays between Toledo and Aranjuez, when there was absolutely no French field-force between him and Madrid, nor any hostile troops whatever in his neighbourhood save a weak division of 3,000 men in garrison at Toledo. The failure of the Talavera campaign is due even more to this wretched indecision and disobedience to orders on the part of Venegas than to the eccentricities and errors of Cuesta. If the army of La Mancha had kept Sebastiani in check, and refused to allow him to abscond, there would have been no battles on the Alberche on July 27-28, for the French would never have dared to face the [p. 479]Anglo-Spaniards of the main host without the assistance of the 4th Corps.

But to return to the joint plan of Wellesley and Cuesta: on July 23, the day on which Venegas was to reach Fuentedue?as (or Aranjuez) the 56,000 men of the grand army were to be assailing Victor behind the Alberche. The British were to cross the Tietar at Bazagona on the eighteenth and follow the high-road Navalmoral-Oropesa. The Estremadurans, passing the Tagus at Almaraz and Arzobispo, were to move by the parallel route along the river bank by La Calzada and Calera, which is only five or six miles distant from the great chaussée. Thus the two armies would be in close touch with each other, and would not be caught apart by the enemy. On reaching Talavera they were to force the fords of the Alberche and fall upon Victor in his cantonments behind that stream. Sir Robert Wilson and the 3,500 men of his mixed Spanish and Portuguese detachment were to move up as the flank-guard of the allied host, and to push by the head waters of the Tietar for Escalona on the side-road to Madrid[602].

Criticisms of the most acrimonious kind have been brought to bear on this plan by English, French, and Spanish writers. Many of them are undeserved; in particular the tritest objection of all, made ex post facto by those who only look at the actual course of the campaign, that Wellesley was exposing his communications to the united forces of Soult, Ney, and Mortier. There was on July 10, when Cuesta and Wellesley met, no reason whatever for apprehending the contingency of the march of the three marshals upon Plasencia. Soult, as his own letters of June 25 bore witness, was not in a condition to move—he had not a single piece of artillery, and his troops were in dire need of rest and re-equipment. Ney was believed to be at Corunna or Lugo—Soult’s intercepted dispatches spoke of the 6th Corps as being destined to remain behind in Galicia, and he (as the allied generals supposed) ought best to have known what his colleague was about to do. How could they have guessed that, in wrath at his desertion by the Duke of Dalmatia, Ney would evacuate the whole kingdom, abandon fortresses like[p. 480] Ferrol and Corunna, and march for Astorga? Without Ney’s corps to aid him, Soult could not possibly have marched on Plasencia—to have done so with the 2nd Corps alone would have exposed him to being beset by Wellesley on one side and by Beresford on the other. As to Mortier and the 5th Corps, Cuesta and Wellesley undervalued their strength, being unaware that Kellermann had sent back from the Asturias the division that had been lent him for his expedition to Oviedo. They thought that the Duke of Treviso’s force was more like 7,000 than 17,000 bayonets, and—such as it was—they had the best of reasons for believing that it was more likely to march on Madrid by Avila than to join Soult, for they had before them an intercepted dispatch from the King, bidding Mortier to move down to Villacastin in order to be in supporting distance of the capital and the 1st Corps.

On the whole, therefore, the two generals must be excused for not foreseeing the descent of 50,000 men upon their communications, which took place three weeks after their meeting at the bridge of Almaraz: the data in their possession on July 10 made it appear most improbable.

A much more valid criticism is that which blames the method of co-operation with Venegas which was employed. ‘Double external lines of operations’ against an enemy placed in a central position are notoriously perilous, and the particular movement on Fuentedue?as, which the army of La Mancha was ordered to execute, was one which took it as far as possible from Wellesley’s and Cuesta’s main body. Yet it may be urged in their defence that, if they had drawn in Venegas to join them, they would have got little profit out of having 23,000 more Spaniards on the Alberche. Sebastiani on the other hand, who could join Victor at the same moment that the corps from La Mancha joined the allies, would bring some 17,000 excellent troops to Talavera. The benefit of drawing in Venegas would be much less than the disadvantage of drawing in Sebastiani to the main theatre of war. Hence came the idea that the army from the Passes must be devoted to the sole purpose of keeping the 4th Corps as far as possible from the Alberche. Even knowing that Venegas was hostile to Cuesta, and that he was a man of no mark or capacity, Wellesley could not have expected[p. 481] that he would disobey orders, waste time, and fail utterly in keeping touch with Sebastiani or threatening Madrid.

The one irreparable fault in the drawing up of the whole plan of campaign was the fundamental one that Wellesley had undertaken to co-operate with Spanish armies before he had gauged the weak points of the generals and their men. If he had held the post of commander-in-chief of the allied forces, and could have issued orders that were obeyed without discussion, the case would have been different. But he had to act in conjunction with two colleagues, one of whom was suspicious of his intentions and jealous of his preponderant capacity, while the other deliberately neglected to carry out clear and cogent orders from his superior officer. Cuesta’s impracticability and Venegas’s disobedience could not have been foreseen by one who had no previous experience of Spanish armies. Still less had Wellesley realized all the defects of the Spanish rank and file when placed in line of battle. That he did not hold an exaggerated opinion of their merits when he started on the campaign is shown by letters which he wrote nine months before[603]. But he was still under the impression that, if cautiously handled, and not exposed to unnecessary dangers, they would do good service. He had yet to witness the gratuitous panic of Portago’s division on the eve of Talavera, and the helplessness of the Spanish cavalry at the combats of Gamonal and Arzobispo. After a month’s experience of Cuesta and his men, Wellesley vowed never again to take part in grand operations with a Spanish general as his equal and colleague. This was the teaching of experience—and on July 10 the experience was yet to come.

The interview at the bridge of Almaraz had not been very satisfactory to Wellesley, but it was far from having undeceived him as to the full extent of the difficulties that lay before him. He wrote to Frere at Seville that he had been on the whole well received, and that Cuesta had not displayed any jealousy of him. As that sentiment was at this moment the predominant feeling in the old man’s breast, it is clear that he had succeeded in hiding it. But the obstinate silence of Wellesley’s colleague had worried him. O’Donoju had done all the talking, and ‘it was impossible to say what plans the general entertains.[p. 482]’ He was moreover somewhat perturbed by the rumours which his staff had picked up from the Estremaduran officers, to the effect that Cuesta was so much the enemy of the Central Junta that he was plotting a pronunciamiento for its deposition[604]. As to the fighting powers of the Spanish army, Wellesley wrote to Castlereagh that ‘the troops were ill clothed but well armed, and the officers appeared to take pains with their discipline. Some of the corps of infantry were certainly good, and the horses of the cavalry were in good condition.’ Only ten days later he was to utter the very different opinion that ‘owing to their miserable state of discipline and their want of officers properly qualified, these troops are entirely incapable of performing any man?uvre however simple[605],’ and that ‘whole corps, officers and men, run off on the first appearance of danger[606].’

The British Commander-in-chief had indeed many moral and mental experiences to go through between the interview at Mirabete on July 10, and the retreat from Talavera on August 2!
SECTION XVI: CHAPTER IV
THE MARCH TO TALAVERA: QUARREL OF WELLESLEY AND CUESTA

Having returned to his army on July 12, Wellesley gave orders for the whole force to get ready for a general advance on the morning of the eighteenth, the day which had been chosen for the commencement of operations at the conference of Almaraz. It would have been in every way desirable to have moved out at once, and not to have waited for these six days. If the march against Victor had been fixed for the thirteenth or fourteenth, the French would have been caught unprepared, for as late as the seventeenth King Joseph and his adviser Jourdan were under the impression that the force at Plasencia consisted of nothing more than a Portuguese division of 10,000 men, and it was only on the twenty-second that they received the definite information that the whole British army was upon the Tietar[607]. It is clear that, by advancing five days earlier than he actually did, Wellesley might have caught the enemy in a state of complete dispersion—the 4th Corps being on July 20 still at Madridejos in La Mancha, and the King with his reserves at Madrid. If attacked on the seventeenth or the eighteenth, as he might well have been, Victor would have found it impossible to call up Sebastiani in time, and must have fallen back in haste to the capital. The allies could then have cut him off from the 4th Corps, which must have retreated by a circuitous route, and could not have rejoined the main body of the French army in time for a battle in front of Madrid.

It would appear that Wellesley had fixed the date of his[p. 484] advance so late as the eighteenth mainly because of the difficulty as to the collection of provisions, which was now looming before him in larger proportions than ever. But it is possible that the necessity for allowing some days for the transmission of the plan of campaign to Venegas also counted for something in the drawing up of the time-table. It would have been rash to start before the army of La Mancha was prepared to take its part in the joint plan of operations. So much depended upon the diversion which Venegas was to execute, that it would have been a mistake to move before he could break up from his distant cantonments at Santa Cruz de Mudela. No word, however, concerning this appears in Wellesley’s correspondence. From July 13 to July 18 his dispatches show anxiety about nothing save his food and his transport. Every day that he stayed at Plasencia made him feel more uncomfortable concerning the all-important question of supplies. The corn which the Alcaldes of the Vera had promised to secure for him had begun to come in, though in driblets and small consignments, but there was no means of getting it forward: transport was absolutely unprocurable[608]. Wellesley sent officers to scour the country-side as far as Bejar and Ciudad Rodrigo, but they could procure him neither mules nor carts. He also pressed the Spanish commissary-general, Lozano de Torres, to hunt up every animal that could be procured, but to small effect. The fact was that Estremadura was not at any time rich in beasts or vehicles, and that the peasantry had sent away most of those they owned while the French lay at Almaraz, lest they should be carried off by the enemy. Wellesley, who did not understand the limited resources of this part of Spain, was inclined to believe that the authorities were hostile or even treacherous.[p. 485] The Central Junta had promised him transport in order to make sure of his starting on the campaign along the Tagus, and when transport failed to appear, he attributed it to ill-will rather than to poverty. No doubt he was fully justified in his view that an army operating in a friendly country may rationally expect to draw both food and the means to carry it from the regions through which it is passing. But sometimes the provisions or the transport are not forthcoming merely because the one or the other is not to be found. It is certain that both Estremadura and the valley of the central Tagus were at this moment harried absolutely bare: Victor’s despairing letters from Caceres in May and from La Calzada in June are sufficient proof of the fact. In a district where the Marshal said that ‘he could not collect five days’ provisions by any manner of exertion,’ and that ‘his men were dropping down dead from actual starvation, so that he must retire or see his whole corps crumble away[609],’ it is clear that the Central Junta could not have created food for the British army. Cuesta’s troops were living from hand to mouth on supplies sent forward from Andalusia, or they could not have continued to exist in the land. The only district which was intact was that between Coria and Plasencia, and this was actually at the moment feeding the British army, and had done so now for ten days or more. But unfortunately the Vera could give corn but no draught animals. If Wellesley had known this, he must either have exerted himself to procure more transport before leaving Abrantes—a difficult task, for he had already drained Portugal of carts and mules—or have refused to march till the Spaniards sent him wagon trains from Andalusia. It would have taken months for the Junta to collect and send forward such trains: they had dispatched all that they could procure to Cuesta. The campaign on the Tagus, in short, would never have been fought if Wellesley had understood the state of affairs that he was to encounter.

The causes, therefore, of the deadlock that was about to occur were partly the light-hearted incompetence of the Central Junta in promising the British army the use of resources which did not exist, partly Wellesley’s natural ignorance of the[p. 486] miserable state of Central Spain. He had never entered the country before, and could not know of its poverty. He had trusted to the usual military theory that the country-side ought to provide for a friendly army on the march: but in Spain all military theories failed to act. Napoleon committed precisely similar errors, when he directed his army corps to move about in Castile as if they were in Germany or Lombardy, and found exactly the same hindrances as did the British general. In later years Wellesley never moved without a heavy train, and a vast provision of sumpter-beasts and camp-followers. In July 1809 he had still to learn the art of conducting a Spanish campaign.

Meanwhile he was beginning to feel most uncomfortable about the question of provisions. His anxiety is shown by his letters to Frere and Beresford; ‘it is impossible,’ he wrote, ‘to express the inconvenience and risk that we incur from the want of means of conveyance, which I cannot believe the country could not furnish, if there existed any inclination to furnish them. The officers complain, and I believe not without reason, that the country gives unwillingly the supplies of provisions that we have required ... and we have not procured a cart or a mule for the service of the army[610].’ But to O’Donoju, the chief of the staff of the Estremaduran army, he wrote in even more drastic terms, employing phrases that were certain to provoke resentment. He had, he said, scoured the whole region as far as Ciudad Rodrigo for transport, and to no effect. ‘If the people of Spain are unable or unwilling to supply what the army requires, I am afraid that they must do without its services.’ He had been forced to come to a painful decision, and ‘in order to be fair and candid to General Cuesta’ he must proceed to inform him that he would execute the plan for falling upon Victor behind the Alberche, but that when this had been done he would stir no step further, and ‘begin no new operation till he had been supplied with the means of transport which the army requires[611].’

After dispatching this ultimatum, whose terms and tone leave something to be desired—for surely Cuesta was the last[p. 487] person to be saddled with the responsibility for the pledges made by his enemies of the Central Junta—Wellesley issued orders for the army to march. He had been joined at Plasencia by the last of the regiments from Lisbon, which reached him in time for Talavera[612], but had been forced to leave 400 sick behind him, for the army was still in a bad condition as regards health. It was therefore with little over 21,000 men that he began his advance to the Alberche. It was executed with punctual observance of the dates that had been settled at the interview at Almaraz. On July 18 the army crossed the Tietar on a flying bridge built at Bazagona, and lay at Miajadas. On the next night the head quarters were at Centinello; on the twentieth the British entered Oropesa. Here Cuesta joined them with his whole army, save the two battalions lent to Wilson, and the two others under the Marquis Del Reino which had been sent to the Puerto de Ba?os. Deducting these 2,600 bayonets and his sick, he brought over 6,000 horse and 27,000 foot to the rendezvous. The junction having taken place on the twenty-first, the advance to Talavera was to begin next morning. Oropesa lies only nineteen miles from that town, and as Victor’s cavalry vedettes were in sight, it was clear that contact with the enemy would be established during the course of the day. Accordingly the allied armies marched with caution, the Spaniards along the high-road, the British following a parallel path on the left, across the slopes of the hills which divide the valley of the Tietar from that of the Tagus.

About midday the Spaniards fell in with the whole of the cavalry division of Latour-Maubourg, which Victor had thrown out as a screen in front of Talavera. He had ascertained on the evening of the preceding day that Cuesta was about to move forward, and was anxious to compel him to display his entire force. Above all he desired to ascertain whether the rumours concerning the presence of British troops in his front were correct. Accordingly he had left two battalions of infantry in the town of Talavera, and thrown out the six regiments of dragoons in front of it, near the village of Gamonal. The Spaniards were advancing with Albuquerque’s cavalry division as an advanced guard. But seeing Latour-Maubourg in his[p. 488] front the Duke refused to attack, and sent back for infantry and guns. Cuesta pushed forward the division of Zayas to support him, but even when it arrived the Spaniards made no headway. They continued skirmishing for four hours[613] till the British light cavalry began to appear on their left. ‘Though much more numerous than the enemy,’ wrote an eye-witness, ‘they made no attempt to drive him in, but contented themselves with deploying into several long lines, making a very formidable appearance. We had expected to see them closely and successfully engaged, having heard that they were peculiarly adapted for petty warfare, but we found them utterly incapable of coping with the enemy’s tirailleurs, who were driving them almost into a circle.’

On the appearance, however, of Anson’s cavalry upon their flank the French went hastily to the rear, skirted the suburbs of Talavera, and rode off along the great Madrid chaussée to the east, followed by the British light dragoons. As they passed the town two small columns of infantry came out of it and followed in their rear. Albuquerque sent one of his regiments against them, but could not get his men to charge home. On three separate occasions they came on, but, after receiving the fire of the French, pulled up and fell into confusion. The impression made by the Spanish cavalry on the numerous British observers was very bad. ‘No men could have more carefully avoided coming to close quarters than did the Spaniards this day[614],’ wrote one eye-witness. ‘They showed a total lack not only of discipline but of resolution[615],’ observes another.

After crossing the plain to the north of Talavera the French, both cavalry and infantry, forded the Alberche and halted on the further bank. On arriving at the line of underwood which masks the river the pursuers found the whole of Victor’s corps in position. The thickets on the further side were swarming with tirailleurs, and two batteries opened on Anson’s brigade as it drew near to the water, and sent balls whizzing among Wellesley’s staff when he pushed forward to reconnoitre the position.

[p. 489]

It was soon seen that Victor had selected very favourable fighting-ground: indeed he had been staying at Talavera long enough to enable him to get a perfect knowledge of the military features of the neighbourhood. The 1st Corps was drawn up on a range of heights, about 800 yards behind the Alberche, with its left resting on the impassable Tagus, and its right on a wooded hill, behind which the smaller river makes a sharp turn to the east, so as to cover that flank. The position was formidable, but rather too long for the 22,000 men who formed the French army. Having learnt from the people of Talavera that the enemy had received no reinforcements up to that morning, from Madrid or any other quarter, Wellesley was anxious to close with them at once. The afternoon was too far spent for any attempt to force the passage on the twenty-second, but on the next day (July 23) the British general hoped to fight. The Alberche was crossed by a wooden bridge which the enemy had not destroyed, and was fordable in many places: there seemed to be no reason why the lines behind it might not be forced by a resolute attack delivered with numbers which were as two to one to those of the French.

Accordingly Wellesley left the 3rd division and Anson’s light horse in front of the right wing of Victor’s position, and encamped the rest of his army some miles to the rear, in the plain between Talavera and the Alberche. In the same way Albuquerque and Zayas halted for the night opposite the bridge on the French left, while the main body of the Spaniards occupied the town in their rear. In the evening hours Wellesley endeavoured to urge upon Cuesta the necessity for delivering an attack at dawn: he undertook to force the northern fords and to turn the enemy’s right, if his colleague would attack the southern fords and the bridge. The Captain-General ‘received the suggestion with dry civility,’ and asked for time to think it over. After a conference with his subordinates, he at last sent word at midnight that he would accept the proposed plan of operations.

At 3 o’clock therefore on the morning of the twenty-third, Wellesley brought down Sherbrooke’s and Mackenzie’s divisions to the ground opposite the fords, and waited for the arrival of the Spanish columns on his right. They did not appear, and[p. 490] after long waiting the British general rode to seek his colleague. He found him opposite the bridge of the Alberche, ‘seated on the cushions taken out of his carriage, for he had driven to the outposts in a coach drawn by nine mules, the picture of mental and physical inability.’ The old man murmured that the enemy’s position had not been sufficiently reconnoitred, that it would take time to get his army drawn out opposite the points which it was to attack, that he was not sure of the fords, that the bridge over which his right-hand column would have to advance looked too weak to bear artillery, and many other things to the same effect—finally urging that the forcing of the Alberche must be put off to the next day. As he had not got his troops into battle order, it was clear that the morning would be wasted, but Wellesley tried to bargain for an attack in the afternoon. The Captain-General asked for more time, and would listen to no arguments in favour of fighting on that day. After a heated discussion Wellesley had to yield: he could not venture to assail the French with his own army alone, and without any assistance from the Spaniards. Accordingly it was agreed that the advance should not be made till the dawn of the twenty-fourth.

In the afternoon the pickets sent back information that Victor seemed to be on the move, and that his line was growing thin. Cuesta was then persuaded to go forward to the outposts; he was hoisted on to his horse by two grenadiers, while an aide-de-camp stood on the other side to conduct his right leg over the croup and place it in the stirrup. Then, hunched up on his saddle, he rode down to the river, observed that the greater part of the enemy were still in position, and refused to attack till next morning.

At dawn, therefore, on the twenty-fourth the allied army moved forward to the Alberche in three columns, and found, as might have been expected, that the French had disappeared. On seeing the masses of redcoats opposite his right upon the previous day, Victor had realized at last that he had before him the whole British army. He had sent his train to the rear in the afternoon, and drawn off his entire force after dusk. By dawn he was more than ten miles away, on the road to Santa Ollala and Madrid. It was useless to pursue him with any[p. 491] hope of forcing him to a battle. The chance of crushing him before he should receive any further reinforcements had disappeared. It is not at all to his credit as a general that he had held his ground so long; if he had been attacked on the twenty-third, as Wellesley had desired, he must certainly have suffered a disaster. He had but 22,000 men; and it is clear that, while the Spaniards were attacking his left and centre, he could not have set aside men enough to hold back the assault of the solid mass of 20,000 British troops upon his right. He should have vanished on the twenty-second, the moment that Latour-Maubourg reported that Wellesley’s army was in the field. By staying for another day on the Alberche he risked the direst disaster.

The British general would have been more than human if he had not manifested his anger and disgust at the way in which his colleague had flinched from the agreement to attack, and sacrificed the certainty of victory. He showed his resentment by acting up to the terms of his letter written from Plasencia five days before, i.e. by announcing to Cuesta that, having carried out his pledge to drive the French from behind the Alberche, he should now refuse to move forward, unless he were furnished with transport sufficient to make it certain that the army could reach Madrid without any privations. He was able to state with perfect truth that he had already been forced to place his troops on half-rations that very morning: to the 10,000 men of Sherbrooke’s and Mackenzie’s divisions and of Anson’s light cavalry, he had only been able to issue 5,000 rations of bread[616]. Nothing, of course, could be found at Talavera, where the French had been quartered for many days. Victor had only been maintaining his troops by the aid of biscuit sent down from Madrid, and by seizing and threshing for himself the small amount of corn which had been sown in the neighbourhood that spring. Wellesley was wrong in supposing that the 1st Corps had been supporting itself with ease from the country-side[617]. He was equally at fault when he asserted that the ‘Spanish army has plenty to eat.’ Cuesta was at this moment complaining to the Junta that he was short of provisions, and that the food which he had brought forward[p. 492] from the Guadiana was almost exhausted. Meanwhile every exertion was being made to collect flour and transport from the rear: Wellesley wrote to O’Donoju that he had at last hopes of securing some wagons from the Plasencia district within three days, and that ‘in the meantime he might get something to eat.’ He had some days before sent orders back even so far as Abrantes, to order up 200 Portuguese carts which had been collected there, and the Central Junta had informed him that a train for his use had already started from Andalusia. But ‘there was no very early prospect of relieving the present distress[618].’

Cuesta was, as might have been expected, as angry with Wellesley for refusing to move forward from Talavera, as Wellesley was with Cuesta for missing the great opportunity of July 23. When informed that the British army was not about to advance any further, he announced that he for his part should go on, that Victor was in full flight, and that he would pursue him to Madrid. ‘In that case’ dryly observed Wellesley, ‘Cuesta will get himself into a scrape; but any movement by me to his assistance is quite out of the question. If the enemy discover that we are not with him, he will be beaten, or must return. The enemy will make this discovery to-day, if he should risk any attempt upon their rearguard at Santa Ollala[619].’ In reply to the Captain-General’s declaration that he should press Victor hard, his colleague only warned him that he would be wiser ‘to secure the course of the Tagus and open communication with Venegas, while the measures should be taken to supply the British army with means of transport[620].’ The Spaniard would not listen to any such advice, and hurried forward; though he had been for many weeks refusing to fight the 1st Corps when it lay in Estremadura, he was now determined to risk a second Medellin. Apparently he was obsessed by the idea that Victor was in full retreat for Madrid, and would not make a serious stand. Underlying his sudden energy there was also some idea that he would disconcert his masters of the Central Junta by recovering the capital: he had discovered, it would seem, that[p. 493] the Junta had sent secret orders to Venegas, directing him to take charge of the city on its reconquest, and giving him authority to nominate the civil and military officers for its administration. If the Army of Estremadura seized Madrid, while the Army of La Mancha was still lingering on the way thither, all these plans would be frustrated[621].

Accordingly Cuesta pushed on very boldly on the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, dividing his army into two columns, of which one marched on Santa Ollala by the high-road to the capital, while the other moved by Cevolla and Torrijos on the side-road to Toledo. He was uncertain whether Victor had retired by one or by both of these routes: if all his corps had taken the former path, the natural deduction was that he was thinking only of Madrid: if the Toledo road had also been used, there was reason for concluding that the Marshal must be intending to join Sebastiani and the 4th Corps, who might be looked for in that direction. Late in the day the Spanish general ascertained that the main body of Victor’s army had taken the latter route: he proceeded to follow it, placing his head quarters that night at Torrijos, only fifteen miles from Toledo. Next morning he learnt to his surprise and dismay that he had in front of him not only the 1st Corps, but also Sebastiani and the King’s reserves from Madrid: for just at this moment the whole French force in New Castile had been successfully concentrated, and nearly 50,000 men were gathered in front of the 33,000 troops of the Army of Estremadura. Venegas’s diversion had utterly failed to draw off the 4th Corps to the East; the King had come down in haste from Madrid, and thus the whole plan of campaign which the allied generals had drawn up had been foiled—partly by the sloth of Venegas, partly by Cuesta’s inexplicable and perverse refusal to fight on July 23 upon the line of the Alberche.
SECTION XVI: CHAPTER V
CONCENTRATION OF THE FRENCH ARMIES: THE KING TAKES THE OFFENSIVE: COMBATS OF TORRIJOS AND CASA DE SALINAS

It is now necessary to turn to the French camp, in order to realize the course of events which had led to the concentration of such a formidable force in the environs of Toledo. Down to the twenty-second of July Joseph and his adviser Jourdan had remained in complete ignorance of the advance of Wellesley upon Plasencia, and seem to have been perfectly free from any apprehension that Madrid was in danger. Since their return from their fruitless pursuit of the army of La Mancha, they had been spending most of their energy in a controversy with Soult. The Duke of Dalmatia, not content with the command of the three army corps which Napoleon had put at his disposal, had been penning elaborate dispatches to the King to demand that the greater part of the remaining French troops in Spain should be used to co-operate in his projected campaign against the English in Portugal. He wrote on July 13 to urge on Joseph the necessity (1) of drawing large detachments from the armies of Aragon and Catalonia, in order to form a corps of observation in the kingdom of Leon to support his own rear; (2) of placing another strong detachment at Plasencia to cover his flank; (3) of transferring every regiment that could be spared from Madrid and New Castile to Salvatierra on the Tormes, just south of Salamanca, in order to form a reserve close in his rear, which he might call up, if necessary, to strengthen the 60,000 men whom he already had in hand. He also demanded that Joseph should send him at once 200,000 francs to spend on the fortification of Zamora, Toro, and other places on the Douro, as also 500,000 francs more for the present expenses of the 2nd,[p. 495] 5th, and 6th Corps. If this were granted him, together with 2,000,000 rations of flour, and a battering-train of at least forty-eight heavy guns for the sieges of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, he thought that he should be in a position to deliver a serious attack on Northern Portugal, and ultimately to drive the British army into the sea[622].

On the day upon which the Duke of Dalmatia made these comprehensive demands upon King Joseph, the British army had been for ten days in Spain, and was preparing to advance from Plasencia on Madrid. It was therefore an exquisitely inappropriate moment at which to demand that the greater part of the King’s central reserve should be sent off from the capital to the neighbourhood of Salamanca. There were other parts of Soult’s lists of requisitions which were equally impracticable. It is clear that Suchet could not have spared a man from Aragon, and that St. Cyr, with the siege of Gerona on his hands, would have found it absolutely impossible to make large detachments from Catalonia. Even if he and Suchet had been able to send off troops to Leon, they would have taken months to reach the Galician frontier. The demand for 700,000 francs in hard cash was also most unpalatable: King Joseph was at this moment in the direst straits for money: his brother could send him nothing while the Austrian war was in progress, and as he was not in proper military possession of any large district of Spain, he was at this moment in a condition of hopeless bankruptcy. He confessed to Soult that he was living from hand to mouth, by the pitiful expedient of melting down and coining the silver plate in the royal palace at Madrid.

Jourdan therefore replied, in the King’s behalf, to Soult that he must do his best with the 60,000 men already at his disposition, that no troops from Catalonia, Aragon, or Madrid could be spared, and that money could not be found. All that could be given was the battering-train that had been demanded, 600,000 rations of biscuit, and an authorization to raise forced contributions in Old Castile. For the protection of his flanks and his communications the Marshal must utilize Kellermann’s dragoons and the other unattached troops in the valley of the[p. 496] Douro, a force which if raised to 12,000 men by detachments from the 5th or 6th Corps could keep La Romana and the Galicians in check[623].

It is curious to note how entirely ignorant both Soult and the King were as to the real dangers of the moment. Soult had drawn up, and Joseph acceded to[624], a plan for the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo, and an invasion of Northern Portugal—operations which would take long weeks of preparation—at the time when Madrid was in imminent danger from the combined armies of Wellesley, Cuesta, and Venegas. The Marshal’s plan was perfectly correct from the point of view of the higher strategy—the main objective of the French was certainly the British army, and it would have been highly advisable to invade Northern Portugal with 60,000 men in the front line, and 40,000 in support, if the circumstances of the moment had permitted it. But these circumstances were hidden alike from Soult and the King, owing to the impossibility of obtaining accurate information of the movements of the allies. The fundamental difficulty of all French operations in the Peninsula was that the commanders could never discover the whereabouts of the enemy till he actually came in contact with their outposts. Hence it chanced that Soult was planning, and Joseph approving, a campaign on the borders of Northern Portugal, at the precise moment when the British were on the march for Talavera.

It was actually not until July 22 that the King’s eyes were at last unsealed. Victor having come into collision with the cavalry of Wellesley’s advanced guard, sent news to Madrid that the British army had joined Cuesta, and had reached the Alberche. On the same day, by a fortunate chance, there also arrived in the capital another emissary of Soult, with a message much less impracticable than that which had last been sent. This was General Foy, whom the Duke of Dalmatia had dispatched on July 19, after receiving very definite rumours that the British were moving in the valley of the Tagus, and[p. 497] not approaching Old Castile[625]. The Marshal sent word that in this case he must of course concert a common plan of operations with the King, and abandon any immediate action against Portugal. He suggested that his best plan would be to concentrate his three corps at Salamanca, and to march against the flank and rear of the English by way of Bejar and the Puerto de Ba?os. If the King could cover Madrid for a time with the 1st and 4th Corps, he would undertake to present himself in force upon Wellesley’s line of communications, a move which must infallibly stop the advance of the allies towards the capital. If they hesitated a moment after his arrival at Plasencia, they would be caught between two fires, and might be not merely checked but surrounded and destroyed. Soult added, however, that he could not move till the 2nd Corps had received the long-promised provision of artillery which was on its way from Madrid, and till he had rallied Ney’s troops, who were still at Astorga, close to the foot of the Galician mountains.

Napoleon, at a later date, criticized this plan severely, declaring that Soult ought to have marched on Madrid to join the King, and not on Plasencia. He grounded his objections to the scheme on the strategical principle that combined operations on external lines should be avoided. ‘The march of Marshal Soult,’ he wrote, ‘was both dangerous and useless—dangerous, because the other army might be beaten (as happened at Talavera) before he could succour it, so that the safety of all my armies in Spain was compromised: useless, because the English had nothing to fear; they could get behind the Tagus in three hours; and whether they crossed at Talavera or at Almaraz, or anywhere else, they could secure a safe line of retreat on Badajoz.’ Against this criticism the defence made by both Soult and King Joseph was that it would have required a much longer time to bring the three corps from the Douro to Madrid than to Plasencia; that it would have taken them at least ten days to reach Madrid, and that during those days the King and his army might have been beaten and driven out of the capital by the united forces of Wellesley, Cuesta, and Venegas. It was, of course, impossible to foresee on[p. 498] July 22 that Wellesley would refuse to pursue Victor beyond Talavera, or that Venegas would let Sebastiani slip away from him. Accordingly King Joseph and Jourdan fell in with Soult’s suggestion, because they thought that he would come sooner into the field if he marched on Plasencia, and would remove the pressure of the British army from them at a comparatively early date. As a matter of fact, he took a much longer time to reach Plasencia than they had expected: they had hoped that he might be there on July 27, while his vanguard only reached the place on August 1, and his main body on the second and third[626]. But it seems clear that the expectation that he would intervene on the earlier date was far too sanguine. Soult dared not move till his three corps were well closed up, and since Ney had to come all the way from Astorga, it would have been impossible in any case to mass the army at Plasencia much earlier than was actually done. Napoleon’s remark that Soult could not hope to catch or surround the British army seems more convincing than his criticism of the march on Plasencia. If the passes of the Sierra de Gata had been properly held, and prompt news had been transmitted to Talavera that the French were on the move from the valley of the Douro, Wellesley would have had ample time to cover himself, by crossing the Tagus and transferring his army to the line of operations, Truxillo-Badajoz. The British general always defended himself by this plea: and complained that those who spoke of him as being ‘cut off from Portugal,’ by the arrival of Soult at Plasencia, forgot that he had as good a base at Elvas and Badajoz as at Abrantes.

But we must not look too far forward into the later stages of the campaign. It is enough to say that Jourdan and Joseph sent back Foy to rejoin Soult, on the same day that he had reached Madrid, bearing the orders that the Marshal was to collect his three corps with the greatest possible haste, and to march by Salamanca on Plasencia, where they trusted that he might present himself on the twenty-seventh or twenty-eighth of the current month. Meanwhile it was necessary to hold[p. 499] back Cuesta and Wellesley till the Duke of Dalmatia’s operations in their rear began to produce their effect. The only possible way of doing this was to concentrate in all haste every available man in New Castile, and to cover Madrid as long as possible. This massing of the French forces turned out to be perfectly feasible, since Venegas had neglected to press in upon Sebastiani, so that it was possible to withdraw the whole 4th Corps from in front of him, and to send it to reinforce Victor, without any immediate danger. Accordingly, the 1st Corps was directed to fall back from its perilous advanced position on the Alberche, and to draw near to Toledo: Sebastiani was told to abandon Madridejos and La Mancha, and to hasten by forced marches toward the same point: while the King himself resolved to leave Madrid with the slenderest of garrisons, and to carry the rest of the central reserve to the general rendezvous. Accordingly, he left only one brigade of Dessolles’ division, with a few of his untrustworthy Spanish levies, to hold the capital: the total did not amount to much over 4,000 men, and General Belliard, the governor of the city, was warned that he must be prepared to retreat into the Retiro forts, with his troops and the whole body of the Afrancesados and their families, if anything untoward should occur. For it was possible that an insurrection might break out, or that Venegas might succeed in slipping into Madrid by the roads from the east, or again, that Wilson (whose column had been heard of at Escalona and was believed to be much larger than was actually the case), might attempt a coup de main from the west. Leaving Belliard in this dangerous and responsible position, the King marched out upon the twenty-third with the remaining brigade of Dessolles’s division, the infantry and cavalry of his French Guard, two squadrons of chasseurs and fourteen guns, a force of some 5,800 men[627]. He had reached Navalcarnero, with the intention of joining Victor on the Alberche, when he received the news that[p. 500] the Marshal had retired towards Toledo, and was lying at Bargas behind the Guadarrama river. Here Joseph joined him on the morning of July 25.

On their concentration a force of 46,000 men was collected, Victor having brought up 23,000, the King 5,800, and Sebastiani 17,500. The latter had placed four of the six Polish battalions of Valence’s division in Toledo, and was therefore short by 3,000 bayonets of the total force of his corps. With such a mass of good troops at their disposition, Joseph, Jourdan, and Victor were all agreed that it was right to fall upon the Spaniards without delay. They were astonished to find that the British army was not in their front, but only Cuesta’s troops. They had expected to see the whole allied host before them, and were overjoyed to discover that the Estremadurans alone had pushed forward to Torrijos and Santa Ollala. Instead, therefore, of being obliged to fight a defensive battle behind the river Guadarrama, it was in their power to take the offensive.

This was done without delay: on the morning of July 26 the French army advanced on Torrijos, with the 1st Corps at the head of the column. But Cuesta, when once he had discovered the strength of the force in his front, had resolved to retreat. Victor found opposed to him only the division of Zayas and two cavalry regiments, which had been told off to cover the withdrawal of the Estremaduran army. The Marshal sent out against this rearguard the chasseurs of Merlin and the dragoons of Latour-Maubourg, who drove in the Spanish horse, almost exterminating the unfortunate regiment of Villaviciosa, which, in retiring, chanced to blunder against the high stone walls of some enclosures from which exit was difficult[628]. Zayas then went to the rear, and retired towards the cavalry division of Albuquerque, which Cuesta hastily sent to his assistance. The French cavalry took some time to re-form for a second attack, and their infantry was still far off. The Spanish rear[p. 501]guard therefore, covered by Albuquerque’s horse, had time enough to fall back on the main body, which was already in full retreat. Their cavalry then followed, and being not very strenuously pursued by Merlin and Latour-Maubourg, got off in safety. The whole army, marching at the best of its speed, and in considerable disorder, finally reached the Alberche without being caught up by the enemy. Cuesta found the British divisions of Sherbrooke and Mackenzie guarding the river: Wellesley had sent them forward when he heard of the approach of the French, and had placed the former on the hills above the further side of the bridge, to cover the passage, and the latter in reserve. He rode out himself to meet the Spanish general, and begged him to carry his army beyond the Alberche, as it would be extremely dangerous to be caught with such an obstacle behind him, and no means of retreat save a long bridge and three fords. But Cuesta tempted providence by declaring that he should encamp on the further bank, as his troops were too exhausted to risk the long defile across the bridge after dark. His sullen anger against Wellesley for refusing to follow him on the twenty-fourth was still smouldering in his breast, and the English were convinced that he remained on the wrong side of the river out of pure perversity, merely because his colleague pressed him to put himself in safety. He consented, however, to retreat next morning to the position which Wellesley had selected in front of Talavera.

The French made no appearance that night, though they might well have done so, and the Spanish army, bivouacing confusedly in the narrow slip of flat ground between the heights and the Alberche, enjoyed undisturbed rest during the hours of darkness. It is impossible not to marvel at the slackness with which Victor conducted the pursuit: he had twelve regiments of splendid cavalry to the front[629], and could undoubtedly have pressed the Estremadurans hard if he had chosen to do so. Cuesta’s retreating columns were in such a state of confusion and disorder that a vigorous assault on their rear might have caused a general débandade. But after driving in Zayas in the[p. 502] early morning, Victor moved very slowly, and did not even attempt to roll up Albuquerque’s cavalry rearguard, though he could have assailed it with very superior numbers. When taxed with sloth by Marshal Jourdan, he merely defended himself by saying that the horses were tired, and that the infantry was still too far to the rear to make it right for him to begin a combat which might develop into a general engagement. But it is hard to see that he would have risked anything by pressing in upon Albuquerque, for if Cuesta had halted his whole army in order to support his rearguard, there was nothing to prevent the French cavalry from drawing off, and refusing to close till the main body of the 1st Corps should come up.

Thanks to Victor’s slackness the Spaniards secured an unmolested retreat across the Alberche on the following morning. It is said that Cuesta, in sheer perversity and reluctance to listen to any advice proffered him by Wellesley, delayed for some hours before he would retreat, and that when at last he yielded to the pressing solicitations of his colleague he remarked to his staff ‘that he had made the Englishman go down on his knees’ before consenting.

All through the morning hours of the twenty-seventh the Army of Estremadura was pouring across the bridge and the fords, not in the best order. They had almost all passed, when about noon the French cavalry began to appear in their front. When the enemy at last began to press forward in strength, Wellesley directed Sherbrooke’s and Mackenzie’s divisions to prepare to evacuate their positions on the eastern bank, which they did as soon as the last of the Spaniards had got into safety. The first division passed at the bridge, the third at the fords near the village of Cazalegas: then Sherbrooke marched by the high-road towards Talavera, while Mackenzie, who had been told off as the rearguard, remained with Anson’s light horse near the ruined Casa de Salinas, a mile to the west of the Alberche.

It may seem strange that Wellesley made no attempt to dispute the passage of the river, but the ground was hopelessly indefensible. The left bank (Victor’s old position of July 22) completely commands the right, the one being high, the other both low and entirely destitute of artillery positions. More[p. 503]over, a great part of the terrain was thickly strewn with woods and olive plantations, which made it impossible to obtain any general view of the country-side. They would have given splendid cover for an army advancing to storm the heights on the French bank, but were anything but an advantage to an army on the defensive. For, unable to hold the actual river bank because of the commanding hills on the further side, such an army would have been forced to form its line some way from the water, and the tangled cover down by the brink of the stream would have given the enemy every facility for pushing troops across, and for pressing them into the midst of the defender’s position without exposing them to his fire. Wellington had examined the line of the Alberche upon the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth, and had pronounced it absolutely untenable; ‘no position could be worse,’ he wrote to O’Donoju[630], but he had discovered one of a very different kind a little to the rear, and had already settled the way in which it was to be occupied. It presented so many advantages that even Cuesta had consented to accept it as a good fighting-ground, and the Estremaduran army was at this very moment occupied in arraying itself along that part of the line which had been allotted to it. Sherbrooke’s division was retiring across the plain to fall into the section which Wellesley had chosen for it, and Hill’s and Campbell’s troops were moving to their designated ground. Only Mackenzie and the light cavalry had yet to be established in their post.

In the act of withdrawing, this division became involved in an unfortunate combat, which bid fair for a moment to develop into a disaster. Its two brigades had been halted close to the ruined house called the Casa de Salinas, in ground covered partly with underwood and partly with olive groves. The cavalry had been withdrawn to the rear, as it was impossible to use it for vedettes in such a locality. The infantry was supposed to have a chain of pickets thrown out in its front, but it would appear that they must have been badly placed: as one eye-witness confesses, ‘we were by no means such good soldiers in those days as succeeding campaigns made us, and sufficient precautions had not been taken to ascertain what was passing in the wood[631],’ and[p. 504] between it and the ford below Cazalegas. French cavalry alone had hitherto been seen, and from cavalry Mackenzie’s troops were certainly safe in the tangled ground where they were now lying.

But already Victor’s infantry had reached the front, and its leading division, that of Lapisse, had forded the Alberche far to the north, and had entered the woods without being observed by the outlying pickets of Mackenzie’s left brigade[632]. It had even escaped the notice of Wellesley himself, who had just mounted the roof of the ruined Casa de Salinas, the only point in the neighbourhood from which anything like a general view of the country-side could be secured. While he was intent on watching the heights above the Alberche in his front, and the cavalry vedettes descending from them, the enemy’s infantry was stealing in upon his left.

Lapisse had promptly discovered the line of British outposts, and had succeeded in drawing out his division in battle order before it was observed. He had deployed one regiment, the 16th Léger, as a front line, while the rest of his twelve battalions were coming on in support.

While, therefore, Wellesley was still unconscious that the enemy was close upon him, a brisk fire of musketry broke out upon his left front. It was the French advance driving in the pickets of Donkin’s brigade. The division had barely time to stand to its arms—some men are said to have been killed before they had risen from the ground—and the Commander-in-chief had hardly descended from the roof and mounted his charger, when the enemy was upon them. The assault fell upon the whole front of Donkin’s brigade, and on the left regiment (the 2/31st) of that of Mackenzie himself. So furious and unexpected was it, that the 87th, 88th, and 31st were all broken, and driven some way to the rear, losing about eighty prisoners. It was[p. 505] fortunate that the French advance did not strike the whole line, but only its left and centre. The 1/45th, which was just outside the limit of Lapisse’s attack, stood firm, and on it Wellesley re-formed the 31st, while, a little further to the north, the half-battalion of the 5/60th also held its ground and served as a rallying-point for the 87th and 88th. The steadiness of the 1/45th and 5/60th saved the situation; covered by them the division retired from the woods and formed up in the plain, where Anson’s light horsemen came to their aid and guarded their flanks. The French still pressed furiously forward, sending out two batteries of horse artillery to gall the retreating columns, but they had done their worst, and during the hours of the late afternoon Mackenzie’s infantry fell back slowly and in order to the points of the position which had been assigned to them. Donkin’s brigade took post in the second line behind the German Legion, while Mackenzie’s own three regiments passed through the Guards and formed up in their rear. Their total loss in the combat of Casa de Salinas had been 440 men—the French casualties must have been comparatively insignificant—probably not 100 in all[633].

From the moment when the fray had begun in the woods till dusk, the noise of battle never stopped, for on arriving in front of the allied position, the French artillery drew up and commenced a hot, but not very effective, fire against those of the troops who held the most advanced stations. As the cannonade continued, the different regiments were seen hurrying to their battle-posts, for, although the arrangements had all been made, some brigades, not expecting a fight till the morrow, had still to take up their allotted ground.

‘The men, as they formed and faced the enemy, looked pale, but the officers riding along their line, only two deep, on which all our hopes depended, observed that they appeared not less tranquil than determined. In the meanwhile the departing sun showed by his rays the immense masses moving towards us, and the last glimmering of the light proved their direction to be across our front, toward the left. The darkness, only broken[p. 506] in upon by the bursting shells and the flashes of the French guns, closed quickly upon us, and it was the opinion of many that the enemy would rest till the morning[634].’

Such, however, was not to be the case: there was to be hard fighting in front of Talavera before the hour of midnight had arrived.
SECTION XVI: CHAPTER VI
THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA: THE PRELIMINARY COMBATS
(JULY 27-28)

The position which Wellesley had selected as offering far better ground for a defensive battle than any which could be found on the banks of the Alberche, extends for nearly three miles to the north of the town of Talavera. It was not a very obvious line to take up, since only at its northern end does it present any well marked features. Two-thirds of the position lie in the plain, and are only marked out by the stony bed of the Porti?a, a brook almost dried up in the summer, which runs from north to south and falls into the Tagus at Talavera. In the northern part of its course this stream flows at the bottom of a well-marked ravine, but as it descends towards the town its bed grows broad and shallow, and ceases to be of any tactical or topographical importance. Indeed, in this part of the field the fighting-line of the allies lay across it, and their extreme right wing was posted upon its further bank.

The town of Talavera, a place of 10,000 souls, which had been a flourishing industrial centre in the sixteenth century, but had long sunk into decay, lies in a compact situation on the north bank of the Tagus. It possesses a dilapidated bridge of forty-five arches, the only passage across the river between Arzobispo and Toledo. Its site is perfectly flat, save for a low knoll crowned by the chapel of Nuestra Se?ora del Prado, just outside the eastern, or Madrid, gate, and overlooking the Alameda (public promenade) and the neighbouring gardens. The place had no suburbs, but was surrounded by a broad belt of olive groves and enclosures, which extend for a full mile to the north and east, and hide the houses and walls from the traveller approaching from either of those directions. When the allies entered Talavera they found it deserted by most of its inhabitants,[p. 508] who had fled up into the villages of the Sierra de Toledo during the French occupation. Many, however, descended to reoccupy their homes when the enemy departed. Victor’s men had plundered most of the houses, and turned many of the churches into barracks or stables: hence the town presented a picture of abject desolation[635].

For a mile and a half beyond the northern wall of Talavera the ground covered by gardens and olive groves is perfectly flat; it then commences to rise, and swells up into a long hill, the Cerro de Medellin. This height runs from east to west, so that its front, and not the full length of its side, overhangs the Porti?a ravine. Its loftiest point and its steepest face are presented to that declivity, while to the west and south it has gentle and easily accessible slopes, sinking gradually down into the plain. This hill, the most commanding ground in the neighbourhood of Talavera, had been chosen by Wellesley as the position of his left wing. It formed, including its lower slopes, about one-third of the line which he had determined to occupy, the rest of the front lying in the low ground among the olives and gardens. North of the Cerro de Medellin is a narrow lateral valley, only half a mile broad, separating this hill from the main chain of the Sierra de Segurilla, the mountains which form the watershed between the basin of the Tagus and that of the Tietar. The British general had intended at first that his position should extend no further north than the hill, but in the course of the action he was compelled to lengthen his front, and to post troops both in the valley and on the mountain spurs beyond it.

By the agreement made with Cuesta, at the conference near the bridge of the Alberche on the evening of the twenty-sixth, it was settled that the Spanish army should hold the town of[p. 509] Talavera and the wooded and enclosed ground for a mile beyond it. The British had their right among the olive groves, but their centre and left on the open slopes of the Cerro de Medellin. This order of battle was the only one which it was possible to adopt. Wellesley had already discovered that the army of Estremadura could not man?uvre, and would be much safer behind walls and enclosures than in the open, and Cuesta had gladly accepted the proposal that he should occupy this part of the position. Having only a little more than a mile of front to defend, he was able to provide a double and triple line with his 32,000 men[636]. His Vanguard and 1st division, under Zayas, occupied the eastern outskirts of the town, with a battery placed upon the knoll crowned by the chapel of Nuestra Se?ora del Prado. A brigade of cavalry (four regiments) was deployed in the open ground of the Prado, close to the bank of the Tagus. The 2nd division, that of Iglesias, held Talavera, whose ancient walls, though imperfect in many places, were still quite defensible. The 3rd and 4th divisions (Manglano and Portago) were ranged in a double line among the gardens and enclosures to the north of the town, as far as a low hillock called the Pajar de Vergara, where they touched Wellesley’s left. Behind them were the rest of Cuesta’s cavalry (ten regiments) and the 5th division (Bassecourt) forming the reserves.

The Spanish position was immensely strong. The front was completely screened by groves and enclosures occupied by skirmishers: the first line was drawn up along the slightly sunken road leading from Talavera to the north, which provided the men with an excellent parapet and good cover[637]. The second line was equally well placed behind the Porti?a rivulet, which was bordered by trees along its whole front. The only good artillery position was that outside the Madrid gate, in front of Zayas’ division, but three other batteries were planted in the least defective emplacements that could be found in the front line. The rest of the Spanish guns were in reserve, in line with Bassecourt and the cavalry.

The northern half of the position had its strong points, but[p. 510] also its defects. For the first half mile beyond the Spanish left it was still covered by groves and gardens, and had on its right front the little eminence of the Pajar de Vergara. On this knoll a redoubt had been commenced, but no more had been done than to level a space, eighty yards long and twenty feet broad, on its summit, and to throw up the excavated earth in front, thus forming a bank three or four feet high. In this work, indifferently well protected, lay Lawson’s battery of 3-pounders, the lightest guns of Wellesley’s artillery. Beside and behind them were the five battalions of the 4th division, Campbell’s brigade in the front line, Kemmis’s in the second, to the rear of the Porti?a.

On the left of the 4th division the enclosed ground ended, and cover ceased. Here, forming the British centre, were drawn up the eight battalions of Sherbrooke’s division, in a single line. The Guards’ brigade, under Henry Campbell, was in perfectly flat level ground, without shade or cover. Next to them, where there is a gentle ascent towards the foot of the Cerro de Medellin, were Cameron’s two battalions; while the two weak brigades of the King’s German Legion, under Langwerth and Low, continued the front on to the actual hill, with the Porti?a, now flowing in a well-marked ravine, at their feet[638]. The whole of this part of the British line was bare rolling ground covered with long dry grass and scattered shrubs of thyme. There was no cover, and before the Guards’ and Cameron’s brigades the front was not defined by any strong natural feature. On the other hand, the terrain on the opposite side of the Porti?a was equally bare, and gave no advantage to an enemy about to attack.

It was otherwise in the portion of the front where the four German battalions of Langwerth and Low were placed. They had a steep ravine in front of them, but on the opposite side, as a compensating disadvantage, the rolling upland swells into a hill called the Cerro de Cascajal, which, though much less lofty than the Cerro de Medellin, yet afforded good artillery positions from which the English slopes could be battered.

[p. 511]

Behind Sherbrooke’s troops, as the second line of his centre, Wellesley had drawn up his 3rd division and all his cavalry. Cotton’s light dragoons were in the rear of Kemmis’s brigade of the 4th division. Mackenzie’s three battalions supported the Guards: then came Anson’s light and Fane’s heavy cavalry, massed on the rising slope in the rear of Cameron. Lastly Donkin’s brigade, which had suffered so severely in the combat of Casa de Salinas, lay high up the hill, directly in the rear of Low’s brigade of the King’s German Legion.

It only remains to speak of the British left, on the highest part of the Cerro de Medellin. This section of the front was entrusted to Hill’s division, which was already encamped upon its reverse slope. Here lay the strongest point of the position, for the hill is steep, and well covered in its front by the Porti?a, which now flows in a deep stony ravine. But it was also the part of the British fighting-ground which was most likely to be assailed, since a quick-eyed enemy could not help noting that it was the key of the whole—that if the upper levels of the Cerro de Medellin were lost, the rest of the allied line could not possibly be maintained. It was therefore the part of the position which would require the most careful watching, and Wellesley had told off to it his most capable and experienced divisional general. But by some miscalculation, on the evening of the twenty-seventh Hill’s two brigades were not lying on their destined battle-line, but had halted half a mile behind it—Richard Stewart’s battalions on the left, Tilson’s on the right flank of the reverse slope. It is difficult to see with whom the responsibility lay, for Wellesley was far to the right, engaged in planting Mackenzie’s troops in their new position behind the centre, while Hill had ridden over towards Talavera to search for his Commander-in-chief and question him about details, and returned rather late to give his brigadiers the exact instruction as to the line they were to take up at nightfall[639]. There[p. 512] were piquets on the crest, and the greater part of the front slopes were covered by Low’s two battalions of the King’s German Legion, but the actual summit of the Cerro was not occupied by any solid force, though the brigades that were intended to hold it lay only 800 yards to the rear. It was supposed that they would have ample time to take up their ground in the morning, and no one dreamt of the possibility of a night attack.

Of the very small force of artillery which accompanied the British army, we have already seen that Lawson’s light 3-pounder battery had been placed in the Pajar de Vergara entrenchment. Elliott’s and Heyse’s were in the centre of the line; the former placed in front of the Guards, the latter before Langwerth’s brigade of the German Legion. Rettberg’s heavy 6-pounders were on the Cerro de Medellin, with Hill’s division: at dusk they had been brought back to its rear slope and were parked near Richard Stewart’s brigade. Finally Sillery’s battery was in reserve, between the two lines, somewhere behind Cameron’s brigade of Sherbrooke’s division. This single unit was the only artillery reserve of which Wellesley could dispose.

The precise number of British troops in line was 20,194, after deducting the losses at Casa de Salinas; that of the Spaniards was within a few hundreds of 32,000. The French, as we have already seen, had brought a little more than 46,000 men to the field, so that the allies had a superiority of some 6,000 in mere numbers. If Wellesley could have exchanged the Army of Estremadura for half their strength of British bayonets, he might have felt quite comfortable in his strong position. But his confidence in the value of his allies, even when firmly planted among walls and groves, was just about to receive a rude shock.

It was about seven o’clock when the heads of Victor’s columns,[p. 513] following in the wake of the horse artillery which had been galling Mackenzie’s retreat, emerged from the woods on to the rolling plateau facing the allied position. Ruffin appeared on the right, and occupied the Cascajal hill, opposite the Cerro de Medellin. Villatte followed, and halted in its rear. More to the left Lapisse, adopting the same line that had been taken by Mackenzie, halted in front of the British centre: the corps-cavalry, under Beaumont, was drawn up in support of him. Latour-Maubourg’s six regiments of dragoons, further to the south, took ground in front of the Spaniards. The King and Sebastiani were still far to the rear: their infantry was only just passing the Alberche, though their advanced cavalry under Merlin was already pushing forward in the direction of Talavera down the high-road from Madrid[640].

If Napoleon, or any other general who knew how to make himself obeyed, had been present with the French army, there would have been no fighting on the evening of July 27. But King Joseph counted for little in the eyes of his nominal subordinates, and hence it came to pass that the impetuous Victor took upon himself the responsibility of attacking the allies when only half the King’s army had come upon the field. With no more object, as it would seem, than that of harassing the enemy, he sent to the front the batteries belonging to Ruffin, Lapisse, and Latour-Maubourg, to join in the cannonade which his horse artillery had already begun. At the same time Merlin’s light horse pressed forward in the direction of Talavera, to feel for the front of the Spaniards, whose exact position was hidden by the olive groves. The British artillery replied, but no great harm was done to either side. Yet in the Spanish part of the line a dreadful disaster was on the point of occurring. When the artillery fire began, and the French light horse were seen advancing, the Estremaduran troops between Talavera and the Pajar de Vergara delivered a tremendous salvo of infantry fire along the whole line, though the enemy was too far off to take any damage. But, immediately after, four battalions of Portago’s division, which formed part of the left of Cuesta’s line and touched Campbell’s right, suddenly shouted ‘treason![p. 514]’ broke, and went off to the rear in complete disorder. Wellesley, who, as it chanced, was behind Campbell’s troops, and witnessed the whole rout, declared that he could conceive no reason for their behaviour except that they must have been frightened by the crash of their own tremendous volley[641]. Two of these four battalions were troops who had never been in action before: the other two had been badly cut up at Medellin, and brought up to strength by the incorporation of a great mass of recruits[642]. This might have excused a momentary misconduct, but not a prolonged rush to the rear when the enemy was still half a mile off, still less the casting away of their arms and the plundering of the British camp, through which the multitude fled. Cuesta sent cavalry to hunt them up, and succeeded in hounding back the majority to their ranks, but many hundreds were still missing on the following morning. They fled in small bands all down the valley of the Tagus, dispersing dismal information on all sides. It is sad to have to acknowledge that in their rush through the British camp they carried away with them some commissaries and a few of the baggage guard, who did not halt till they got to Oropesa, twenty miles from the field[643]. Strange to say, this panic had no appreciable ill effects: the[p. 515] French were not in a position to take advantage of it, having no troops, save a few light horse, in front of the spot where it occurred. The Spaniards to the right and rear of the absconding regiments did not flinch, and as the second line held firm, there was no actual gap produced in the allied position. But Wellesley noted the scene, and never forgot it: of all that he had witnessed during the campaign, this was the sight that struck him most, and most influenced his future conduct. Cuesta also took account of it in his own fashion, and at the end of the battle of the next day proposed to decimate in the old Roman fashion, the battalions that had fled! He actually chose by lot some 200 men from the fugitives, and after trying them by court-martial prepared to shoot them. His British colleague begged off the majority, but the old Captain-General insisted on executing some twenty-five or thirty who were duly put to death on the morning of the twenty-ninth[644].

After the panic had died down, Victor gradually withdrew his batteries[645], but it was with no intention of bringing the combat to a real termination. He had resolved to deliver a night attack on the key of the British position, when the whole of his corps should have reached the front. Having reconnoitred the allied lines, and noted the distribution of their defenders, he had determined to storm the Cerro de Medellin in the dark. During his long stay at Talavera he had acquired a very thorough knowledge of its environs, and understood the dominating importance of that height. If he could seize and hold it during the night, he saw that the battle of the next day would be already half won. Accordingly, still without obtaining King[p. 516] Joseph’s leave, he determined to assail the Cerro. He told off for the storm his choicest division, that of Ruffin, whose nine battalions were already ranged on the front of the Cascajal heights. At the same time Lapisse’s division was to distract the attention of the British centre by a noisy demonstration against its front.

Night attacks are proverbially hazardous and hard to conduct, and it cannot be disputed that Victor showed an excessive temerity in endeavouring to deliver such a blow at the steady British troops, at an hour when it was impossible to guarantee proper co-operation among the attacking columns. But for an initial stroke of luck he ought not to have secured even the small measure of success that fell to his lot.

At about nine o’clock, however, Ruffin moved down to the attack. Each of his three regiments was formed in battalion columns, the 9th Léger in the centre, the 96th on its left, the 24th on its right. The first-named regiment was to deliver a frontal attack, the other two to turn the flanks of the hill and attack over its side-slopes. At the appointed moment the three regiments descended simultaneously into the ravine of the Porti?a, and endeavoured to carry out their respective sections of the programme. The 9th, chancing on the place where the ravine was most easily negotiable, crossed it without much difficulty, and began to climb the opposite slope. On mounting half way to the crest, it suddenly came on Low’s brigade of the German Legion, lying down in line, with its pickets only a very small distance in advance of the main body. It is said that the brigadier was labouring under the delusion that some of Hill’s outposts were in his front, and that he was screened by them. It is at any rate clear that he was taken wholly unprepared by the midnight attack of the French. His sentries were trampled down in a moment, and the 9th Léger ran in upon the Germans, firing into them point blank and seizing many of them as prisoners almost ere they were awake. The 7th K. G. L. was completely broken, and lost 150 men—half of them prisoners—in five minutes. The 5th, the right-hand battalion of Low’s brigade, came off better, as it was not in the direct path of the French; but it was flung sideways along the southern slope of the hill, and could not be re-formed for[p. 517] some time. Meanwhile the three French columns, somewhat separated from each other in this first clash of arms, went straight on up the Cerro, and in a few minutes were nearing its crest. The two leading battalions actually reached and crowned it, without meeting with any opposition save from the outlying picket of Richard Stewart’s brigade. The third was not far behind, and it seemed almost certain that the position might be won. At this moment General Hill, who was occupied in drawing out his division on the rear slope, but had not yet conducted it to its fighting-ground, interfered in the fight. He had seen and heard the sudden outbreak of musketry on the frontal slopes, as the French broke through Low’s brigade. But when it died down, he was far from imagining that the cause was the complete success of the enemy. Nevertheless, he directed his nearest brigade, that of Richard Stewart, to prepare to support the Germans if necessary. He was issuing his orders to the colonel of the 48th, when he observed some men on the hill top fire a few shots in his direction. ‘Not having an idea,’ he writes, ‘that the enemy were so near, I said to myself that I was sure it was the old Buffs, as usual, making some blunder.’ Accordingly he galloped up the hill, with his brigade-major Fordyce, shouting to the men to cease firing. He rode right in among the French before he realized his mistake, and a voltigeur seized him by the arm and bade him surrender. Hill spurred his horse, which sprang forward and got clear of the Frenchman, who lost his hold but immediately raised his musket and fired at three paces’ distance, missing the General but hitting his charger. Hill escaped in the midst of a scattering volley, which killed his companion Fordyce, and got back as fast as he could to Richard Stewart’s brigade. Without delaying for a moment, even to change his wounded horse, he led on the nearest regiments to recover the hill top. So great was the confusion, owing to the sudden attack in the dark, that Stewart’s men moved forward, not in their proper order, but with the 1st Battalion of Detachments on the right, the 29th in the centre, and the 1/48 on the left. This arrangement brought the first-named unit first into touch with the enemy. The Detachments came into immediate collision with the leading battalions of the French, who were now somewhat in disorder, and trying to[p. 518] re-form on the ground they had won. The two forces opened a furious fire upon each other, and both came to a standstill[646]. But Hill, coming up a moment later at the head of his centre regiment, cleared the hill top by a desperate charge: passing through the Detachments, the 29th delivered a volley at point-blank range and closed. The enemy broke and fled down the slope that they had ascended. The 29th wheeled into line and followed them, pouring in regular volleys at short intervals. But before they had gone far, they became dimly conscious of another column to their left, pushing up the hill in the darkness. This was the rear battalion of the 9th Léger, which had fallen somewhat behind its fellows. It was moving up diagonally across the front of the British regiment, with drums beating and loud shouts of vive l’Empereur. Taken in flank by the fire of the right companies of the 29th, it could make no effective resistance, and ere long broke and rolled back in disorder into the bed of the Porti?a, where it met with the wrecks of the rest of the regiment, and retired in company with them up the slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal.

The remainder of Ruffin’s division took little or no part in the fighting. The three battalions of the 24th, which ought to have mounted the hill on the right, lost their way in the darkness and wandered up the valley between the Cerro de Medellin and the northern mountains: they never came into action. The 96th, on the left of the attack, chanced upon a part of the Porti?a ravine which was very precipitous: they found it difficult to descend, were very late in reaching the other side, and then fell into a futile bickering fight with the 5th and 2nd battalions of the King’s German Legion, which terminated—with small damage to either party—when the main attack in the centre was seen to have failed.

The loss of the French in this night battle was about 300 men, almost all in the 9th Léger. It included sixty-five prisoners, among whom was the colonel of the regiment, who[p. 519] was left on the ground desperately wounded. The British casualties were somewhat heavier, entirely owing to the disaster to the 5th and 7th battalions of the K. G. L., which suffered when surprised, a loss of 188 men, eighty-seven of whom were made captives. Richard Stewart’s brigade, which bore the brunt of the fighting and decided the affair, had only 125 killed and wounded[647].

Thus ended, in well-deserved failure, Victor’s night attack, of which it may suffice to say that even its initial success was only due to the gross carelessness of Low’s brigade in failing to cover their front with a proper screen of outlying pickets. To attack in the dark across rugged and difficult ground was to court disaster. The wonder is not that two-thirds of the division went astray, but that the other third almost succeeded in the hazardous enterprise to which it was committed. Great credit is due to the 9th Léger for all that it did, and no blame whatever rests upon the regiment for its ultimate failure. The Marshal must take all the responsibility.

The wrecks of the French attacking columns having rolled back beyond the ravine, and the flanking regiments having abandoned their futile demonstrations, the Cerro de Medellin was once more safe. The troops occupying it were rearranged, as far as was possible, in the dark. The front line on its left and highest part was now formed by Richard Stewart’s brigade, ranged, not in its proper order of seniority, but with the 29th on the left, the 1st Battalion of Detachments in the centre, and the 1/48 on the right. Tilson’s brigade, the other half of Hill’s division, was to the south of Stewart, continuing his line along the crest. Low’s battalions of the King’s German Legion were drawn off somewhat to the right, closing in towards Langwerth’s brigade, so as to leave the central slopes of the Cerro de Medellin entirely to Hill’s men. Donkin’s brigade of Mackenzie’s division lay close behind them. After the warning that had been given by Victor’s first assault, the greatest care was[p. 520] taken to make a second surprise impossible. Stewart’s and Low’s brigades threw forward their pickets to the brink of the Porti?a ravine, so close to the enemy that all night they could hear the Qui vive of the sentries challenging the visiting rounds, only two or three hundred yards above them. On several occasions the outposts opened fire on each other, and the word ‘stand to your arms,’ ran along the whole line. In front of Sherbrooke’s division, about midnight, there was a false alarm, which led to a whole brigade delivering a volley at an imaginary column of assault, while their own pickets were still out in front, with the result that two officers and several men were killed or wounded[648]. A similar outbreak of fire, lasting for several minutes, ran along the front of the Spanish lines an hour later. It seems to have been caused by French foragers, in search of fuel, blundering against the Estremaduran pickets on the edge of the olive groves.

Altogether the night was not a peaceful one, and the troops were much harassed by the perpetual and unnecessary calls to stand to their arms. Many of them got little sleep, and several British diarists have left interesting impressions on record of their long vigil. There was much to keep them awake: not only the repeated blaze of fire running along parts of the allied line, but the constant signs of movement on the French side of the Porti?a. Some time after midnight long lines of torches were seen advancing across and to the right of the Cerro de Cascajal; these were markers with flambeaux, sent out to fix the points on which Victor’s artillery were to take up their positions, as was soon shown by the rattling of gun-carriages, the noise of wheels, and the cracking of whips, which were plainly heard in the intervals of stillness, when the hostile pickets ceased their bickering musketry fire. The French were pushing up their guns into the very front of their line, and when the dawn began to break they were visible only 600 or 800 yards away from the British lines. A few deserters came over during the night, mainly from Leval’s German division; all agreed that the enemy was about to deliver a second attack in the early morning.

[p. 521]

The dawn was an anxious moment: with the growing light it was possible to make out broad black patches dotting the whole of the rolling ground in front of the British army. Every instant rendered them more visible, and soon they took shape as French regiments in battalion columns, ranged on a front of nearly two miles, from the right end of the Cerro de Cascajal to the edge of the woods facing the Pajar de Vergara. The object which drew most attention was an immense solid column at the extreme right of the hostile line, on the lower slopes above the Porti?a, with a thick screen of tirailleurs already thrown out in its front, and evidently ready to advance at the word of command. The other divisions lay further back: in front of them artillery was everywhere visible: there were four batteries on the midslope of the Cascajal hill, and six more on the rolling ground to the south. In the far distance, behind the infantry, were long lines of cavalry dressed in all the colours of the rainbow—fifteen or sixteen regiments could be counted—and far to the rear of them more black masses were slowly rolling into view. It was easily to be seen that little or nothing lay in front of the Spaniards, and that at least five-sixths of the French army was disposed for an attack on the British front. There were 40,000 men visible, ready for the advance against the 20,000 sabres and bayonets of Wellesley’s long red line[649].

An attack was imminent, yet there were many things which might have induced the French generals to hold back. Was it worth while to assail the allies in the admirable position which they now held, when it was possible to drive them out of it without risking a battle? Orders had been sent to Soult, six days before, to bid him fall on Wellesley’s communications by way of Plasencia. It was believed that he must have started ere now, and that the news of his approach would reach the enemy within the next forty-eight hours. This intelligence would compel them to go behind the Tagus, and to abandon the Talavera position. Both Jourdan and King Joseph were doubtful of the policy of risking a general action. But the initiative was taken out of their hands by Victor. He had already placed his corps so close to the British lines that it would have been[p. 522] hard to withdraw it without an engagement. He had also, during the night, sent a dispatch to the King, stating that he should storm the Cerro de Medellin at dawn unless he received counter-orders. He appeared so confident of success that Joseph and his adviser Jourdan did not venture to bid him desist. They were, as the latter confessed, largely influenced by the knowledge that if they refused, Victor would delate them to the Emperor for culpable timidity in letting the British army escape[650].

The Duke of Belluno was still persisting in his idea that it might be possible to seize the key of Wellesley’s position by a partial attack, without engaging the rest of his corps till it had already been won. Accordingly he gave orders to his subordinates Lapisse and Villatte that they were not to move till Ruffin, with the first division, should have gained the Cerro de Medellin. In a similar way the King made the advance of the 4th Corps conditional on the preliminary success of Victor’s right. This seems to have been bad policy, as it left Wellesley free to devote the whole of his attention to the point where the first attack was to be delivered. It was clear that the threatening column on the lower slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal would start the game. Victor had drawn up his troops in the following order. Ruffin on the extreme left, and considerably in advance, was to attack the Cerro on its north-eastern and eastern fronts. Behind him on the summit of the Cascajal hill, were Villatte’s twelve battalions, and in rear of all the two regiments of Beaumont, the Marshal’s corps-cavalry. To Villatte’s left, but on lower ground opposite Sherbrooke’s line, lay Lapisse’s division, with Latour-Maubourg’s six regiments of dragoons in support. This completed the array of the 1st Corps: on their left stood Sebastiani and his 4th Corps, facing the Guards, Campbell, and the northernmost battalions of the Spanish army, opposite[p. 523] the Pajar de Vergara. Sebastiani’s French division was on his right, his German division on his left, while the stray Polish brigade (the only part of Valence’s division that was on the field) supported the Germans. In second line was Merlin’s light horse, while Milhaud’s six regiments of dragoons lay out on the extreme left, observing the town of Talavera. King Joseph and his reserve—the Guards and the brigade of Dessolles—were far to the rear, just outside the woods round the Casa de Salinas.

At about five in the morning the watchers on the Cerro de Medellin saw the smoke of a gun curl up into the air from the central battery in front of Villatte’s division. The ensuing report was the signal for the whole of Victor’s artillery to open, and twenty-four guns spoke at once from the Cascajal heights, and thirty more from the lower ground to their right. The cannonade was tremendous, and the reply wholly inadequate, as Wellesley could only put four batteries in line, Rettberg’s on the summit of the Cerro, Sillery’s from the lower slope near Donkin’s position, and those of Heyse and Elliott from the front of Sherbrooke’s division. The French fire was both accurate and effective, ‘they served their guns in an infinitely better style than at Vimiero: their shells were thrown with precision, and did considerable execution[651].’ Wellesley, who stood in rear of Hill’s line on the commanding height, at once ordered Richard Stewart’s and Tilson’s brigades to go back from the sky-line, and to lie down. But no such device was practicable in Sherbrooke’s division, where the formation of the ground presented no possibility of cover, and here much damage was done. After a few minutes the English position was obscured, for the damp of the morning air prevented the smoke from rising, and a strong east wind blew it across the Porti?a, and drove it along the slopes of the Cerro[652]. So thick was the atmosphere that the defenders heard rather than saw the start of Ruffin’s division on its advance, and only realized its near approach when they saw their own skirmishers retiring up the slope towards the main line. The light companies of Hill’s division came in so slowly and unwillingly, turning back often[p. 524] to fire, and keeping their order with the regularity of a field-day. The general, wishing to get his front clear, bade the bugles sound to bring them in more quickly, and as they filed to the rear in a leisurely way was heard to shout (it was one of the only two occasions on which he was known to swear), ‘D—n their filing, let them come in anyhow[653].’

When the light companies had fallen back, the French were at last visible through the smoke. They had mounted the lower slopes of the Cerro without any loss, covered by their artillery, which only ceased firing at this moment. They showed nine battalions, in three solid columns: Victor had arranged the divisions with the 24th in the centre, the 96th on the left, and the 9th Léger, which had suffered so severely in the night-battle, upon the right. This arrangement brought the last-named regiment opposite their old enemies of the 29th, and the Battalion of Detachments, while the 1/48th and 2/48th had to deal with the French centre, and the Buffs and 66th with their left. When Ruffin’s columns had got within a hundred yards of the sky-line, Hill bade his six battalions stand to their feet and advance. As they lined the crest they delivered a splendid volley, whose report was as sharp and precise as that of a field-day. The effect was of course murderous, as was always the case when line met column. The French had a marked superiority in numbers; they were nearly 5,000 strong, Hill’s two brigades had less than 4,000[654]. But there was the usual advantage that every British soldier could use his weapon, while the French, in column of divisions, had the normal mass of useless muskets in the rear ranks. The first volley brought them to a standstill—their whole front had gone down at the discharge—they lost the impetus of advance, halted, and kept up a furious fire for some minutes. But when it came to a standing fight of musketry, there was never a doubt in any Peninsular battle how the game would end. The French fire began ere long to slacken, the front of the columns shook and[p. 525] wavered. Just at this moment Sherbrooke, who had noted that the divisions in his own front showed no signs of closing, took the 5th battalion of the King’s German Legion out of his left brigade[655], and sent it against the flank and rear of Ruffin’s nearest regiment—the 96th of the line. When the noise of battle broke out in this new quarter, the French lost heart and began to give ground. Richard Stewart, at the northern end of the British line, gave the signal to his brigade to charge, and—as a participator in this fray writes, ‘on we went, a wall of stout hearts and bristling steel. The enemy did not fancy such close quarters, and the moment our rush began they went to the right-about. The principal portion broke and fled, though some brave fellows occasionally faced about and gave us an irregular fire.’ Nothing, however, could stop Hill’s division, and the whole six battalions rushed like a torrent down the slope, bayonetting and sweeping back the enemy to the line of black and muddy pools that marked the course of the Porti?a. Many of the pursuers even crossed the ravine and chased the flying French divisions right into the arms of Villatte’s troops, on the Cascajal hill. When these reserves opened fire, Hill’s men re-formed on the lower slope of the Cerro, and retired to their old position without being seriously molested, for Victor made no counter-attack.

Ruffin’s three regiments had been terribly punished: they had lost, in forty minutes’ fighting, 1,300 killed and wounded, much more than a fourth of their strength. Hill’s brigades had about 750 casualties[656], including their gallant leader, who received a wound in the head, and had to go to the rear, leaving the command of his division to Tilson. The loss of the German battalion which had struck in upon the French rear was insignificant, as the enemy never stood to meet it.

[p. 526]

Thus was Victor’s second attempt to storm the Cerro de Medellin rebuked. It was a rash and unscientific operation, and received a merited chastisement. The Marshal should have sent in all his corps, and attacked the whole British line, if he wished to give his men a fair chance. He obviously underrated the troops with which he had to deal—he had never seen them before the combat of Casa de Salinas on the previous day—and had no conception of the power of the line against the column. Even now baffled rage seems to have been his main feeling, and his only desire was to make the attempt again with larger forces.

The whole engagement had taken about an hour and a half, and the morning was still young when the Marshal re-formed his line, and reported his ill-success to the King. After the cannonade died down he bade his men take their morning meal, and the British on the Cerro could see the whole 1st Corps turn to cooking, behind their strong line of pickets. A sort of informal armistice was established in a short time; both parties wished to use the stagnant water of the Porti?a, and after a little signalling hundreds of men came down with their canteens from either side, and filled them with the muddy fluid. In spite of the heavy fighting which had just ended, all parties agree that a very friendly spirit was shown. The men conversed as best they could, and were even seen to shake hands across the pools. Many of the officers came down a little later, and after a short colloquy agreed that either party might take off its wounded without molestation. As there were hundreds of French lying on the west bank of the Porti?a, and a good many English on its further side, there was a complete confusion of uniforms as the bearers passed and repassed each other at the bottom of the ravine. But no difficulties of any sort arose, and for more than two hours the two parties were completely mixed. This was the first example of that amicable spirit which reigned between the hostile armies all through the war, and which in its later years developed into that curious code of signals (often described by contemporaries), by which French and English gave each other notice whenever serious work was intended, refraining on all other occasions from unnecessary outpost bickering or sentry-shooting.

SECTION XVI: CHAPTER VII
THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA: THE MAIN ENGAGEMENT
(JULY 28)

The informal armistice which had followed the combat of the early morning had drawn to an end, when at about 10 o’clock the British observers on the Cerro de Medellin saw a large and brilliant staff riding along the French line from right to left. It finally halted, and took post on the most commanding point of the Cascajal heights. This was the entourage of King Joseph and Marshal Jourdan, who had determined to make a careful examination of the allied lines before committing themselves to any further action. When they halted on the summit of the hill, from which the best general view was obtainable, Victor came to meet them, and a council of war was held.

It soon developed into a lengthy and animated dispute; lasting for more than an hour. Jourdan was of opinion that, considering the strength of the hostile position, and the decisive way in which the 1st Corps had been repulsed, it would be unwise to proceed with another attack. He pointed out that Wellesley would now be perfectly aware that his left was the point which must be assailed, and that movements visible behind the British line showed that it was already being reinforced. The only good move now available was to endeavour to turn the Cerro by the little valley to its north-east, which separates it from the Sierra de Segurilla: but it was clear that the enemy realized this as well as themselves. A considerable body of cavalry was already appearing at its southern end. If the Duke of Belluno, instead of delivering two frontal assaults, had been prudent enough to push men down this valley under cover of the darkness, so as to have a lateral attack ready at dawn, something might have been done. But now the imperial troops would have to win the valley by hard fighting, before they could[p. 528] use it as a starting-point for the assault on the hill. If a general attack were delivered, and the army were once more repulsed, it risked its line of communication and its retreat on Madrid. For the whole Spanish host might come out of the woods and fall upon its flank, while it was engaged with the British, and in that case the Madrid road would be cut, and the King would have to retreat on Avila, sacrificing his capital and his arsenals. On the whole Jourdan held that it would be wise and prudent to assume a defensive posture, and either to hold the present position or to retire to the more favourable ground behind the Alberche, four miles to the rear. In a few days the enemy would hear of Soult’s operations upon their line of communication, and would be forced to break up and retire.

Very different, as might have been expected, were Victor’s views. He declared that the British position was far from impregnable, and that the prestige of the French army would be destroyed if it retired, after two partial checks, from in front of an enemy who had not been seriously attacked. The only fault in the preceding operations had been that the whole army had not joined in, at the moment when the Cerro had been stormed. If the King would undertake to use the 4th Corps against the allied centre, he pledged himself to break their right with his own three divisions of infantry. He would not only assail the Cerro from in front, but would turn it from both flanks. If such an attack did not succeed il faudrait renoncer à faire la guerre. This phrase he dinned into Joseph’s and Jourdan’s ears so repeatedly that they both saved it up for future use, and taunted him with it in the acrimonious correspondence which followed the battle.

King Joseph would have preferred to follow Jourdan’s cautious plan, and to hold back. Sebastiani, whose opinion he asked, agreed with him. But both seem to have been terrorized by the Marshal’s stormy tirades, and still more by the thought of what the Emperor would say, if he heard that battle had been refused, contrary to Victor’s advice. The ultimate decision was still in the balance, when two pieces of news were received: the first was a dispatch from General Valence, the Governor of Toledo, to effect that the army of Venegas, whose position had hitherto been unknown—for nothing had been heard of him[p. 529] since Sebastiani had escaped from his front—had at last come on the scene. His advanced guard had presented itself before the bridges of Toledo, and was already skirmishing there. The second item of intelligence was a dispatch from Soult, acknowledging the receipt of the orders which had been sent to him upon the twenty-second, and stating his intention of carrying them out at the earliest possible moment. But he complained that the promised train of artillery had not yet reached the 2nd Corps, and declared that he could not move till it had come to hand, and till he had brought down the 6th Corps from Astorga. He was therefore of opinion that he could not possibly reach Plasencia till August 3, perhaps not till two days later.

This news was decisive: it was now clear that the Duke of Dalmatia would not be able to bring pressure to bear upon the rear of the allies for some six or seven days. Meanwhile Venegas was within two marches of Madrid, and had nothing in front of him save the four Polish battalions at Toledo. If the King refused to fight, and took up a defensive position on the Alberche, he would have to detach 15,000 men to hold back the army of La Mancha from the capital. This would leave him with only 30,000 men to resist Wellesley and Cuesta, and it was clear that such a force would be overmatched by the allies. If he kept a larger number in their front, Venegas would be able to capture Madrid, the thing of all others which Joseph was resolved to prevent. Accordingly the King and Jourdan reluctantly fell in with Victor’s plans, and consented to fight in the afternoon. If they defeated the British and the Estremadurans on the twenty-eighth, the army of La Mancha could easily be disposed of upon the twenty-ninth or thirtieth.

This decision once made, it only remained to settle the details of the attack. The King determined to assail the British centre and right with the infantry of Sebastiani’s corps—twenty-three battalions in all, or some 14,000 men. Victor with the three infantry divisions of the 1st Corps—thirty-three battalions, still over 16,000 strong in spite of their losses—undertook to fall upon the English left, to storm the Cerro de Medellin and also to turn it on its northern side, so as to envelop Wellesley’s flank. The Spaniards were to be left alone behind their walls and orchards—only Milhaud’s dragoons were told off to watch[p. 530] the exits from Talavera. Of the rest of the cavalry a few could be utilized in Victor’s turning movement in the valley below the Sierra de Segurilla: but the main body—all Beaumont’s and Latour-Maubourg’s eight regiments—were ranged in a second line, to act as a reserve for the frontal attack of the infantry, and to aid it if it were checked. The King’s Guards and the brigade of Dessolles were to be kept back, and only utilized to clinch the victory or to retrieve a repulse.

The 30,000 men who were to deliver the grand assault on the allied position were drawn up as follows. Leval’s Germans advanced on the left, taking as their objective the battery on the Pajar de Vergara. They faced Campbell’s British division, and slightly overlapped it, so as to cover the three or four battalions on the extreme northern wing of Cuesta’s line. In their rear as supports followed the two Polish battalions from Valence’s division. On Leval’s right, Sebastiani’s four French regiments continued the line: this was the strongest division on the field and counted over 8,000 bayonets. It faced the Guards and the right battalion of Cameron’s brigade. Here ended the troops of the 4th Corps: beyond them Victor’s 2nd division, that of Lapisse, was about to assail the German Legion and Cameron’s left-hand regiment, the 83rd. Still further north Villatte’s division lay opposite the steepest slopes of the Cerro de Medellin. This position looked more formidable in the eyes of the Duke of Belluno since he had seen his first two assaults upon it fail. It was now heavily manned: Tilson’s, Richard Stewart’s, and Donkin’s brigades were all visible upon its crest. After some hesitation the Marshal resolved to leave it alone for the present, and not to attack it till some impression should have been made upon other parts of Wellesley’s line. Accordingly he left in front of it only Villatte’s second brigade—the six battalions of the 94th and 95th regiments. The other brigade—the 27th and 63rd—was directed to join in the flanking movement to the north of the Cerro, which was to encompass Wellesley’s extreme left. But the main force told off for this advance consisted of the much-tried remnants of Ruffin’s division, now not more than 3,700 strong. The employment of these troops for such a critical operation seems to have been a mistake—they had already received two bloody checks, and had[p. 531] lost more than a third of their officers and 1,500 men in the late fighting. Though good regiments, they could now be considered as little more than ‘a spent force.’ This fact sufficiently explains the feebleness of the French advance upon this part of the field during the afternoon hours.

Behind the French infantry of the 4th and 1st Corps were deployed no less than twelve regiments of horse: Latour-Maubourg’s three brigades of dragoons were drawn up in the rear of Lapisse and Sebastiani: Beaumont supported Villatte, and lastly the four regiments of Merlin’s (late Lasalle’s) division followed Ruffin in his turning movement. Far to the rear Dessolles and Joseph’s Guards took up a position facing the British centre, from which they could support the right or the left of their own front line as might be necessary.

The drawing up of this line of battle took time, and while the French were shifting their positions and establishing their new front, Wellesley had ample leisure to provide against the oncoming storm. He had established himself upon the crest of the Cerro, and from thence could overlook every movement of the enemy. Of the new dispositions the only one which struck him as likely to cause trouble was the extension of Ruffin and Villatte to the northward. It was clear that they were intending to advance up the valley that separates the Sierra de Segurilla from the Cerro de Medellin, in order to take the hill in the flank, and assail the 2nd Division from the side. It was therefore necessary to make arrangements for checking this man?uvre. Wellesley’s first order was that Fane’s and Anson’s cavalry should move round the back of the Cerro, and take up new ground at the head of the valley. From this position they would be able to charge in the flank any force that might push up the trough of the depression, in order to get behind Hill’s line. He also withdrew half Rettberg’s battery from the front of the height, and placed it on a projecting lateral spur from which it could enfilade the valley. Nor were these his only precautions; he sent a hasty message to Cuesta, pointing out that the greater part of the Spanish line was not threatened, and asking if he could spare reinforcements for the left wing. The Spanish general behaved in a more liberal fashion than might have been expected from his previous conduct. He con[p. 532]sented to lend Wellesley his reserve division, that of Bassecourt, about 5,000 strong, and also put at his disposition a battery of twelve-pounders, heavier guns than any which the British army possessed. The French were so slow in moving that there was ample time, before the battle grew hot, to send Bassecourt’s division round the rear of the British line, and to place it on the lower slopes of the Sierra de Segurilla, so as to continue to the northward the front formed by the British cavalry. Of the Spanish guns placed at Wellesley’s disposition, four were put into the Pajar de Vergara redoubt, by the side of Lawson’s battery: the other two accompanied Bassecourt’s infantry, and were placed on the northern spur of the Cerro de Medellin, near Rettberg’s six-pounders. Somewhat later the Duke of Albuquerque brought round the whole of his cavalry division—six regiments and a horse-artillery battery—to the same quarter, and drew them up in two lines to the rear of Anson’s and Fane’s brigades. But before he arrived the battle had already begun.

When the whole of the French infantry was ready, at about two o’clock in the afternoon, the King gave orders for the artillery to open, and eighty guns of the 1st and 4th Corps began to play upon the British line. In some places the troops were only some 600 yards from the enemy’s batteries, and the loss in many regiments was very appreciable before a single musket had been fired. Only thirty British and six Spanish pieces could reply: they were overwhelmed from the first by the superior number of the French guns. It was therefore with joy that Wellesley’s infantry saw that the artillery engagement was not to last for long. All along the hostile line the battalion-columns of Ruffin, Lapisse, Sebastiani, and Leval were moving up to the attack, and when they reached the front, and threw out their screen of tirailleurs, the guns grew silent. Only from the Cerro de Cascajal, where Villatte was hanging back in obedience to Victor’s orders, did the cannonade against Hill’s brigades continue.

The first troops to come into collision with the allies were Leval’s Germans, upon the extreme left of the French line. This, it is said, was contrary to the King’s orders; he had intended to hold this division somewhat back, as it was in[p. 533] danger of being outflanked by the Spaniards if it made a premature advance[657]. But Leval had a tangled terrain of vines and olive groves in his front: when once he had entered it he lost sight of the troops on his right, and fearing to be late on account of the obstacles in his front, committed the opposite fault. He came rushing in upon Campbell’s outpost line half an hour before the other divisions had closed with the British centre, the time being then 2.30 in the afternoon.

The nine battalions of the German division were arrayed in a single line of battalion columns[658], with a thick screen of tirailleurs in their front. But their order had been so much broken up by the walls and thickets that the 4,500 bayonets appeared to the British like one confused mass of skirmishers. They came on fast and furiously, chasing the pickets of the 7th and 53rd before them, till they emerged into the comparatively open ground in front of the Pajar de Vergara[659]. Here the[p. 534] defence was standing ready for them: Campbell had brought up one battalion of his rear brigade into his front line, so that the 40th, as well as the 53rd and 7th, were facing the attack. On his right lay the redoubt with its ten guns: further to the south the two left-hand units of the French division were opposed to troops of Cuesta’s army. Hence it came that while the Nassau and Dutch regiments faced the British infantry, the Baden regiment was in front of the guns, while the Hessians and the Frankfort battalion had to do with the Spaniards.

When the Germans surged out from among the olive groves into the comparatively open ground in front of the Pajar de Vergara, the musketry opened along both lines at a distance of about 200 yards, the assailants delivering a rolling fire, while the defenders of the position answered with regular battalion volleys. Several times Leval’s men advanced a few score paces, and the distance between the two divisions was growing gradually less. But the attacking force was evidently suffering more than the allies: in the centre especially, where the ten guns of the redoubt were firing canister into the disordered mass, the casualties of the Baden battalions were terrible: they could not bear up against the blasts of mitraille, and after their colonel, von Porbeck, had fallen, they broke and began to recoil. Seeing part of the enemy’s line falling into disorder, General Campbell ordered his front line to charge. Then Colonel Myers of the 7th, seizing the King’s colour of his regiment, ran out in front of the line and calling ‘Come on, Fusiliers,’ led the advance[660]. His own battalion, the 40th and the 53rd, at once closed with the Nassau and Dutch regiments, who shrank back into the thickets and melted away from the front. The victors pursued them for some distance, capturing in their onward career a whole battery of six guns, which was being brought forward to reply to the artillery of the redoubt, but had failed to reach the clearing before the line in front of them gave way. The three battalions on Leval’s extreme left, which had the Spaniards in front of them, had been exchanging volleys with their opponents without notable advantage on[p. 535] either side, when the rest of the division broke. When their companions retired they also were forced to draw back, in order to prevent themselves from being turned on both flanks. Campbell was cautious enough to stop his men before they had gone far forward among the thickets, and brought them back to their old position: he spiked the guns that he had taken, and left them in the clearing in front of the redoubt. His losses had been very small, owing to his admirable self-restraint in calling back his charging regiments before they got out of hand.

Leval therefore was able to rally his division at leisure, upon the two Polish battalions which formed its supports. He had lost in the three-quarters of an hour during which he was engaged some six or seven hundred men. The battle was raging by now all down the line, and when the Germans were re-formed, they received orders to advance for a second time, to cover the flank of Sebastiani’s division, now hotly engaged with Sherbrooke’s right brigades. Neglecting chronological considerations, in order to finish the narrative of the action in this quarter, it may suffice to say that Leval’s second attack was made at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon: it was not delivered with so much energy as had been shown in his first. It encountered the same obstacles, and could not surmount them. Once more the advance rolled up through the olive groves, and reached the clearing in front of the battery. Again the head of the attacking masses withered away under the musketry fire and the salvos from the English and Spanish guns, and the whole finally went to the rear in disorder. Campbell, in repelling this attack, used his second brigade as well as his first, and pushed the enemy further back than he had done during the earlier fighting: the Spaniards also came out of their line and continued to flank the retreating enemy with two or three battalions and a half-battery[661]. As the Hessians and Frankforters in their front began to give way, they were assailed[p. 536] by one of Henestrosa’s cavalry regiments, the Regimiento del Rey, which charged with great spirit, and cut up many men before they could form square. The bulk of the two battalions, however, clubbed together in a mass and retired into the woods, defending themselves as best they could. The victorious Spanish horsemen while following them, came upon a second French battery which (like that captured by the British brigade on their left) was being brought forward by a narrow lane between two olive groves. They cut down the gunners and took four pieces, which were dragged back into the redoubt. This was by far the best piece of work done by Spanish cavalry during the whole of the first years of the war, and did much to atone for the panic of the previous night in the eyes of the British observers upon the right wing.

The repulse of Leval’s division was complete, and its wrecks, once more rallied upon the two Polish battalions in their rear, drew back into the plain, and were completely put out of action. In this attack they lost not only the four guns taken by the Spaniards, but seven more pieces of artillery. Convinced that he could not carry the Pajar de Vergara position unless he could bring guns to bear upon the redoubt, and check the ravages of its salvos of canister, Leval had tried to push his remaining two batteries into the firing line. Again, as in the first attack, they were left helpless when the infantry broke, and became the prey of the pursuers. It would seem that he lost on this day seventeen guns in all[662]. The total of the[p. 537] casualties in his division were 1,007, nearly a quarter of its force: the colonels of the Baden and Frankfort regiments and the major commanding the Dutch battery had been left on the[p. 538] field[663]. Campbell had suffered on a very different scale—he had only lost 236 men, and it is improbable that the Spaniards on his right had more than 150 or 180 casualties, since they only fought with one wing of the attacking force. Wellesley, not without reason, gave the highest praise in his dispatch to Campbell, for the admirable and cautious defence which he had made. The management of the 4th Division, indeed, contrasted strongly with that of the troops to its left, where Sherbrooke’s brigades—as we shall see—risked the loss of the battle by their rash pursuit of the enemy, far beyond the limits of the position which had been given them to defend.

We must now turn to their doings—the most desperate fighting that occurred during the day. Sherbrooke’s eight battalions had to endure the preliminary cannonade for more than half an hour after Campbell’s men were closely engaged with the enemy. It was not till three o’clock that the two French divisions opposed to them began to descend towards the Porti?a, in an orderly and imposing array. Each of the French generals had drawn up his twelve battalions in two lines—the front line deployed in column of divisions, the supporting line in solid column of battalions. But there was this difference in their arrangements, that Lapisse had placed his brigades one behind the other, while Sebastiani had preferred to work his brigades side by side, each with one regiment in first and one in second line. The former therefore had Laplannes’ brigade (16th Léger and 45th Line) opposed to Low’s and Langwerth’s regiments of[p. 539] the German Legion and Cameron’s 2/83rd. The latter had the 28th of Rey’s and the 58th of Liger-Bellair’s brigades ranged over against the 1/61st and the British Foot-Guards. When the cannonade of the French batteries ceased, the twelve battalions of their first line, preceded by the usual swarm of tirailleurs, moved down toward the Porti?a. They crossed the brook and pressed on towards the red line that stood awaiting their approach, driving before them with ease the comparatively insignificant screen of light troops that lay in front of the British centre. Sherbrooke, who was responsible for the whole line of the defence, since his division exactly covered the ground on which the French attack was delivered, had issued orders that the troops were not to fire till the enemy came within fifty yards of them, and that they were then to deliver a single volley and charge. This programme was executed with precise obedience: though suffering severely from the enemy’s musketry, the division held in its fire till the hostile columns were close upon them, and then opened with one tremendous discharge which crashed out simultaneously along the whole eight battalions. The leading ranks of Lapisse’s and Sebastiani’s front line went down in swathes,—one French witness says that the infantry of the regiments of the 4th Corps lost a third of their numbers in less than ten minutes. When the charge which Sherbrooke had ordered followed close upon the blasting musketry fire, the enemy retired in disorder and fell back beyond the Porti?a.

The divisional general had apparently forgotten to caution his colonels against the danger of carrying their advance too far. Instead of contenting themselves with chasing the broken enemy as far as the brook, and then returning to their positions, the four brigades of the 1st division all crossed the water and pursued the French into their own ground; the German Legion on the left actually began to push them up the lower slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal, while the Guards on the right went forward far into the rolling plain in front of them. Cameron halted his two battalions not far beyond the Porti?a; but on each side of him the pursuit was pressed with reckless energy, and without any remembrance of the fact that the enemy had strong reserves.

[p. 540]

Thus it came to pass that a disaster followed the first success of Sherbrooke’s division. Both the Germans on the left and the Guards on the right found themselves in face of intact troops, behind whom the broken front line of the enemy took refuge. They were in no condition to begin a new combat, for they were in complete disorder, and there was a broad gap on the inner flank of each brigade, owing to the fact that Cameron had halted and refused to push forward into danger. Hence came a perilous crisis: the French reserves moved forward, the guns on the Cascajal height enfiladed the German Legion, while two regiments of Latour-Maubourg’s dragoons moved in upon the right flank of the Guards. The whole of the six battalions that had joined in the reckless advance were forced to recoil, fighting desperately but losing ground every moment, and pressed into clumps and masses that presented no trace of their former line of battle. When they fell back to the point where Cameron had stopped, the 61st and 83rd became involved in their retreat, and were forced to repass the Porti?a in their company. The French followed with shouts of victory, pushing their advantage to the utmost and slaughtering the disordered battalions by hundreds. The disaster was worst on the left, where half the strength of the 2nd Line Battalion of the German Legion—387 men—was destroyed in twenty minutes, and the 5th battalion of that same corps lost over 100 prisoners. The Guards suffered almost as heavily: out of their 2,000 men 611 went down killed or wounded: but they left no prisoners behind.

It seemed that the day might well be lost, for Wellesley’s reserves were small. Such as they were, however, they were at once put into action. Mackenzie brought forward his brigade to the ground which the Guards had originally covered, and drew them up to withstand the rush of Sebastiani’s division—the 2/24th on the right, the 2/31st on the left, with the 1/45th between them. The disordered household troops passed through their intervals, and rallied behind them with splendid promptness: ‘their good humour and determination after such dreadful losses’ says an eye-witness, ‘was shown by their giving a loud hurrah as they took up their new ground[664].’ At the same time Cotton brought up the single brigade of light cavalry which[p. 541] was in reserve, and drew them up on Mackenzie’s right, so as to cover his flank. Sebastiani came up with great boldness against the fresh front thus presented to him, and for twenty minutes there was a furious musketry battle in the British right centre. Mackenzie himself fell, and his three battalions lost 632 men out of about 2,000: but they held their own, and finally the enemy recoiled. They were helped somewhat in their inclination to retreat by a charge of the Light Dragoons upon the flank of their left-hand regiment, the 75th, which had about 150 men sabred[665]. Thus on this point the battle was saved: the main credit must go to Mackenzie’s brigade, which has never received the praise that was its due, for its general was killed, and thus no report from the 3rd division was sent in to Wellesley, who omitted all mention of its doings in his Talavera dispatch[666]. It is never too late to do homage to forgotten valour, and to call attention to a neglected feat of arms. The services of the 24th, 31st, and 45th saved the day for Britain[667].

Sebastiani therefore drew back terribly mauled: his division had lost all its four colonels, seven of its twelve battalion-chiefs, seventy other officers and 2,100 rank and file—including some sixty prisoners. There was no more fight left in them. They recoiled into the plain, and drew up at last not far from the wrecks of Leval’s division, a full mile beyond the Porti?a.

Meanwhile, however great may have been the danger in the British right-centre, that in the left-centre was even greater. Cameron’s, Low’s, and Langwerth’s brigades were all in the most desperate position: the former, not having pushed so far to the front as the four German battalions, had suffered least of the three—though it had lost 500 men out of 1,400.[p. 542] But the Legionary troops were in far worse case—Langwerth had been killed, and his brigade was reduced from 1,300 to 650 bayonets—just fifty per cent. of the men had been lost. Low had gone into action with only 950 rank and file, owing to the heavy casualty-list of the preceding night. Of these he now lost 350, including 150 made prisoners in the disorderly retreat down the slope of the Cerro de Cascajal. That these troops ever rallied and made head at all, when they had recrossed the Porti?a, is much to their credit.

The situation was saved by Wellesley’s own prescience. The moment that he saw the rash attack on the French line to which Sherbrooke had committed himself, he looked round for supports which might be utilized to stay the inevitable reaction that must follow. Mackenzie’s brigade was available on the right-centre, and was used as we have seen. But there were no infantry reserves behind the left-centre: it was necessary to send down troops from the Cerro de Medellin. Villatte was then threatening its front, Ruffin was marching to turn its northern flank, and Wellesley did not dare to detach a whole brigade from the key of the position. He took, however, Richard Stewart’s strongest battalion, the 1/48th under Colonel Donnellan (which had still over 700 bayonets in line even after its losses in the morning) and sent it at full speed down the southern slope of the Cerro. It arrived in time to take position on the old ground of the British line, at the moment that the retreating masses came rolling back across the Porti?a. If the 48th had been carried away in the general backward movement, the day would have been lost: but the regiment stood firm, and allowed Cameron’s and Langwerth’s troops to pass by its flanks and form up in its rear. While it was holding back Lapisse’s central advance, the defeated brigades rallied and re-formed with admirable celerity, and the battle was restored. Here, as further to the right, the fighting now resolved itself into a furious musketry-combat between enemies both of whom were now spent and weakened by their previous exertions[668]. In such[p. 543] a duel the line had always the advantage over the column in the end. The French, when once brought to a standstill by the 1/48th, lost their élan, and stood heaped together in disorderly masses, keeping up a rolling fire but gaining no ground. Howorth turned upon them the batteries on the Cerro de Medellin, which enfiladed their flank and added to their confusion. General Lapisse himself was killed at this moment, as he was trying to urge on his men to a final advance. It was probably, however, not his death—on which all the French accounts lay great stress—but rather the defeat of Sebastiani’s division on their immediate right which finally shook the morale of the French regiments, and induced them to move back, first at a slow pace, then in undisguised retreat. The shattered remnants of the German Legion and of the 1/48th, 1/61st, and 2/83rd were in no condition to follow. Seldom have two combatants so thoroughly mauled each other as had the twelve French and the seven allied battalions which fought in this part of the field. Of the 6,800 men of Lapisse’s division, the general, sixty-nine other officers, and 1,700 men were hors de combat. Of 4,300[669] British and German troops opposed to them almost exactly the same number had been lost—a general (Langwerth), seventy-seven officers, and 1,616 men. That the smaller force should ever have held its ground after losing more than a third of its number is almost miraculous. There was no such a victory as this during the whole war, save Albuera.

While the main stress of the battle had been rolling across the lower slopes, above the middle course of the Porti?a, matters[p. 544] had been comparatively quiet on the Cerro de Medellin. Victor, it will be remembered, had ordered that Villatte was to make no serious attack on the height until the divisions to his left had made some impression upon the British centre. But Lapisse and Sebastiani, in spite of their temporary successes, had never broken into Wellesley’s position. The assault on the Cerro therefore was never made, though a furious artillery fire was kept up against its garrison throughout the afternoon. The handful of British guns upon the crest could make no adequate reply: hence the three brigades of Tilson, Richard Stewart, and Donkin were suffering very serious losses from the long cannonade. Wellesley had made them shelter themselves, as far as was possible, behind the sky-line. Nevertheless the storm of shot and shell that beat upon the position was not without effect. In Donkin’s brigade no one, save the light companies skirmishing along the lower slopes, discharged a musket that afternoon, yet the casualties in its ranks were no less than 195[670]. Hill’s two brigades, though better covered, had still many killed and wounded. That the return-fire of the British artillery and skirmishers was not altogether ineffective is shown by the fact that the two regiments of Villatte’s second brigade, which held the opposite slope, lost 185 men, and even the squadrons of Beaumont in its rear had a few troopers disabled[671]. Nevertheless the fighting in this part of the field was not only indecisive but comparatively innocuous to both sides, when compared with the awful slaughter that was going on to their right.

It only remains to tell of the combat to the north of the Cerro, in the narrow valley that separated the British position from the Sierra de Segurilla. Here the engagement began at a much later hour than in the centre. All the observers on the hill speak of the first contest of Campbell and Leval as being concluded, and of that of Sherbrooke and Sebastiani as being at its height, before the French right wing began to move.

The French troops in this direction, it will be remembered,[p. 545] were the three regiments of Ruffin, now mere wrecks of their former selves, and the first brigade of Villatte’s division, that of Cassagne. The six battalions of the latter force were near the Cerro de Medellin, while Ruffin’s men stood further to the north, under the Sierra de Segurilla. In support of them both lay Merlin’s division of light cavalry.

At the moment when Victor had received permission to turn the flank of the Cerro, it had appeared that he would meet little opposition. But long ere the French were ready to advance, they had seen allied troops arriving in haste and taking up their position at the southern end of the valley. First Fane’s and Anson’s cavalry had drawn up on the level ground, then Bassecourt’s Spanish infantry had appeared on the rocky slopes of the Sierra, and had thrown out a long skirmishing line opposite Ruffin’s right. Lastly Albuquerque’s whole cavalry division had ridden round from the rear of the centre, and taken post behind Anson and Fane. There were now over 5,000 bayonets and 5,000 sabres in face of the French brigades.

It was clear that any attempt to storm the northern face of the Cerro would expose the troops that attempted it to a flank attack from the allied troops in the valley. It was this that made Ruffin and Villatte (who was present in person with Cassagne’s brigade) very chary of molesting Hill’s position. On the other hand if the French advanced up the valley to attack the cavalry at its southern end, they would expose themselves to a flanking fire from the guns on the Cerro and from Hill’s right-hand infantry brigade.

Nevertheless, when the roar of the invisible battle on the other side of the Cascajal height was at its loudest, the two French generals began a cautious advance towards the front. They at once came under a tiresome flanking artillery fire from the Cerro: half Rettberg’s battery of the German Legion had been placed on a spur from which it enfiladed Villatte’s nearest regiment. Two heavy Spanish twelve-pounders opened from another part of the slope[672], and Albuquerque had also placed[p. 546] his horse-artillery guns in a position from which they bore up the valley. The pieces that accompanied the French advance, being in the trough of the depression, could do little harm in return.

After advancing as far as the path which leads from Talavera to Segurilla, Ruffin deployed his right regiment, the much depleted 9th Léger, and sent it up the Sierra to form a screen opposite Bassecourt’s infantry. The other six battalions, the 24th and 96th, advanced in column along the valley, with the 27th from Cassagne’s brigade on their left; presently the whole came level with the northern slope of the Cerro, just reaching the farm of Valdefuentes at its foot.

At this moment Lapisse’s attack had already been beaten off, and Wellesley was able to turn his attention from the centre to the flank of his line[673]. Crossing the crest of the Cerro, he studied for a moment the situation of the French regiments, and then sent down orders for Anson’s brigade of light dragoons to charge them, with Fane’s heavy cavalry in support. The moment that the British horsemen were seen to be advancing the enemy hastily formed squares—the 24th and 96th slightly to the west of the Segurilla road, the 27th in a more advanced position just under the walls of the farm of Valdefuentes. A battalion of grenadiers réunis, and the 63rd of the Line, which formed Villatte’s supports, also fell into square far to the rear. The concentration of the French regiments in vast masses of[p. 547] three battalions each gave a great opportunity to the allied artillery, which found easy targets in the square blocks of men at their feet.

As Anson’s brigade advanced, the right regiment, the 23rd Light Dragoons, found itself opposite the large square of the 27th Léger, while the 1st Light Dragoons of the German Legion faced the smaller masses of the 24th and 96th. The ground seemed favourable for a charge, and though an attack on unbroken infantry is always hazardous, the squadrons came on with great confidence and were soon closing in at headlong speed upon the hostile line.

An unforeseen chance of war, however, wrecked the whole plan. The long dry waving grass of the valley seemed to show a level surface, but the appearance was deceitful. About a hundred and fifty yards in front of the French squares was a narrow but deep ravine, the bed of a small winter-torrent which discharges its waters into the Porti?a during the rainy season. It was about fifteen feet broad and ten feet deep in the northern part of the field, a little narrower in its southern course. There were many places at which it could be crossed with ease by a horseman moving alone and at a moderate pace. But for squadrons riding knee to knee at headlong speed it was a dangerous obstacle, and indeed a trap of the most deadly sort. It was wholly invisible to the horsemen till they came upon it. Colonel Elley, the second in command of the 23rd, who rode two lengths ahead of the front line of his regiment, mounted on a grey horse, and conspicuous to every observer on the Cerro de Medellin, was the first man to discover the peril[674]. His charger cleared it at a bound; but knowing that the inferior mounts of the rank and file would certainly come to grief, he wheeled round on the further bank, threw up his hand and tried to wave back his followers. It was too late: the two squadrons of the front line were on the brink of the ravine before they could understand his action. Some of the troopers cleared the obstacle in their stride; some swerved in time and refused to take the leap; others scrambled into and over the less difficult points of the ditch: but many fell horse and man into the trap, and were then crushed by the rear rank falling in on top of them. There[p. 548] were several broken necks, and scores of broken arms and legs in the leading squadrons. The second line got warning of the obstacle by seeing the inexplicable disorder into which their fellows had fallen. They slackened their pace, but were borne into the confused mass at the ravine before they could entirely bring themselves to a stand. Meanwhile the front face of the square formed by the 27th Léger opened fire on the unhappy regiment.

The German light dragoons, on the northern side of the valley, came upon the fatal cutting at a point where it was somewhat shallower and broader than in front of the 23rd—one of their officers estimates it in his narrative at eighteen feet in width and six or eight in depth. Their disaster therefore was not so complete as that of their British comrades. But many troopers of the first line were unhorsed, and others, though keeping their saddles, could not manage to scramble up the further side of the ravine. The rear squadrons came up in time to add to the confusion, and reined up among the survivors of the front[675].

The two regiments were now in utter confusion, and had already suffered severe loss both by the fall into the ravine and by the French musketry which had opened upon them. Their colonels would have been wise to give up the attempt to advance and to fall back in their old position. How could squadrons in such a disordered state hope to break into French squares? But both Seymour of the 23rd and Arentschildt were officers of high mettle, and throwing prudence to the winds they collected such of their men as had leaped or scrambled over the ravine, and led them against the hostile infantry. Probably little more than half of either corps took part in the final charge.

[p. 549]

Be this as it may, both the 23rd and the Legionary dragoons made an attempt to gallop in upon the squares in their front. The Germans rode at that of the 24th regiment, received its fire, and were repulsed, though a few men fell close in upon the bayonets. They then galloped off and fell back up the valley. Far more disastrous was the fate of the English regiment. The survivors of the two left squadrons charged the square of the 27th Léger, were repulsed with heavy loss, recrossed the ravine, and struggled back to the British lines. But Colonel Elley and the right squadrons, having no enemy immediately in their front, rode furiously between the French square and the farm of Valdefuentes, and charged a line of cavalry which was visible a few hundred yards to the rear[676]. This was the leading brigade [10th and 26th Chasseurs] of Merlin’s division, which was acting in support of Villatte and Ruffin. The squadrons in front of the 23rd swerved to the side when charged[677], but on passing them the British dragoons found another regiment of Merlin’s second line opposed to them[678]. They dashed at it, whereupon the regiment that had evaded them swung round and fell upon their rear. Encircled by fivefold numbers the remnant of Drake’s and Allen’s squadrons of the 23rd were annihilated. Only a few well-mounted officers[679], including their leader Elley,[p. 550] and two or three troopers cut their way through the enemy, rode off to the northward, and ultimately escaped to Bassecourt’s Spanish line on the Sierra de Segurilla. The total loss of the regiment was 207 killed, wounded and missing out of 450 sabres who took the field in the morning. Of these, three officers and 105 men were prisoners—most of them wounded.

It was late in the afternoon when the survivors of the 23rd found their way back to the western end of the valley, and the battle in the centre had long died down to a cannonade. Ruffin and Villatte now had it in their power to advance again, but did not do so. If they had gone further forward they would have lent their flank still more to Hill’s troops upon the Cerro, and would have had to deploy, a movement which would have exposed them, when no longer protected by formation in square, to charges from the mass of allied cavalry still visible in their front—Fane’s brigade and Albuquerque’s strong division. Bassecourt’s Spaniards were holding their ground against the flank-guard which had been sent up on to the Sierra de Segurilla, and to drive them back Ruffin would have had to detach more battalions from his main column. News had been received that the central attack had completely failed. It was natural, therefore, that after some hesitation the French right wing retired, and fell back up the valley of the Porti?a. Villatte’s two regiments had lost about 200 men while standing in square under the fire of the guns on the Cerro. They could no longer be regarded as fresh troops fit for a prolonged advance, while the wrecks of Ruffin’s battalions, having now been under fire three separate times in eighteen hours, were utterly exhausted. It is clear that Victor could not have dared to risk a serious attack upon the British left with these forces.
Map of the battle of Talavera

Enlarge  BATTLE of TALAVERA
THE MAIN ENGAGEMENT
3 to 5 p.m. JULY 28TH 1809

The battle had now come to a standstill: of the five French infantry divisions in the front line those of Leval, Sebastiani, and Lapisse were reforming their diminished ranks in the plain, far to the east of the Porti?a, while Villatte and Ruffin had fallen back on to the slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal. The only intact infantry still remaining at the disposition of the King were his own 1,800 Guards, and the 3,300 bayonets of Dessolles. With these and with Villatte’s two brigades, which had only lost 400 men, it would have been possible to prepare one more [p. 551]assault upon the British position. Victor, raging with anger at his third repulse, was anxious to continue the action, though he had lost nearly one man in four of his infantry, and had not won an inch of ground. The King was less hopeful: the frightful slaughter had subdued his spirits, and he asked himself whether the 5,000 men of his reserve would suffice to break the thin red line against which the whole of the 1st and 4th Corps had hurled themselves in vain. For a moment he seemed inclined to risk his last stake, and the Guards and Dessolles were ordered to move forward. But they had not gone far when a counter-order was sent to check them: Milhaud, whose dragoons had spent the whole day in observing the Spanish lines, had sent in a message to the effect that Cuesta was at last showing signs of life, and that he could see numerous troops pushing to the front among the olive groves in front of the town. The news was not true, for nothing more than vedettes and small exploring parties had been sent out by the Spanish general. But the very suspicion that the Army of Estremadura might at last be preparing to take the initiative was enough to damp the very moderate ardour of King Joseph. If he committed himself to one final dash at the English, and engaged both his reserve and the rallied divisions of his front line, in an attack upon their allied centre and left, what could he do in the event of the sudden appearance of the whole Spanish army in the act of turning his southern flank? Twenty-five thousand men, or more, might suddenly sally out from the screen of groves, and fling themselves upon the left flank of Sebastiani’s corps. To hold them back nothing would be available but the 5,000 sabres of Milhaud and Latour-Maubourg; of infantry not one man would be left to parry such a stroke. The King could not flatter himself that anything but a disaster could ensue. Even if it were not true that the Spaniards were already in motion, there was every reason to believe that they might deliver an attack when they saw the last French reserves put into action against the British. Few generals would have resisted such a tempting opportunity. It was to be remembered also that some of the Spaniards had actually come out of their lines, and fallen upon Leval’s flank, when the last assault had been pressed against the Pajar de Vergara. A third advance in this quarter[p. 552] might yet rouse the whole Estremaduran army out of its apathy, and induce it to charge home upon Sebastiani’s left wing.

Jourdan and most of the members of Joseph’s staff were convinced that it would be mad to deliver a last attack on the British line, in face of the possible consequences of an advance by the Spaniards. The Marshal declared that[680] it was impossible to proceed with any further scheme of advance, and that the only safe course was to draw back the whole army towards the Alberche. His master was relieved to find a good reason for ending a battle which had been begun without his permission, and continued under his very reluctant sanction. Orders were sent along the whole line, directing both the 1st and the 4th Corps to abandon their fighting-ground and fall back to their old position of the twenty-seventh. The cavalry divisions of Merlin, Latour-Maubourg, and Milhaud were to cover the retreat.

Victor was furious at receiving these directions. He averred to the officer who bore the King’s dispatch that from his point of vantage on the Cascajal he could command a view of the whole Spanish army, and that he was positive that not a Spaniard had moved. He even pretended to observe signs of a retreat in Wellesley’s lines, and persisted that the mere demonstration of a fourth attack would induce the allies to abandon their position. How he came to form any such conclusion it is hard to see, for the whole British army was still preserving its old ground, and no one from the Commander-in-chief down to the youngest private was dreaming of a movement to the rear. It would indeed have been insane to desert a strong position, in order to retreat across the open in face of an army possessing 7,000 excellent cavalry! But Victor, still loth to withdraw and to own himself beaten, sent word to the King that he took it upon himself to remain on the slopes of the Cascajal till he should receive further orders, and that he yet hoped that the reserve might be sent forward and the battle renewed.

When Victor’s message reached the King, it had already been discovered that all the rumours concerning the advance of the Spaniards were false. But the hour was now late, and (as[p. 553] Jourdan observed) if the army were to gain a final success—a most problematical occurrence—there would be no daylight left in which to push it to its legitimate end. He thought it better to take the prudent course, to refuse to risk the reserve, whose defeat would have the most fatal consequences, and to prepare for a retreat. The orders were accordingly issued that the army should fall back to its old camping-ground of the morning, deferring the passage of the Alberche till the next day[681].

While the French commanders were in controversy concerning their movements, the battle had died down into a cannonade, kept up with great vehemence by the batteries on the Cerro de Cascajal. The British and German guns never ceased their reply, but—as had been the case during the whole day—they were far too few to subdue the enemy’s fire: considering how they were overmatched, it is wonderful that there was but one piece disabled, and that only sixty-six gunners were put hors de combat. The opposing batteries were hit almost as hard, for the artillery of the 1st Corps had sixty-four casualties.

A distressing accident took place during this final strife between the hostile batteries: a large area of dry grass on the lower slopes of the Cerro de Medellin took fire, from smouldering wadding fanned by the wind. Many of the severely wounded of both sides were scorched, and some burnt to death, by the short but devouring conflagration that ran along the hillside[682].

By dusk the whole of the 4th Corps was rolling to the rear, and the last rays of daylight showed Wellesley the welcome view of a general retreat opposite his right and centre. Victor clung obstinately to the Cerro de Cascajal till far into the hours of darkness. But at last the cold fit supervened, his spirits sank, and he withdrew at 3 A.M. full of resentment, and well stocked with grievances for the acrimonious correspondence with Joseph and Jourdan in which he indulged for the next six weeks.

There can be little doubt that Jourdan was right in refusing[p. 554] to fall in with the younger marshal’s plans for a fourth assault on the British. Wellesley was well settled into his fighting-ground: at the southern end of his line Campbell was perfectly safe at the Pajar de Vergara redoubt. He had lost no more than 236 men, so that his whole division was practically intact. Hill’s brigades on the Cerro were also in perfectly good order—they had not been attacked since the morning, and would have been quite competent to defend themselves at five o’clock in the afternoon. The cannonade which they had been enduring had done some harm, but there were still 3,000 men in line, to hold a most formidable position. The only point of the British front on which the French could have hoped to make any impression was the centre. Here the Guards and Cameron’s brigade had suffered heavily, and the four battalions of the German Legion even worse—they had lost a full fifty per cent. of their numbers. But Mackenzie’s division was now in line with Sherbrooke’s, its first brigade supporting the Guards, its second (Donkin’s) linked to the Germans. Considering the way in which the British centre had dealt with the 15,000 bayonets of Sebastiani and Lapisse during the main engagement, the French critics who hold that they would have given way before the 5,000 men of Dessolles and the Royal Guard, even when backed by the rallied divisions, show a very optimistic spirit. Moreover when the battle had waxed hot in this quarter, the French would have had no certainty that Campbell and the Spaniards might not have fallen upon their flank. For Leval’s much depleted division was no longer in front of the British right—it had been withdrawn behind Sebastiani[683], and there was nothing to prevent the reserve-brigade of the 4th division from going to the aid of Sherbrooke’s men. The chances of war are incalculable, but there seems no reason to believe that Victor’s judgement as to the probability of success was any better at five o’clock in the afternoon than it had been at five o’clock in the morning. Jourdan was the wiser man.

Thus ended the battle of Talavera, in which 16,000 British supported and repulsed the attack of 26,000 French infantry—omitting from the total of the assailants the division of Villatte,[p. 555] which was only slightly engaged. The Cerro de Medellin was strong ground, but not so strong as to counterbalance a superiority of 10,000 men. The real fighting power of Wellesley’s foot-soldiery was shown in the lower parts of the field, where Sherbrooke’s and Mackenzie’s 8,000 bayonets achieved their marvellous success over the 15,000 men of Lapisse and Sebastiani. Doomed to apparent ruin by their own rash valour in pursuing the enemy across the Porti?a, they yet recovered their line, re-established the battle, and finally won an almost incredible victory. The ‘First Division’ of the Peninsular army,—the Guards and the German Legion who fought side by side throughout the whole war,—had many proud days between 1809 and 1814, but surely Talavera was the most honourable of them all. Yet probably Mackenzie’s brigade and Donnellan’s 48th must claim an even higher merit—it was their prompt and steady help which gave their comrades time to re-form, and warded off the possibility of disaster at the critical moment.

The Spaniards had little to do upon July 28, but what little they had to do was well done. The charge of the cavalry regiment Rey was well timed and gallantly delivered. The few battalions engaged near the Pajar de Vergara and in Bassecourt’s division behaved steadily. The artillery sent to aid the British was manfully worked and did good service. But if only the Spanish army had been able to man?uvre, what a difference there must have been in the battle! When Leval, Sebastiani, and Lapisse fell back in disorder at 4 P.M., what would have been the fate of the French if Cuesta could have led out 25,000 men upon their flank and rear? He did not attempt to do so, and probably he was right. Yet it was hard for a British army to have to fight in line with allies who were perfectly useless for any large offensive movement.

The losses of Talavera, as we have already shown, were tremendous on both sides. Adding together the casualties of the twenty-seventh and the twenty-eighth, the British lost 5,365 men, 801 killed, 3915 wounded, and 649 missing. Of the last-named 108 belonged to the unfortunate 23rd Dragoons, and nearly 300 to the German Legion. Two generals, Mackenzie and Langwerth, had been killed, and three colonels, Ross of[p. 556] the Coldstream Guards, Donnellan of the 48th, and Gordon of the 83rd.

The French losses were decidedly heavier, though the percentage in the regiments was in most cases far lower than that in the victorious British force. The total was 7,268, of whom 761 were killed, 6,301 wounded, and 206 missing[684]. General Lapisse and von Porbeck of the Baden regiment, one of Leval’s brigadiers, were the only officers of distinction slain. But the number of field-officers wounded was enormous—in Sebastiani’s division all the colonels, and seven out of twelve of the battalion commanders were disabled.

Cuesta never issued any proper return of his casualties. He stated in one of his dispatches that they amounted to 1,201 men. This figure cannot possibly represent killed and wounded alone. Only one cavalry regiment, five or six battalions, and three batteries were engaged, none of them heavily. The British troops which fought in their neighbourhood had very modest losses, which made it incredible that the comrades in line with them should have suffered to the extent of more than 400 or 500 men. The balance must represent the missing from the stampede of Portago’s division upon the night of the twenty-seventh. Major-General Manglano, who commanded one of the divisions near the Pajar de Vergara, and de Lastra, the gallant colonel of the regimiento del Rey, were wounded.

The only trophies taken on either side were the seventeen guns of Leval’s division captured by Campbell and the Spanish cavalry.

N.B.—I have used of British sources mainly Lord Londonderry, Lord Munster, Leslie and Leith-Hay of the 29th, Stothert of the Guards, Cooper of the 2/7th, Hawker of the 14th Light Dragoons, and letters of Elley and Ponsonby of the 23rd Light Dragoons. Of French sources I have found Jourdan’s Mémoires, Victor’s dispatches and controversial letters with King Joseph, Sémélé’s journal of the 1st Corps, and Desprez’s narrative the most useful. From Colonel Whinyates I have received an unpublished map, drawn on the spot by Unger of the K.G.L., which fixes all the artillery position with admirable accuracy.

[p. 557]NOTES ON THE TOPOGRAPHY OF TALAVERA

I looked over the proofs of the last three chapters, seated on the small square stone that marks the highest point of the Cerro de Medellin, after having carefully walked over the whole field from end to end, on April 9, 1903. The ground is little changed in aspect, but the lower slopes of the Cerro, and the whole of its opposite neighbour the Cascajal hill, are now under cultivation. The former was covered with barley nine inches high, and the rough vegetation of thyme and dry grass, which the narratives of 1809 describe, was only to be seen upon the higher and steeper parts of the hill, and on the sides of the ravine below. The latter is steep but neither very broad nor particularly difficult to negotiate. Even in April the Porti?a had shrunk to a chain of pools of uninviting black water. The ditch fatal to the 23rd Light Dragoons, in the northern valley, is still visible. In its upper part, where the German regiment met it, the obstacle is practically unchanged. But nearer to the farm of Valdefuentes it has almost disappeared, owing to the extension of cultivation. There is only a four-foot drop from a field into a piece of rough ground full of reeds and bent-grass, where the soil is a little marshy in April. I presume that when the field was made, the hollow was partly filled up, and the watercourse, instead of flowing in a well-defined narrow ditch, has diffused itself over the whole trough of the ground.

In the central parts of the field the Porti?a forms a boundary, but not an obstacle. Where Cameron and the Guards fought Sebastiani’s 8,000 men, the ground is almost an exact level on both sides of the little stream. There is no ‘position’ whatever on the English bank, which is, if anything, a little lower than the French. The Pajar de Vergara is a low knoll twenty feet high, now crowned by a large farmhouse, which occupies the site of the old battery. The ground in front of it is still covered with olive groves, and troops placed here could see nothing of an advancing enemy till he emerges from the trees a hundred yards or so to the front. On the other hand an observer on the summit of the Cerro de Medellin gets a perfect bird’s-eye view of this part of the ground, and could make out the enemy all through his progress among the olives. Wellesley must have been able to mark exactly every movement of Leval’s division, though Campbell could certainly not have done so. In the Spanish part of the line the groves have evidently been thinned, as there are now many houses, forming a straggling suburb, pushed up to and along the railway, which now crosses this section of the line. In 1809 Talavera was still self-contained within its walls, which it has now overstepped. The Cascajal is practically of the same height as the main eastern level of the Cerro de Medellin: but the triple summit of the latter is much loftier ground; and standing on it one commands the whole of the Cascajal—every one of[p. 558] Villatte’s battalions must have been counted by Wellesley, who could also mark every man along the whole French front, even into and among the olive groves occupied by Leval’s Germans. Victor on the Cascajal could get no such a general view of the British position, but could see very well into Sherbrooke’s line. Hill’s troops, behind the first crest of the Cerro de Medellin, and Campbell’s in the groves must have been much less visible to him. There is a ruined house, apparently a mill, in the ravine between the two Cerros. As it is not mentioned in any report of the battle, I conclude that it was not in existence in 1809. The Pajar de Vergara farm is also modern, and the only building on the actual fighting-ground which existed on the battle-day was evidently the farm of Valdefuentes, which is alluded to by several narrators, French and English.
SECTION XVI: CHAPTER VIII
THE RETREAT FROM TALAVERA

When the dawn of July 29 had arrived, the plain and the rolling hills in front of the allied position were seen to be absolutely deserted. No trace of the French army was visible save the heaps of dead upon the further side of the Porti?a: the wounded had been carried off, with the exception of those who had fallen within the British lines, and so become prisoners of war. It was soon discovered that the enemy had left a screen of cavalry along the western bank of the Alberche: but whether his main body lay close behind the stream, or had retired towards Madrid, could not be ascertained without making a reconnaissance in force. Such an operation was beyond Wellesley’s power on the morning after the battle. He was neither able nor willing to send out a large detachment to beat up the enemy’s camps, with the object of ascertaining his situation and intentions. The British army was utterly exhausted: on the preceding day the men had fought upon half-rations: when the contest was over they had found that only a third of a ration had been issued: this scanty pittance was sent up to the regiments in the evening, as they still lay in battle-order on the ground that they had held during the day. Water was almost equally deficient: it was difficult to procure: nothing but the wells of the few houses in the rear of the position being available. Only on the morning of the twenty-ninth, when the departure of the enemy had become certain, were the troops allowed to return to their old bivouacs in the rear, and there to seek repose. Even then it was only a minority of the men who could be spared from duty. The gathering in of the vast numbers wounded—French as well as English—and their removal into Talavera demanded such enormous fatigue-parties that the larger number of the survivors had to be told off to[p. 560] this work and were denied the rest that they had so well earned.

It is certain that the British army could have done nothing upon the twenty-ninth even if their commander had desired to push forward against the enemy. The men were not only tired out by two days of battle, but half-starved in addition. But Wellesley was far from feeling any wish to pursue the French. His infantry had suffered so dreadfully that he could not dream of exposing them to the ordeal of another engagement till they had been granted a respite for the refreshment of body and spirit. Of his divisions only that of A. Campbell—the smallest of the four—was practically intact. The others had suffered paralysing losses—in Hill’s ranks one man out of every four had been stricken down, in Mackenzie’s one man in every three, while Sherbrooke’s frightful casualty-list showed that nearly two men out of five were missing from the ranks. Never, save at Albuera, was such slaughter on the side of the victors seen again during the whole course of the Peninsular War. ‘The extreme fatigue of the troops,’ wrote Wellesley, ‘the want of provisions, and the number of wounded to be taken care of, have prevented me from moving from my position[685].’

On the morning of the twenty-ninth the depleted strength of the army was partly compensated by the arrival of the first of those reinforcements from Lisbon which Wellesley had been anxiously expecting. At about six o’clock Robert Craufurd came upon the scene with the three regiments of his Light Brigade—all old battalions who had shared in Moore’s Corunna campaign. He was accompanied by a battery of horse artillery (A troop), the first unit of that arm which came under Wellesley’s command. But the Light Brigade were almost as weary as their comrades who had fought in the battle: they had only reached Talavera by a forced march of unexampled severity. Hearing at Navalmoral that the two armies were in presence, Robert Craufurd had hurried forward with almost incredible swiftness. Dropping his baggage and a few weakly men at Oropesa he had marched forty-three miles in twenty-two hours, though the day was hot and every soldier carried some fifty pounds’ weight upon his back. All day long the cannon was heard growling in the distance,[p. 561] and at short intervals the brigade kept meeting parties of Spanish fugitives, interspersed with British sutlers and commissaries, who gave the most dismal accounts of the progress of the fight. In spite of his desperate efforts to get up in time Craufurd reached the field thirteen hours too late, and heard to his intense chagrin that the battle had been won without his aid[686]. Weary though his men were, they were at once hurried to the front, to relieve A. Campbell’s division on the line of advanced posts. There they found plenty of employment in burying the dead, and in gathering up the French wounded, whom it was necessary to protect from the fury of the Spanish peasantry.

The arrival of Craufurd’s brigade did something towards filling up the terrible gap in the ranks of the British infantry, but was far from enabling Wellesley to assume the offensive. Indeed the advent of fresh troops only accentuated the difficulty of feeding the army. Corn was still almost unobtainable; the supplies from the Vera de Plasencia showed no signs of appearing, and even oxen for the meat-ration, which had hitherto been obtainable in fair quantities, were beginning to run short. Nothing was to be had from Talavera itself, where Victor had exhausted all the available food many weeks before, nor could any assistance be got from the Spanish army, who were themselves commencing to feel the pinch of starvation.

All Wellesley’s hopes at this juncture were founded on the idea that the diversion of Venegas upon the Upper Tagus would force the French host in his front to break up, in order to save Madrid from an attack in the rear. The army of La Mancha had failed to keep Sebastiani in check, and to prevent him from appearing on the field of Talavera. But since the enemy had concentrated every available man for the battle, it was certain that Venegas had now no hostile force in his front, and that the way to the capital was open to him. If he had[p. 562] pushed on either by Aranjuez or by Toledo, he must now be close to the capital, and King Joseph would be obliged to detach a large force against him. That detachment once made, the army behind the Alberche would be so much weakened that it would be unable to face the British and Cuesta. If it offered fight, it must be beaten: if it retired, the allies would follow it up and drive it away in a direction which would prevent it from rejoining the troops that had been sent against Venegas. On the twenty-ninth Wellesley was under the impression that the army of La Mancha had already brought pressure to bear upon the French, for a false report had reached him that on the previous day it had captured Toledo. His dispatches written after the arrival of this rumour indicate an intention of moving forward on the thirtieth or thirty-first. The King, he says, must now detach troops against Venegas. This being so, it will be necessary to induce Cuesta to advance, supporting him with the British army ‘as soon as it shall be a little rested and refreshed after two days of the hardest fighting that I have ever been a party to. We shall certainly move towards Madrid, if not interrupted by some accident on our flank[687].’

The last words of this sentence are of great importance, since they show that already upon the day after Talavera Wellesley was beginning to be uneasy about his left flank. Some time before the battle he had received news from the north, to the effect that both Ney and Kellermann had returned to the valley of the Douro, after evacuating Galicia and the Asturias[688]. He had therefore to take into consideration the chance that the enemy might move southward, and fall upon his line of communication with Portugal, not only with the corps of Soult, but with a large additional force. Unfortunately the information that had reached him from the plains of Leon had been to the[p. 563] effect that Ney’s and Kellermann’s troops were much reduced in numbers and efficiency, so that even when they had joined Soult the total of the French field army upon the Douro would not much exceed 20,000 men[689]. This misconception affected all his plans: for if the hostile force about Salamanca, Zamora, and Benavente was no greater than was reported, it followed that any expedition sent against his own communications could not be more than 12,000 or 15,000 strong, since Soult would be forced to leave a containing force in front of Beresford and Del Parque, who now lay in the direction of Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo. Any French advance against Bejar and Plasencia, therefore, would, as Wellesley supposed, be a mere raid, executed by a comparatively small force. He doubted whether Soult dared undertake such an operation: ‘the enemy,’ he wrote, ‘would not like to venture through the passes into Estremadura, having me on one side of him, and you [Beresford] and Romana upon the other[690].’ He was therefore not much disturbed in mind about the movements of the French in the valley of the Douro. If he had but known that not 20,000 men but 50,000 men were now concentrating at Salamanca, his feelings would have been far different. But it was not till some days later that it began to dawn upon him that Soult was far stronger than he had supposed, and that there might be serious danger to be feared from this quarter. Meanwhile he hoped to prevent any advance of the French in the direction of Plasencia, by causing a strong demonstration to be made in the valley of the Douro. He wrote to Beresford that he must contrive to arrange for joint action with La Romana and the Army of Galicia. If they appeared in strength in the direction of Ciudad Rodrigo, the Duke of Dalmatia might be deterred from making any movement to the south. If, however, the Spaniards proved helpless or impracticable, the Portuguese army would have to confine itself to the defence of its own frontier.

On the morning of July 30 Wellesley received the first[p. 564] definite information which led him to conclude that the French forces from the north were actually contemplating the raid upon his communications which on the preceding day he had regarded as doubtful. The Marquis Del Reino, whom, as it will be remembered, Cuesta had sent to the Puerto de Ba?os with two weak battalions, reported that troops from the Douro valley were threatening his front. At the same time messages were received from the Alcaldes of Fuente Roble and Los Santos, places on the road between Salamanca and Bejar, to the effect that they had received orders from Soult to prepare 12,000 and 24,000 rations respectively, for troops due to arrive on July 28. The numbers given counted for little in Wellesley’s estimation, since it is the commonest thing in the world for generals to requisition food for a far larger force than they actually bring with them. But at least it seemed clear that some considerable detachment from Salamanca was on its way towards the Puerto de Ba?os. In consequence of this fact Wellesley wrote to the Spanish government, and also informed Cuesta, that in the event of a serious attempt of the enemy to cut his communications, he should ‘move so as to take care of himself,’ and do his best to preserve Portugal[691]—in other words, that he should abandon the projected march on Madrid which had been his main purpose on the preceding day. He was still, however, under the impression that Soult had no very large force with him, as is sufficiently shown by the fact that on the thirty-first he suggested to Cuesta that it would be well to detach one of his divisions—say 5,000 men—to strengthen the insignificant force which was already in position at the Puerto de Ba?os. ‘I still think,’ he wrote, ‘that the movements of General Beresford with the Portuguese army on the frontier, and that of the Duque del Parque from Ciudad Rodrigo, combined with the natural difficulties of the country, and the defence by the Marquis Del Reino, may delay the enemy’s advance till the arrival of your division[692].’ It is clear that when he[p. 565] wrote in these terms Wellesley was still labouring under the delusion that Soult’s advance was a mere raid executed by one or two divisions, and not a serious operation carried out by a large army.

While Wellesley was spending the three days which followed the battle of the twenty-eighth in resting his men and pondering over his next move, the enemies whom he had defeated at Talavera were in a state of even greater uncertainty and indecision. By daylight on July 29, as we have already seen, the whole French army had retired behind the Alberche, leaving only a screen of cavalry upon its western bank. The King was under the impression that Wellesley and Cuesta would probably follow him up ere the day had passed, and drew up his whole force along that same line of heights which Victor had occupied upon the twenty-second and twenty-third of the month. But when nothing appeared in his front during the morning hours save a few vedettes, he realized that he might count upon a short respite, and took new measures. After sending off to his brother the Emperor a most flagrantly mendacious account of the battle of Talavera[693], he proceeded to divide up his army. As Wellington had foreseen, he detached a large force to hold back Venegas and the army of La Mancha, who were at last coming into the field upon his flank. He was bound to do so, under pain of imperilling the safety of Madrid.

It is time to cast a glance at the operations of the incompetent general whose sloth and disobedience had wrecked the plan that Wellesley and Cuesta had drawn out at their con[p. 566]ference near Almaraz. On July 16 Venegas had begun to move forward from El Moral, Valdepe?as, and Santa Cruz de Mudela, in accordance with the directions that had been sent him. He occupied Manzanares and Daimiel, and then came into collision with Sebastiani’s cavalry at Villaharta and Herencia, for the 4th Corps had not yet begun to withdraw towards Madrid. Owing to the profound ignorance in which the enemy still lay as to the advance of Wellesley and Cuesta, Sebastiani had not, on the nineteenth, received any order to fall back or to join Victor and the King. Thus, when pressed by the advanced troops of Venegas, he did not retire, but held his ground, and showed every intention of accepting battle. Learning from the peasantry that he had the whole of the 4th Corps in front of him, and might have to deal with nearly 20,000 men, the Spanish general halted, and refused to advance further. In so doing he was fulfilling the spirit of the instructions that had been sent him, for Cuesta and Wellesley had wished him to detain Sebastiani and keep in touch with him—not to attack him or to fight a pitched battle. They had taken it for granted that the Frenchman would receive early news of their own advance, and would already be in retreat before Venegas came up with him. But it was not till July 22, as we have already seen, that Victor and King Joseph obtained certain intelligence of the march of the allies upon Talavera. Until the orders for a retreat arrived from Madrid, the 4th Corps was kept in its old position at Madridejos, and courted rather than avoided an engagement with the army of La Mancha[694].

Venegas, after summoning his divisional generals to a council of war, refused to attack Sebastiani, and wisely, for his 23,000 men would certainly have been beaten by the 20,000 Frenchmen who still lay in front of him. From the nineteenth to the twenty-second the two armies faced each other across the upper Guadiana, each waiting for the other to move. Late on the twenty-third, however, Sebastiani received his orders to evacuate La Mancha, and to hasten to Toledo in order to join Victor[p. 567] and the King, in a combined assault upon Wellesley and Cuesta.

It was on the next day that Venegas committed the ruinous error which was to wreck the fate of the whole campaign. On the morning of the twenty-fourth the 4th Corps had disappeared from his front: instead of following closely in the rear of Sebastiani with all speed, and molesting his retreat, as his orders prescribed, he made no attempt to prevent the 4th Corps from moving off, nor did he execute that rapid flanking march on Aranjuez or Fuentedue?as which his instructions prescribed. He moved forward at a snail’s pace, having first sent off to Cuesta an argumentative letter, in which he begged for leave to direct his advance on Toledo instead of on the points which had been named in his orders. On the twenty-sixth he received an answer, in which his Commander-in-chief authorized him to make his own choice between the route by Aranjuez and that by Toledo.

Venegas had already committed the fatal error of letting Sebastiani slip away unmolested: he now hesitated between the idea of carrying out his own plan, and that of obeying Cuesta’s original orders, and after much hesitation sent his first division under General Lacy towards Toledo, while he himself, with the other four, marched by Tembleque upon Aranjuez. So slow and cautious was their advance that Lacy only arrived in front of Toledo on July 28—the day that the battle of Talavera was fought, while Venegas himself occupied Aranjuez twenty-four hours later, on the morning of the twenty-ninth. He had taken six days to cross the sixty miles of open rolling plain which lie between the Guadiana and the Tagus, though he had been absolutely unopposed by the enemy whom he had allowed to slip away from his front. Sebastiani had marched at the rate of twenty miles a day when he retired from Madridejos to Toledo, Venegas and Lacy followed at the rate of ten and twelve miles a day respectively. Yet the special duty imposed on the army of La Mancha had been to keep in touch with the 4th Corps. Further comment is hardly necessary.

On the morning of the day when Wellesley was assailed by the forces of Victor and King Joseph, General Lacy appeared[p. 568] in front of Toledo. The town was held by 3,000 men of Valence’s Polish division: it is practically impregnable against any attack from the south, presenting to that side a front of sheer cliff, overhanging the river, and accessible only by two fortified bridges. To make any impression on the place Lacy would have had to cross the Tagus at some other point, and then might have beset the comparatively weak northern front with considerable chances of success. But he contented himself with demonstrating against the bridges, and discharging some fruitless cannon-shot across the river. General Valence, the Governor of Toledo, reported to Jourdan that he was attacked, and his message, reaching the battle-field of Talavera after Victor’s second repulse, had a certain amount of influence on the action of King Joseph. The place was never for a moment in danger, as Lacy made no attempt to pass the Tagus in order to press his attack home.

On the following morning (July 29) Venegas reached the other great passage of the Tagus, at Aranjuez, with two of his divisions, and occupied the place after driving out a few French vedettes. He pressed his cavalry forward to the line of the Tajuna, and ere nightfall some of them had penetrated almost as far as Valdemoro, the village half way between Aranjuez and Madrid. No signs of any serious hostile force could be discovered, and secret friends in the capital sent notice that they were being held down by a very weak garrison, consisting of no more than a single French brigade and a handful of the King’s Spanish levies. There was everything to tempt Venegas to execute that rapid march upon the capital which had been prescribed in his original orders, but instead of doing so this wretched officer halted for eight whole days at Aranjuez [July 29 to August 5].

On the day after Talavera Jourdan and Joseph had not yet discovered the whereabouts of the main body of the army of La Mancha: but Lacy had made such a noisy demonstration in front of Toledo that they were inclined to believe that his chief must be close behind him. Accordingly the garrison of Toledo was reinforced by the missing brigade of Valence’s Polish division, and raised to the strength of 4,700 men. The King, with the rest of Sebastiani’s corps and his own Guards and[p. 569] reserves, marched to Santa Ollala, and on the next day [July 30] placed himself at Bargas, a few miles in rear of Toledo. In this position he would have been wholly unable to protect Madrid, if Venegas had pressed forward on that same morning from Aranjuez, for that place is actually nearer to the capital than the village at which Joseph had fixed his head quarters. The sloth displayed by the Spanish general was the only thing which preserved Madrid from capture. On August 1, apprised of the fact that the main body of the army of La Mancha was at Aranjuez and not before Toledo, Joseph transferred his army to Illescas, a point from which he would be able to attack Venegas in flank, if the latter should move forward. Only Milhaud’s division of dragoons was thrown forward to Valdemoro, on the direct road from Aranjuez to Madrid: it drove out of the village a regiment of Spanish horse, which reported to Venegas that there was now a heavy force in his front. For the next four days the King’s troops and the army of Venegas retained their respective positions, each waiting for the other to move. The Spaniard had realized that his chance of capturing Madrid had gone by, and remained in a state of indecision at Aranjuez. Joseph was waiting for definite news of the movements of Wellesley and Cuesta, before risking an attack on the army of La Mancha. He saw that it had abandoned the offensive, and did not wish to move off from his central position at Illescas till he was sure that Victor was not in need of any help. Yet he was so disturbed as to the general state of affairs that he sent orders to General Belliard at Madrid to evacuate all non-combatants and civilians on to Valladolid, and to prepare to shut himself up in the Retiro.

The doings of Victor, during the five days after he had separated from the King, require a more lengthy consideration. Left behind upon the Alberche with the 1st Corps, which the casualties of the battle had reduced to no more than 18,000 men, he felt himself in a perilous position: if the allies should advance, he could do no more than endeavour to retard their march on Madrid. Whether he could count on any further aid from the King and Sebastiani would depend on the wholly problematical movements of Venegas. Somewhat to his surprise Wellesley and Cuesta remained quiescent not only on the[p. 570] twenty-ninth but on the thirtieth of July. But an alarm now came from another quarter: it will be remembered that the enterprising Sir Robert Wilson with 4,000 men, partly Spaniards, partly Portuguese of the Lusitanian Legion, had moved parallel with Wellesley’s northern flank during the advance to Talavera. On the day of the battle he had ‘marched to the cannon’ as a good officer should, and had actually approached Cazalegas, at the back of the French army, in the course of the afternoon. Learning of the results of the fight, he had turned back to his old path upon the twenty-ninth, and had entered Escalona on the upper Alberche. At this place he was behind Victor’s flank, and lay only thirty-eight miles from Madrid. There was no French force between him and the capital, and if only his division had been a little stronger he would have been justified in making a raid upon the city, relying for aid upon the insurrection that would indubitably have broken out the moment that he presented himself before its gates.

It was reported to Victor on the thirtieth not only that Wilson was at Escalona, but also that he was at the head of a strong Portuguese division, estimated at 8,000 or 10,000 men. The Marshal determined that he could not venture to leave such a force upon his rear while the armies of Wellesley and Cuesta were in his front, and fell back ten miles to Maqueda on the high road to Madrid. On the following day, still uneasy as to his position, he retired still further, to Santa Cruz, and wrote to King Joseph that he might be forced to continue his retreat as far as Mostoles, almost in the suburbs of Madrid [Aug. 2]. He was so badly informed as to the movements of the allies, that he not only warned the King that Wilson was threatening Madrid, but assured him that the British army from Talavera had broken up from its cantonments and was advancing along the Alberche towards the capital[695]. Joseph, better instructed as to the actual situation of affairs, replied by assuring him that Wellesley and Cuesta were far more likely to be retreating on Almaraz than marching on Madrid, as they must have heard ere now of Soult’s advance on Plasencia. He ordered the[p. 571] Marshal to fall back no further, and to send a division to feel for Wilson at Escalona. On detaching Villatte to execute this reconnaissance [Aug. 5] Victor was surprised to find that Sir Robert’s little force had already evacuated its advanced position, and had retreated into the mountains. For the last four days indeed Victor had been fighting with shadows—for the British and Estremaduran armies had never passed the Alberche, while Wilson had absconded from Escalona on receiving from Wellesley the news that Soult had been heard of at the Puerto de Ba?os. In consequence of the needless march of the 1st Corps to Maqueda and Santa Cruz, the allied generals were able to withdraw unmolested, and even unobserved, from Talavera, and were far upon their way down the Tagus before their absence was suspected. The erratic movements of Victor may be excused in part by the uniform difficulty in obtaining accurate information which the French always experienced in Spain. But even when this allowance is made, it must be confessed that his operations do not tend to give us any very high idea of his strategical ability. He was clearly one of those generals, of the class denounced by Napoleon, qui se font des tableaux, who argue on insufficient data, and take a long time to be convinced of the error of their original hypothesis.

Neither Victor nor King Joseph, therefore, exercised any influence over the doings of Wellesley and Cuesta at Talavera between the 29th of July and the 3rd of August. The allies worked out their plans undisturbed by any interference on the part of the old enemies whom they had beaten on the battle day. Down to August 1 the British general had been unconvinced by the rumours of Soult’s approach, at the head of a large army, which were persistently arriving from the secret agents in the direction of Salamanca[696]. It was only on the evening of that day that he received news so precise, and so threatening, that he found himself forced to abandon for the moment any intention of pushing on towards Madrid, in consequence of the impending attack on the line of his communications[p. 572] with Portugal. It was announced to him that the vanguard of the French army from the north had actually entered Bejar on the twenty-ninth and was driving in the trifling force under the Marquis Del Reino, which Cuesta had sent to the Puerto de Ba?os.

Whatever might be the force at Soult’s disposal—and Wellesley was still under the delusion that it amounted at most to a single corps of 12,000 or 15,000 men—it was impossible to allow the French to establish themselves between the British army and Portugal. If they were at Bejar on the twenty-ninth they might easily reach Plasencia on the thirty-first. On receiving the news Cuesta, who had hitherto shown the greatest reluctance to divide his army, detached his 5th division under Bassecourt, with orders to set out at the greatest possible speed, and join the Marquis Del Reino. This move was tardy and useless, for it is four long marches from Talavera to Plasencia, so that Bassecourt must arrive too late to hold the defiles. If he found the French already established on the river Alagon, his 5,000 men would be utterly inadequate to ‘contain’ double or triple that number of Soult’s troops. As a matter of fact the enemy had entered Plasencia on the afternoon of August 1, before the Spanish division had even commenced its movement to the west[697].

On the morning of August 2 Wellesley and Cuesta held a long and stormy conference. The Captain-General proposed that Wellesley should detach half his force to assist Bassecourt, and stay with the remainder at Talavera, in order to support the Army of Estremadura against any renewed attack by Victor and King Joseph[698]. The English commander refused to divide[p. 573] his force—he had only 18,000 effectives even after Craufurd had joined him, and such a small body would not bear division. But he offered either to march against Soult with his entire host, or to remain at Talavera if his colleague preferred to set out for Plasencia with his main body. Cuesta chose the former alternative, and on the morning of the third Wellesley moved out with every available man, intending to attack the enemy at the earliest opportunity. He was still under the impression that he would have to deal with no more than a single French corps, and was confident of the result. His only fear was that Victor might descend upon Talavera in his absence, and that Cuesta might evacuate the place on being attacked. If this should happen, the English hospitals, in which there lay nearly 5,000 wounded, might fall into the hands of the enemy. On halting at Oropesa he sent back a note to O’Donoju, the chief of the staff of the Estremaduran army, begging him to send off westward all the British wounded who were in a condition to travel. He asked that country carts might be requisitioned for their assistance, if no transport could be spared by the Spanish troops[699].

Wellesley was setting out with 18,000 men to attack not the mere 15,000 men that he believed to be in his front, but three whole corps d’armée, with a strength of 50,000 sabres and bayonets. In his long career there were many dangerous crises, but this was perhaps the most perilous of all. If he had remained for a little longer in ignorance of the real situation, he might have found himself involved in a contest in which defeat was certain and destruction highly probable.

The real situation in his front was as follows. On receiving the dispatch from Madrid which permitted him to execute his projected march upon Plasencia, Soult had begun to concentrate his army [July 24]. Mortier and the 5th Corps were already in march for Salamanca in pursuance of earlier orders: they arrived in its neighbourhood the same day on which Foy brought the King’s orders to his chief. The 2nd Corps was already massed upon the Tormes, and ready to move the moment that it should receive the supply of artillery which had been so long upon its way from Madrid. Ney and the[p. 574] 6th Corps from Benavente and Astorga had far to come: they only reached Salamanca on July 31; if we remember that the distance from Astorga to the concentration point was no less than ninety miles we cease to wonder at their tardy arrival.

Soult had strict orders from the Emperor to march with his troops well closed up, and not to risk the danger of being caught with his corps strung out at distances which would permit of their being met and defeated in detail[700]. He was therefore entirely justified in refusing to move until the 6th Corps should be in supporting distance of the rest of his army, and the 2nd Corps should have received the cannon which were needed to replace the pieces that they had lost in Portugal. For this reason we must regard as unfounded all the vehement reproaches heaped upon him by Joseph and Jourdan during the acrimonious correspondence that followed upon the end of the campaign. It would have been wrong to start the 5th Corps upon its way to Plasencia till the 2nd Corps was ready to follow, and the much needed guns only came into Salamanca on the twenty-ninth, though their approach had been reported on the preceding day.

We cannot therefore blame Soult for sloth or slackness when we find that he started Mortier upon his way on July 27, and followed him with his own corps upon July 30, the day after the guns arrived, and the day before Ney and his troops were due to reach Salamanca from the north.

The order of march was as follows: the vanguard was composed of the whole corps of Mortier, nearly 17,000 strong[701], reinforced by three brigades of dragoons under Lahoussaye and Lorges with a strength of 2,000 sabres. The 2nd Corps followed; though it started three days later than the 5th it was gradually gaining ground on the vanguard all through the march, as it had no fighting to do or reconnaissances to execute.[p. 575] Hence it was only twenty-four hours behind Mortier in arriving at Plasencia. Its strength was 18,000 men, even after it had detached the brigades of dragoons to strengthen the vanguard, and placed five battalions at the disposal of General Kellermann[702]. During its stay at Zamora and Toro it had picked up a mass of convalescents and details, who had not taken part in its Galician campaign. The rear was formed by Ney’s troops, which started from Salamanca only one day behind the 2nd Corps. The infantry was not complete, as a brigade of 3,000 men was left behind on the Douro, to assist Kellermann in holding down the kingdom of Leon. Hence, even including a brigade of Lorges’ dragoons, the 6th Corps had only some 12,500 men on the march. The whole army, therefore, as it will be seen, was about 50,000 strong.

Just before he marched from Salamanca Soult had heard that Beresford’s Portuguese were commencing to show themselves in force in the direction of Almeida, while Del Parque’s small division at Ciudad Rodrigo was beginning to be reinforced by troops descending from the mountains of Galicia. Trusting that the danger from this quarter might not prove imminent, the Marshal left in observation of the allies only the remains of the force that Kellermann had brought back from the Asturias—the 5th division of dragoons and a few battalions of infantry, strengthened by the five battalions from the 2nd Corps and the one brigade detached from Ney. The whole did not amount to more than 9,000 or 10,000 men, scattered along the whole front from Astorga to Salamanca. It was clear that much was risked in this direction, for Beresford and Del Parque could concentrate over 20,000 troops for an attack on any point that they might select. But Soult was prepared to accept the chances of war in the Douro valley, rightly thinking that if he could crush Wellesley’s army on the Tagus any losses in the north could easily be repaired. It would matter little if the[p. 576] Spaniards and Portuguese occupied Salamanca, or even Valladolid, after the British had been destroyed.

Mortier, starting on July 27, on the road by Fuente Roble and Los Santos, made two marches without coming in touch with any enemy. It was only on the third day that he met at La Calzada the vedettes of the trifling force under the Marquis Del Reino which Cuesta had sent to hold the Puerto de Ba?os. After chasing them through Bejar, the Marshal came upon their supports drawn up in the pass [July 30]. Del Reino thought himself obliged to fight, though he had but four battalions with a total of 2,500 or 3,000 bayonets[703]. He was of course dislodged with ease by the overwhelming numbers which Mortier turned against him—the first division of the 5th Corps alone sufficed to drive him through the pass. Thereupon he retired down the Alagon, and after sending news of his defeat to Cuesta fell back to Almaraz, where he took up the bridge of boats and removed it to the southern bank of the Tagus.

Having cleared the passes upon the thirtieth, the 5th Corps advanced to Candelaria and Ba?os de Bejar upon the thirty-first, and entered Plasencia on the first of August. Here Mortier captured 334 of Wellesley’s sick, who had been left behind as being incapable of removal. On the preceding day the town had been full of British detachments: the place was the half-way house between Portugal and Talavera, and many commissaries, isolated officers going to or from the front, and details marching to join their corps, had been collected there. Captain Pattison, the senior officer present, withdrew to Zarza, with every man that could march, when he heard of Mortier’s[p. 577] approach, taking with him a convoy which had recently arrived from Abrantes. But he was obliged to leave behind him a considerable amount of corn, just collected from the Vera, which had been destined for Wellesley’s army. The whole civil population of Plasencia fled to the hills, in obedience to an order of the local Junta, and the British soldiers in the hospital were the only living beings whom the French vanguard found in the city. The men of the 5th Corps plundered the deserted houses, as was but natural, but behaved with much humanity to the captured invalids[704].

After seizing Plasencia Mortier halted for a day, in obedience to Soult’s orders, that he might allow the 2nd Corps to close up before he pressed in any further towards Wellesley. The Duke of Dalmatia was determined to run no risks, when dealing with an adversary so enterprising as his old enemy of Oporto. On August 2 he himself and the leading divisions of his corps reached Plasencia: the rest were close behind. On the same afternoon, therefore, the advance could be resumed, and Mortier set out on the high road towards Almaraz and Talavera, having eight regiments of horse—3,000 men—in his front. He slept that night at Malpartida, seven miles in advance of Plasencia, and moved on next morning to the line of the Tietar and the village of Toril. One of his reconnoitring parties approached the bridge of Almaraz and found it broken: another reached Navalmoral. He was now drawing very close to Wellesley, who had encamped that day at Oropesa, and was only thirty miles away: indeed the British and the French cavalry came in contact that evening in front of Navalmoral.

On August 3, by a curious coincidence, each Commander-in-chief was at last informed of his adversary’s strength and intentions by a captured dispatch. A Spanish messenger was arrested by Soult’s cavalry, while bearing a letter from Wellesley to General Erskine dated August 1. In this document there was an account of the battle of Talavera, which had[p. 578] hitherto been unknown to Soult. But the most important clause of it was a request to Erskine to find out whether the rumours reporting the advance of 12,000 French towards the Puerto de Ba?os were correct. The Duke of Dalmatia thus discovered that his adversary, only two days before, was grossly underrating the numbers of the army that was marching against his rear. He was led on to hope that Wellesley would presently advance against him with inferior numbers, and court destruction by attacking the united 2nd and 5th Corps[705].

This indeed might have come to pass had not the allies on the same day become possessed of a French dispatch which revealed to them the real situation of affairs. Some guerrillas in the neighbourhood of Avila intercepted a friar, who was an agent of King Joseph, and was bearing a letter from him to Soult. They brought the paper to Cuesta on August 3: it contained not only an account of the King’s plans and projects, but orders for the Marshal, which mentioned Ney and the 6th Corps, and showed that the force marching on Plasencia was at least double the strength that Wellesley had expected[706]. This letter Cuesta sent on to his colleague with laudable promptness; it reached the British commander in time to save him from taking the irreparable step of marching from Oropesa to Navalmoral, where the vanguard of Mortier’s cavalry had just been met by the vedettes of Cotton’s light horse. Wellesley had actually written to Bassecourt to bid him halt at Centinello till he himself should arrive, and then to join him in an attack on the French[707], when he was handed the intercepted letter which showed that Soult had at least 30,000 men in hand.

[p. 579]

This unpalatable news changed the whole prospect of affairs: it would be mad to assail such an enemy with a force consisting of no more than 18,000 British troops and Bassecourt’s 5,000 Spaniards. Wellesley had therefore to reconsider the whole situation, and to dictate a new plan of campaign at very short notice, since his cavalry were actually in touch with the enemy at the distance of a single day’s march from Oropesa. On the morrow he must either fight or fly. The situation was made more complicated by the fact that Cuesta, when forwarding the French dispatch, had sent information to the effect that he considered his own situation at Talavera so much compromised that he was about to retreat at once, with the design of crossing the Tagus at Almaraz, and of taking up once more his old line of communications, which ran by Truxillo to Badajoz. It may be asked why the Captain-General did not adopt the simpler course of crossing the Tagus at Talavera, and moving under cover of the river, instead of executing the long flank march by Oropesa to Almaraz on the exposed bank, where the French were known to be in movement. The answer, however, is simple and conclusive: the paths which lead southward from Talavera are impracticable for artillery and wheeled vehicles. Infantry alone could have retreated by the route which climbs up to the Puerto de San Vincente, the main pass of this section of the Sierra de Guadalupe: nor was the track along the edge of the river from Talavera to Arzobispo any better fitted for the transport of a large army. It is this want of any adequate communication with the south which makes Talavera such a dangerous position: no retreat from it is possible save that by the road to Oropesa, unless the retiring army is prepared to sacrifice all its impedimenta.

Cuesta has been criticized in the most savage style by many English writers, from Lord Londonderry and Napier downwards, for his hasty departure from Talavera. It is fair to state in his defence the fact that if he had tarried any longer in his present position he might have been cut off not merely from Almaraz—that passage was already impracticable—but also from the bridge of Arzobispo, the only other crossing of the Tagus by which artillery and heavy wagons can pass southward. If he had started on the fourth instead of the third he[p. 580] might have found Mortier and Soult interposed between him and this last line of retreat. He would then have been forced to abandon all his matériel, and to hurry back to Talavera, in order to take the break-neck track to the Puerto de San Vincente. But there was every reason to believe that Victor might arrive in front of Talavera on the evening of the fourth or the morning of the fifth, so that this last road to safety might have been already blocked. Thus the Spanish army, if it had started on the fourth for Oropesa, might have found itself caught between the two French corps, and vowed to inevitable destruction. As a matter of fact Victor moved slowly and cautiously, and only reached Talavera on the sixth—but this could not possibly have been foreseen. We cannot therefore blame Cuesta’s precipitate departure upon the night of August 3.

His main body marched under cover of the darkness to Oropesa, where they arrived, much wearied and in some disorder, on the following morning. He left Zayas’s division and Albuquerque’s horse as a rearguard, to hold Talavera till midday on the fourth, with orders to make a semblance of resistance and to detain Victor for a few hours if he should appear. But no hostile force showed itself: by his unwise retreat to Santa Cruz the Marshal had drawn back so far from the enemy that he could not take advantage of their retrograde movement when it became known to him. Villatte’s division and Beaumont’s cavalry only reached Talavera on the morning of the sixth.

The departure of the Estremaduran army had one deplorable result. It exposed the English hospitals at Talavera, with their 4,000 wounded, to capture by the enemy. Wellesley, before he had marched off, had given orders that all the men capable of being moved should be sent off towards Plasencia and Portugal as soon as possible. But he had no transport that could cope with the task of transferring such a mass of invalids towards his base. He wrote from Oropesa begging Cuesta to requisition carts from the country-side for this purpose[708]. But it was notorious that carts were not to be had—all Wellesley’s letters for the last three weeks were full of complaints to the effect that he could not procure them by money[p. 581] or by force. When the Spaniards were themselves departing, bag and baggage, it was an inopportune moment at which to ask them to provide transport: yet since the British wounded had been left to their care they were bound in honour to do all that could be done to save them. It is said that Cuesta made over[709] no more than seven ox-carts and a few mules to Colonel Mackinnon, the officer charged with the task of evacuating the hospitals. These and about forty vehicles of various kinds belonging to the British themselves were all that could be procured for the use of the wounded. They could only accommodate a tithe of the serious cases: the men with hurts of less consequence were forced to set out upon their feet. ‘The road to Oropesa,’ writes one of their fellow sufferers, ‘was covered with our poor limping bloodless soldiers. On crutches or sticks, with blankets thrown over them, they hobbled woefully along. For the moment panic terror lent them a force inconsistent with their debility and their fresh wounds. Some died by the road, others, unable to get further than Oropesa, afterwards fell into the hands of the enemy[710].’ The rest trailed onward to the bridge of Arzobispo, where Wellesley provided transport for many of them by unloading baggage-wagons, and ultimately reached Truxillo, at which place the new hospitals were established. Of the whole 4,000 about 1,500 had been left at Talavera as hopeless or dangerous cases, and these became the captives of the French: 2,000 drifted in, at various times, to Truxillo: the remaining 500 expired by the wayside or were taken by the French in the villages where they had dropped down[711].

Long before Cuesta and his host had arrived at Oropesa,[p. 582] Wellesley had made up his mind that the only course open to him was to abandon the march towards Navalmoral and Almaraz, and to turn aside to the bridge of Arzobispo. As the French were known to be at Navalmoral, it would have been impossible to force a passage to Almaraz without a battle. If the enemy were to be estimated at two corps, or 30,000 men, according to the indications of the intercepted letter, they would probably be able to detain the Anglo-Spanish army till Victor should arrive from the rear. For, without accepting a pitched battle, they would be strong enough to harass and check the allies, and to prevent them from reaching Almaraz till the 1st Corps should come upon the scene. ‘I was not certain,’ wrote Wellesley to Beresford two days later, ‘that Ney was not with Soult: and I was certain that, if not with him, he was at no great distance. We should therefore have had a battle to fight in order to gain the road to Almaraz—Plasencia was then out of the question—and if Victor had followed Cuesta, as he ought to have done, another battle, probably, before the bridge could be re-established[712]. Then it was to be considered that, Cuesta having left Talavera, the bridge of Arzobispo would have been open to the enemy’s enterprise: if they had destroyed it, while we had failed in forcing Soult at Navalmoral, we were gone.’

It is impossible not to bow before Wellesley’s reasoning. The French critics object that only Mortier was at Navalmoral on August 4, Soult being twenty miles behind him at Bazagona on the Tietar, so that it would have been possible for the British army to have driven back the 19,000 men of the Duke of Treviso, and to have forced its way to Almaraz[713]. But even if Wellesley had fought a successful action with Mortier on August 4, Soult would certainly have joined his colleague on the fifth, before the bridge could have been repaired, or at any rate before the whole Anglo-Spanish army and all its impedimenta could have crossed the Tagus. If attacked during their passage by the 37,000 men of the 2nd and 5th Corps they[p. 583] would have fared badly. Wellesley was perfectly correct in his decision; indeed the only point in which he was deceived was that he believed the enemy in his front to be Soult’s and Ney’s Corps, whereas they were in reality those of Soult and Mortier. Ney only reached Plasencia on August 4, and did not join the main body of the army till two days later.

When Wellesley and Cuesta met at Oropesa, early on the morning of August 4, they found themselves as usual engaged in a heated controversy. The British general had directed his divisions to hold themselves ready to march on the bridge of Arzobispo without further delay. Cuesta on the other hand had been attacked by a recrudescence of his old disease, the mania for fighting pitched battles[714]. He proposed that the allied armies should remain on the north bank of the Tagus, adopt a good defensive position, and defy Soult to attack them. Wellesley would not listen for a moment to this project, and finally declared that in spite of all arguments to the contrary, he should cross the Tagus that day at the head of his army. The two generals parted in wrath, and at six o’clock the British commenced their march to Arzobispo, only nine miles distant; the whole force crossed its bridge before evening, and established itself in bivouac on the south side of the river.

Cuesta remained at Oropesa for the whole day of August 4, and was there joined both by Bassecourt, who had fallen back from Centinello, and by Zayas and Albuquerque, who had evacuated Talavera at noon and made a forced march to join their chief. He appeared disposed to fight even though his ally had abandoned him. In the afternoon Mortier’s cavalry pressed in against him. He turned fiercely upon them, deployed a whole division of infantry and 1,200 horse in their front, and drove them back towards their supports. This vigorous action had a result that could not have been foreseen: Mortier jumped to the conclusion that he was himself about to be attacked by the whole Spanish army—perhaps by Wellesley also[715]. He[p. 584] halted the 5th Corps in advance of Navalmoral, and wrote to implore Soult to come up to his aid without delay. The Duke of Dalmatia hurried up with all speed, and on August 5 brought the 2nd Corps to Casatejada, only six miles in the rear of his colleague. Ney, following with a like promptness, advanced that day to Malpartida, a march behind the position of Soult.

On the sixth, therefore, the whole army from the Douro was practically concentrated, and Soult and Mortier advanced against Cuesta with Ney close in their rear. They found that they were too late: after remaining in battle order in front of the bridge of Arzobispo during the whole of the fifth, courting the attack which Mortier had been too cautious to deliver, the Captain-General had crossed the Tagus that night, and had occupied its further bank. He had left in front of the bridge only a small rearguard, which retired after a skirmish with the advanced cavalry of the 5th Corps. For once Cuesta had found luck upon his side; if Mortier had ventured to assail him on the fifth, and had forced him to an engagement, in a position from which retreat was difficult, and with the Tagus at his back, his situation would have been most perilous. For even if he had kept the 5th Corps at bay, he could not easily have withdrawn in face of it, and Soult would have been upon him on the next morning. In escaping across the narrow bridge of Arzobispo his losses must have been terrible: indeed the greater part of his army might have been destroyed.

Finding, on the evening of August 6, that both the British and the Estremaduran armies were now covered by the Tagus, whose line they appeared determined to defend, Soult was forced to think out a new plan of campaign. His original design of taking the allies in the rear and cutting off their retreat had miscarried: he must now either halt and recognize that his march had failed in its main purpose, or else deliver a frontal attack upon the line of the Tagus. The bridge of Almaraz was broken, and troops (the detachment of the Marquis Del Reino) were visible behind it. The bridge of Arzobispo was not destroyed, but the Spaniards were obviously ready to defend it. It was barricaded, the mediaeval towers in its midst were manned by a detachment of infantry, and a battery for twelve guns had been placed in an earthwork erected on a knoll thirty yards in[p. 585] its rear, so as to sweep all the approaches. Considerable forces both of cavalry and of infantry were visible on the hillsides and in the villages of the southern bank. Cuesta, in fact, while proposing to fall back with his main body to Meza de Ibor and Deleytosa, in order to recover his communication with his base at Badajoz, had left behind a strong rearguard, consisting of Bassecourt’s infantry division and Albuquerque’s six regiments of cavalry, a force of 5,000 bayonets and nearly 3,000 sabres. They were ordered to defend the bridge and the neighbouring ford of Azutan till further orders should reach them. The ground was very strong; indeed the ford was the one perilous point, and as that passage was narrow and hard to find, Cuesta trusted that it might be maintained even against very superior numbers. So formidable did the defence appear that Soult halted during the whole day of August 7, while he took stock of the Spanish positions, and sought up-stream and down-stream for means of passage other than the bridge. He was not at first aware of the existence of the ford: it was only revealed to him by the imprudence of the Spanish cavalry, who rode their horses far into the stream when watering them, thus showing that there were long shallows projecting from the southern bank. By a careful search at night the French intelligence-officers discovered that the river was only deep for a few yards under their own bank[716]: for the rest of its breadth there were only two or three feet of water. Having found the point, not far from the bridge, where the more dangerous part of the channel was fordable, they advised the Marshal that the passage of the river would present no insurmountable difficulties. Soult resolved to deliver an assault both on the bridge and on the ford upon the morning of August 8. Nor was it only at Arzobispo that he determined to force the line of the Tagus. He directed Ney, who was bringing up his rear at the head of the 6th Corps, to turn aside to the broken bridge of[p. 586] Almaraz, and to endeavour to cross the river by aid of a ford which was said to exist in that neighbourhood. Sketch-maps were sent to the Marshal in order to enable him to locate the exact point of passage—it would seem that they must have been very faulty.

Meanwhile Wellesley had passed the Tagus four days and Cuesta three days before the Marshal’s attack was ready, and both had been granted time to proceed far upon their way. It was fortunate that they were not hurried, for the road from Arzobispo to Meza de Ibor and thence to Deleytosa and Jaraicejo, though passable for guns and wheeled vehicles, was steep and in a deplorable condition of disrepair. It took Wellesley two days to march from the bridge to Meza de Ibor, a distance of only seventeen miles, because of the endless trouble caused by his artillery. There were places where he had practically to remake the roadway, and others where whole companies of infantry had to be turned on to haul the cannon up slopes where the half-starved horses could make no headway. These exertions were all the more exhausting because the men were falling into a state of great bodily weakness from insufficient supplies. Even at Talavera they had on many days received no more than half rations: but after passing Oropesa regular distributions of food ceased altogether for some time: there were still a few slaughter-oxen with the army, but bread or biscuit was unobtainable, and the troops had to maintain themselves on what they could scrape up from the thinly peopled and rugged country-side. A diet of overripe garbanzos, parched to the hardness of bullets, was all that many could obtain. Better foragers eked them out with honeycomb stolen from the peasants’ hives, and pork got by shooting the half-wild pigs which roam in troops among the woods on the mountain side. Many, in the ravenous eagerness of hunger, ate the meat warm and raw, and contracted choleraic complaints from their unwholesome feeding[717].

Divining that Soult would probably make a dash at Almaraz as well as at Arzobispo, Wellesley sent on ahead of his main body the brigade of Robert Craufurd, to which he attached Donkin’s[p. 587] much depleted regiments, in order to make up a small division. As they were unhampered by guns or baggage this detachment reached Almaraz on the sixth, after a fifteen hours’ forced march on the preceding day. They took over charge of the broken bridge and the ford from the Spanish troops of the Marquis Del Reino, and proceeded to entrench themselves in the excellent positions overlooking the point where the river was passable. Thus Ney, when he reached Almaraz on the following day, found the enemy already established opposite him, and ready to dispute the crossing. About 4,000 British troops and 1,500 Spanish troops were holding the river bank: immediately at their backs was the narrow and eminently defensible defile of Mirabete, which completely commands the road to Truxillo: it was an even stronger position than that which covered the ford and the ruined bridge.

On August 7 therefore Wellesley considered himself in a comparatively satisfactory situation. The passage at Almaraz was held by a vanguard consisting of the best troops in the army. Two divisions, the cavalry, and all the guns had traversed the worst part of the road, and had reached Deleytosa, only nine miles behind Craufurd’s position. If the French should attack on the following day, the main body could reinforce the light brigade in a few hours. One division, in the rear, was holding the position of Meza de Ibor, which Wellesley did not wish to evacuate until the Spanish army was ready to occupy it. He had discovered that there were points between Arzobispo and Almaraz where the passage of the Tagus was not wholly impracticable for small bodies of infantry[718], and dreaded that the enemy might throw a detachment across the stream to make a dash for the Meza. If this position had been lost the communication between the two armies would have been broken.

Cuesta, meanwhile, was engaged in the steep and stony mountain road over which Wellesley had toiled on the 5th and the 6th of August. His vanguard was now close to Meza de Ibor: the rest of the army was strung out between that point and Val de la Casa: the Captain-General himself had his head quarters on the night of the seventh at Peraleda de Garbin, ten miles[p. 588] west of Arzobispo. Bassecourt and Albuquerque were still covering the rear, with Mortier’s corps now plainly visible in their front. On their steadiness depended the safety of the whole army, for Cuesta had more baggage and more guns[719] than Wellesley, and therefore the road over the hills was even more trying to him than to his colleague. There was a congestion of wheeled transport at certain spots on the road which created hopeless confusion, and barred the march of the cavalry and even of the infantry divisions. It was only removed by setting whole battalions to work to drag the wagons out of the way. Cuesta’s ultimate destination was the Meza de Ibor, a position of unparalleled strength, which could be held even after the enemy had crossed the Tagus. That they would ultimately win their way over the river was certain, for already news had arrived that Victor, after reaching Talavera on Aug. 6, had pushed infantry over its bridge on the road to Herencia and Aldea Nueva. Troops coming from this direction would outflank the Arzobispo position, and compel Albuquerque to abandon it. Even without cavalry or guns this detachment of the 1st Corps would be strong enough to dislodge the guard of the bridge, by falling upon its rear, while Mortier was attacking it in front. As the cavalry of Victor and Soult had met, half way between Oropesa and Talavera, upon the afternoon of the seventh, the two marshals were now in full communication, and able to concert any plans that they might please for joint operations.

The Duke of Dalmatia, however, preferred to win all the credit for himself, and attacked without allowing his colleague’s troops time to approach the Spanish position. It was fortunate for Albuquerque that the rivalry of the two hostile commanders saved him from the joint assault, which would have been far more ruinous to him than the actual combat of Aug. 8 was destined to prove.

Having full knowledge of the existence and the locality of the ford of Azutan, Soult had resolved to launch his main attack upon this point, while directing only a subsidiary attack upon the fortified bridge. This last was only to be pushed[p. 589] home in case the troops sent against the ford should succeed in making good their footing upon the further bank. A careful observation of the Spanish lines showed that both Albuquerque and Bassecourt were holding back the main body of their divisions at some distance from the water’s edge, in the groves around the three villages of Pedrosa, Burgillo, and Azutan. There was only a single regiment of cavalry watching the river bank, and two or three battalions of infantry manning the towers of the bridge of Arzobispo and the redoubt in its rear. The Spaniards showed every sign of a blind confidence in the strength of their position behind the broad but shallow Tagus.

Knowing their habits, Soult selected for the moment of his attack the hour of the siesta. It was between one and two o’clock in the afternoon when he bade his columns, which had been drawn up under cover, and at some distance from the water’s edge, to advance to force the passage. For the assault upon the ford he had collected the whole of his cavalry, no less than twelve regiments. Lahoussaye’s dragoons formed the van, then came Lorges’ brigade, then the division of light horse belonging to the 2nd Corps, in the rear the corps-cavalry of Mortier. This mass of 4,000 horsemen was to be followed by the first brigade of Girard’s infantry division of the 5th Corps, while its second brigade was to assault the bridge, when Lahoussaye and Lorges should have won the passage of the ford and have established themselves on the flank of the Spanish defences. Gazan’s division, the second of the 5th Corps, was to support Girard, while the masses of the infantry of the 2nd Corps remained in reserve. All the light artillery of the army was to gallop down to the water’s edge at various selected points, when the attacking columns were first put in movement, and to distract the attention of the enemy’s guns so far as lay in their power.

At about 1.30 P.M. Caulaincourt’s brigade of Lahoussaye’s dragoons, a force of about 600 sabres, sallied out from its cover behind the village of Arzobispo, and moved down to the ford at a sharp trot. It plunged into the water, had passed the deeper part of the channel almost before the Spaniards had guessed its intention, and soon reached the shallows on the opposite bank. The only hostile force ready to meet it[p. 590] was a single regiment (the 1st Estremaduran Hussars) which was watching the ford, and a battalion of infantry which Bassecourt sent down in haste from the redoubt behind the bridge. A fierce charge of Caulaincourt’s dragoons dispersed and routed the Spanish horse; after they had been driven off the victors turned upon the battalion, which tried to form square on their approach, but was late in finishing its man?uvre. It was assailed before the rear side had been formed, broken up, and cut to pieces.

Soult had thus gained a precious half-hour, during which the remainder of his cavalry, squadron after squadron, came pouring over the ford, and began to form up on the southern bank. When several regiments had passed he also let loose the infantry brigade which was to attack the bridge. So narrow was the approach that only a single battalion (the 1st of the 40th of the line) could deliver the assault. But the tirailleur companies of several other battalions, and two batteries of horse artillery, opened a lateral fire from various points of the northern bank, to distract the Spaniards from the frontal attack. The fraction of Bassecourt’s division which was in position at the bridge and the redoubt had already been completely cowed by seeing Lahoussaye’s cavalry forming up in their flank and rear. If they waited to resist the infantry attack, it was clear that they would be cut off from their sole line of retreat by the dragoons. They abandoned their positions after firing a couple of scattering volleys, and fled eastward along the river bank towards the village of Azutan. The heavy guns in the redoubt were left behind, and fell into the hands of Caulaincourt. Girard’s infantry was therefore able to cross the river almost without loss, two regiments at the bridge, two at the ford which the cavalry had already utilized. A few men were drowned in the second column, having strayed into deep water by swerving to the right or left of the proper route.

Meanwhile Albuquerque’s horse and Bassecourt’s second brigade, roused from their ill-timed siesta, were pouring out of the villages which had sheltered them from the noontide heat. The infantry—four battalions apparently—drew up beside a wood, on the slope a mile above the bridge, and waited to be[p. 591] attacked. The cavalry, however, came on in one great mass, and charged down upon Lahoussaye’s division, which was covering the deployment of the rest of the French horse. Albuquerque’s only thought was to engage the enemy before he had succeeded in passing the whole of his squadrons over the ford. Vainly hoping to atone for his previous slackness by haste that came too late, he had hurried his five regiments forward as soon as the men could saddle and bridle their horses. Fractions of the different corps were mixed together, and no proper first or second line had been formed. The whole mass—some 2,500 sabres—in great disorder, galloped down upon the two brigades of Lahoussaye, and engaged them for a short time. But Lorges’ dragoons and part of Soult’s light horse were now at hand to aid the leading division; the Spaniards were beset in flank as well as in front, and broke after the first shock. Albuquerque, who showed plenty of useless personal courage, tried in vain to rally them on the 2nd Estremaduran Hussars, the only regiment which remained intact. It was borne away by the backrush of the rest, and scattering over the hillsides the whole body fled westward and northward, some towards Peraleda de Garbin, others towards Pedrosa. Bassecourt’s infantry went off to the rear as soon as they saw their comrades routed, and took to the hills. By keeping to rocky ground they suffered comparatively little loss.

The French urged the pursuit of Albuquerque’s fugitive horsemen for many miles, chasing them as far as the defile of La Estrella in the Sierra de Guadalupe in one direction, and beyond Val de la Casa in the other. On the latter road the chase only ceased when the dragoons came upon the divisions of Henestrosa and Zayas, from Cuesta’s main army, drawn up across their path. The losses of the Spaniards were very considerable—600 men and 400 horses were captured, and over 800 killed and wounded. One flag was taken, that of the regiment cut to pieces by Lahoussaye’s dragoons at the commencement of the fighting. The pieces in the redoubt, and the divisional battery of Albuquerque, 16 guns in all, were lost. By an additional mischance the French also recovered fourteen of their own seventeen guns that had been taken at Talavera. Cuesta had not been able to utilize these pieces for want of[p. 592] gunners: they were trailing along in the rear of his army, very indifferently horsed, when the French dragoons swept along the road to Peraleda. On the approach of the pursuers they were abandoned by the wayside. This capture enabled Soult to assert that he had taken in all 30 cannon, and emboldened Sebastiani, a few weeks later, to declare that he had never lost his guns at Talavera[720]. Having recovered them he could exhibit them—all save two or three—in evidence of his mendacious statement.

Soult declared in his official report that his cavalry had lost only 28 killed and 83 wounded, his artillery 4 wounded, his infantry hardly a man, save some few drowned at the ford.

The rout of the Spanish rearguard and the capture of the bridge of Arzobispo gave Soult a foothold on the southern bank of the Tagus, but little more. The road by which he could now advance against the allies was detestable—we have already seen how its cliffs and ravines had tried the British and the Estremaduran armies. To reach Cuesta’s new position on the Meza de Ibor the Duke of Dalmatia would have had to make a two days’ march through these defiles, dragging his guns with him. His cavalry he would have been forced to leave behind him, as there would have been no means of employing it in the mountains. Meanwhile Wellesley had established himself in the ground which he had selected behind the broken bridge of Almaraz, and Cuesta had got the whole of his infantry and half his artillery over the Ibor stream and arrayed them on the Meza, where the rocky slopes are impregnable against a frontal attack, if the defending army shows ordinary determination[721].[p. 593] All through the ninth and the morning of the tenth the Spaniards were dragging the rest of their guns and their baggage up the steep zigzag path between the river and the summit of the plateau, and it was not till the end of the latter day that everything was in position. It is probable therefore that if Soult had pressed his pursuit with all possible speed, he might have captured some of the Spanish impedimenta on the morning of the tenth. But there were defiles between Peraleda and the Ibor river where Cuesta’s rearguard might possibly have detained him till the guns and baggage were in safety[722].

The Duke of Dalmatia, however, paused at the bridge of Arzobispo before committing himself to a second advance against the allies. He was averse to making an isolated attack upon the admirable position now occupied by the Estremaduran army, and wished to combine it with a simultaneous assault upon the British. It will be remembered that he had detached Ney’s corps from the rear of his line of march, and ordered it to attempt the passage of the Tagus at Almaraz, by the ford which he knew to exist close to the ruined bridge. He also wrote to Victor to desire him to push forward the two infantry divisions which had crossed the river at Talavera, and to direct them on Mohedas and Alia, so as to turn Cuesta’s flank by a long circuitous march among the rugged summits of the Sierra de Guadalupe.

Neither of these subsidiary movements was carried out. One division of Ney’s corps, and Fournier’s brigade of dragoons reached Almaraz on Aug. 8: the other division and the light cavalry had followed the 2nd Corps so closely that it had passed Navalmoral on its way eastward, and had to make a long counter-march. It was not till the ninth or tenth therefore that[p. 594] the Duke of Elchingen would have been in a position to attempt the passage of the Tagus. Craufurd’s detachment had been established at Mirabete, behind the broken bridge, since Aug. 6, and two days later the main body of the British army had reached Deleytosa, where it was within a few hours’ march of the vanguard, and perfectly ready to support it. If Ney had endeavoured to pass the Tagus on the ninth or tenth with his 12,500 men, it is clear that the head of his column must have been destroyed, for the ford was narrow and difficult, and indeed barely passable for infantry even in the middle of August[723]. But the Marshal did not even attempt the passage, for the simple reason that his intelligence officers failed to discover the ford, and reported to him that none existed. He sent word to Soult that the scheme was impracticable, and drawing back from the water’s edge concentrated his whole corps at Navalmoral [Aug. 9].

Victor, at the other end of the French line, showed no desire to adventure his infantry among the defiles of the Sierra de Guadalupe, without guns or cavalry, and refused to move up into the mountains in order to turn Cuesta’s right flank. Thus the whole plan concerted by the Duke of Dalmatia for a general attack on the allies came to an ignominious conclusion.

It would appear, indeed, that his chance of inflicting a serious blow on the enemy had passed away long ere he brought the 2nd and 5th Corps down to the bridge of Arzobispo. It was on the fifth, when Mortier refused to close with Cuesta and allowed him to withdraw across the Tagus, that Soult had lost his best opportunity. On that day the Spaniards were still on the[p. 595] wrong side of the river, and the British vanguard had not yet reached the broken bridge of Almaraz. If Mortier had engaged the army of Cuesta, and Ney had found and attacked the ford at Almaraz before Craufurd’s arrival, the position of the allies would have been forlorn indeed. But on the fifth Soult had not yet discovered the real position of affairs; and the head of Ney’s corps was only just debouching from Plasencia, two long marches from Almaraz. In short ‘the fog of war,’ as a modern writer has happily called it, was still lying thick about the combatants, and Soult’s best chance was gone before he was even aware of it.

On August 9, matters looked far less promising, even though the bridge of Arzobispo had been won. Since Ney sent word that he could not cross at Almaraz, while Victor declined to commit himself to any schemes for an advance into the eastern mountains, Soult saw that he must construct another scheme of operations. His own preference was for a march into Portugal by way of Coria and Castello Branco. Such an attack upon Wellesley’s base, made by the 50,000 men of the 2nd, 5th, and 6th Corps, would compel the British to abandon Almaraz, to give up their connexion with Cuesta, and to march in haste by Truxillo, Caceres, and Portalegre on Abrantes, in order to cover Lisbon. It was even possible that, if the invading army made great haste, it might reach Abrantes before the British: in that case Wellesley would be forced to keep to the southern bank of the Tagus and cross it at Santarem, comparatively close to the capital. Thus all Central Portugal might be won without a battle, and Lisbon itself might fall ere the campaign ended, since the 20,000 men of the British general, even when aided by the local levies, could not (as Soult supposed) hold back three French corps d’armée[724]. There was another alternative[p. 596] possible—to march not on Lisbon but on Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, and to invade Portugal by the northern road. But this plan would take a longer time to execute, and promised less decisive results.

But even before the combat of Arzobispo had taken place, Joseph and Jourdan had determined that they would not permit Soult to carry out any schemes of advance against Portugal. They could show very good grounds for their decision. If the Duke of Dalmatia marched off to attack Lisbon, he would leave the 1st and 4th Corps and the King’s reserve,—less than 50,000 men in all, after the losses of Talavera,—opposed to Cuesta, Wellesley, and Venegas, who between them would have at least 75,000[725]. If the British army should refuse to be drawn away towards Portugal, and should recross the Tagus at Almaraz with Cuesta in its wake, the situation would be deplorable. Victor would be exposed, just as he had been on July 22 and 23, to a joint attack from the two armies. And on this occasion Sebastiani and the King would not be able to bring him help, for they were now closely engaged with Venegas near Aranjuez. If they moved away from the front of the army of La Mancha, Madrid would be lost in two days. If they did not so move, Wellesley and Cuesta might crush Victor, or drive him away on some eccentric line of retreat which would uncover the capital. Jourdan therefore, writing in the name of Joseph, had informed Soult in a dispatch dated Aug. 8, that it was impossible to permit him to march on Portugal, as his departure would uncover Madrid and probably bring about a fatal disaster. He also urged that the exhaustion of the troops rendered a halt necessary, and that it would be impossible to feed them, if they advanced into the stony wilderness on the borders of Portugal before they had collected magazines. For the present the King would be contented to keep the allies in check, without seeking to attack or disperse them, until the weather began to grow cooler and the troops had rested from their fatigues.
Map of the campaign of Talavera

Enlarge  THE CAMPAIGN OF TALAVERA
JULY-AUGUST 1809

As if intending to put it out of Soult’s power to undertake his projected expedition into Portugal, Jourdan and Joseph [p. 597]now proceeded to deprive him of the control of one of his three army corps. They authorized Ney to recross the mountains and to return to Salamanca, in order to protect the plains of Leon from the incursions of the Spaniards of Galicia. Deprived of such a large section of his army, Soult would be unable to march against Abrantes, as he so much desired to do. There were good military reasons, too, for sending off Ney in this direction: Kellermann kept reporting that La Romana was on the move, and that unless promptly succoured he should find himself obliged to abandon Benavente and Zamora and to fall back on Valladolid. The Spaniards from Ciudad Rodrigo had already taken the offensive, and Del Parque’s advanced guard had even seized Salamanca.

Ney accepted with alacrity the chance of withdrawing himself from the immediate control of his old enemy Soult; he received his permission to return to Leon on Aug. 9: on the tenth his whole corps was on the move, and on the eleventh he had retired to Plasencia. On the following day he plunged into the passes and made for Salamanca with all possible speed[726].

While the 6th Corps was dispatched to the north, the King directed Soult to take up, with the rest of his troops, a defensive position opposite the allied armies on the central Tagus. The 2nd Corps was to occupy Plasencia, the 5th to watch the passages at Almaraz and Arzobispo, while keeping a detachment at Talavera. Thus all Soult’s plans for an active campaign were shattered, and he was told off to act as a ‘containing force.’ Meanwhile Joseph drew Victor and the 1st Corps away from Talavera, towards Toledo and La Mancha, with the intention of bringing them into play against Venegas. For just as[p. 598] Soult had always ‘an eye on Portugal,’ so Joseph had always ‘an eye on Madrid.’ He could not feel secure so long as a Spanish army lay near Toledo or Aranjuez, only two marches from the gates of his capital, and was determined to dislodge it from this threatening position before taking any other operation in hand. He had accepted as true rumours to the effect that part of Cuesta’s troops had retired in the direction of Oca?a[727] to join the army of La Mancha, and even that 6,000 British[728] had been detached in this same direction. Thus he had persuaded himself that Venegas had 40,000 men, and was desirous of drawing in Victor to his head quarters before delivering his attack, thinking that Sebastiani and the central reserve would be too weak for the task.
SECTION XVI: CHAPTER IX

THE END OF THE TALAVERA CAMPAIGN: ALMONACID

While King Joseph’s orders were being carried out, Wellesley and Cuesta found themselves, to their great surprise, unmolested by any hostile force. The army which had been in their front at Almaraz and Arzobispo disappeared on August 10, leaving only small detachments to watch the northern bank of the Tagus. It was soon reported to Wellesley that Victor had passed away towards Toledo, and that another corps—or perhaps two[729]—had retired to Plasencia. The object of this move however had to be determined, before the British general could take corresponding measures. Was Soult about to invade Portugal by way of Coria and Castello Branco, or was he merely taking up cantonments, from which he could observe the British and Estremaduran armies, while the King and Victor moved off against Venegas? On the whole Wellesley was inclined to believe that the latter hypothesis was the correct one, and that the enemy was about to ‘refuse’ his right wing, and to use his left for offensive action against the army of La Mancha. As was generally the case, his prescience was not at fault, and he had exactly divined the King’s intentions[730]. He had nevertheless to guard against the possibility that the other alternative might[p. 600] prove to be correct, and that Central Portugal was in danger—as indeed it would have been if Joseph had allowed Soult to carry out his original plan.

Wellesley resolved therefore to maintain his present position at Jaraicejo and Mirabete till he should be certain as to the intentions of the French. If they were really about to invade Portugal, he would march at once for Abrantes. If not, he would keep his ground, for by holding the passage at Almaraz he was threatening the French centre, and detaining in his front troops who would otherwise be free to attack the Spaniards either in La Mancha or in Leon.

Meanwhile measures had to be taken to provide a detaining force in front of Soult, lest an attack on Portugal should turn out to be in progress. This force was provided by bringing down Beresford and the Portuguese field army to Zarza and Alcantara, and sending up to their aid the British reinforcements which had landed at Lisbon during the month of July. Beresford, it will be remembered, had received orders at the commencement of the campaign directing him to concentrate his army behind Almeida, to link his operations with those of Del Parque and the Spanish force at Ciudad Rodrigo, but at the same time to be ready to transfer himself either northward or southward if his presence should be required on the Douro or the Tagus. In accordance with these instructions Beresford had collected thirty-two battalions of regular infantry, with one more from the Lusitanian Legion, and the University Volunteers of Coimbra, as also five squadrons from various cavalry regiments, and four batteries of artillery—a force of 18,000 men in all[731]. On July 31 he had crossed the Spanish frontier, and lay at San Felices and Villa de Cervo, near Ciudad Rodrigo. There he heard of Soult’s march from Salamanca towards Plasencia, and very properly made up his mind to bring his army down to Estremadura by a line parallel to that which the French had taken. He crossed the Sierra de Gata by the rough pass of Perales, and on August 12 fixed his head quarters at Moraleja,[p. 601] near Coria, on the southern slope of the mountains. His cavalry held Coria, while his right wing was in touch with the English brigades from Lisbon, which had just reached Zarza la Mayor. These were the seven battalions of Lightburne and Catlin Craufurd[732], which Wellesley had vainly hoped to receive in time for Talavera. They numbered 4,500 bayonets, and had with them one battery of British artillery.

Thus even before Soult reached Plasencia, there was an army of 18,000 Portuguese and 4,500 British on the lower Tietar, ready to act as a detaining force and to retard the Marshal’s advance, if he should make a serious attempt to invade Portugal. On Aug. 15, by Wellesley’s orders, Beresford left Moraleja and transferred his whole army to Zarza, in order to be able to fall back with perfect security on Castello Branco should circumstances so require. If he had remained at Moraleja he might have been cut off from the high-road to Abrantes by a sudden movement of the enemy on Coria[733].

Wellesley now felt comparatively safe, so far as matters strategical were concerned. If the enemy, contrary to his expectation, should march into Portugal, he could join Beresford at Abrantes, and stand at bay with some 24,000 British and 18,000 Portuguese regulars, a force sufficient to check the 30,000 men who was the utmost force that Soult could bring against him after Ney’s departure. Meanwhile, till the Marshal should move, he retained his old position at Mirabete and Jaraicejo. Though the French showed no signs of activity in his front, the weary fortnight during which the British army lay in position behind the Tagus were perhaps the most trying time that Wellesley spent during his first campaign in Spain. It was a period of absolute starvation for man and beast, and the army was going to pieces under his eyes. Ever since the British had arrived in front of Talavera on July 22, rations as we have already seen had been scanty and irregular. But the fourteen days spent at Deleytosa and Jaraicejo were even worse than those which had preceded them. The stores collected at Plasencia had been captured by the French: those gathered at Abrantes were so far distant that they could not be[p. 602] drawn upon, now that the high-road north of the Tagus had been cut by the enemy. The army had to live miserably on what it could wring out of the country-side, which Victor two months before had stripped to the very bones. Wellesley had hoped to be fed by the Spanish Government, when he threw up his line of communication with Abrantes, and took up that with Badajoz. But the Spanish Government was a broken reed on which to lean: if it fed its own armies most imperfectly, it was hardly to be expected that it would deal more liberally with its allies. The trifling stores brought from Talavera had long been exhausted: the country-side had been eaten bare: from the South very little could be procured. The Spanish Commissary-General Lozano de Torres[734] occasionally sent up a small consignment of flour from Caceres and Truxillo, but it did not suffice to give the army even half-rations. It was to no purpose that at Abrantes provisions abounded at this moment, for there was no means of getting them forward from Portugal[735]. The enemy lay between the army and its base dép?t, and there was no transport available to bring up the food by the circuitous route of Villa Velha and Portalegre. Even so early as August 8 Wellesley began to write that ‘a starving army is actually worse than none. The soldiers lose their discipline and their spirit. They plunder in the very presence of their officers. The officers are discontented, and almost as bad as the men. With the army that a fortnight ago beat double their numbers, I should now hesitate to meet a French corps of half that strength.’ On the eleventh he wrote to warn Cuesta that unless he was provided with food of some sort he should remain no longer in his advanced position, but fall back towards Badajoz, whatever might be the consequences. ‘It is impossible,’ he[p. 603] stated, ‘for me to remain any longer in a country in which no arrangement has been made for the supply of provisions to the troops, and in which all the provisions that are either found in the country or are sent from Seville (as I have been informed for the use of the British army) are applied solely and exclusively to the use of the Spanish troops[736].’

The Junta sent Wellesley a letter of high-flown praise for his doings at Talavera, a present of horses, and a commission as Captain-General in their army. But food they did not send in any sufficient quantities. All the convoys that came up from Andalusia were made over to Cuesta’s army, and the Estremaduran districts which were supposed to be allotted for the sustenance of the British had little or nothing to give. When we remember that in June Victor had described this same region as absolutely exhausted and incapable of furnishing the 1st Corps with even five days’ supplies, we shall not wonder that Wellesley’s troops starved there in August. It was impossible however to convince the British general that the suffering of his men were the result of Spanish penury rather than of Spanish negligence and bad faith. There was much just foundation for his complaints, for the Junta, after so many promises, had sent him no train from Andalusia. Moreover detachments and marauding bands from Cuesta’s army frequently intercepted the small supplies of food which British foraging parties were able to procure[737]. When taxed with their misdoings, Cuesta replied that Wellesley’s men had not unfrequently seized and plundered his own convoys, which was undoubtedly true[738], and that the British soldiers were enjoying such abundance that he had been told that some of them were actually selling their bread-ration to the Spaniards because they had no need of it—which was most certainly false[739].

That Wellesley was using no exaggerated terms, when he[p. 604] declared that his army was literally perishing for want of food, is proved by the narratives of a score of British officers who were present in the Talavera campaign[740]. That his ultimate retreat was caused by nothing but the necessity of saving his men is perfectly clear. The strategical advantage of maintaining the position behind the Almaraz passage was so evident, and the political disadvantages of withdrawing were so obvious, that a man of Wellesley’s keen insight into the facts of war must have desired to hold on as long as was possible. Unless Soult were actually attacking Portugal, Mirabete and Jaraicejo afforded the best ground that could be selected for ‘containing’ and imposing upon the enemy. So long as the British army lay there it was practically unassailable from the front, while it was admirably placed for the purpose of making an irruption into the midst of the enemy’s lines, if he should disperse his corps in search of food, or detach large forces towards La Mancha or Leon. ‘If I could only have fed,’ wrote Wellesley, ‘I could, after some time, have struck a brilliant blow either upon Soult at Plasencia, or upon Mortier in the centre[741]. It is clear that by a dash across the Almaraz passage he could have fallen upon either of these forces, and assailed it with good hope of success before it could be succoured by the other. But such a venture was impossible to an army which had lost one-third of its cavalry horses from starvation within three weeks, and whose battalions were brought so low by physical exhaustion that few of them could be relied upon to march ten miles in a day.

Wellesley declared that, having once linked his fortunes to those of the Spanish army of Estremadura, he had considered himself bound to co-operate with it as long as was humanly speaking possible, and implicit credit may be given to his assertion[742]. The limit of physical endurance, however, was reached[p. 605] on August 20, the day on which he was finally compelled to commence his retreat in the direction of Truxillo and Badajoz.

Before that day arrived one event occurred which seemed to make useful co-operation between the two allied armies more feasible than it had been at any date since the campaign began. On the night of August 12-13 Cuesta, whose health had been steadily growing worse since the injuries that he had received at Medellin, was disabled by a paralytic stroke which deprived him of the use of one of his legs. He resigned on the following day, and was succeeded by his second-in-command Eguia, an officer whose conciliatory manners and mild disposition promised to make communication between the head quarters of the two allied armies comparatively friendly. Cuesta, after receiving from the Central Junta a letter of recall couched in the most flattering terms, retired to the baths of Alhama. When he had somewhat recovered his strength, he turned his energies to writing a long vindication of his whole conduct in 1809, and then engaged in a furious controversy with Venegas, concerning the latter’s disobedience of orders in July. Engaged in these harmless pursuits he ceased to be a source of danger to his country. Unfortunately his removal from the theatre of war was not of such benefit to the common cause as might have been hoped. The Junta found ere long a general just as rash and incapable, if not quite so old, to whom to entrust the command of its largest army. Juan Carlos Areizaga, the vanquished of Oca?a, was entirely worthy to be the spiritual heir of Cuesta’s policy.

But for the present General Eguia was for some weeks in charge of the Army of Estremadura. His first idea was to persuade Wellesley to postpone his departure, and to retain his advanced position. He urged this request upon his colleague with more zeal than tact, and to no good effect. By using in one of his dispatches the phrase that other considerations besides the want of food must be determining the movements of the British army[743], he roused Wellesley’s wrath. The famine was[p. 606] so real that any insinuation that it was a mere pretext for retreat was certainly calculated to wound the general whose troops were perishing before his eyes. Expressing deep indignation[744] Wellesley refused to listen to a proposal that he should divide with the Estremadurans the stores of food at Truxillo—which indeed were hopelessly inadequate for the sustenance of two armies. Nor would he even accept an offer made him on August 20 by Lorenzo Calvo de Rozas, who came in haste from the Central Junta, to the effect that he might appropriate the whole of the magazine at Truxillo, leaving the Spanish army to provide for itself from other resources. The proposal was probably honest and genuine, but Wellesley knew the dilatory habits of the Junta so well that he was convinced that the dép?t made over to him would never be properly replenished, and would soon run dry[745].

Marching therefore by short stages, for the exhaustion of his troops made rapid progress impossible[746], he started from Jaraicejo on August 20, and moved by Truxillo and Miajadas to the valley of the Guadiana, where he cantoned the army about[p. 607] Merida, Montijo, and Badajoz. The British head quarters were fixed at the last-named place from September 3 till December 27, 1809, and, excepting for some small changes in detail, the army retained the position which it had now taken up for nearly four months. In the fertile region along the Guadiana the troops were fed without much trouble: but they did not recover the health that they had lost in the time of starvation among the barren hills behind Arzobispo and Mirabete. In spite of the junction of reinforcements and the return of convalescents to the ranks, the army could never show more than from 23,000 to 25,000 men under arms during the autumn months. When the rainy season began, the intermittent ague which was known to the British as ‘Guadiana fever’ was never absent: it did not often kill, but it disabled men by the thousand, and it was not till Wellesley moved back into Portugal at midwinter that the regiments recovered their normal health.

If he had been free to follow his personal inclination, it is probable that Wellesley would have moved back into Portugal in September. But strategical and political reasons made this impossible. While based on Badajoz he still threatened the French hold on the valley of the Tagus, and compelled the King to keep two army corps at least in his front. Since it was always possible that he might return to Almaraz and threaten Madrid, a containing force had to be told off against him. He was also in a position from which he could easily sally out to check raids upon Portugal: from Badajoz he could either join Beresford in a few marches, or fall by Alcantara upon the flank of any detachment that Soult might lead forward in the direction of Castello Branco and Abrantes. He was convinced that no such raids would be made, but their possibility had to be taken into consideration, and while lying in his present cantonments he was well placed for frustrating them. But political considerations were even more powerful than military considerations in chaining him to Badajoz. The Junta at Seville were most anxious to keep the British army in their front: they were convinced that, if it retired on Portugal, Joseph and Soult would at once organize an invasion of Andalusia, and they were well aware that Eguia and Venegas would not suffice to hold back the 70,000 men who might then be directed against[p. 608] them. In the dispatches which the Marquis Wellesley (who had superseded Frere at Seville on August 11) kept sending to his brother, the main fact conveyed was the absolute despair with which the Spanish Government viewed the prospect of the removal of their allies towards Portugal. ‘Don Martin de Garay [the secretary to the Junta] declared to me with expressions of the deepest sorrow and terror’—wrote the Marquis on August 22—‘that if your army should quit Spain, at this critical moment, inevitable and immediate ruin must ensue to his government, to whatever provinces remain under its authority, to the cause of Spain itself, and to every interest connected with the alliance so happily established between Great Britain and the Spanish nation.... No argument produced the effect of diminishing the urgency of his entreaties, and I have ascertained that his sensations are in no degree more powerful than those of the Government and of every description of people within this city and its vicinity.... Viewing the painful consequences that would follow your retreat into Portugal, I feel it my duty to submit to your consideration the possibility of adopting some intermediate plan, which may have some of the advantages of retreat into Portugal, without occasioning alarm in Spain, and so endangering the foundations of the alliance between that country and Great Britain[747].’

A stay at Badajoz was obviously the only ‘intermediate plan’ that was worth taking into consideration; and considering the urgency of his brother’s representations Wellesley could not refuse to halt within the Spanish border. The military advantages of the position that he had now taken up were not inconsiderable, and no profit that could have been got by returning into Portugal could have counterbalanced the loss of the Spanish alliance. In the valley of the Central Guadiana, therefore, the British army remained cantoned. But no arguments that the Junta could produce availed to persuade Wellesley to engage in another campaign with a Spanish colleague at his side. Not even when the tempting offer was made that Albuquerque should be given command of half of the Estremaduran army, and placed under his orders, would he consent to pledge himself to offensive operations.

[p. 609]

Meanwhile, dispatches had arrived from England, containing the official news that the Austrian War was at an end: rumours to that effect had already reached the British camps from French sources before Wellesley left Oropesa[748]. The whole character of the continental struggle was changed by the fact that the Emperor had once more the power to send reinforcements to Spain, or even to go there himself. The situation required further consideration, and the British Government resolved to place upon Wellesley’s shoulders the all-important task of deciding whether the struggle in the Peninsula could still be maintained, and how (in the event of his giving an affirmative answer) it could best be carried on[749]. He replied that in the existing state of affairs, and considering the bad state of the Spanish armies, neither 30,000 nor even 40,000 British troops would suffice to maintain Andalusia against the unlimited numbers of French whom the Emperor could now send across the Pyrenees. But he held that Portugal might be defended with success, if the Portuguese army and militia could be com[p. 610]pleted to their full strength, and the country well organized for resistance. It was probable that the borders of Portugal could not be maintained; ‘the whole country is frontier, and it would be difficult to prevent the enemy from penetrating by some point or other.’ He would have therefore ‘to confine himself to preserving what is most important,—the capital.’ But this he was prepared to undertake, and strongly advised the ministry to make no attempt to defend both Andalusia and Portugal, but to leave the Junta to their own vain devices, and to make sure of Lisbon[750].

Thus, in September 1809 Wellesley enunciated with great clearness the policy that he was about to employ in the next year. The lines of Torres Vedras are already hovering before his imagination, and after a flying visit to Lisbon in October they took definite shape in his ‘Memorandum for Colonel Fletcher’ of the twentieth of that month. In that document the whole project for defending the Portuguese capital by a series of concentric fortifications is set forth, and the modifications which it afterwards suffered were only in matters of detail. In short the Lines which were to check Masséna had been thought out in the British general’s provident mind exactly twelve months before the French army appeared in front of them.

In following the fortunes of Wellesley we have now got far beyond the point to which we have conducted the general history of the Talavera campaign. It is time to turn back to the movements of Soult and King Joseph, and to explain the reasons which made it possible for the British army to remain unmolested at Jaraicejo and Mirabete till August 20, and then to retire to Merida and Badajoz without imperilling the safety of their Estremaduran allies.

The King, as we have already seen, had made up his mind that the all-important point, at this stage of the campaign, was to make an end of the army of Venegas, and to relieve Madrid[p. 611] from danger. He had therefore called Victor towards Toledo, and directed Mortier to relieve the divisions of the 1st Corps which lay at Talavera with troops from the 5th Corps. The result of this movement was to leave Soult too weak to undertake any important operations against Portugal. For Mortier’s men, being strung out on the long line from Talavera to Navalmoral, with both Wellesley’s and Cuesta’s armies in their front, could not be relied upon to lend aid for an advance on Castello Branco or Abrantes. The Duke of Dalmatia therefore, when he had reached Plasencia, could dispose of nothing but his own 2nd Corps and Lahoussaye’s four regiments of dragoons. He dared not march on Portugal with no more than 20,000 men, when the allies had it in their power to fall upon Mortier the moment that his back was turned. Accordingly he waited at Plasencia, sending out cavalry to Coria and Torejoncillo, but did nothing more. Meanwhile Beresford and the two British brigades from Lisbon were drawing near him, and on August 16 the Portuguese cavalry, advancing from the pass of Perales and Moraleja, drove out the two French squadrons which were occupying Coria, and thus warned Soult that a new army was coming into play against him. Two days later Beresford had transferred himself to the Castello Branco road, and a force of 23,000 men had been thrown between the 2nd Corps and the Portuguese frontier.

Meanwhile the King had met with unexpected good fortune in his attack on Venegas. On August 5 he had set out from Valdemoro with the intention of attacking the army of La Mancha in its position at Aranjuez. It seemed unlikely that he would find it there, for Venegas had displayed such excessive caution in his advance from the Sierra Morena to the Tagus, and had so tamely refused to take his opportunity of pouncing upon Madrid, that it seemed probable that he would retreat at the first sign of the King’s approach. But rushing to the opposite extreme of conduct, the Spanish general was now ready to court destruction. He had received on the preceding night, that of August 4, Cuesta’s dispatch of the third, informing him that Soult had crossed the mountains and that both the British and the Estremaduran armies were quitting Talavera. The Captain-General warned him that he might expect an attack from the King’s army, and ordered him to avoid an action, and to fall back[p. 612] towards the Despe?a Perros if he were pressed. Serenely putting aside the orders of Cuesta, Venegas refused to retreat, and announced that he should not copy the conduct of a superior who had fled even before the enemy was in sight. He announced his intention of fighting, and directed his army to concentrate in the neighbourhood of Aranjuez. Of his five divisions, three were holding that town when the French came in sight; the other two were écheloned between Aranjuez and Tembleque, apparently in order to watch the roads from Toledo and A?over. The enemy might, as Venegas saw, turn his flank either by crossing the bridges of the former place, or by passing the easy ford at the latter. A detachment of 800 men had been left to watch the debouches from Toledo, and a couple of battalions observed the ford of A?over.

King Joseph meanwhile, marching with a force composed of Sebastiani’s corps, the Central Reserve, and Milhaud’s division of dragoons, arrived in front of Aranjuez on August 5. Sebastiani, whose troops led the advance, drove in the Spanish outposts, who retired across the Tagus and broke the town bridge behind them. But beyond the river the greater part of the army of La Mancha was visible in battle order, prepared to receive the attack: Venegas himself, however, chanced to be absent at the moment, as he had ridden over that morning to visit his left wing, and General Giron was in temporary charge of the defence. Sebastiani risked an attack on the Spanish position, which was accessible by means of two fords. But finding that the enemy was in great force and stood firm, he drew off his men after a sharp skirmish.

King Joseph now determined not to press the attack on Aranjuez and its fords, but to cross the Tagus at points where he could secure a less difficult passage. He countermarched Sebastiani’s corps to the bridge of Toledo, and gave Milhaud orders to force the ford of A?over. This man?uvre cost him three days; it was only on the evening of August 8 that he succeeded in concentrating his main body at Toledo. On the following morning Sebastiani passed the bridges and drove off the Spanish detachment that was observing them: it fell back on a larger force, and the 4th Corps pressing its advance, came into contact with a whole hostile division.

[p. 613]

Venegas had not failed to guess the plan which the King would adopt, and had moved off from Aranjuez towards Toledo, by roads parallel to those which the French had employed. His 5th division, 4,000 bayonets, under Major-General Zerain, was in front, and thus was the first to meet Sebastiani’s attack. It was driven in after a sharp skirmish, and retired a few miles to the small town of Almonacid, on the high-road to Mora and Madridejos. On the same evening Milhaud’s dragoons assailed the ford of A?over, drove off the small force that was guarding it, and fell into line on Sebastiani’s left flank. On the next morning Venegas came up with his remaining four divisions, those of Lacy, Vigodet, Giron, and Castejon, and joined Zerain at Almonacid. Thus both sides were concentrated for battle, save that Joseph and his reserves, owing to the delay caused by a defile over the narrow bridge of Toledo, were some ten miles to the rear of Sebastiani. The Spanish army, after the deduction of men in hospital or detached, amounted to about 23,000 men, of whom nearly 3,000 were horse: it had forty guns. The King and Sebastiani had some 21,000 sabres and bayonets, but of these nearly 4,000 were cavalry, so that the French army enjoyed its usual preponderance in that arm, in numbers no less than in efficiency. Two of its infantry divisions, those of Leval and Sebastiani, had suffered heavily at Talavera: the rest of the infantry—Valence’s Poles and the King’s guards and reserves—had not been engaged in that battle; all the cavalry was equally intact[751].

Both armies were prepared to fight: King Joseph had resolved that Madrid would never be safe till the army of La Mancha had been beaten. Venegas was eager to meet him: he had persuaded himself that the French troops which had passed the bridge of Toledo did not amount to more than 14,000 men, and hoped for an easy victory. He held a council of war on the night of the tenth, and found his subordinates as ready to fight as himself. They determined to attack Sebastiani on the dawn[p. 614] of August 12, and the Commander-in-chief exclaimed with exultation that, whatever other Spanish officers might do, he at least would never earn the nickname of El General Retiradas[752].

The French, however, anticipated Venegas, for on the morning of August 11, at half-past five o’clock, Sebastiani presented himself in front of the Spanish position and opened a furious attack, without waiting for the arrival of King Joseph and the reserve. The army of La Mancha had therefore to fight a defensive engagement, and never got the chance of carrying out the ambitious designs of its chief.

The battle-field of Almonacid bears a strong resemblance to that of Ucles, where Venegas six months before had made such a deplorable début in the character of a ‘fighting general.’ As at Ucles, the Spanish army was arrayed on a series of eminences on each side of a small town, with a long array of infantry and guns in its centre, and the cavalry on the wings. As if to emphasize the resemblance, Venegas committed his old fault of keeping no adequate reserve in hand, and distributed his whole force in one thin line, with no more than four battalions and two cavalry regiments drawn up in support to the rear of the centre! The only points in which there was a marked difference between Ucles and Almonacid was that on the latter field the eminence on the Spanish left—a hill called Los Cerrojones—was so much higher than the rest of the ground that it formed the key of the position, just as the Cerro de Medellin had done at Talavera. Moreover, there was a long hill behind Almonacid—the Cerro del Castillo—which gave an admirable rallying-point for the army if it should be forced out of its first fighting-ground.

The main line of the Spanish order of battle was formed, counting from right to left, by the divisions of Vigodet (no. 2), Castejon (no. 4), Zerain (no. 5), and Lacy (no. 1), with a brigade of the division of Giron (no. 3) continuing the array on to the Cerrojones. The second brigade of Giron formed the sole[p. 615] reserve; it was drawn up on the Cerro del Castillo, where the ruins of the mediaeval fort that gave the hill its name were turned to account as a place of strength. It had two cavalry regiments in its rear: the rest of the troops of that arm were distributed between the two flanks.

When Sebastiani came upon the field he fell upon the Spanish line without a moment’s hesitation. Apparently he thought that delay would only give the enemy time to rearrange his troops and strengthen his weak points. At any rate he did not wait for the arrival of the King and the reserve, but attacked at once. It was the same fault that Victor had committed at Talavera, but Sebastiani was not destined to receive the condign punishment that befell the Duke of Belluno. Noting that the steep hill on the Spanish left was the key of the position, he resolved to storm it before attacking the rest of the hostile line. Accordingly he threw out Milhaud’s dragoons and his own French division to ‘contain’ the Spanish centre and right, while Leval’s Germans and Valence’s Poles were directed to assail the Cerrojones. The former division turned the flank of the hill, while the latter attacked it in front.

The Spanish brigade on the hill made a stubborn resistance, and even held back the Poles till its flank was turned by the Germans. Venegas sent to its aid his miserably inadequate reserve under Giron, and some battalions drawn from the first division. But these troops came too late, the Cerrojones were lost, and the reinforcements only succeeded in checking the French advance behind the hill, on the slopes between it and Almonacid. The key of the position was thus in Sebastiani’s hands, and, seeing the Spanish centre outflanked, he let loose upon it his French division, which drove in Lacy and Zerain, and captured the town of Almonacid and three guns. Venegas was thus forced to draw back his whole line, and re-formed it on the Cerro del Castillo, which lay behind his original position. The troops were much disordered by this retrograde movement, yet made a very creditable effort to maintain their new ground. But King Joseph and the reserve had now come on the field, and Dessolles’ troops were thrown into the front line to aid the infantry of the 4th Corps. After a stubborn fight the Spanish left and centre again broke, and Venegas was only able to save[p. 616] them from complete destruction by bringing up Vigodet’s division, which was almost intact, and throwing it in the way of the advancing enemy. It held out long enough to allow the main body to escape, and then followed its comrades in retreat down the high-road to Mora and Madridejos. The French cavalry was let loose in pursuit, but does not seem to have been so successful in its work as had been the case at Ucles and Medellin. At any rate the bulk of the Spaniards escaped in more or less order, and only the stragglers were cut up.

The losses of Venegas’s army would appear to have been about 800 killed and 2,500 wounded[753], besides a considerable number of prisoners—perhaps 2,000 in all, for Sebastiani’s dispatch giving the figure of 4,000 cannot be trusted. The army of La Mancha had also lost twenty-one of its forty guns, all its baggage and several standards. Still the defeat was far less crushing than Medellin had been, and the whole army was rallied at the passes with no great difficulty. It had fought very creditably, as is sufficiently vouched for by the fact that Sebastiani acknowledged a loss of 319 killed and 2,075 wounded. The Polish division in especial had suffered very severely while storming the Cerrojones at the opening of the combat.

Thus ended the part taken by the Army of La Mancha in the Talavera campaign. No words are too strong to use in condemnation of Venegas’s conduct. After wrecking the plan of campaign drawn up by Wellesley and Cuesta by his criminal slackness and timidity in July, he then proceeded to the extreme of culpable rashness. He had ample time to retire to the South, when his position was compromised by the departure of the British and Estremaduran armies from Talavera. Instead of doing so he remained behind, and courted an unnecessary battle, in which his unskilful dispositions secured the defeat of an army which tried to do its duty and defended itself far better than could have been expected. He should have been court-martialled and shot for his repeated and impudent disobedience of Cuesta’s orders. But the Junta, conscious that they were themselves to blame for giving him secret directions which clashed with those of the Commander-in-chief, spared him, and only removed him[p. 617] from command some weeks later, in order to replace him by Areizaga, an officer of exactly the same level of merit and intelligence.

After his—or rather Sebastiani’s—victory at Almonacid King Joseph established the 4th Corps in cantonments around Toledo and Aranjuez, and sent Victor and the 1st Corps into La Mancha to observe the passes and to contain the wrecks of Venegas’s army. He returned himself with his guards and the reserve to Madrid on August 15, celebrated a Te Deum, and published an extravagant account of his own achievements, in which he claimed to have discomfited the attempt of 120,000 enemies (there were but 80,000 at the most liberal estimate) with the aid of 40,000 invincible French troops. The co-operation of Soult’s 50,000 men was consigned to oblivion in this extraordinary document.

The moment that he heard of the defeat of Venegas, Soult wrote to the King, renewing the demand which he had made ten days before for permission to invade Portugal. Now that the army of La Mancha had been disposed of, he considered that Victor might come back to Talavera and Almaraz, so as to set free Mortier and the 5th Corps for the attack on Portugal. He also suggested that Ney, having put things right at Salamanca, might now be recalled to the valley of the Tagus, and rejoin the 2nd and 5th Corps. He supported his demands by an unfounded assertion that Wellesley was on his march to unite with Beresford by way of Alcantara, and asked for leave to attack the latter before the main British army should have joined him. In a few days more, he said, it would be too late to move, for Beresford and Wellesley would have concentrated their forces, so that he would have 45,000 Anglo-Portuguese in his front[754].

Joseph refused to listen to these arguments, and had fair reasons to show for his negative reply to the Marshal’s requests. Wellesley, as he truly remarked, was not marching for Alcantara to join Beresford: he was still at Jaraicejo in close touch with the Estremaduran army. If Mortier were removed to the Portuguese border, Wellesley and Eguia might descend upon Victor and crush him. It was impossible to leave less than two corps to defend the Middle Tagus. As for Ney, he could not[p. 618] quit Leon, for Del Parque and the Galicians were concentrating in great force upon his front. Indeed, he had just written to request that the 2nd Corps might be moved up to Salamanca to support him[755]. It was not now the time to engage in further offensive operations either against Portugal or against Andalusia. The troops were exhausted; the hospital of Madrid contained at the moment 12,000 sick and wounded, the cavalry was so distressed by incessant work that few regiments could put 250 men in line. The transport was worn out, and new horses and mules were impossible to procure, for the King had no money with which to purchase them. Finally, and this was the most conclusive point of all, orders had been received from the Emperor countermanding all active operations till the hot season should be over[756]. It was impossible to say what his intentions might be, now that he was freed from the Austrian War. He might come himself to Spain, or he might send large reinforcements to the King. In any case it would be impossible to move till his will was known and his mind made up[757].

These arguments were conclusive, and Soult was forced to remain quiescent: all that he could do was to push small parties to Zarza and Coria when Beresford had evacuated those places.

Thus the Talavera campaign came to an end. There was now a long pause in the movements both of the allies and of the French. The subsequent fighting in October belongs to a totally independent series of operations. The combatants who had been engaged in July and August rested in September: Soult was left at Plasencia, Mortier at Talavera and Navalmoral, Ney at Salamanca; Victor’s head quarters were at Daymiel in La Mancha, Sebastiani lay along the Tagus from Aranjuez to Toledo. Of the allied troops Wellesley’s army was cantoned about Badajoz and Merida. The Estremadurans under Eguia covered the passages of the Tagus from Deleytosa, Jaraicejo, and Truxillo: Venegas was reorganizing his depleted corps at his old quarters in the passes by La Carolina. Beresford was observing Soult from Castello Branco, and lastly, the Galicians were moving down by divisions to join Del Parque’s[p. 619] forces at Ciudad Rodrigo, where a formidable army was now beginning to be collected.

The Talavera campaign, in short, had settled nothing. The attempt of the allies to capture Madrid had failed, but the attempt of the French to surround Wellesley and Cuesta by Soult’s flank march had failed also. Looking to the net results of all the fighting since May, it could be said that the balance of loss stood against the French. They had abandoned Galicia and the Asturias, as well as their precarious hold on Northern Portugal. They had gained nothing, save that their forces were concentrated in a good central position, instead of being scattered from Corunna and Oporto as far as Merida and Manzanares. The next move was in the hands of the Emperor: it remained to be seen how he would deal with the situation in the Peninsula, now that he, at last, had time to study it in detail.

Before passing on to the new series of operations which took place in the late autumn, one minor side-issue of the Talavera campaign remains to be narrated—the fate of the small roving column of 4,000 Spaniards and Portuguese under Sir Robert Wilson, which had been threatening Madrid in the King’s absence, and which had caused so many misgivings in the mind of Marshal Victor. Wilson’s doings were to give one more proof of his extraordinary resourcefulness and vigour, if any further evidence were needed after his masterly handling of Lapisse in the spring. It will be remembered that on August 4 he had slipped away from Escalona, on hearing from Wellesley that Soult had descended upon Plasencia. He intended to join the main army at Talavera, but on nearing that place discovered that it had already been evacuated, and that both the British and the Estremaduran armies had disappeared in the direction of Oropesa. Accordingly he directed his steps to the westward, hoping to overtake Wellesley on his march. On his way, however, he was caught up by Villatte’s division of Victor’s corps, which had been vainly hunting for him at Nombella and Escalona since the fifth. Thrown out of his path by this force, Wilson turned up into the mountains, intending to escape by the northern bank of the Tietar. He soon learnt, however, from the peasantry that Soult had sent a brigade under Foy to look for him in the Vera of Plasencia, and that Hugo, the governor[p. 620] of Avila, had come down to hold against him the passes of Arenas and Monbeltran. Thus ringed around with foes, he did not lose his nerve, but turning up into the Sierra de Gredos, by a mule-path that leads from Aldea Nueva to the upper valley of the Alagon, escaped in the direction of Bejar. From thence he intended to strike across towards Portugal. But a new enemy now came upon him: he had evaded Villatte and Foy only to run into the arms of Ney, who on this day [August 12] was preparing to cross the Puerto de Ba?os on his way to Salamanca. There was still time to escape from the Marshal’s front and to retire to Ciudad Rodrigo unmolested. But Wilson saw the rocky defile of the Puerto in front of him, and could not resist the temptation of holding it against the enemy, though he was well aware that with a force of less than 4,000 men, destitute of artillery, he could not seriously hope to repulse a whole army corps. Nevertheless he offered battle in the pass, and fought a running fight for nine hours against Ney’s vanguard, defending three successive positions, from each of which he had to be expelled. In his last stand he held on too long, and allowed the enemy to close. His four battalions were all broken, and fled over the hills to Miranda de Casta?ar, where they rallied on the next day. The Marshal acknowledged in his dispatch to King Joseph a loss of five officers and thirty men killed, and ten officers and 140 men wounded, which shows that he had been forced to fight hard to clear the pass. He claimed to have ‘destroyed’ Wilson’s detachment, and declared that 1,200 Spaniards and Portuguese had fallen. But Wilson’s returns show that his total loss, killed, wounded, and missing, was under 400, among whom there was not a single field officer or captain. Having assuaged his thirst for a fight by this gallant, if unnecessary, engagement, Wilson escaped to the Pass of Perales, and finally reached Castello Branco on August 24, where he fell in with Beresford, and was at last in safety, after his many wanderings among the summits of the Sierra de Gredos and the Sierra de Gata. This hazardous march was his last achievement in the Peninsula; after a bitter quarrel with Beresford concerning the status of his Lusitanian Legion in the Portuguese army, he sailed for England in October, and never returned to Portugal.

The End
Vol. III Sep. 1809 - Dec. 1810. PREFACE
This, the third volume of the History of the Peninsular War, covers a longer period than either of its predecessors, extending over the sixteen months from Wellington’s arrival at Badajoz on his retreat from Talavera (Sept. 3, 1809) to the deadlock in front of Santarem (Dec. 1810), which marked the end of Masséna’s offensive campaign in Portugal. It thus embraces the central crisis of the whole war, the arrival of the French in front of the Lines of Torres Vedras and their first short retreat, after they had realized the impossibility of forcing that impregnable barrier to their advance. The retreat that began at Sobral on the night of Nov. 14, 1810, was to end at Toulouse on April 11, 1814. The armies of the Emperor were never able to repeat the experiment of 1810, and to assume a general and vigorous offensive against Wellington and Portugal. In 1811 they were on the defensive, despite of certain local and partial attempts to recover their lost initiative. In 1812 they had to abandon half Spain—Andalusia, Estremadura, Asturias, La Mancha, and much more,—despite of Wellington’s temporary check before Burgos. In 1813 they were swept across the Pyrenees and the Bidassoa; in 1814 they were fighting a losing game in their own land. Rightly then may Masséna’s retreat to Santarem be called the beginning of the end—though it was not for a full year more that Wellington’s final offensive commenced, with the investment of Ciudad Rodrigo on Jan. 8, 1812.

[p. iv]The campaign of Bussaco and Torres Vedras, therefore, marked the turning-point of the whole war, and I have endeavoured to set forth its meaning in full detail, devoting special care to the explanation of Wellington’s triple device for arresting the French advance—his combination of the system of devastation, of the raising of the levée en masse in Portugal, and of the construction of great defensive lines in front of Lisbon. Each of these three measures would have been incomplete without the other two. For the Lines of Torres Vedras might not have saved Portugal and Europe from the domination of Napoleon, if the invading army had not been surrounded on all sides by the light screen of irregular troops, which cut its communications, and prevented it from foraging far afield. Nor would Masséna have been turned back, if the land through which he had advanced had been left unravaged, and if every large village had contained enough food to subsist a brigade for a day or a battalion for a week.

The preparations, the advance, and the retreat of Masséna cover about half of this volume. The rest of it is occupied with the operations of the French in Northern, Eastern, and Southern Spain—operations which seemed decisive at the moment, but which turned out to be mere side-issues in the great contest. For Soult’s conquest of Andalusia, and Suchet’s victories in Aragon, Catalonia, and Valencia only distracted the imperial generals from their central task—the expulsion of Wellington and his army from the Peninsula. Most readers will, I think, find a good deal of new information in the accounts of the siege of Gerona and the battle of Oca?a. The credit due to Alvarez for the defence of the Cata[p. v]lonian city has never been properly set forth before in any English history, nor have the details of Areizaga’s miserable campaign in La Mancha been fully studied. In particular, the composition and strength of his army have never before been elucidated, and Appendices V, VI of this volume consist of absolutely unpublished documents.

I have to offer my grateful thanks to those who have been good enough to assist me in the writing of this book, by furnishing me with stores of private papers, or hitherto unknown official reports. Two of the kind helpers who put me on the track of new information for the compiling of Volume II have passed away while Volume III was in progress. I bitterly regret the loss of my friends General Arteche and Colonel F. A. Whinyates. The former, with his unrivalled knowledge of the contents of the historical department of the Madrid War Office, had enabled me to discover many a lost document of importance. The latter had placed at my disposal his copious store of papers, letters, and diaries relating to his old corps, the Royal Artillery. In this present section of the history of the war I am still using much of the material which he lent me.

But new helpers have come to my aid while this volume was being written. To three of them I must express my special gratitude. The first is Mr. W. S. M. D’Urban, of Newport House, near Exeter, who has furnished me with copies of a collection of papers of unique interest, the diary and correspondence of his grandfather, Sir Benjamin D’Urban, who served as the Quarter-Master-General of the Portuguese army, under Marshal Beresford, during[p. vi] the two years covered by this section of my history. Thanks to the mass of documents furnished by Mr. D’Urban’s kindness, I am now in a position to follow the details of the organization, movements, and exploits of the Portuguese army in a way that had hitherto been impossible to me. Moreover, Sir Benjamin’s day by day criticisms on the strategy and tactics both of Masséna and of Wellington have the highest interest, as reflecting the opinions of the more intelligent section of the head-quarters staff. It is noteworthy to find that, while many of Wellington’s chief subordinates despaired of the situation in 1810, there were some who already felt an enthusiastic confidence in the plans of their leader, so much so that their criticisms were reserved for the occasions when, in their opinion, he showed himself over-cautious, and refused to take full advantage of the uncomfortable positions into which he had lured his enemy.

The second mass of interesting private papers placed in my hands of late is the personal correspondence of Nicholas Trant and John Wilson, the two enterprising leaders of Portuguese militia forces, to whom Wellington had entrusted the cutting off of Masséna’s communication with Spain, and the restriction of his raids for sustenance to feed his army. These letters have been lent me by Commander Bertram Chambers of H.M.S. Resolution, a collateral relative of Wilson. They fill up a gap in the military history of 1810, for no one hitherto had the opportunity of following out in detail the doings of these two adventurous soldiers and trusty friends, while they were engaged in the difficult task that was set them. For a sample of Trant’s breezy style[p. vii] of correspondence, I may refer the reader to pages 399-400 of this volume. Unfortunately, when the two militia generals were in actual contact, their correspondence naturally ceased, so that the series of letters has many lacunae. But they are nevertheless of the highest value.

Thirdly, I have to thank Sir Henry Le Marchant for a sight of the private papers of his grandfather, the well-known cavalry brigadier, General John Gaspar Le Marchant, who fell at Salamanca. He did not land in the Peninsula till 1811, but during the preceding year he was receiving many letters of interest, some from his own contemporaries, officers of high rank in Wellington’s army, others from younger men, who had been his pupils while he was in command of the Military College at High Wycombe. Some of the seniors, and one especially, were among those down-hearted men—of the opposite type to Benjamin D’Urban—who were consistently expecting disaster, and looked for a hasty embarkation at Lisbon as the natural end of the campaign of 1810. The younger men took a very different view of affairs, and invariably sent cheerful accounts of the doings of the army.

I must mention, once more, kind assistance from the officials of the Historical sections of the War Ministries at Paris and at Madrid. My friend Commandant Balagny, who gave me so much help during the compilation of my second volume, has unfortunately been absent on a military mission to Brazil during the last three years. But the kind offices of M. Martinien have continually aided me in getting access to the particular sections of the Paris archives with which I was from time to time[p. viii] concerned. I must here take the opportunity of expressing once more my admiration for his colossal work, the Liste des officiers tués et blessés pendant les Guerres de l’Empire, which, on the numberless occasions when no casualty-return appears in the Paris archives, enables one to determine what regiments were present at any action, and in what proportion they suffered. At Madrid Captain Emilio Figueras has continued his kind services, offered during the compilation of my second volume, and was indefatigable in going through the papers of 1810 with me, during my two visits to the Spanish capital.

Among my English helpers I must cite with special gratitude four names. The first is that of Mr. C. T. Atkinson, Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford, who has read the proofs of the greater part of this volume, and given me many valuable corrections and pieces of information, from his wide knowledge of British regimental history. The second is that of Major John H. Leslie, R.A., who has compiled the Artillery Appendix to this section, corresponding to that which Colonel Whinyates compiled for the last. I am also most grateful to him for an early view of the useful ‘Dickson Papers,’ which he is publishing for the Royal Artillery Institution. The third is that of the Rev. Alexander Craufurd, who has continued to give me notes on the history of the Light Division, while it was commanded by his grandfather, the famous Robert Craufurd. The fourth is that of Mr. C. E. Doble of the Clarendon Press, who has again read for errors every page of a long volume.

Lastly, the indefatigable compiler of the Index[p. ix] must receive once more my heartfelt thanks for a labour of love.

The reader will find several topographical notes appended at the end of chapters, the results of my first and second tours along the borderland of Spain and Portugal. Two long visits to the battlefield of Bussaco, and some days spent between the Coa and the Agueda, and behind the Lines of Torres Vedras, gave me many new topographical facts of importance. Drives and walks in the Badajoz-Elvas country, and about Coimbra, also turned out most profitable. But my notes on the battlefields of Fuentes d’O?oro and Albuera can only be utilized in my next volume, which I trust may not be long in following its predecessor into print.

The spelling of many of the Spanish, and more especially the Portuguese, names may appear unfamiliar to some readers. But I believe that correctness should be studied above all things, even though the results in cases like Bussaco with the double s, Goleg?o, or Santa Comba Dao, may produce a momentary shock to the eye. Portuguese spelling, both in personal names and in topography, was in a state of flux in 1810. For example, the General commanding the Artillery always appears as da Rosa in the official army lists, yet signed his name da Roza; countless other instances could be produced. Where it was possible I have followed the individual’s own version of his name: he ought to have known best. There are still, no doubt, errors of spelling surviving: no man is infallible, but I have done my best to reduce them to a minimum.
C. OMAN.

Oxford:
March 1, 1908.
SECTION XVII  FROM TALAVERA TO OCA?A CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY. THE CENTRAL JUNTA. WELLESLEY AND WELLINGTON

Between the 20th of August, 1809, when Robert Craufurd’s Light Brigade[1] withdrew from the Bridge of Almaraz, to follow the rest of the British army across the mountains to the neighbourhood of Badajoz, and February 27, 1810, when part of that same brigade was engaged in the first skirmish of Barba del Puerco, not a shot was fired by any of Wellington’s troops. This gap of over six months in his active operations may appear extraordinary, and it was bitterly criticized at the time. Between August and March there was hard fighting both in the south of Spain and along the north-eastern frontier of Portugal; but the British army, despite many invitations, took no part in it. Wellington adhered to his resolve never to commit himself again to a campaign in company with the Spaniards, unless he should be placed in a position in which he could be independent of the freaks of their government and the perversity of their generals. Two months’ experience of the impracticability of Cuesta, of the deliberate disobedience of Venegas, of the fruitless promises of the commissary-general Lozano de Torres, of the insane demands and advice sent in by the Central Junta, had convinced him that he dare not risk his army in a second venture such as that which had led him to Talavera. If he were made commander-in-chief by the Spanish Government, and granted a free hand in the direction of the Spanish armies, matters would look different[2]. But[p. 2] there was at present no chance whatever that he would receive such a mark of confidence. Only a small minority of the leading men at Seville could endure with patience the idea of a British commander-in-chief. Wellington himself had long dismissed the project—which Frère had broached in the spring[3]—as impracticable.

Meanwhile the French advance had no sooner ceased—after the rather objectless combat of Arzobispo—than the Junta began to press upon the British general schemes for a resumption of the offensive and a second march toward Madrid. The political situation, and not any military considerations, was the originating cause of their untimely activity. They felt that their authority was waning, that their popularity had vanished, that their critics were daily growing more venomous, and they saw that success in the war would be the only possible way out of their difficulties. Hence at the very moment when Wellington was withdrawing his half-starved army from the Tagus, and impeaching in letters of stinging irony the conduct of the Junta’s mendacious commissaries, he was being pressed to resume the offensive. Countless appeals were made to him. Both formal and argumentative invitations from the ministers at Seville, and private remonstrances by individuals, Spanish and English, were showered upon him[4]. The Junta even went so far as to offer him command of the Spanish troops in Estremadura, though this offer was qualified by their statement that they intended to reduce those troops to 12,000 men, the larger half of the army being under orders to march eastward into La Mancha and join the force of Venegas. This proposal did not in the least meet Wellington’s main objection to resuming active operations; viz. that he could not trust the Spanish Government to feed his army, nor the Spanish generals to carry out with punctual accuracy any scheme for a joint campaign which might be laid before him. He put the matter very plainly—‘till the evils of which I think that I have reason to complain are remedied: till I see magazines established[p. 3] for the supply of the troops, and a regular system adopted for keeping them filled: till I see an army upon whose exertions I can depend, commanded by officers capable and willing to carry into execution the operations which have been planned by mutual agreement, I cannot enter upon any system of co-operation with the Spanish armies[5].’ This statement was for publication: in private correspondence with his brother, the ambassador at Seville, he added still more cogent reasons for declining to take the field with Venegas or Eguia. He had witnessed with his own eyes the panic of Portago’s division on the night before Talavera, ‘when whole corps threw away their arms and ran off in my presence, while neither attacked nor threatened with attack, but frightened (I believe) by their own fire’: he had seen Albuquerque’s cavalry, the day after the combat of Arzobispo, lurking in every village for twenty miles round, and ‘had heard Spanish officers telling of nineteen or twenty actions of the same description as that of Arzobispo, an account of which (I believe) has never been published.’ The army of Estremadura consisted, he concluded, ‘of troops by no means to be depended upon’—on every ground, therefore, he ought to avoid ‘risking the King’s army again in such company[6].’

There was no getting over this fundamental objection of Wellington’s, and his brother, therefore, was placed in a very uncomfortable position. During all his negotiations with the Central Junta, Lord Wellesley’s task indeed was a most invidious one. He had been directed by his government to profess an earnest desire to aid the Spaniards in bringing the war to a successful conclusion, and to pledge the aid of Great Britain, yet he was forced to refuse every definite proposal made to him by the Junta. On the other hand, there were clauses in his instructions which provoked the most openly-displayed suspicion and resentment, when he touched upon them in his conversations with Martin de Garay and the other Spanish ministers. Such were the proposal to place the whole Spanish army under a British commander (i.e. Wellington), the attempt[p. 4] to open up the subject of a certain measure of free trade with Spanish America, and—most of all—the offer to send British troops to garrison Cadiz. For despite the fiasco of the preceding winter, the Portland ministry were still harping on this old string, and allusions to it occur in nearly every dispatch sent from London to the ambassador at Seville[7].

Wellesley’s position was made even more difficult by the fact that all the Spanish factions opposed to the Central Junta tried to draw him into their schemes, by making lavish professions of what they were ready to do if only the present government were evicted from office. Of these factions there were many: the old ‘Council of Castile,’ which the Junta had superseded, still clung together, making protests as to the legality of their successor’s position. The local assemblies were equally jealous of the central authority—the Juntas of Estremadura and Valencia, in especial, were always intriguing behind its back, and the former at least made many tempting proposals both to Wellesley and to Wellington. But the most dangerous enemies of the existing government were the malcontents close at its gates—the Andalusian conspirators, led by the members of the old Junta of Seville, and by the intriguers like the Conde de Montijo, the dukes of Infantado and Ossuna, and Francisco Palafox. The dissatisfaction caused by the incapacity, indecision, and—as it was openly said—the nepotism and venality of the Junta was so general, that a plan was formed in Seville to seize them, deport them all to the Canaries, and proclaim a Regency. The troops in the place were tampered with, some demagogues were ready to raise the mob, and Infantado[8], who was in the thick of the plot, came to Wellesley one night to divulge the arrangements for the ‘Pronunciamento’ and to bespeak his aid. Much as he disliked the Junta and its methods, the Ambassador scornfully refused to make himself a member of a conspiracy, and after warning Infantado of his intention, went straight to the Secretary Garay and gave him all the information as to the project, though without divulging[p. 5] any names. Some of the plotters fled, others were arrested. ‘For the last two days,’ writes Wellesley to his brother, ‘I have been employed in endeavouring to save the necks of these caitiffs from the just fury and indignation of the people and soldiery, and I have succeeded. A regular plot was formed to seize (and I believe to hang) them all. But I could not suffer such outrages under my nose, so I interfered and saved the curs from the rope. They were all gratitude for an hour [Wellesley was offered and refused the Order of the Golden Fleece next morning], but now that they think themselves secure they have begun to cheat me again[9].’

Much as every patriot should deprecate the employment of coups d’état while a foreign war is on hand, there was much to excuse the conduct of the enemies of the Junta. That body was now more than a year old; it had been from the first regarded as a stop-gap, as a provisional government which was destined to give place to something more regular and constitutional when occasion should serve. A ‘Committee of Public Safety’ which fails to preserve the state stands self-condemned, and the history of the Central Junta had been one record of consistent disaster. A body of over thirty persons is too large for a ministry, too small for a representative assembly. Every intelligent Spaniard, whatever his politics, was desirous of seeing it give place to a regular government. The Conservatives and bureaucrats would have been contented if it had appointed a Regency of four or five persons, and then abdicated. The Liberals demanded that it should summon the national Cortes, and leave to that body the creation of an executive. Pamphlets were showered by dozens from the press—now more or less free, for the first time in Spanish history—to advocate one or other of these courses. The Junta, however, had no intention of surrendering its power, whatever pretence of disinterestedness it might assume and proclaim. Its first attempts to put off the evil day when it must yield to public opinion were ingeniously absurd. It issued, as early as May 22, a proclamation acknowledging the advisability of summoning a Cortes, and then invited all well-thinking Spaniards to send in schemes and suggestions during the[p. 6] next two months concerning the best way in which the national assembly could be organized, and the reforms and constitutional improvements which it should take in hand. These documents were to be read and pondered over by a Commission, mainly composed of members of the Junta, which was to issue a report in due time, embodying the best of the suggestions and the results of its own discussion[10]. This was an admirable device for wasting time and putting off the assembly of the Cortes. The Commission finally decided, on September 19, after many weeks of session, that a supreme Executive Council of five persons should be appointed, carefully avoiding the name of Regency. But only existing members of the Central Junta were to be eligible as Councillors, and the Council was to be changed at short intervals, till every member of the Junta had taken a turn in it[11]. The only laudable clause of this scheme was one providing that Spanish America should be represented in the Junta, and therefore ultimately in the Executive Council. The arrangement satisfied nobody—it merely substituted a rapidly changing committee of the Junta for the whole of that body as the supreme ruling power: and it was clear that the orders of the Council would be those of the Junta, though they might be voiced by fewer mouths. The assembly of the Cortes would be put off ad infinitum.

Any effect which the report of the Commission might have had, was spoilt by the fact that it was followed by a minority report, or manifesto, drawn up by the Marquis of La Romana, who had been one of the Commissioners. The Junta had called him back from Galicia, and compelled him to surrender the army that he had re-formed, under the pretext that he had been co-opted as a member of their own body. A death-vacancy had been created in the representation of the kingdom of Valencia: he had been named to fill it, summoned to Seville, and placed on the constitutional Commission. Dissenting from every word of the report of the majority, he published on October 14 a counter-scheme, in which he declared that the[p. 7] venality, nepotism, and dilatory incapacity of the Junta made it necessary for Spain to seek a new executive which should be wholly independent of that body. Accordingly he suggested that a Regency of five members should be constituted, as the supreme governing body of the realm. No member of the Junta was to sit therein. It was to be assisted, for consultative purposes, by a body of six persons—one of whom was to be a South American. This second committee, to be called ‘the Permanent Deputation of the Realm,’ was to be considered to represent the Cortes till that assembly should meet. It was not to meddle with executive matters, but was to devote itself to drawing up the details of the constitution of the future Cortes, and to suggesting practical reforms.

So far as the declaration in favour of a Regency went, most sensible Spaniards liked La Romana’s scheme, and it obtained Wellesley’s approval also. But the idea of the ‘Permanent Deputation’ frightened the Liberals, who feared that its existence would be made the excuse for putting off the summoning of the Cortes for an indefinite time. Moreover it was rumoured that La Romana intended to resign his seat in the Junta, and to become a candidate for the position of Senior Regent, so that his proposals must be intended to benefit himself. The suspicion that his personal ambitions inspired his patriotic denunciation of the Junta’s misdoings was made the more likely by events that occurred at the same moment in Valencia. There the leading personage of the moment was the governor, General José Caro, the younger brother of La Romana, who had complete control of the local Junta, and exercised what his enemies called a tyranny in the province. He and his following were already on the worst terms with the Seville Government, and now took the opportunity of bursting out into open rebellion. They issued a sounding manifesto against the Supreme Junta, declared their intention of refusing to obey it any longer, and republished and sent in all directions to the other local Juntas La Romana’s report in favour of a Regency, of which Caro had struck off 6,000 copies. They threatened to turn back by force General Castro whom the Supreme Junta had sent to supersede Caro, and declared their second representative in that body, the Conde de Contamina, deposed for ‘disobedience to the will of[p. 8] the people.’ It looked as if La Romana might be intending to overthrow the central government by means of his brother’s Valencian army. Apparently he must be acquitted of this charge, his fiery and ambitious kinsman having gone far beyond his intentions.

In the midst of all these intrigues, plots, and manifestos the Central Junta had only one hope—to rehabilitate themselves by means of a great military success. With ruinous consequences they tried to direct the course of the war with political rather than strategical ends in view. Of the unhappy autumn campaign which their rashness precipitated we shall speak in its proper place; but before narrating the disasters of Oca?a and Alba de Tormes, we must turn back for some months to consider the situation of Eastern Spain, where the continuous chronicle of events has been conducted no further than Blake’s rout at Belchite in June, and St. Cyr’s victory of Valls in February 1809. Much had happened in Catalonia and Aragon even before the day of Talavera. Much more was to take place before the ill-judged November campaign of the Junta’s armies in New Castile and Leon had begun.

N.B.—This is a military history: for the war of pamphlets and manifestos, plots and intrigues, between the Seville Government and its adversaries, the reader who is anxious to master the disheartening details may consult Toreno’s Tenth Book; Schepeler, iii. 460-86; Baumgarten, vol. i. chapter viii; Arteche, vol. vii. chapter vi, and above all the volume of the Marquis of Wellesley’s Spanish Dispatches (London, 1838). There is a good and lively description of the chief members of the Junta and the ministry, and of the intrigues against them, in William Jacob’s Travels in the South of Spain (London, 1811).
SECTION XVII: CHAPTER II
EVENTS IN EASTERN SPAIN DURING THE SUMMER AND AUTUMN OF 1809. THE SIEGE OF GERONA BEGUN

In the spring of 1809 the theatres of operations of the two French army-corps entrusted with the reduction of Aragon and of Catalonia were still divided by a broad belt of territory which was in the hands of the Spaniards, around the fortresses of Lerida, Mequinenza, and Tortosa. Only once had communication been opened between Suchet and St. Cyr, and then the force which had crossed from Aragon into Catalonia found itself unable to return. The only way of getting a dispatch from Saragossa to Barcelona was to send it by the circuitous road through France. Co-operation between the 3rd and the 7th Corps would have been difficult in any case; but since each of the two corps-commanders was interested in his own problems alone, and found them all-absorbing, the war in Catalonia and the war in Aragon went on during 1809 and the first half of 1810 as separate affairs from the French point of view. It was otherwise with the Spaniards: Blake had been placed in command of the whole of the Coronilla, the three provinces of Valencia, Aragon, and Catalonia which had formed the ancient kingdom of Aragon[12]. He had Suchet on his left and St. Cyr on his right, was equally interested in the operations of each, and might, so far as the rules of strategy go, have turned his main force against whichever of the two he might please, leaving a comparatively small force to ‘contain’ the other. Unfortunately he proved unable to make head against either of his adversaries. We have already seen how, in the early summer, he threw himself upon Suchet, and was beaten off at Maria and routed at Belchite. In the later months of the year it was mainly with St. Cyr that he had to deal, and his[p. 10] efforts were equally unsuccessful. It would seem that he found it very difficult to concentrate any preponderant portion of his troops for a blow to either side: very few battalions from Catalonia accompanied his Valencians and Aragonese to Maria: very few Valencians were brought up to aid the Catalans in the operations about Gerona. The problems of food and transport had something to do with this, but the main difficulty was that the armies of both provinces, more especially the Catalans, were essentially local levies, and disliked being drawn far from their homes. There was always some threatening danger in their own district which made them loath to leave it unguarded, while they were taken off on some distant expedition. The complaints and arguments of the Juntas, the manifest unwillingness of the officers and men, fettered the hands of the commander-in-chief, whenever he strove to accomplish a general concentration. Hence it came to pass that for the most part St. Cyr was opposed by Catalan troops only, Suchet by Valencians and Aragonese only, during the campaigns of 1809.

The tasks of the commander of the 3rd Corps in the months that followed his victories over Blake were both less interesting and less important than those imposed upon his colleague in Catalonia. They were however laborious enough; after having driven the Spanish regular armies out of Aragon, Suchet had now to tame the country-side. For even after Belchite he held little more than the towns of Saragossa and Jaca, and the ground on which his camps were pitched from day to day. When he had concentrated his corps to fight Blake, the rest of the province had slipped out of his hands. Its reconquest was a tedious matter, even though he had only to contend with scattered bands of peasants, stiffened by stragglers from the army that had dispersed after Belchite. The plain of the Ebro, which forms the central strip of Aragon, was easily subdued, but the mountains to the north and south were well fitted to be the refuge of insurgents. The Aragonese, along with the Galicians, were the first of the Spaniards to take to systematic guerrilla warfare. Undismayed by the fate of Blake’s army, they had resolved to defend themselves to the last. There was more than one focus of resistance: a colonel Renovales, who had been one of the defenders of Saragossa, and had escaped after[p. 11] the capitulation, was at the head of the bands of the north-western mountains, in the vale of Roncal and on the borders of Navarre. In the north-eastern region, about the upper waters of the Cinca and the hills beyond Jaca, two local chiefs named Perena and Sarasa kept the war on foot, getting their stores and ammunition from the Catalans on the side of Lerida. In an entirely distinct part of the province, south of the Ebro, lay Gayan and Villacampa, whose centres of activity were Daroca and Molina, mountain towns from which they were often driven up into that central ganglion of all the ranges of Spain, the Sierra de Albaracin, from which descend in diverging directions the sources of the Tagus, the Guadalaviar, and the Xucar. Both Gayan and Villacampa were officers of the regular army, holding commissions under Blake: the band of the former had as its nucleus the regiment of La Princesa, whose extraordinary escape across northern Spain after the combat of Santander has been told in another place[13].

Suchet’s work, during the later summer and the autumn of 1809, was to break up and as far as possible to destroy these bands. His success was considerable but not complete: in July he stormed Gayan’s stronghold, the mountain sanctuary of Nuestra Se?ora del Aguila, captured his magazines, and drove him up into the mountains of Molina. Continuing his campaign south of the Ebro, he sent the Pole Chlopiski against Villacampa, who abandoned Calatayud, Daroca, and the other hill towns, and retired into the Sierra de Albaracin, where he took refuge at the remote convent of El Tremendal, one of the most out-of-the-way spots in the whole Peninsula. Here, nevertheless, the partisan was followed up on Nov. 23-4 by a column under Colonel Henriot, who man?uvred him out of his position, surprised him by a night attack, and drove him over the Valencian border. The convent was blown up, the dependent village of Orihuela sacked, and the French withdrew[14].

[p. 12]

These operations had been carried out by Musnier’s division; but meanwhile movements of a very similar sort were being undertaken by another division, that of Laval, on the other side of Aragon, along the slopes and gorges of the Pyrenees[15]. In the end of August a column of 3,000 men stormed the convent of San Juan de la Pe?a, close to Jaca, which Sarasa and Renovales were wont to make their head quarters. It was an ancient building containing the tombs of the early kings of Aragon, who reigned in the mountains before Saragossa had been recovered from the Moor; it had never seen an enemy for eight hundred years, and was reputed holy and impregnable. Hence its capture dealt a severe blow to the confidence of the insurgents. Renovales, however, held out in the western upland, continuing to defend himself in the valley of Roncal, till he was beset on all sides, for Suchet had obtained leave from Paris to call up the National Guards of the Ariége, Basses Pyrénées and Haute Garonne, and their bataillons d’élite attacked the insurgents in the rear from across the high mountains, while the 3rd Corps advanced against them from the front. After much scattered fighting Renovales capitulated, on condition that he should be allowed a free departure. He retired to Catalonia with some of his men: the rest dispersed for the moment, but only to reassemble a few weeks later, under another and a more wary and obstinate chief, the younger Mina, who commenced in this same autumn to make the borders of Aragon and Navarre the theatre of his hazardous exploits. But the region was comparatively quiet in September and October, and Suchet transferred the activity of his movable column further to the eastward, where he drove some partidas out of the valleys of the Cinca and Essera, and tried to open up a new line of[p. 13] communication with France by way of the valley of Venasque. This was accomplished, for a moment, by the aid of national guards from beyond the Pyrenees, who entered the valley from the north while the troops of Suchet were operating from the south. But the road remained unsafe, and could only be used for the passage of very large bodies of troops, so that it was practically of little importance.

In December Suchet completed the formal conquest of Aragon, by moving up the whole of Laval’s division into the high-lying district of Teruel, in the extreme south-east of the province, the only part of it that had never yet seen the French eagles. The Junta of Aragon fled from thence over the border of the kingdom of Valencia, but Villacampa and his bands remained in the mountains unsubdued, and while they continued to exist the conquest of the upland was incomplete. The moment that its towns ceased to be held by large garrisons, it was clear that the insurgents would descend to reoccupy them. Nevertheless Suchet had done much in this year: besides the crushing of Blake he had accomplished the complete subjection of the plains of Central Aragon, and had obtained a grip upon its two mountain regions. He had fortified Monzon, Fraga, Alca?iz, and Caspe as outposts against the Catalans, and, having received large drafts from France in the autumn, was on the last day of the year at the head of a fine corps of 26,000 men, from which he might hope to produce in the next spring a field army sufficient for offensive operations against Catalonia or Valencia, after providing garrisons for his various posts of strength[16]. The weak point of his position was that the guerrilleros had learned caution, refused for the future to fight save under the most favourable conditions, and devoted themselves to the safe[p. 14] and vexatious policy of intercepting communications and cutting up small parties and stragglers. They were much harder to deal with, when once they had learnt that not even in fastnesses like El Tremendal or San Juan de la Pe?a was it wise to offer the French battle. Unless Suchet left a garrison in every town, nay, in every considerable village, of the sierras, the insurgents dominated the whole region. If he did take such measures for holding down the upland, he was forced to immobilize a very large proportion of his army. We shall note that in 1810 he was only able to draw out 12,000 of his 26,000 men for the invasion of Western Catalonia.

While the commander of the 3rd Corps was making steady progress with the conquest of Aragon, the fortunes of his colleague of the 7th Corps had been far more chequered. Indeed for the greater part of 1809 St. Cyr was brought to a complete standstill by the unexpected obstinacy of the gallant garrison of Gerona, who for no less than eight months kept the main body of the army of Catalonia detained in front of their walls.

When last we dealt with the operations in this region we left St. Cyr victorious at the well-contested battle of Valls, after which he advanced into the plain of Tarragona, made some demonstrations against that fortress, but returned after a few weeks to Barcelona (March 18) without having made any serious attempt to turn his victory to practical account. This retreat after a brilliant success may be compared to Victor’s similar evacuation of Southern Estremadura after Medellin, and was brought about, in the main, by the same cause, want of supplies. For when he had consumed the resources of the newly-subdued district between Valls and Tarragona, St. Cyr had no means of providing his army with further subsistence. Barcelona, his base, could not feed him, for the city was itself on the edge of famine: it was still beset to north and west by the local miqueletes, who had returned to their old haunts when the main French army had gone off southward on the campaign of Valls. It was stringently blockaded on the sea side by the British Mediterranean fleet, and it could not draw food from France by land, because the high-road to Perpignan passed through the fortress of Gerona, which was still in[p. 15] Spanish hands. St. Cyr himself, it will be remembered, had only reached Barcelona by turning off on to side tracks through the mountain, and winning his way down to the shore by the hard-fought battle of Cardadeu. Till Gerona should fall, and the garrison of Barcelona be placed in direct communication with France, there was little use in making ambitious offensive movements against Tarragona or any other point in Southern or Central Catalonia. It was absolutely necessary to reduce Gerona, and so to bring the division left behind under Reille, in the Ampurdam and on the frontier of Roussillon, into free communication with the remainder of the 7th Corps. From the moment when St. Cyr passed the mountains during the winter Reille had been fighting out a petty campaign against the northern Catalans, which had no connexion whatever with his superior’s operations at Molins de Rey and Valls, and had little definite result of any kind.

No one saw more clearly than Napoleon the need for the reduction of Gerona: as early as January he had issued orders both to St. Cyr and to Reille to prepare for the enterprise. But St. Cyr was now out of touch, and Reille was far too weak in the early spring to dream of any such an adventure: he had been left no more than seven depleted battalions to maintain his hold on Northern Catalonia, when St. Cyr took the rest of the army across the hills to Barcelona. The Emperor was not slow to realize that the 7th Corps must be reinforced on a large scale. He did so by sending thither in the spring of 1809 a brigade of Berg troops (four battalions), the regiment of Würzburg (two battalions), and a division (seven battalions) of Westphalians: it will be noted that now, as always, he was most chary of drafting native French troops to Catalonia, and always fed the war in that direction with auxiliaries in whose fate he was little interested: the campaign in eastern Spain was, after all, but a side issue in the main struggle[17]. When these reinforcements had arrived Reille began to collect material at Bascara on the Fluvia, to which siege-guns laboriously dragged across the Pyrenees were added: several companies of heavy artillery and sappers were brought up from France.

[p. 16]

St. Cyr meanwhile, four weeks after his retreat from the plain of Tarragona, moved on to Vich upon April 18, with the divisions of Souham, Pino, Lecchi, and Chabot, leaving Duhesme with his original French division, which had held Barcelona since the outbreak of the war, in charge of his base of operations. His departure was partly designed to spare the stores of Barcelona, where the pinch of famine was beginning to be felt; for he intended to subsist his army on the upland plain of Vich, a rich corn-bearing district hitherto untouched by the war. But a few days after he had marched forth Barcelona was freed from privation, by the lucky arrival of a squadron of victuallers from Toulon, convoyed by Admiral Cosmao, which had put to sea in a storm and eluded the British blockading squadron (April 27). The position of Vich, however, had been chosen by St. Cyr not only for reasons of supply, but because the place was happily situated for covering the projected siege of Gerona against any interruption by Blake. If the Spanish commander-in-chief brought up the wrecks of the old Catalan army from Tarragona, with his Valencian levies added, he would almost certainly take the inland road by Manresa and Vich, since the coast-road was practically barred to him by the French occupation of Barcelona. As a matter of fact the commencement of the leaguer of Gerona was not vexed by any such interruption, for Blake had his eyes fixed on Saragossa in May and June, and was so far from dreaming of an assault on St. Cyr, that he drew off part of the Catalan army for his unhappy invasion of Aragon, which finished with the disaster of Belchite. During the early months of this long siege the only external helpers of the garrison of Gerona were the small force of regulars under the Swiss Wimpfen, and the miqueletes of Claros and Rovira from the Ampurdam, Reille’s opponents during the spring. At Tarragona the Marquis of Coupigny, the senior officer now in Catalonia, had no more than 6,000 men left of Reding’s old army, and was helpless to interfere with St. Cyr who had some 20,000 men concentrated at Vich.

The preparations for the siege therefore went on in the end of April and the beginning of May without any hindrance, save from the normal bickerings of the French outlying detachments with the local somatenes, which never ceased. Around[p. 17] Vich matters were particularly lively, for the whole population of the town and the surrounding plains had gone up into the hills, where they wandered miserably for three months, much hunted by French foraging parties, which they occasionally succeeded in destroying. St. Cyr opened up his communications with Reille by sending to him Lecchi’s Italian division, which cut its way amid constant skirmishes along the banks of the Ter to Gerona, and met the troops from the Ampurdam under its walls. Reille had moved forth from Bascara on May 4, and on the eighth expelled the Spanish outposts from all the villages round the fortress, not without some lively skirmishing. He had brought up some 10,000 infantry—including his own old division and all the newly arrived Germans—with some 1,300 artillerymen and engineers. Almost at the same moment arrived dispatches from Paris, announcing that the Emperor, just before departing for the Austrian war, had superseded both St. Cyr and Reille, being discontented with their handling of affairs in Catalonia. It is unfortunate that no statement in detail of his reasons appears in the Correspondance[18], but it would seem that he thought that the victories of Molins de Rey and Valls should have had greater results, disapproved of St. Cyr’s retreat from in front of Tarragona, and thought that Reille had shown great weakness in dealing with the insurgents of the Ampurdam. He ignored the special difficulties of the war in Catalonia, thinking that the 30,000 men of the 7th Corps ought to have sufficed for its complete conquest. Indeed he showed his conception of the general state of affairs by recommending St. Cyr in March to undertake simultaneously the sieges of Gerona, Tarragona, and Tortosa[19]. The leaguer of one, and that the smallest, of these places was destined to occupy the whole army of Catalonia, when largely reinforced, for eight months. If it had been cut up according to the imperial mandate, it is probable that at least one of its sections would have been destroyed. St. Cyr wrote in his memoirs that his master was jealous of him, and wished to see him fail, even at the cost of wrecking the 7th Corps. This is of course absurd; but there can be no doubt that the Emperor[p. 18] disliked his lieutenant, all the more because of the long string of complaints, and of demands for more men, money, and stores, which he was now receiving week by week from Catalonia. He loved generals who achieved the impossible, and hated grumblers and frondeurs, a class to which St. Cyr, despite all his talents, undoubtedly belonged. It is possible that Napoleon’s determination to replace him may have been fostered by intrigues on the part of the officer to whom the 7th Corps was now turned over. Marshal Augereau had served with great credit in the old republican campaign in Catalonia during 1793 and 1794, imagined himself to have a profound knowledge of the country, and was anxious to try his hand in it. It was many years since he had been trusted with an independent command; both in the wars of 1806-7 and in that of 1809 he had been lost in the ranks of the Grand Army. His nomination to supersede St. Cyr was made early in May, but on his way to the seat of war he was seized with a fit of the gout, and was detained in bed at Perpignan for many weeks. Thus his predecessor, though apprised of his disgrace, was obliged to continue in command, and to commence the operations of which the Marshal, as he well knew, would take all the credit. At the same moment Reille was displaced by Verdier, the general who had conducted the first unlucky siege of Saragossa—an experience which seems to have made him very cautious when dealing with Spaniards behind walls.

Lecchi’s division forced its way back to St. Cyr on May 18, bringing him the intelligence of his supersession, but at the same time apprising him that Augereau would not arrive as yet, and that the duty of commencing the siege of Gerona would still fall to his lot. At the same time Verdier sent letters urging that his 10,000 infantry formed too small a force to surround such a large fortress, and that he must ask for reinforcements from the covering army. If they were denied him, he should refuse to begin the siege, throwing the responsibility for this disobedience of the Emperor’s commands on his superior: he had reported the situation to Paris. St. Cyr was incensed at the tone of this dispatch[20], above all at the fact[p. 19] that Verdier was appealing straight to the Emperor, instead of corresponding through his hierarchical superior, according to the rules of military etiquette. But he saw that Verdier had a good case, and he had just learnt that Blake had turned off against Aragon, so that no trouble from that quarter need be feared. Accordingly he, very grudgingly, sent back Lecchi’s division to Gerona. It was the worst that he possessed, being composed of no more than four Neapolitan and three Italian battalions, with a strength of little over 3,000 bayonets[21]. He added to it a regiment of Italian light horse, several of his own batteries, and nearly all the engineers and sappers of his corps, so that the total reinforcement sent to Verdier consisted of more than 4,000 men.

Having received these succours, which brought up his total force to 14,000 infantry and cavalry, and 2,200 artillerymen, sappers and engineers, Verdier commenced on May 24 his operations against Gerona: on that day Lecchi’s division took its post in the plain of Salt, on the west of the town, while the French and Westphalian divisions were already close to the place on its eastern and northern sides. The head quarters and the French brigades of Joba and Guillot lay by Sarria and the bridge of Pont-Mayor, where the magazines were established, while the Germans had been sent up on to the heights east of the fortress and held the plateaux of Campdura, San Medir, and Domeny. The rocky southern side of Gerona, in the direction of the gorge of the O?a, was not yet properly invested.

Something has already been said, in an earlier volume of this work, concerning the situation of Gerona, when its two earlier sieges by Duhesme were narrated[22]. It must suffice to repeat here that the town is built on the steep down-slope of two lofty heights, with the river O?a at its foot: the stream is crossed by two bridges, but is fordable everywhere save in times of spate. Beyond it lies the suburb of the Mercadal, surrounded by fortifications which form an integral part of the defences of the[p. 20] city. The river Ter, coming from the west, joins the O?a at the north side of the Mercadal and washes the extreme north-western corner of the walls of the city proper. The two heights upon whose lower slopes Gerona is built are separated from each other by a deep ravine, called the Galligan, down which run an intermittent watercourse and a road, the only one by which approach to the city from the east is possible. The northern height is crowned by the strong fort of Monjuich, the most formidable part of the city defences, with its three outlying redoubts called San Narciso, San Luis and San Daniel. The crest of the southern height is covered in a similar fashion by the three forts of the Capuchins, Queen Anne, and the Constable, with the Calvary redoubt lower down the slope above the Galligan, facing San Daniel on the other side of the ravine. Two other small fortifications, the redoubts of the ‘Chapter’ and the ‘City,’ cover the path which leads down from the forts to Gerona. Neither the Monjuich nor the Capuchin heights are isolated hills; each is the end of a spur running down from the higher mountains. But while the southern summit rises high above the hilly reach which joins it to the mountain of Nuestra Se?ora de los Angeles, the northern summit (where lies Monjuich) is at the end of a plateau extending far to the north. The Capuchin heights, therefore, can only be attacked uphill, while Monjuich can be assailed from ground of a level little inferior to itself. But except on this point both heights are very strong, their slopes being in many places absolutely precipitous, especially towards the Galligan, and everywhere steep. Nevertheless there are winding paths leading up both, from Sarria and Pont-Mayor in the case of Monjuich, from Casa de Selva and other villages towards the east and the sea in the case of the Capuchin heights. All the ground is bare rock, with no superincumbent soil.

All the fortifications were somewhat antiquated in type, nothing having been done to modernize the defences since the war of the Spanish Succession[23]. Ferdinand VI and Charles III had neglected Gerona in favour of the new fortress of Figueras, nearer to the frontier, on which large sums had been expended[p. 21]—for the benefit of the French who seized it by treachery in 1808, and were now using it as their base of operations. The actual wall of enceinte of the city was mediaeval—a plain rampart twenty-five feet high, too narrow for artillery and set thickly with small towers; only at its two ends, on the O?a and the Ter, two bastions (called those of La Merced and Santa Maria) had been inserted, and properly armed. This weakness of the walls went for little so long as Monjuich, the Capuchins, and the other forts held firm, since the enemy could only approach the town-enceinte at its two ends, where the bastions lay. Far more dangerous was the feebleness of the Mercadal, whose ramparts formed the southern section of the exterior defences of the place. Its circuit had five plain bastions, but no demi-lunes or other outer defences, no covered way nor counterscarp: its profile, only some eighteen or twenty feet high, was visible, across the flat ground which surrounds it, from the foot to the summit of the wall, for want of ditch or glacis. The ground leading up to it was favourable for siege approaches, since the soil was soft and easy to dig, and was seamed with hollow roads and stone walls, giving much cover to an assailant. Aware of the defects of the fortifications of the Mercadal, the Spaniards had prepared a line of defence behind it, along the further bank of the O?a. They had made the river-front of the city proper defensible to a certain extent, by building up the doors and windows of all the houses which abut upon the water, mining the two bridges, and fixing a stockade and entanglements in the bed of the O?a, along the considerable space, where it is fordable in dry weather[24]. They had indeed repaired the whole circuit of the defences since Duhesme’s sieges of 1808, having cleared out the ditches of Monjuich and of the bastions of La Merced and Santa Maria, walled up many posterns, and repaired with new and solid[p. 22] masonry all the parts of the walls that had been dilapidated at the moment of the first siege. They had also pulled down many isolated houses outside the walls, and demolished the nearer half of the suburban village of Pedret, which lies (most inconveniently for the defence) along the bank of the Ter between the water and the slopes of Monjuich.

All these precautions must be put to the credit of the governor, Mariano Alvarez de Castro, a man to be mentioned with all honour and respect, and probably the best soldier that Spain produced during the whole Peninsular War. He was a veteran of the Revolutionary and Portuguese wars, and had a good reputation, but no special credit for military science, down to the moment when he was put to the test. He had been the officer in charge of the castle of Barcelona on the occasion when it was seized by Duhesme in March 1808: his spirit had been deeply wounded by that vile piece of treachery, and he had at once adhered to the national cause. Since then he had been serving in the Ampurdam against Reille, till the moment when he was appointed governor of Gerona. Alvarez is described by those who served under him as a severe, taciturn man of a puritan cast of mind. ‘I should call him,’ wrote one of his brigadiers, ‘an officer without the true military talents, but with an extreme confidence in Providence—almost, one might say, a believer in miracles. His soul was great, capable of every sacrifice, full of admirable constancy; but I must confess that his heroism always seemed to me that of a Christian martyr rather than of a professional soldier[25].’ General Fournas, who wrote this somewhat depreciatory sketch of his chief, was one of those who signed the capitulation while Alvarez was moaning no quiero rendirme on his sick-bed, so that his judgement is hardly to be taken as unprejudiced; but his words point the impression which the governor left on his subordinates. The details of his defence sufficiently show that he was a skilful and resourceful as well as an obstinate general. His minute care to utilize every possible means of defence prove that he was no mere waiter on miracles. That he was a very devout practising Catholic is evident from some of his doings; at the opening of the siege a great religious ceremony was held, at which the local[p. 23] patron saint, Narcissus, was declared captain of the city and presented with a gold-hilted sword. The levy en masse of the citizens was called ‘the Crusade,’ and their badge was the red cross. The ideas of religion and patriotism were so closely intertwined that to the lay companies of this force were afterwards added two clerical companies, one composed of monks and friars, the other of secular priests: about 200 of these ecclesiastics were under arms[26]. Even the women were organized in squads for the transport of wounded, the care of the hospitals, and the carrying of provisions to the soldiery on the walls: about 300 served, under the command of Donna Lucia Fitzgerald and Donna Maria Angela Bibern, wives of two officers of the regiment of Ultonia. Five of this ‘company of St. Barbara’ were killed and eleven wounded during the siege.

The garrison at the moment of Verdier’s first attack consisted of about 5,700 men, not including the irregulars of the Crusade. There were seven battalions of the old army, belonging to the regiments of Ultonia[27], Borbon, and Voluntarios de Barcelona, with three battalions of miqueletes, two local corps, 1st and 2nd of Gerona, and the 1st of Vich. Of cavalry there was a single squadron, newly levied, the ‘escuadron de San Narciso.’ Of artillery there were but 278 men, a wholly insufficient number: the officers of that arm were given 370 more to train, partly miqueletes of the 2nd Gerona battalion, partly sailors having some small experience of gunnery. It was difficult to make proper use of the great store of cannon in the fortress, when more than half the troops allotted to them had never before seen, much less served, a heavy gun of position. To the above 5,700 men of all arms must be added about 1,100 irregulars of the ‘Crusade’—seven lay and two clerical companies of fusiliers and two more of artificers. But these were[p. 24] set to guard almost unapproachable parts of the wall, or held in reserve: most of the stress fell upon the organized troops. The defence was altogether conducted on scientific principles, and had nothing in common with that of Saragossa. Here the irregulars formed only a small fraction of the garrison[28], and were never hurled in senseless fury against the French batteries, but used carefully and cautiously as an auxiliary force, capable of setting free some part of the trained men for service on the more important points of the enceinte[29].

For the first two months of the siege Alvarez received no help whatever from without: in May the central government of Catalonia had been left in a perfectly paralysed condition, when Blake went off himself and took with him the best of the regular troops, in order to engage in the campaign of Alca?iz and Maria. Coupigny, the interim commander at Tarragona, had only 6,000 organized men, and he and the Catalan provincial junta were during that month much engrossed with an enterprise which distracted them from the needs of Gerona. A wide-spread conspiracy had been formed within the walls of Barcelona, with the object of rising against the garrison in St. Cyr’s absence. A secret committee of priests, merchants, and retired officers had collected all the arms in the city, smuggled in many muskets from without, and enlisted several thousand persons in a grand design for an outbreak and a sort of ‘Sicilian Vespers’ fixed—after two postponements—for the 11th of May. They opened communication with Coupigny and with the captains of the British frigates blockading the port. The one was to bring his troops to the gates, the others to deliver an attack on[p. 25] the port, upon the appointed night. No Spaniard betrayed the plot, though 6,000 citizens are said to have been in the secret, but it was frustrated by two foreigners. Conscious that the town could not be freed if the citadel of Monjuich was retained by the French, the conspirators sounded two Italian officers named Captain Dottori, fort adjutant of Monjuich, and Captain Provana, who was known to be discontented and thought to be corruptible. They offered them an immense bribe—1,000,000 dollars, it is said—to betray the postern of Monjuich to the troops of Coupigny, who were to be ready in the ditch at midnight. But they had mistaken their men: the officers conferred with Duhesme, and consented to act as agents provocateurs: they pretended to join the conspiracy, were introduced to and had interviews with the chiefs, and informed the governor. On the morning before the appointed date many of the leaders were arrested. Duhesme placed guards in every street, and proclaimed that he knew all. The citizens remained quiet in their despair, the chiefs who had not been seized fled, and the troops on the Llobregat retired to Tarragona. Duhesme hanged his captives, two priests named Gallifa and Pou, a young merchant named Massana, Navarro an old soldier, and four others. ‘They went to the gallows,’ says Vacani, an eye-witness, ‘with pride, convinced every one of them that they had done the duty of good citizens in behalf of king, country, and religion[30].’

Engrossed in this plot, the official chiefs of Catalonia half forgot Gerona, and did nothing to help Alvarez till long after the siege had begun. The only assistance that he received from without was that the miqueletes and somatenes of the Ampurdam and the mountain region above Hostalrich were always skirmishing with Verdier’s outposts, and once or twice cut off his convoys of munitions on their way from Figueras to the front.

The French engineers were somewhat at variance as to the right way to deal with Gerona. There were two obvious alternatives. An attack on the weak front of the Mercadal was certain to succeed: the ground before the walls was suitable for trenches, and the fortifications were trifling. But when[p. 26] a lodgement had been made in this quarter of the town it would be necessary to work forward, among the narrow lanes and barricades, to the O?a, and then to cross that river in order to continue similar operations through the streets of Gerona. Even when the city had been subdued, the garrison might still hold out in the formidable works on the Monjuich and Capuchin heights. The reduction of the Mercadal and the city, moreover, would have to be carried out under a continuous plunging fire from the forts above, which overlooked the whole place. This danger was especially insisted upon by some of the engineer officers, who declared that it would be impossible for the troops to work their way forward over ground so exposed. As a matter of fact it was proved, after the siege was over and the forts had been examined by the captors, that this fear had been exaggerated; the angle of fire was such that large sections of the town were in no way commanded from the heights, and the streets could not have been searched in the fashion that was imagined. But this, obvious in December, could not have been known in May[31]. The second alternative was to commence the attack on Gerona not from the easiest but from the most difficult side, by battering the lofty fort of Monjuich from the high plateau beside it. The defences here were very formidable: the ground was bare exposed rock: but if Monjuich were once captured it was calculated that the town must surrender, as it was completely overlooked by the fort, and had no further protection save its antiquated mediaeval wall. The deduction that it would be cheaper in the end to begin with the difficult task of taking Monjuich, rather than the easier operations against the Mercadal, seemed plausible: its fault was that it presupposed that Alvarez and his garrison would behave according to the accepted rules of siegecraft, and yield when their situation became hopeless. But in dealing with Spanish garrisons the rules of military logic did not always act. Alvarez essayed the impossible, and held out behind his defective defences for four months after Monjuich fell. The loss of men and time that he thereby inflicted on the French was certainly no less than that which would have been suffered if the besiegers had begun with the Mercadal, and worked upwards by incessant[p. 27] street fighting towards the forts on the height. But it is hard to say that Verdier erred: he did not know his adversary, and he did know, from his experiences at Saragossa, what street fighting meant.

It may be added that Verdier’s views were accepted by the engineer-general, Sanson, who had been specially sent from France by the Emperor, to give his opinion on the best mode of procedure. The document which Verdier, Sanson, and Taviel (the commanding artillery officer of the 7th Corps) sent to Paris, to justify their choice of the upper point of attack, lays stress mainly on the impossibility of advancing from the Mercadal under the fire of the upper forts[32]. But there were other reasons for selecting Monjuich as the point of attack. It lay far nearer to the road to France and the central siege-dép?ts beside Sarria and the Pont Mayor. The approaches would be over highly defensible ground where, if a disaster occurred, the defeated assailant could easily recover himself and oppose a strong front to the enemy. The shortness of the front was suitable for an army of the moderate strength of 14,000 men, which had to deal with a fortress whose perimeter, allowing for outlying forts and inaccessible precipices, was some six miles. Moreover, the ground in front of the Mercadal had the serious inconvenience of being liable to inundation; summer spates on the Ter and O?a are rare, but occur from time to time; and there was the bare chance that when the trenches had been opened all might be swept away by the rivers[33].

Verdier’s opinion was arrived at after mature reflection: the French had appeared in front of Gerona on May 8: the outlying villages on the east had been occupied between the twelfth and eighteenth: Lecchi’s Italians had closed the western exits by occupying the plain of Salt on the twenty-fourth: the inner posts of observation of the Spaniards had been cleared off when, on May 30, the Italians seized the suburban village of Santa Eugenia, and on June 1 the Germans took possession of the mountain of Nuestra Se?ora de los Angeles. But it was only on June 6 that the besiegers broke ground, and commenced their trenches and batteries on the[p. 28] plateau of Monjuich. It was necessary to make a beginning by subduing the outer defences of the fort, the towers or redoubts of San Luis, San Narciso, and San Daniel: two batteries of 24-pounders were constructed against them, while a third battery of mortars on the ‘Green Mound’ by the Casa den Roca on the west bank of the Ter, was to play upon the north end of the town: Verdier hoped that the bombardment would break the spirit of the citizens—little knowing the obstinate people with whom he had to deal. Five thousand bombs thrown into the place in June and July produced no effect whatever. More batteries on the heights were thrown up upon the 13th and 15th of June, while on the former day, to distract the attention of the Spaniards, Lecchi’s division, in the plain below, was ordered to open a false attack upon the Mercadal. This had good effect as a diversion, since Alvarez had expected an assault in this quarter, and the long line of trenches thrown up by the Italians in front of Santa Eugenia attracted much of his attention. Three days of battering greatly damaged San Luis and San Narciso, which were no more than round towers of masonry with ditches cut in the rock, and only two or three guns apiece. The French also took possession on the night of the fourteenth and fifteenth of the remains of the half-destroyed suburb of Pedret, between Monjuich and the Ter, as if about to establish themselves in a position from which they could attack the low-lying north gate of the town and the bastion of Santa Maria.

Hitherto the defence had seemed a little passive, but at dawn on the morning of the seventeenth Alvarez delivered the first of the many furious sallies which he made against the siege lines. A battalion of Ultonia rushed suddenly down-hill out of Monjuich and drove the French, who were taken completely by surprise, out of the ruins of Pedret. Aided by a smaller detachment, including the artificers of the Crusade, who came out of the Santa Maria gate, they destroyed all the works and lodgements of the besiegers in the suburb, and held it till they were driven out by two French and one Westphalian battalion sent up from Verdier’s reserves. The Spaniards were forced back into the town, but retired in good order, contented to have undone three days of the besiegers’ labour. They had lost 155 men, the French 128, in this sharp skirmish.

[p. 29]

Two days later the towers of San Luis and San Narciso, which had been reduced to shapeless heaps of stone, were carried by assault, with a loss to the French of only 78 men; but an attempt to carry San Daniel by the same rush was beaten off, this redoubt being still in a tenable state. Its gorge, however, was completely commanded from the ruins of San Luis, and access to or exit from it was rendered so dangerous that Alvarez withdrew its garrison on the next night. The possession of these three outworks brought the French close up to Monjuich, which they could now attack from ground which was favourable in every respect, save that it was bare rock lacking soil. It was impossible to excavate in it, and all advances had to be made by building trenches (if the word is not a misnomer in this case) of sandbags and loose stones on the surface of the ground. The men working at the end of the sap were therefore completely exposed, and the work could only proceed at a great expense of life. Nevertheless the preparations advanced rapidly, and on the night of July 2 an enormous battery of sandbags (called the Batterie Impériale) was thrown up at a distance of only four hundred yards from Monjuich. Next morning it opened on the fort with twenty 16- and 24-pounders, and soon established a superiority over the fire of the defence. Several Spanish pieces were dismounted, others had to be removed because it was too deadly to serve them. But a steady fire was returned against the besiegers from the Constable and Calvary forts, on the other side of the Galligan ravine. Nevertheless Monjuich began to crumble, and it looked as if the end of the siege were already approaching. On July 3 there was a breach thirty-five feet broad in the fort’s north-eastern bastion, and the Spanish flag which floated over it was thrown down into the ditch by a chance shot. A young officer named Montorro climbed down, brought it up, and nailed it to a new flagstaff under the fire of twenty guns. Meanwhile long stretches of the parapet of Monjuich were ruined, the ditch was half-filled with débris, and the garrison could only protect themselves by hasty erections of gabions and sandbags, placed where the crest of the masonry had stood.

By this time St. Cyr and the covering army had abandoned the position in the plain of Vich which they had so long[p. 30] occupied. The general had, as it seems, convinced himself at last that Blake, who was still engaged in his unlucky Aragonese campaign, was not likely to appear. He therefore moved nearer to Gerona, in order to repress the efforts of the local somatenes, who were giving much trouble to Verdier’s communications. On June 20 he established his head quarters at Caldas de Malavella, some nine miles to the south-east of Gerona. That same evening one of his Italian brigades intercepted and captured a convoy of 1,200 oxen which the Governor of Hostalrich was trying to introduce into the beleaguered city along one of the mountain-paths which lead to the Capuchin heights from the coast. St. Cyr strung out his 14,000 men in a line from San Feliu de Guixols on the sea to the upper Ter, in a semicircle which covered all the approaches to Gerona saving those from the Ampurdam. He visited Verdier’s camp, inspected the siege operations, and expressed his opinion that an attack on the Mercadal front would have been preferable to that which had been actually chosen. But he washed his hands of all responsibility, told Verdier that, since he had chosen to correspond directly with Paris, he must take all the praise or blame resulting from his choice, and refused to countermand or to alter any of his subordinate’s dispositions. On July 2 however he sent, with some lack of logic, a summons of his own to Alvarez, inviting him to surrender on account of the desperate state of his defences: this he did without informing Verdier of his move. The Governor returned an indignant negative, and Verdier wrote in great wrath to complain that if the siege was his affair, as he had just been told, it was monstrous that his commander should correspond with the garrison without his knowledge[34]. The two generals were left on even worse terms than before. St. Cyr, however, gave real assistance to the siege operations at this time by storming, on July 5, the little fortified harbour-town of Palamos, which lies on the point of the sea-coast nearest to Gerona, and had been hitherto used by the miqueletes as a base from which they communicated by night with the fortress, and at the same time[p. 31] kept in touch with Tarragona and the English ships of the blockading squadron.

On the night of the 4th and 5th of July the defences of Monjuich appeared in such a ruinous condition that Commandant Fleury, the engineer officer in charge of the advanced parallel, took the extraordinary and unjustifiable step of assaulting them at 10 p.m. with the troops—two companies only—which lay under his orders, trusting that the whole of the guards of the trenches would follow if he made a lodgement. This presumptuous attack, made contrary to all the rules of military subordination, was beaten off with a loss of forty men. Its failure made Verdier determine to give the fort three days more of continuous bombardment, before attempting to storm it: the old batteries continued their fire, a new one was added to enfilade the north-western bastion, and cover was contrived at several points to shelter the troops which were to deliver the assault, till the actual moment of the storm arrived[35]. But three hundred yards of exposed ground still separated the front trenches from the breach—a distance far too great according to the rules of siegecraft. The Spaniards meanwhile, finding it impossible under such a fire to block the breach, which was now broad enough for fifty men abreast[36], threw up two walls of gabions on each side of it, sank a ditch filled with chevaux-de-frise in front of it, and loopholed some interior buildings of the fort, which bore upon its reverse side.

Monjuich, however, looked in a miserable state when, just before sunrise on July 7, Verdier launched his columns of assault upon it. He had collected for the purpose the grenadier and voltigeur companies of each of the twenty French, German, and Italian battalions of the besieging army, about 2,500 men in all[37]. They were divided into two columns, the larger of[p. 32] which went straight at the breach, while the smaller, which was furnished with ladders, was directed to escalade the left face of the demi-lune which covers the northern front of Monjuich. The troops passed with no great loss over the open space which divided them from the work, as its guns had all been silenced, and the fire from the more distant forts was ineffective in the dusk. But when they got within close musketry range they began to fall fast; the head of the main column, which was composed of some sapper companies and the Italian Velites of the Guard, got up on to the face of the breach, but could never break in. Every officer or man who reached the cutting and its chevaux-de-frise was shot down; the concentric fire of the defenders so swept the opening that nothing could live there. Meanwhile the rear of the column was brought to a stand, partly in, partly outside, the ditch. The Spaniards kept playing upon it with musketry and two or three small 2- and 4-pounders, which had been kept under cover and reserved for that purpose, firing canister into it at a distance of twenty or thirty yards. Flesh and blood could not bear this for long, and the whole mass broke and went to the rear. Verdier, who had come out to the Batterie Impériale to view the assault, had the men rallied and sent forward a second time: the head of the column again reached the breach, and again withered away: the supporting mass gave way at once, and fell back much more rapidly than on the first assault. Yet the General, most unwisely, insisted on a third attack, which, made feebly and without conviction, by men who knew that they were beaten, only served to increase the casualty list. Meanwhile the escalade of the demi-lune by the smaller column had been repelled with ease: the assailants barely succeeded in crossing the ditch and planting a few ladders against the scarp: no one survived who tried to mount them, and the troops drew off.

This bloody repulse cost the French 1,079 casualties, including seventy-seven officers killed or wounded—much more than a third of the troops engaged. It is clear, therefore, that it was not courage which had been lacking: nor could it be said that the enemy’s artillery fire had not been subdued, nor that the breach was insufficient, nor that the 300 yards of open ground crossed by the column had been a fatal obstacle;[p. 33] indeed, they had been passed with little loss. The mistake of Verdier had been that he attacked before the garrison was demoralized—the same error made by the English at Badajoz in 1811 and at San Sebastian in 1813. A broad breach by itself does not necessarily make a place untenable, if the spirit of the defenders is high, and if they are prepared with all the resources of the military art for resisting the stormers, as were the Geronese on July 7-8. The garrison lost, it may be remarked, only 123 men, out of a strength of 787 present in the fort that morning. The casualty list, however, was somewhat increased by the accidental explosion, apparently by a careless gunner, of the magazine of the tower of San Juan, alongside of the Galligan, which was destroyed with its little garrison of twenty-five men.

The repulse of the assault of Monjuich thoroughly demoralized the besieging army: the resistance of the Spaniards had been so fierce, the loss they had inflicted so heavy, that Verdier’s motley collection of French, German, Lombard, and Neapolitan regiments lost heart and confidence. Their low spirits were made manifest by the simultaneous outbreak of desertion and disease, the two inevitable marks of a decaying morale. All through the second half of July and August the hospitals grew gradually fuller, not only from sunstroke cases (which were frequent on the bare, hot, rocky ground of the heights), but from dysentery and malaria. The banks of the Ter always possessed a reputation for epidemics—twice in earlier centuries a French army had perished before the walls of Gerona by plagues, which the citizens piously attributed to their patron, San Narciso. It was mainly because he realized the depression of his troops that Verdier refrained from any more assaults, and went on from July 9 to August 4 battering Monjuich incessantly, while he cautiously pushed forward his trenches, till they actually reached the ditch of the demi-lune which covers the northern front of the fort. The garrison was absolutely overwhelmed by the incessant bombardment, which destroyed every piece of upstanding masonry, and prevented them from rebuilding anything that was demolished. They were forced to lurk in the casemates, and to burrow for shelter in the débris which filled the interior of the work. Three large breaches had[p. 34] been made at various points, yet Verdier would never risk another assault, till on August 4 his approaches actually crowned the lip of the ditch of the demi-lune, and his sappers had blown in its counterscarp. The ruined little outwork was then stormed with a loss of only forty men. This put the French in the possession of good cover only a few yards from the main body of the fort. Proceeding with the same caution as before, they made their advances against Monjuich by mining: on the night of the 8th-9th August no less than twenty-three mines under the glacis of the fort were exploded simultaneously. This left a gaping void in front of the original breach of July 7, and filled up the ditch with débris for many yards on either side: part of the interior of the fort was clearly visible from the besiegers’ trenches.

Only one resource for saving Monjuich remained to Alvarez—a sortie for the expulsion of the enemy from their advanced works. It was executed with great courage at midday on August 9, while at the same time separate demonstrations to distract the enemy were made at two other points. The column from Monjuich had considerable success; it stormed two advanced batteries, spiked their guns, and set fire to their gabions; the French were cleared out of many of their trenches, but made head behind one of the rear batteries, where they were joined by their reserves, who finally thrust back the sallying force into the fort. The damage done, though considerable, could be repaired in a day. Verdier gave orders for the storm of the dilapidated fort on the night of August 11, and borrowed a regiment from St. Cyr’s covering army to lead the assault, being still very doubtful of the temper of his own troops. But at six on the preceding afternoon an explosion was heard in Monjuich, and great part of its battered walls flew up into the air. The Spaniards had quietly evacuated it a few minutes before, after preparing mines for its demolition. The French, when they entered, found nothing but a shapeless mass of stones and eighteen disabled cannon. The garrison had lost, in the sixty-five days of its defence, 962 men killed and wounded; the besiegers had, first and last, suffered something like three times this loss.

While the bombardment of Monjuich was going on, the[p. 35] Spanish generals outside the fortress had at last begun to make serious efforts for its assistance. Not only had the somatenes redoubled their activity against Verdier’s convoys, and several times succeeded in destroying them or turning them back, but Coupigny had at last begun to move, for he saw that since Blake’s rout at Belchite on June 18 he, and he alone, possessed an organized body of troops on this side of Spain, small though it was. Unable to face St. Cyr in the field, he tried at least to throw succours into Gerona by the mountain paths from the south, if he could do no more. The first attempt was disastrous: three battalions started from Hostalrich under an English adventurer, Ralph Marshall, whom Alvarez had suggested for the command of this expedition. They evaded the first line of the covering army, but at Castellar, on July 10, ran into the very centre of Pino’s division, which had concentrated from all sides for their destruction. Marshall escaped into Gerona with no more than twelve men: 40 officers and 878 rank and file laid down their arms; the rest of the column, some 600 or 700 men, evaded surrender by dispersion[38].

Equally disastrous, though on a smaller scale, was another attempt made on August 4 by a party of 300 miqueletes to enter Gerona: they eluded St. Cyr, but on arriving at the entry of the Galligan, close under the forts, made the unfortunate mistake of entering the convent of San Daniel, which the garrison had been compelled to evacuate a few days before. It was now in the French lines, and the Catalans were all taken prisoners. It was not till August 17, six days after the fall of Monjuich, that Alvarez obtained his first feeble reinforcement: the miquelete battalion of Cervera, with a draft for that of Vich already in the garrison, altogether 800 bayonets, got into the city on the west side, by eluding Lecchi’s Italians in the plain and fording the Ter. They were much needed, for Alvarez[p. 36] was complaining to the Catalan Junta that he had now only 1,500 able-bodied men left of his original 5,000[39].

Verdier had written to his master, after the capture of Monjuich, to announce that Gerona must infallibly surrender within eight or ten days[40], now that it had nothing but an antiquated mediaeval wall to oppose to his cannon. So far, however, was he from being a true prophet that, as a matter of fact, the second and longer episode of the siege, which was to be protracted far into the winter, had only just begun.
SECTION XVII: CHAPTER III
THE FALL OF GERONA. AUGUST-DECEMBER, 1809

When Monjuich had been evacuated, the position of Gerona was undoubtedly perilous: of the two mountain summits which command the city one was now entirely in the hands of the French; for not only the great fort itself but several of the smaller works above the ravine of the Galligan—such as the fortified convent of San Daniel and the ruined tower of San Juan—had been lost. The front exposed to attack now consisted of the northern section of the old city wall, from the bastion of Santa Maria at the water’s edge, to the tower of La Gironella, which forms the north-eastern angle of the place, and lies further up the slope of the Capuchin heights than any other portion of the enceinte. The space between these two points was simply covered by a mediaeval wall set with small round towers: neither the towers nor the curtain between them had been built to hold artillery. Indeed the only spots on this front where guns had been placed were (1) the comparatively modern bastion of Santa Maria, (2) a work erected under and about the Gironella, and called the ‘Redoubt of the Germans,’ and (3, 4) two parts of the wall called the platforms[41] of San Pedro and San Cristobal, which had been widened till they could carry a few heavy guns. On the rest of the enceinte, owing to its narrowness, nothing but wall-pieces and two-pounders could be mounted. The parts of the curtain most exposed to attack were the sections named Santa Lucia, San Pedro, San Cristobal, and Las Sarracinas, from churches or quarters which lay close behind them. With nothing but an antiquated wall, seven to nine feet thick, thirty feet high, and destitute of a ditch, it seemed that this side of Gerona was doomed to destruction within a few days.

But there were points in the position which rendered the[p. 38] attack more difficult than might have been expected. The first was that any approaches directed against this front would be exposed to a flanking fire from the forts on the Capuchin heights, especially from the Calvary and Chapter redoubts. The second was that the greater part of the weak sections of the wall were within a re-entering angle; for the tower of Santa Lucia and the ‘Redoubt of the Germans’ by the Gironella project, and the curtains between them are in a receding sweep of the enceinte. Attacks on these ill-fortified sections would be outflanked and enfiladed by the two stronger works. The only exposed part of the curtain was that called Santa Lucia, running from the tower of that name down to the bastion of Santa Maria. Lastly, the parallels which the French might construct from their base on Monjuich would have to be built on a down slope, overlooked by loftier ground, and when they reached the foot of the walls they would be in a sort of gulley or bottom, into which the defenders of the city could look down from above. The only point from which the north end of Gerona could be approached from flat ground and without disadvantages of slope, is the short front of less than 200 yards breadth between the foot of Monjuich and the bank of the Ter. Here, in the ruins of the suburb of Pedret, there was plenty of cover, a soil easy to work, and a level terrain as far as the foot of the Santa Maria bastion. The engineers of the besieging army selected three sections of wall as their objective. The first was the ‘Redoubt of the Germans’ and the tower of La Gironella, the highest and most commanding works in this part of the enceinte: once established in these, they could overlook and dominate the whole city. The other points of attack were chosen for the opposite reason—because they were intrinsically weak in themselves, not because they were important or dominating parts of the defences. The curtain of Santa Lucia in particular seemed to invite attack, as being in a salient angle, unprotected by flanking fire, and destitute of any artillery of its own.

Verdier, therefore, on the advice of his engineers, set to work to attack these points of the enceinte between La Gironella and Santa Maria. New batteries erected amid the ruins of Monjuich were levelled against them, in addition to such of the older[p. 39] batteries as could still be utilized. On the front by Pedret also, where nothing had hitherto been done, works were prepared for guns to be directed against Santa Maria and Santa Lucia. Meanwhile a perpetual bombardment with shell was kept up, against the whole quarter of the town that lay behind the selected points of attack. Mortars were always playing, not only from the Monjuich heights but from two batteries erected on the so-called ‘Green Mound’ in the plain beyond the river Ter. Their effect was terrible: almost every house in the northern quarter of Gerona was unroofed or destroyed: the population had to take refuge in cellars, where, after a few days, they began to die fast—all the more so that food was just beginning to run short as August advanced. From the 14th to the 30th of that month Verdier’s attack was developing itself: by its last day four breaches had been established: one, about forty feet broad, in the curtain of St. Lucia, two close together in the works at La Gironella[42], the fourth and smallest in the platform of San Cristobal. But the approaches were still far from the foot of the wall, the fire of the outlying Spanish works, especially the Calvary fort, was unsubdued, and though the guns along the attacked front had all been silenced, the French artillery had paid dearly both in lives and in material for the advantage they had gained. Moreover sickness was making dreadful ravages in the ranks of the besieging army. The malarious pestilence on which the Spaniards had relied had appeared, after a sudden and heavy rainfall had raised the Ter and O?a beyond their banks, and inundated the whole plain of Salt. By malaria, dysentery and sunstroke Verdier had lost 5,000 men, in addition to his casualties in the siege. Many of them were convalescents in the hospitals of Perpignan and Figueras, but it was hard to get them back to the front; the somatenes made the roads impassable for small detachments, and the officers on the line of communication, being very short of men, were given to detaining drafts that reached them on their way to Gerona[43]. Hence Verdier, including[p. 40] his artillerymen and sappers, had less than 10,000 men left for the siege, and these much discouraged by its interminable length, short of officers, and sickly. This was not enough to guard a periphery of six miles, and messengers were continually slipping in or out of Gerona, between the widely scattered camps of the French.

On August 31 a new phase of the siege began. In response to the constant appeals of Alvarez to the Catalan Junta, and the consequent complaints of the Junta alike to the Captain-General Blake, and to the central government at Seville, something was at last about to be done to relieve Gerona. The supreme Central Junta, in reply to a formal representation of the Catalans dated August 16[44], had sent Blake 6,000,000 reals in cash, and a peremptory order to march on Gerona whatever the state of his army might be, authorizing him to call out all the somatenes of the province in his aid. The general, who had at last returned to Tarragona, obeyed, though entirely lacking confidence in his means of success; and on the thirty-first his advance guard was skirmishing with St. Cyr’s covering army on the heights to the south of the Ter.

Blake’s army, it will be remembered, had been completely routed at Belchite by Suchet on June 18. The wrecks of his Aragonese division had gradually rallied at Tortosa, those of his Valencian divisions at Morella: but even by the end of July he had only a few thousand men collected, and he had lost every gun of his artillery. For many weeks he could do nothing but press the Junta of Valencia to fill the depleted ranks of his regiments with recruits, to reconstitute his train, and to provide him with new cannon. Aragon had been lost—nothing could be drawn from thence: Catalonia, distracted by Suchet’s demonstration on its western flank, did not do as much as might have been expected in its own defence. The Junta was inclined to favour the employment of miqueletes and[p. 41] somatenes, and to undervalue the troops of the line: it forgot that the irregulars, though they did admirable work in harassing the enemy, could not be relied upon to operate in large masses or strike a decisive blow. Still, the regiments at Tarragona, Lerida, and elsewhere had been somewhat recruited before August was out.

Blake’s field army was composed of some 14,000 men: there were five Valencian regiments—those which had been least mishandled in the campaign of Aragon—with the relics of six of the battalions which Reding had brought from Granada in 1808[45], two of Lazan’s old Aragonese corps, and five or six of the regiments which had formed the original garrison of Catalonia. The battalions were very weak—it took twenty-four of them to make up 13,000 infantry: of cavalry there were only four squadrons, of artillery only two batteries. Those of the rank and file who were not raw recruits were the vanquished of Molins de Rey and Valls, or of Maria and Belchite. They had no great confidence in Blake, and he had still less in them. Despite the orders received from Seville, which bade him risk all for the relief of Gerona, he was determined not to fight another pitched battle. The memories of Belchite were too recent to be forgotten. Though much obloquy has been poured upon his head for this resolve, he was probably wise in his decision. St. Cyr had still some 12,000 men in his covering army, who had taken no share in the siege: their morale was intact, and they had felt little fatigue or privation. They could be, and were in fact, reinforced by 4,000 men from Verdier’s force when the stress came. Blake, therefore, was, so far as regular troops went, outnumbered by the French, especially in cavalry and artillery. He could not trust in time of battle the miqueletes, of whom some 4,000 or 5,000 from the Ampurdam and Central Catalonia came to join him. He thought that it might be possible to elude or[p. 42] outflank St. Cyr, to lure him to divide his forces into scattered bodies by threatening many points at once, or, on the other hand, to induce him to concentrate on one short front, and so to leave some of the exits of Gerona open. But a battle with the united French army he would not risk under any conditions.

St. Cyr, however, was too wary for his opponent: he wanted to fight at all costs, and he was prepared to risk a disturbance of the siege operations, if he could catch Blake in the open and bring him to action. The moment that pressure on his outposts, by regular troops coming from the south, was reported, he drew together Souham’s and Pino’s divisions on the short line between San Dalmay on the right and Casa de Selva on the left, across the high road from Barcelona. At the same time he sent stringent orders to Verdier to abandon the unimportant sections of his line of investment, and to come to reinforce the field army at the head of his French division, which still counted 4,000 bayonets. Verdier accordingly marched to join his chief, leaving Lecchi’s Italians—now little more than 2,000 strong—to watch the west side of Gerona, and handing over the charge of the works on Monjuich, the new approaches, and the park at Pont Mayor, to the Westphalians. He abandoned all the outlying posts on the heights, even the convent of San Daniel, the village of Campdura, and the peak of Nuestra Se?ora de los Angeles. Only 4,600 infantry and 2,000 gunners and sappers were left facing the garrison: but Alvarez was too weak to drive off even such a small force.

On September 1 Blake ostentatiously displayed the heads of his columns in front of St. Cyr’s position; but while the French general was eagerly awaiting his attack, and preparing his counter-stroke, the Spaniard’s game was being played out in another quarter. While Rovira and Claros with their miqueletes made noisy demonstration from the north against the Westphalians, and threatened the park and the camp at Sarria, Blake had detached one of his divisions, that of Garcia Conde, some 4,000 strong, far to the left beyond St. Cyr’s flank: this corps had with it a convoy of more than a thousand mules laden with provisions, and a herd of cattle. It completely escaped the notice of the French, and marching from Amer at break of day came down into the plain of Salt at noon, far in[p. 43] the rear of St. Cyr’s army. Garcia Conde had the depleted Italian division of the siege corps in front of him: one of the brigadiers, the Pole Milosewitz, was in command that day, Lecchi being in hospital. This small force, which vainly believed itself covered from attack by St. Cyr’s corps, had kept no look-out to the rear, being wholly intent on watching the garrison. It was surprised by the Spanish column, cut into two halves, and routed. Garcia Conde entered the Mercadal in triumph with his convoy, and St. Cyr first learnt what had occurred when he saw the broken remnants of the Italians pouring into the rear of his own line at Fornells.

That night Gerona was free of enemies on its southern and eastern sides, and Alvarez communicated freely with Rovira’s and Claros’s irregulars, who had forced in the Westphalian division and compelled it to concentrate in Monjuich and the camp by the great park near Sarria. The garrison reoccupied the ruined convent of San Daniel by the Galligan, and placed a strong party in the hermitage on the peak of Nuestra Se?ora de los Angeles. It also destroyed all the advanced trenches on the slopes of Monjuich. On the next morning, however, it began to appreciate the fact that the siege had not been raised. St. Cyr sent back Verdier’s division to rejoin the Westphalians, and with them the wrecks of Lecchi’s routed battalions. He added to the force under Verdier half Pino’s Italian division—six fresh battalions. With these reinforcements the old siege-lines could be reoccupied, and the Spaniards were forced back from the points outside the walls which they had reoccupied on the night of September 1.

By sending away such a large proportion of the 16,000 men that he had concentrated for battle on the previous day, St. Cyr left himself only some 10,000 men for a general action with Blake, if the latter should resolve to fight. But the Spanish general, being without Garcia Conde’s division, had also no more than 10,000 men in line. Not only did he refuse to advance, but when St. Cyr, determined to fight at all costs, marched against him with offensive intentions, he hastily retreated as far as Hostalrich, two marches to the rear. There he broke up his army, which had exhausted all its provisions. St. Cyr did the same and for the same reasons; his men had to[p. 44] disperse in order to live. He says in his memoirs that if Blake had shown a bold front against him, and forced him to keep the covering army concentrated for two more days, the siege would have had to be raised. For the covering army had advanced against the Spaniards on September 2 with only two days’ rations, it had exhausted its stores, and eaten up the country-side. On the fourth it would have had to retire, or to break up into small fractions, leaving the siege-corps unprotected. St. Cyr doubted whether the retreat would have ceased before Figueras was reached. But it is more probable that he would have merely fallen back to join Verdier, and to live for some days on the dép?ts of Pont Mayor and Sarria. He could have offered battle again under the walls of Gerona, with all his forces united. Blake might have got into close touch with Alvarez, and have thrown what convoys he pleased into the town; but as long as St. Cyr and Verdier with 22,000 men lay opposite him, he could not have risked any more. The situation, in short, would have been that which occurred in February 1811 under the walls of Badajoz, when Mortier faced Mendizabal, and would probably have ended in the same fashion, by the French attacking and driving off the relieving army. Blake, then, may be blamed somewhat for his excessive caution in giving way so rapidly before St. Cyr’s advance: but if we remember the quality of his troops and the inevitable result of a battle, it is hard to censure him overmuch.

Meanwhile Garcia Conde, whose movements were most happy and adroit, reinforced the garrison of Gerona up to its original strength of 5,000 bayonets, by making over to Alvarez four whole battalions and some picked companies from other corps, and prepared to leave the town with the rest of his division and the vast drove of mules, whose burden had been discharged into the magazines. If he had dedicated his whole force to strengthening the garrison, the additional troops would have eaten up in a few days all the provisions that the convoy had brought in[46].[p. 45] Accordingly he started off at two a.m. on September 4 with some 1,200 men, by the upland path that leads past the hermitage of Los Angeles: St. Cyr had just placed Pino’s troops from the covering army to guard the heights to the south-east of Gerona, but Garcia Conde, warned by the peasants of their exact position, slipped between the posts and got off to Hostalrich with a loss of no more than fifty men[47].

Before he could consider his position safe, Verdier had to complete the lines of investment: this he did on September 5 by driving off the intermediate posts which Alvarez had thrown out from the Capuchin heights, to link the town with the garrison in the hermitage of Nuestra Se?ora de los Angeles. Mazzuchelli’s brigade stormed the hermitage itself on the following day, with a loss of about eighty men, and massacred the greater part of the garrison. On that same day, however, the French suffered a small disaster in another part of the environs. General Joba, who had been sent with three battalions to clear the road to Figueras from the bands of Claros and Rovira, was beaten and slain at San Gregorio by those chiefs. But the miqueletes afterwards retired to the mountains, and the road became intermittently passable, at least for large bodies of men.

It was not till September 11, however, that Verdier recom[p. 46]menced the actual siege, and bade his batteries open once more upon Gerona. The eleven days of respite since Blake interrupted the bombardment on September 1 had been invaluable to the garrison, who had cleared away the débris from the foot of the breaches, replaced the damaged artillery on the front of attack, and thrown up interior defences behind the shattered parts of the wall. They had also destroyed all the advanced trenches of the besiegers, which had to be reconstructed at much cost of life. In four days Verdier had recovered most of the lost ground, when he was surprised by a vigorous sally from the gate of San Pedro: the garrison, dashing out at three p.m., stormed the three nearest breaching batteries, spiked their guns, and filled in all the trenches which were advancing towards the foot of the walls. Four days’ work was thus undone in an hour, and it was only on September 19 that Verdier had reconstructed his works, and pushed forward so far towards his objective that he considered an assault possible. He then begged St. Cyr to lend him a brigade of fresh troops, pleading that the siege-corps was now so weak in numbers, and so demoralized by its losses, that he did not consider that the men would do themselves justice at a storm. The losses of officers had been fearful: one battalion was commanded by a lieutenant, another had been reduced to fifty men; desertion was rampant among several of the foreign corps. Of 14,000 infantry[48] of the French, Westphalian, and Italian divisions less than 6,000 now remained. So far as mere siegecraft went, as he explained to St. Cyr, ‘the affair might be considered at an end. We have made four large practicable breaches, each of them sufficient to reduce the town. But the troops cannot be trusted.’ St. Cyr refused to lend a man for the assault, writing with polite irony that ‘every general has his own task: yours is to take Gerona with the resources placed at your disposal by the government for that object, and the officers named by the government to conduct the siege[49].’ He added that he considered, from its past[p. 47] conduct, that the morale of the siege-corps was rather good than bad. He should not, therefore, allow the covering army to join the assault; but he would lend the whole of Pino’s division to take charge of Monjuich and the camps, during the storm, and would make a demonstration against the Mercadal, to distract the enemy from the breaches. With this Verdier had to be content, and, after making two final protests, concentrated all his brigades save those of the Westphalian division, and composed with them four columns, amounting to some 3,000 men, directing one against each of the four breaches. That sent against the platform of San Cristobal was a mere demonstration of 150 men, but the other three were heavy masses: the Italians went against Santa Lucia, the French brigade against the southern breach in the ‘Redoubt of the Germans,’ the Berg troops against the northern one. A separate demonstration was made against the Calvary fort, whose unsubdued fire still flanked the breaches, in the hope that its defenders might be prevented from interfering in the main struggle.

Alvarez, who had noted the French columns marching from all quarters to take shelter, before the assault, in the trenches on the slopes of Monjuich and in front of Pedret, had fair warning of what was coming, and had done his best to provide against the danger. The less important parts of the enceinte had been put in charge of the citizens of the ‘Crusade,’ and the picked companies of every regiment had been told off the breaches. The Englishman, Ralph Marshall, was in charge of the curtain of Santa Lucia, William Nash, the Spanish-Irish colonel of Ultonia, commanded at the two breaches under La Gironella: Brigadier Fournas, the second-in-command of the garrison, had general supervision of the defences; he had previously taken charge of Monjuich during the great assault in August. Everything had been done to prepare a second line of resistance behind the breaches; barricades had been erected, houses loopholed, and a great many marksmen disposed on roofs and church towers, which looked down on the rear-side of the gaps in the wall.

At four o’clock in the afternoon of September 19 the three columns destined for the northern breaches descended from Monjuich on the side of San Daniel, crossed the Galligan, and[p. 48] plunged into the hollow at the foot of the ‘Redoubt of the Germans.’ At the same moment the fourth column started from the ruins of the tower of San Juan to attack the curtain of Santa Lucia. The diversion against the Calvary fort was made at the same moment, and beaten off in a few minutes, so that the fire of this work was not neutralized during the assault according to Verdier’s expectation. The main assault, nevertheless, was delivered with great energy, despite the flanking fire. At the two points of attack under La Gironella the stormers twice won, crossed, and descended from the breach, forcing their way into the ruined barracks behind. But they were mown down by the terrible musketry fire from the houses, and finally expelled with the bayonet. At the Santa Lucia curtain the Italians scaled the breach, but were brought up by a perpendicular drop of twelve feet behind it—the foot of the wall in this quarter chancing to be much higher than the level of the street below. They held the crest of the breach for some time, but were finally worsted in a long and furious exchange of fire with the Spaniards on the roofs and churches before them, and recoiled. The few surviving officers rallied the stormers, and brought them up for a second assault, but at the end of two hours of hard fighting all were constrained to retire to their trenches. They had lost 624 killed and wounded, including three colonels (the only three surviving in the whole of Verdier’s corps) and thirty other officers. The Spanish loss had been 251, among them Colonel Marshall, who was mortally wounded at his post on the Santa Lucia front.
Map of the siege of Gerona

Enlarge  SIEGE OF GERONA

Verdier accused his troops of cowardice, which seems to have been unjust. St. Cyr wrote to the Minister of War to express his opinion that his subordinate was making an excuse to cover his own error, in judging that a town must fall merely because there were large breaches in its walls[50]. ‘The columns stopped for ninety minutes on the breaches under as heavy a fire as has ever been seen. There was some disorder at the end, but that is not astonishing in view of the heavy loss suffered before the[p. 49] retreat. I do not think that picked grenadiers would have done any better, and I am convinced that the assault failed because the obstacles to surmount were too great.’ The fact was that the Spaniards had fought with such admirable obstinacy, and had so well arranged their inner defences, that it did not suffice that the breaches should have been perfectly practicable. At the northern assault the stormers actually penetrated into the buildings behind the gaps in the ruined wall, but could not get further forward[51]. In short, the history of the siege of Gerona gives a clear corroboration of the old military axiom that no town should ever surrender merely because it has been breached, and justifies Napoleon’s order that every governor who capitulated without having stood at least one assault should be sent before a court martial. It refutes the excuses of the too numerous commanders who have surrendered merely because there was a practicable breach in their walls, like Imaz at Badajoz in 1811. If all Spanish generals had been as wary and as resolute as Mariano Alvarez, the Peninsular War would have taken some unexpected turns. The moral of the defences of Tarifa, Burgos, and San Sebastian will be found to be the same as that of the defence of Gerona.

The effect of the repulse of September 19 on the besieging army was appalling. Verdier, after writing three venomous letters to the Emperor, the War Minister, and Marshal Augereau[52], in which he accused St. Cyr of having deliberately sacrificed the good of the service to his personal resentments, declared himself invalided. He then went off to Perpignan, though permission to depart was expressly denied him by his superior: his divisional generals, Lecchi and Morio, had already preceded him to France. Disgust at the failure of the storm had the same effect on the rank and file: 1,200 men went to the hospital in the[p. 50] fortnight that followed the assault, till by October 1 the three divisions of the siege-corps numbered little more than 4,000 bayonets—just enough to hold Monjuich and the camps by the great dép?ts at Pont Mayor and Sarria. The store of ammunition in the park had been used up for the tremendous bombardment poured upon the breaches from the 15th to the 17th of September. A new supply was wanted from Perpignan, yet no troops could be detached to bring it forward, for the miqueletes were again active, and on September 13 had captured or destroyed near Bascara a convoy guarded by so many as 500 men.

St. Cyr, left in sole charge of the siege by Verdier’s departure, came to the conclusion that it was useless to proceed with the attack by means of trenches, batteries, and assaults, and frankly stated that he should starve the town out, but waste no further lives on active operations. He drew in the covering corps closer to Gerona, so that it could take a practical part in the investment, put the wrecks of Lecchi’s troops—of whom less than 1,000 survived—into Pino’s division, and sent the French brigade of Verdier’s old division to guard the line between Bascara and the Frontier. Thus the distinction between the siege-corps and the covering troops ceased to exist, and St. Cyr lay with some 16,000 men in a loose circle round Gerona, intent not on prosecuting advances against the walls, but only on preventing the introduction of further succours. He was aware that acute privations were already being suffered by the Spaniards: Garcia Conde’s convoy had brought in not much more than eight days’ provisions for the 5,000 men of the reinforced garrison and the 10,000 inhabitants who still survived. There was a considerable amount of flour still left in store, but little else: meat, salt and fresh, was all gone save horseflesh, for Alvarez had just begun to butcher his draught horses and those of his single squadron of cavalry. There was some small store of chocolate, tobacco, and coffee, but wine and aguardiente had run out, so had salt, oil, rice, and—what was most serious with autumn and winter approaching—wood and charcoal. All the timbers of the houses destroyed by the bombardment had been promptly used up, either for fortification or for cooking[53].[p. 51] Medical stores were wholly unobtainable: the chief hospital had been burnt early in the siege, and the sick and wounded, laid in vaults or casemates for safety, died off like flies in the underground air. The seeds of pestilence were spread by the number of dead bodies of men and animals which were lying where they could not be reached, under the ruins of fallen houses. The spirit alike of garrison and troops still ran high: the repulse of the great assault of September 19, and the cessation of the bombardment for many days after had encouraged them. But they were beginning to murmur more and more bitterly against Blake: there was a general, if erroneous, opinion that he ought to have risked a battle, instead of merely throwing in provisions, on September 1. Alvarez himself shared this view, and wrote in vigorous terms to the Junta of Catalonia, to ask if his garrison was to perish slowly by famine.

Blake responded by a second effort, less happily planned than that of September 1. He called together his scattered divisions, now about 12,000 strong, and secretly concentrated them at La Bispal, between Gerona and the sea. He had again got together some 1,200 mules laden with foodstuffs, and a large drove of sheep and oxen. Henry O’Donnell, an officer of the Ultonia regiment, who had been sent out by Alvarez, marched at the head of the convoy with 2,000 picked men; a division of 4,000 men under General Wimpfen followed close behind to cover its rear. Blake, with the rest, remained at La Bispal: he committed the egregious fault of omitting to threaten other[p. 52] parts of the line of investment, so as to draw off St. Cyr’s attention from the crucial point. He trusted to secrecy and sudden action, having succeeded in concentrating his army without being discovered by the French, who thought him still far away beyond Hostalrich. Thus it came to pass that though O’Donnell struck sharply in, defeated an Italian regiment near Castellar, and another three miles further on, and reached the Constable fort with the head of the convoy, yet the rest of Pino’s division and part of Souham’s concentrated upon his flank and rear, because they were not drawn off by alarms in other quarters. They broke in between O’Donnell and his supports, captured all the convoy save 170 mules, and destroyed the leading regiment of Wimpfen’s column, shooting also, according to the Spanish reports, many scores of the unarmed peasants who were driving the beasts of burden[54]. About 700 of Wimpfen’s men were taken prisoners, about 1,300 killed or wounded, for little quarter was given. The remnant recoiled upon Blake, who fell back to Hostalrich next day, September 27, without offering to fight. The amount of food which reached the garrison was trifling, and Alvarez declared that he had no need for the additional mouths of O’Donnell’s four battalions, and refused to admit them into the city. They lay encamped under the Capuchin fort for some days, waiting for an opportunity to escape.

After having thus wrecked Blake’s second attempt to succour Gerona, and driven him from the neighbourhood, St. Cyr betook himself to Perpignan, in order, as he explained to the Minister of War[55], to hurry up provisions to the army at the front, and to compel the officers at the base to send forward some 3,000 or 4,000 convalescents fit to march, whose services had been persistently denied him[56]. Arrived there he heard that Augereau, whose gout had long disappeared, was perfectly fit to take the field, and could have done so long before if he had not preferred to shift on to other shoulders the responsibility for the siege of Gerona. He was, on October 1, at the baths of Molitg, ‘destroying the germs of his malady’ as he gravely wrote to[p. 53] Paris,—amusing himself, as St. Cyr maintains in his memoirs. Convinced that the siege had still a long time to run, and eager to do an ill turn to the officer who had intrigued to get his place, St. Cyr played on the Marshal precisely the same trick that Verdier had played on himself a fortnight before. He announced that he was indisposed, wrote to congratulate Augereau on his convalescence, and to resign the command to his hands, and departed to his home, without waiting for an answer, or obtaining leave from Paris—a daring act, as Napoleon was enraged, and might have treated him hardly. He was indeed put under arrest for a short time.

From the first to the eleventh of October Souham remained in charge of the army, but on the twelfth Augereau appeared and took command, bringing with him the mass of convalescents who had been lingering at Perpignan. Among them was Verdier, whose health became all that could be desired when St. Cyr had disappeared. The night following the Marshal’s arrival was disturbed by an exciting incident. Henry O’Donnell from his refuge on the Capuchin heights, had been watching for a fortnight for a good chance of escape. There was a dense fog on the night of the 12th-13th: taking advantage of it O’Donnell came down with his brigade, made a circuit round the town, crossed the O?a and struck straight away into the plain of Salt, which, being the most open and exposed, was also the least guarded section of the French lines of investment. He broke through the chain of vedettes almost without firing, and came rushing before dawn into Souham’s head-quarters camp on the heights of Aguaviva. The battalion sleeping there was scattered, and the general forced to fly in his shirt. O’Donnell swept off his riding-horses and baggage, as also some prisoners, and was out of reach in half an hour, before the rallying fractions of the French division came up to the rescue of their chief. By six o’clock the escaping column was in safety in the mountains by Santa Coloma, where it joined the miqueletes of Milans. For this daring exploit O’Donnell was made a major-general by the Supreme Junta. His departure was a great relief to Alvarez, who had to husband every mouthful of food, and had already put both the garrison and the townsfolk on half-rations of flour and horseflesh.

[p. 54]

Augereau was in every way inferior as an officer to St. Cyr. An old soldier of fortune risen from the ranks, he had little education or military science; his one virtue was headlong courage on the battlefield, yet when placed in supreme command he often hesitated, and showed hopeless indecision. He had been lucky enough to earn a great reputation as Napoleon’s second-in-command in the old campaigns of Italy in 1796-7. Since then he had made his fortune by becoming one of the Emperor’s most zealous tools and flatterers. He was reckoned a blind and reckless Bonapartist, ready to risk anything for his master, but spoilt his reputation for sincerity by deserting him at the first opportunity in 1814. He was inclined to a harsh interpretation of the laws of war, and enjoyed a doubtful reputation for financial integrity. Yet he was prone to ridiculous self-laudatory proclamations and manifestos, written in a bombastic strain which he vainly imagined to resemble his master’s thunders of the Bulletins. Scraps of his address to the citizens of Gerona may serve to display his fatuity—

‘Unhappy inhabitants—wretched victims immolated to the caprice and madness of ambitious men greedy for your blood—return to your senses, open your eyes, consider the ills which surround you! With what tranquillity do your leaders look upon the graves crammed with your corpses! Are you not horror-struck at these cannibals, whose mirth bursts out in the midst of the human hecatomb, and who yet dare to lift their gory hands in prayer towards the throne of a God of Peace? They call themselves the apostles of Jesus Christ! Tremble, cruel and infamous men! The God who judges the actions of mortals is slow to condemn, but his vengeance is terrible.... I warn you for the last time, inhabitants of Gerona, reflect while you still may! If you force me to throw aside my usual mildness, your ruin is inevitable. I shall be the first to groan at it, but the laws of war impose on me the dire necessity.... I am severe but just. Unhappy Gerona! if thy defenders persist in their obstinacy, thou shalt perish in blood and flame.

(Signed) Augereau.’

Stuff of this sort was not likely to have much effect on fanatics like Alvarez and his ‘Crusaders.’ If it is so wrong to cause the deaths of men—they had only to answer—Why has Bonaparte[p. 55] sent his legions into Spain? On the Marshal’s line of argument, that it is wrong to resist overwhelming force, it is apparently a sin before God for any man to attempt to defend his house and family against any bandit. There is much odious and hypocritical nonsense in some of Napoleon’s bulletins, where he grows tender on the miseries of the people he has conquered, but nothing to approach the maunderings of his copyist.

Augereau found the army about Gerona showing not more than 12,000 bayonets fit for the field—gunners and sappers excluded. The men were sick of the siege, and it would seem that the Marshal was forced, after inspecting the regiments and conferring with the generals, to acquiesce in St. Cyr’s decision that any further assaults would probably lead to more repulses. He gave out that he was resolved to change the system on which the operations had hitherto been conducted, but the change amounted to nothing more than that he ordered a slow but steady bombardment to be kept up, and occasionally vexed the Spaniards by demonstrations against the more exposed points of the wall. It does not appear that either of these expedients had the least effect in shaking the morale of the garrison. It is true that during October and November the hearts of the Geronese were commencing to grow sick, but this was solely the result of starvation and dwindling numbers. As to the bombardment, they were now hardened to any amount of dropping fire: on October 28 they celebrated the feast of San Narciso, their patron, by a procession all round the town, which was under fire for the whole time of its progress, and paid no attention to the casualties which it cost them.

Meanwhile, when the second half of October had begun, Blake made the third and last of his attempts to throw succours into Gerona. It was even more feebly carried out than that of September 26, for the army employed was less numerous. Blake’s force had not received any reinforcement to make up for the men lost in the last affair, a fact that seems surprising, since Valencia ought now to have been able to send him the remainder of the regiments which had been reorganized since the disasters of June. But it would seem that José Caro, who was in command in that province, and the local Junta, made excuses for retaining as many men as possible, and cared little[p. 56] for the danger of Gerona, so long as the war was kept far from their own frontier. It was, at any rate, with no more than 10,000 or 12,000 men, the remains of his original force, that Blake once more came forward on October 18, and threatened the blockading army by demonstrations both from the side of La Bispal and that of Santa Coloma. He had again collected a considerable amount of food at Hostalrich, but had not yet formed a convoy: apparently he was waiting to discover the weakest point in the French lines before risking his mules and his stores, both of which were by now very hard to procure. There followed a fortnight of confused skirmishing, without any battle, though Augereau tried with all his might to force on a general engagement. One of his Italian brigades was roughly handled near La Bispal on the twenty-first, and another repulsed near Santa Coloma on the twenty-sixth, but on each occasion, when the French reinforcements came up, Blake gave back and refused to fight. On November 1 the whole of Souham’s division marched on Santa Coloma, and forced Loygorri and Henry O’Donnell to evacuate it and retire to the mountains. Souham reported that he had inflicted a loss of 2,000 men on the Spaniards, at the cost of eleven killed and forty-three wounded on his own side! The real casualty list of the two Spanish divisions seems to have been somewhat over 100 men[57].

Nothing decisive had taken place up to November 7, when Augereau conceived the idea that he might make an end of Blake’s fruitless but vexatious demonstrations, by dealing a sudden blow at his magazines in Hostalrich. If these were destroyed it would cost the Spaniards much time to collect another store of provisions for Gerona. Accordingly Pino marched with three brigades to storm the town, which was protected only by a dilapidated mediaeval wall unfurnished with guns, though the castle which dominated it was a place of considerable strength, and proof against a coup de main. Only one of Blake’s divisions, that of Cuadrado, less than 2,000 strong, was in this quarter, and Augereau found employment for the others by sending some of Souham’s troops against them. The expedition succeeded: while Mazzuchelli’s brigade occupied the attention of Cuadrado,[p. 57] the rest of the Italians stormed Hostalrich, which was defended only by its own inhabitants and the small garrison of the castle. The Spaniards were driven up into that stronghold after a lively fight, and all the magazines fell into Pino’s hands and were burnt. At a cost of only thirty-five killed and sixty-four wounded the food, which Blake had collected with so much difficulty, was destroyed[58]. Thereupon the Spanish general gave up the attempt to succour Gerona, and withdrew to the plain of Vich, to recommence the Sisyphean task of getting together one more convoy. It was not destined to be of any use to Alvarez and his gallant garrison, for by the time that it was collected the siege had arrived at its final stage.

The Geronese were now reaching the end of their strength: for the first time since the investment began in May some of the defenders began to show signs of slackening. The heavy rains of October and the commencement of the cold season were reducing alike troops and inhabitants to a desperate condition. They had long used up all their fuel, and found the chill of winter intolerable in their cellars and casemates. Alvarez, though reduced to a state of physical prostration by dysentery and fever, was still steadfast in heart. But there was discontent brewing among some of his subordinates: it is notable, as showing the spirit of the time, that the malcontents were found among the professional soldiers, not among the citizens. Early in November several officers were found holding secret conferences, and drawing up an address to the local Junta, setting forth the desperate state of the city and the necessity for deposing the governor, who was represented as incapacitated for command by reason of his illness: it was apparently hinted that he was going mad, or was intermittently delirious[59]. Some of the wild sayings attributed to Alvarez during the later days of the siege might be quoted as a support for their representations. To a captain who asked to what point he was expected to retire, if he were driven from his post, it is said that he answered, ‘to the cemetery.’ To another officer, the first who dared to say that[p. 58] capitulation was inevitable because of the exhaustion of the magazines, he replied, ‘When the last food is gone we will start eating the cowards, and we will begin with you.’ Though aware that their conspiracies were known, the malcontents did not desist from their efforts, and Alvarez made preparations for seizing and shooting the chiefs. But on the night of November 19 eight of them, including three lieutenant-colonels[60], warned by a traitor of their approaching fate, fled to Augereau’s camp. Their arrival was the most encouraging event for the French that had occurred since the commencement of the siege. They spoke freely of the exhaustion of the garrison, and said that Alvarez was mad and moribund.

It was apparently this information concerning the desperate state of the garrison which induced Augereau to recommence active siege operations. He ordered up ammunition from Perpignan to fill the empty magazines, and when it arrived began to batter a new breach in the curtain of Santa Lucia. On December 2 Pino’s Italians stormed the suburb of La Marina, outside the southern end of the town, a quarter hitherto unassailed, and made a lodgement therein, as if to open a new point of attack. But this was only done to distract the enemy from the real design of the Marshal, which was nothing less than to cut off the forts on the Capuchin heights from Gerona by seizing the redoubts, those of the ‘Chapter’ and the ‘City,’ which covered the steep upward path from the walls to the group of works on the hilltop. At midnight on December 6 the voltigeur and grenadier companies of Pino’s division climbed the rough southern face of the Capuchin heights, and surprised and escaladed the ‘Redoubt of the City,’ putting the garrison to the sword. Next morning the batteries of the forts above and the city below opened a furious fire upon the lost redoubt, and Alvarez directed his last sally, sending out every man that he could collect to recover the work. This led to a long and bloody fight on the slopes, which ended most disastrously for the garrison. Not only was the sortie repulsed, but in the confusion the French carried the Calvary and Chapter redoubts, the other works which guarded the access from Gerona to the upper forts. On the afternoon[p. 59] of December 7 the communication with them was completely cut off, and as their garrisons possessed no separate magazines, and had been wont to receive their daily dole from the city, it was clear that they must be starved out. They had only food for forty-eight hours at the moment[61].

The excitement of the sally had drained away the governor’s last strength: he took to his bed that evening, was in delirium next day, and on the morning of the ninth received the last sacraments of the Church, the doctors having declared that his hours were numbered. His last conscious act was to protest against any proposal to surrender, before he handed over the command to the senior officer present, General Juliano Bolivar. Had Alvarez retained his senses, it is certain that an attempt would have been made to hold the town, even when the starving garrisons of the forts should have surrendered. But the moment that his stern hand was removed, his successor, Bolivar, called together a council of war, to which the members of the Junta, no less than the officers commanding corps, were invited. They voted that further resistance was impossible, and sent out Brigadier-General Fournas, the man who had so well defended Monjuich, to obtain terms from Augereau. On the morning of the tenth the Marshal received him, and dictated a simple surrender, without any of the favourable conditions which Fournas at first demanded. His only concession was that he offered to exchange the garrison for an equal number of the unhappy prisoners from Dupont’s army, now lying in misery on the pontoons at Cadiz, if the Supreme Junta concurred. But the bargain was never ratified, as the authorities at Seville were obdurate.

On the morning of December 11 the survivors of the garrison marched out, and laid down their arms on the glacis of the Mercadal. Only 3,000 men came forth; these looked like living spectres, so pale, weak, and tattered that ‘the besiegers,’ as eye-witnesses observed, ‘felt ashamed to have been held at bay so long by dying men.’ There were 1,200 more lying in the[p. 60] hospitals. The rest of the 9,000 who had defended the place from May, or had entered with Garcia Conde in September, were dead. A detailed inspection of figures shows that of the 5,723 men of Alvarez’s original command only 2,008 survived, while of the 3,648 who had come later there were still 2,240 left: i. e. two-thirds of the old garrison and one-third of the succours had perished. The mortality by famine and disease far exceeded that by the sword: 800 men had died in the hospitals in October, and 1,300 in November, from mere exhaustion. The town was in a dreadful state: about 6,000 of the 14,000 inhabitants had perished, including nearly all the very young and the very old. 12,000 bombs and 8,000 shells had been thrown into the unhappy city: it presented a melancholy vista of houses roofless, or with one or two of the side-walls knocked in, of streets blocked by the fallen masonry of churches or towers, under which half-decayed corpses were partially buried. The open spaces were strewn with broken muskets, bloody rags, wheels of disabled guns and carts, fragments of shells, and the bones of horses and mules whose flesh had been eaten. The stench was so dreadful that Augereau had to keep his troops out of the place, lest infection should be bred among them. In the magazines nothing was found save a little unground corn; all the other provisions had been exhausted. There were also 168 cannon, mostly disabled; about 10,000 lb. of powder, and a million musket cartridges. The military chest handed over contained 562 reals—about 6l. sterling.

Augereau behaved very harshly to the garrison: many feeble or diseased men were made to march to Perpignan and perished by the way. The priests and monks of the ‘Crusade’ were informed that they were combatants, and sent off with the soldiery. But the fate of the gallant Governor provokes especial indignation. Alvarez did not die of his fever: when he was somewhat recovered he was forwarded to Perpignan, and from thence to Narbonne, where he was kept for some time and seemed convalescent. Orders then came from Paris that he was to be sent back to Spain—apparently to be tried as a traitor, for it was alleged that in the spring of 1808 he had accepted the provisional government installed by Murat. He was separated from his aide-de-camp and servants, and passed on[p. 61] from dungeon to dungeon till he reached Figueras. The day after his arrival at that place he was found dead, on a barrow—the only bed granted him—in the dirty cellar where he had been placed. It is probable that he perished from natural causes, but many Spaniards believed that he had been murdered[62].

Great as the losses of the garrison of Gerona had been, they were far exceeded, both positively and proportionately, by those of the besieging army. The French official returns show that on June 15 the three divisions charged with the attack, those of Verdier, Morio, and Lecchi, had 14,456 bayonets, and the two divisions of the covering army, those of Souham and Pino, 15,732: there were 2,637 artillerymen and engineers over and above these figures. On December 31, twenty days after the surrender, and when the regiments had been joined by most of their convalescents, the three siege-divisions counted 6,343 men, the covering divisions 11,666, and the artillery and engineers, 2,390.

This shows a loss of over 13,000 men; but on examination the deficit is seen to be even larger, for two new battalions from France had just joined Verdier’s division in December, and their 1,000 bayonets should be deducted from his total. It would seem, then, that the capture of Gerona cost the 7th Corps about 14,000 men, as well as a whole campaigning season, from April to December. The attack on Catalonia had been brought to a complete standstill, and when Gerona fell the French occupied nothing but the ruined city, the fortresses of Rosas and Figueras hard by the frontier, and the isolated Barcelona, where Duhesme, with the 6,000 men of his division, had been lying quiescent all the summer and autumn. Such a force was too weak to make detachments to aid St. Cyr or Augereau, since 4,000 men at least were needed for the garrison of the citadel and the outlying forts, and it would have been hopeless for the small remainder to take the field. Duhesme only conducted[p. 62] one short incursion to Villafranca during the siege of Gerona. In the last months of the year Barcelona was again in a state of partial starvation: the food brought in by Cosmao’s convoy in the spring had been exhausted, while a second provision-fleet from Toulon, escorted by five men-of-war, had been completely destroyed in October. Admiral Martin surprised it off Cape Creus, drove ashore and burnt two line-of-battle ships and a frigate, and captured most of the convoy. The rest took refuge in the harbour of Rosas, where Captain Halliwell attacked them with the boats of the squadron and burnt them all[63].

While Gerona was enduring its last month of starvation, those whose care it should have been to succour the place at all costs were indulging in a fruitless exchange of recriminations, and making preparations when it was all too late. Blake, after retiring to Vich on November 10, informed the Junta of Catalonia that he was helpless, unless more men could be found, and that they must find them. Why he did not rather insist that the Valencian reserves should be brought up, and risk stripping Tarragona and Lerida of their regular garrisons, it is hard to say. This at any rate would have been in his power. The Catalan Junta replied by summoning a congress at Manresa on November 20, to which representatives of every district of the principality were invited. The congress voted that a levy en masse of all the able-bodied men from seventeen to forty-five years of age should be called out[64], and authorized a loan of 10,000,000 reals for equipping them. They also wrote to Seville, not for the first time, to demand reinforcements from the Central Junta. But the battle of Oca?a had just been fought and lost, and Andalusia could not have spared a man, even if there had been time to transport troops to Tarragona. All that the Catalans received was honorary votes of approval for the gallant behaviour of the Geronese. The levy en masse was actually begun, but there was an insuperable difficulty in collecting and equipping the men in winter time, when days were short and roads were bad. The weeks passed by, and Gerona fell long before enough men had been got together to[p. 63] induce Blake to try a new offensive movement. Why was the congress not called in September rather than in November? Blake had always declared that he was too weak to risk a battle with the French for the raising of the siege, but till the last moment the Catalans contented themselves with arguing with him, and writing remonstrances to the Central Junta, instead of lending him the aid of their last levies.

One or two points connected with this famous siege require a word of comment. It is quite clear that St. Cyr during its early stages did not try his honest best to help Verdier. During June and July his covering army was doing no good whatever at Vich: he pretended that he had placed it there in order to ward off possible attacks by Blake. But it was matter of public knowledge that Blake was far away in Aragon, engaged in his unhappy campaign against Suchet, and that Coupigny, left at Tarragona with a few thousand men, was not a serious danger. St. Cyr could have spared a whole division more for the siege operations, without risking anything. If he had done so, Gerona could have been approached on two sides instead of one, the Mercadal front might have been attacked, and the loose blockade, which was all that Verdier could keep up, for want of more men, might have been made effective. But St. Cyr all through his military career earned a reputation for callous selfishness and habitual leaving of his colleagues in the lurch. On this occasion he was bitterly offended with Verdier, for giving himself the airs of an equal, and corresponding directly with the Emperor. There can be no doubt that he took a malicious pleasure in seeing his failures. It is hardly disguised in his clever and plausible Journal des Opérations de l’Armée de Catalogne en 1808-1809[65].

[p. 64]

Verdier, on the other hand, seems to have felt all through that he was being asked to perform a task almost impossible, when he was set to take Gerona with his own 14,000 men, unaided by the covering army. His only receipt for success was to try to hurry on the matter by delivering desperate blows. Both the assault on Monjuich on July 8 and that on the city on September 19 were premature; there was some excuse for the former: Verdier had not yet realized how well Alvarez could fight. But the second seems unpardonable, after the warning received at Monjuich. If the general, as he declared before delivering his assault, mistrusted his own troops, he had no right to order a storm at all, considering his experience of the way in which the Spaniards had behaved in July. He acted on the fallacious theory that a practicable breach implies a town that can be taken, which is far from being the case if the garrison are both desperate and ingenious in defending themselves. The only way to deal with such a resolute and capable adversary was to proceed by the slow and regular methods of siegecraft, to sap right up to the ditch before delivering an assault, and batter everything to pieces before risking a man. This was how Monjuich was actually taken, after the storm had failed. Having neither established himself close under the walls, nor subdued the flanking fires from the Calvary and Chapter redoubts, nor ascertained how far the Spaniards had prepared inner defences for themselves, he had no right to attack at all.

As to Blake, even after making all possible allowances for the fact that he could not trust his troops—the half-rallied wrecks of Maria and Belchite—for a battle in the field, he must yet be pronounced guilty of feebleness and want of ingenuity. If he could never bring up enough regulars to give him a chance of facing St. Cyr, the fault was largely his own: a more forcible[p. 65] general would have insisted that the Valencian reserves should march[66], and would have stripped Lerida and Tarragona of men: it could safely have been done, for neither Suchet nor Duhesme was showing any signs of threatening those points. He might have insisted that the Catalan Junta should call out the full levy of somatenes in September instead of in November. He might also have made a better use of the irregulars already in the field, the bands of Rovira, Milans, and Claros. These miqueletes did admirable service all through the siege, by harassing Verdier’s rear and cutting off his convoys, but they were not employed (as they should have been) in combination with the regulars, but allowed, as a rule, to go off on excursions of their own, which had no relation to the main objects of Blake’s strategy. The only occasion on which proper use was made of them was when, on September 1, they were set to threaten Verdier’s lines, while Garcia Conde’s convoy was approaching Gerona. It may be pleaded in the Spanish general’s defence that it was difficult to exact obedience from the chiefs: there was a distinct coolness between the regulars and the irregulars, which sometimes led to actual quarrels and conflicts when they met. But here again the reply is that more forcible captain-generals were able to control the miqueletes, and if Blake failed to do so, it was only one more sign of his inadequacy. It is impossible to avoid the conclusion that he mismanaged matters, and that if in his second and third attempts to relieve Gerona he had repeated the tactics of his first, he would have had a far better chance of success. On September 1 only did he make any scientific attempt to distract the enemy’s attention and forces, and on that occasion he was successful. Summing things up, it may be said that he was not wrong to refuse battle with the troops that he had actually brought up to Gerona: they would undoubtedly have been[p. 66] routed if he had risked a general engagement. His fault was that he did not bring up larger forces, when it was in his power to do so, by the exercise of compulsion on the Catalan and Valencian Juntas. But these bodies must share Blake’s responsibilities: they undoubtedly behaved in a slack and selfish fashion, and let Gerona perish, though it was keeping the war from their doors for a long eight months.

All the more credit is due to Alvarez, considering the way in which he was left unsuccoured, and fed with vain promises. A less constant soul would have abandoned the defence long before: the last two months of resistance were his sole work: if he had fallen sick in October instead of December, his subordinates would have yielded long before. But it is not merely for heroic obstinacy that he must be praised. Every detail of the defence shows that he was a most ingenious and provident general: nothing was left undone to make the work of the besiegers hard. Moreover, as Napier has observed, it is not the least of his titles to merit that he preserved a strict discipline, and exacted the possible maximum of work from soldier and civilian alike, without the use of any of those wholesale executions which disgraced the defence of Saragossa. His words were sometimes truculent, but his acts were just and moderate. He never countenanced mob-law, as did Palafox, yet he was far better obeyed by the citizens, and got as good service from them as did the Aragonese commander. He showed that good organization is not incompatible with patriotic enthusiasm, and is far more effective in the hour of danger than reckless courage and blind self-sacrifice.
SECTION XVII: CHAPTER IV
THE AUTUMN CAMPAIGN OF 1809: TAMAMES, OCA?A, AND ALBA DE TORMES

As early as August 30, when Wellington had not fully completed his retreat from Almaraz and Jaraicejo to Badajoz and Merida, the central Junta had already begun to pester him and his brother, the Ambassador at Seville, with plans for a resumption of the offensive in the valley of the Tagus. On that day Martin de Garay, the Secretary of State, wrote to represent to Wellesley that he had good reason to believe that the troops of Victor, Mortier, and Soult were making a general movement to the rear, and that the moment had arrived when the allied armies in Estremadura and La Mancha should ‘move forward with the greatest activity, either to observe more closely the movements of the enemy, or to attack him when circumstances may render it expedient[67].’ The French movement of retreat was wholly imaginary, and it is astonishing that the Spanish Government should have been so mad as to believe it possible that ‘their retrograde movement may have originated in accounts received from the North, which compel the enemy either to retire into the interior of France, or to take up a position nearer to the Pyrenees.’ On a groundless rumour, of the highest intrinsic improbability, they were ready to hurl the newly-rallied troops of Eguia and Venegas upon the French, and to invite Wellington to join in the advance. Irresponsible frivolity could go no further. But the Junta, as has been already said, were eager for a military success, which should cause their unpopularity to be forgotten, and were ready to seize on any excuse for ordering their troops forward. This particular rumour died away—the French were still in force on the Tagus, and, as a matter of fact, the only movement northwards on their part had been the return of Ney’s corps[p. 68] to Salamanca. But though the truth was soon discovered, the Junta only began to look out for new excuses for recommencing active operations.

Wellington, when these schemes were laid before him, reiterated his refusal to join in any offensive campaign, pointed out that the allied forces were not strong enough to embark on any such hazardous undertaking, and bluntly expressed his opinion that ‘he was much afraid, from what he had seen of the proceedings of the Central Junta, that in the distribution of their forces they do not consider military defence and military operations so much as political intrigue, and the attainment of petty political objects.’ He then proceeded to make an estimate of the French armies, to show their numerical superiority to the allies; in this he very much under-estimated the enemy’s resources, calculating the whole force of the eight corps in Spain at 125,000 men, exclusive of sick and garrisons not available for active service. As a matter of fact there were 180,000 men, not 125,000, with the Eagles at that moment, after all deductions had been made, so that his reasoning was far more cogent than he supposed[68]. But this only makes more culpable the obstinate determination of the Junta to resume operations with the much inferior force which they had at their disposal.

Undismayed by their first repulse, the Spanish ministers were soon making new representations to Wellesley and Wellington, in order to induce them to commit the English army to a forward policy. They sent in repeated schemes for supplying Wellington with food and transport on a lavish scale[69]; but he merely expressed his doubts as to whether orders that looked admirable on paper would ever be carried out in practice. He consented for the present to remain at Badajoz, as long as he could subsist his army in its environs, but warned the Junta that it was more probable that he would retire within the Portuguese border, for reasons of supply, than that he would join in another campaign on the Tagus.

Despite of all, the government at Seville went on with its plans for a general advance, even after they recognized that Wellington was not to be moved. A grand plan of operations[p. 69] was gradually devised by the War-Minister Cornel and his advisers. Stated shortly it was as follows. The army in La Mancha, which Venegas had rallied after the disaster of Almonacid, was to be raised to a strength of over 50,000 men by the drafting into it of a full two-thirds of Cuesta’s old army of Estremadura. On September 21 Eguia marched eastwards up the Guadiana, with three divisions of infantry and twelve or thirteen regiments of cavalry, to join Venegas[70]. The remaining force, amounting to two divisions of infantry and 2,500 cavalry, was left in Estremadura under the Duke of Albuquerque, the officer to whom the government was obliged to assign this army, because the Junta of Badajoz pressed for his appointment and would not hear of any other commander. He was considered an Anglophil, and a friend of some of the Andalusian malcontents, so the force left with him was cut down to the minimum. All the old regular regiments were withdrawn from him, save one single battalion, and he was left with nothing save the newly-raised volunteer units, some of which had behaved so badly at Talavera[71]. His cavalry was soon after reduced by the order to send a brigade to join the Army of the North, so that he was finally left with only five regiments of that arm or about 1,500 sabres. Of his infantry, about 12,000 strong, over 4,000 were absorbed by the garrison of Badajoz, so that he had only 8,000 men available for service in the field.

Eguia, on the other hand, carried with him to La Mancha some 25,000 men, the picked corps of the Estremaduran army; and, as the remains of Venegas’s divisions rallied and recruited after Almonacid, amounted to rather more than that number, the united force exceeded 50,000 sabres and bayonets. With this army the Junta intended to make a direct stroke at Madrid, while Albuquerque was directed to show himself on the Tagus, in front of Almaraz and Talavera, with the object of detaining[p. 70] at least one of the French corps in that direction. It was hoped, even yet, that Wellington might be induced to join in this demonstration. If once the redcoats reappeared at the front, neither Soult nor Mortier could be moved to oppose the army of La Mancha. Meanwhile Ney and the French corps in Leon and Old Castile were to be distracted by the use of a new force from the north, whose composition must be explained. The Junta held that the last campaign had failed only because the allies had possessed no force ready to detain Soult and Ney. If they had not appeared at Plasencia, Wellington, Cuesta, and Venegas would have been able to drive King Joseph out of his capital. Two months later the whole position was changed, in their estimation, by the fact that Spain once more possessed a large ‘Army of the Left,’ which would be able to occupy at least two French corps, while the rest of the allies marched again on Madrid. That such a force existed did indeed modify the aspect of affairs. La Romana had been moved to Seville to become a member of the Junta, but his successor, the Duke Del Parque, was collecting a host very formidable as far as numbers went. The old army of Galicia had been reformed into four divisions under Martin de la Carrera, Losada, Mahy, and the Conde de Belveder—the general whose name was so unfortunately connected with the ill-fought combat of Gamonal. These four divisions now comprised 27,000 men, of whom more than half were newly-raised Galician recruits, whom La Romana had embodied in the depleted cadres of his original battalions, after Ney and Soult had evacuated the province in July. A few of the ancient regiments that had made the campaign of Espinosa had died out completely—their small remnants having been drafted into other corps[72]. On the other hand there were a few new regiments of Galician volunteers—but La Romana had set his face against the creation of such units, wisely preferring to place his new levies in the ranks of the old battalions of the regular army[73]. In the main, there[p. 71]fore, the new ‘Army of the Left’ represented, as far as names and cadres went, Blake’s original ‘Army of Galicia[74].’ It had the same cardinal fault as that army, in that it had practically no cavalry whatever: the single dragoon regiment that Blake had owned (La Reina) having been almost completely destroyed in 1808[75]. Each division had a battery; the guns, of which La Romana’s army had been almost destitute in the spring, had been supplied from England, and landed at Corunna during the summer.

But the Galician divisions, though the most numerous, were not the only units which were told off to the new ‘Army of the Left.’ Asturias had been free of invaders since Ney and Bonnet retired from its borders in June 1809. The Central Junta ordered Ballasteros to join the main army with the few regular troops in the principality, and ten battalions of the local volunteers, a force of over 9,000 men. The Asturian Junta, always very selfish and particularist in its aims, made some protests but obeyed. Nine of its less efficient regiments were left behind to watch Bonnet.

Finally the Duke Del Parque himself had been collecting fresh levies about Ciudad Rodrigo, while the plains of Leon lay abandoned by the French during the absence of Ney’s corps in the valley of the Tagus. Including the garrison of Rodrigo he had 9,000 men, all in new units save one old line battalion and one old militia regiment[76]. Deducting the 3,500 men which held the fortress, there were seven battalions—nearly 6,000 bayonets—and a squadron or two of horse available for the strengthening of the field army. These were now told off as the ‘5th Division of the Army of the Left’; that of Ballasteros was numbered the 3rd Division.

The Galician, Asturian, and Leonese divisions had between them less than 500 horsemen. To make up for this destitution the Central Junta directed the Duke of Albuquerque to send off to Ciudad Rodrigo, via the Portuguese frontier, a brigade of his[p. 72] cavalry. Accordingly the Prince of Anglona marched north with three regiments[77], only 1,000 sabres in all, and joined Del Parque on September 25. Thus at the end of that month the ‘Army of the Left’ numbered nearly 50,000 men—all infantry save 1,500 horse and 1,200 gunners. But they were scattered all over North-Western Spain, from Oviedo to Astorga, and from Astorga to Ciudad Rodrigo, and had to be concentrated before they could act. Nor was the concentration devoid of danger, for the French might fall upon the Asturians or the Leonese before they had joined the Galician main body. As a matter of fact the 50,000 never took the field in one mass, for Del Parque left a division under Mahy to protect Galicia, and, when these regiments and the garrison of Rodrigo were deducted, he had but 40,000 in all, including sick and men on detachment. This, nevertheless, constituted a formidable force—if it had been in existence in July, Soult and Ney could never have marched against Wellington with their whole strength, and the Talavera campaign might have had another end. But the troops were of varying quality—the Leonese division was absolutely raw: the Galicians had far too many recruits with only two months’ training in their ranks, the Estremaduran cavalry had a bad record of disasters. A general of genius might have accomplished something with the Army of the Left—but Del Parque, though more cautious than many of his compeers, was no genius.

The Junta had a deeply-rooted notion that if sufficient pressure were applied to Wellesley and Wellington, they would permit Beresford’s Portuguese army, now some 20,000 strong, to join Del Parque for the advance into the plains of Leon. They had mistaken their men: Wellington returned as peremptory a refusal to their request for the aid of the Portuguese troops as to their demand that his own British army should advance with Albuquerque to the Tagus[78].

Nothing could be more hazardous than the plan finally formulated at the Seville War Office for the simultaneous advance[p. 73] of the armies of La Mancha, the North, and Estremadura. Even if it had been energetically supported by Wellington and Beresford, it would have been rash: converging operations by several armies starting from distant bases against an enemy concentrated in their midst are proverbially disastrous. In this particular plan three forces—numbering in all about 110,000 men, and starting from points so far apart as Ciudad Rodrigo, Truxillo, and the Passes by La Carolina, were to fall upon some 120,000 men, placed in a comparatively compact body in their centre. A single mistake in the timing of operations, the chance that one Spanish army might outmarch another, or that one of the three might fail to detain any hostile force in its front (as had happened with Venegas during the Talavera Campaign) was bound to be ruinous. The French had it in their power to deal with their enemies in detail, if the least mischance should occur: and with Spanish generals and Spanish armies it was almost certain that some error would be made.

Meanwhile the Junta made their last preparation for the grand stroke, by deposing Venegas from the command of the united army in La Mancha. Eguia held the interim command for a few days, but was to be replaced by Areizaga, an elderly general who had never commanded more than a single division, and had to his credit only courage shown in a subordinate position at the battle of Alca?iz. He was summoned from Lerida, and came hastily to take up his charge.

The sole advantage which the Spaniards possessed in October 1809 was that their enemy did not expect to be attacked. A month after Talavera matters had apparently settled down for the whole autumn, as far as the French generals could calculate. With the knowledge that the Austrian War was over, and that unlimited reinforcements could now be poured into Spain by his brother, King Joseph was content to wait. He had refused to allow Soult to make his favourite move of invading Portugal in the end of August, because he wished the Emperor to take up the responsibility of settling the next plan of campaign, and of determining the number of new troops that would be required to carry it out. The French corps, therefore, were in a semicircle round Madrid: Soult and Mortier in the central Tagus Valley at Plasencia and Talavera, Victor in La Mancha, with[p. 74] Sebastiani supporting him at Toledo and Aranjuez, Ney at Salamanca, Dessolles and the Royal Guard as a central reserve in the capital. This was a purely defensive position, and Joseph intended to retain it, till the masses of troops from Germany, with the Emperor himself perchance at their head, should come up to his aid. It does not seem to have entered into his head that the enemy would again take the offensive, after the fiasco of the Talavera campaign, and the bloody lesson of Almonacid.

In September and the early days of October the French hardly moved at all. Ney left his corps at Salamanca, and went on a short leave to Paris on September 25, so little was any danger expected in the plains of Leon. The charge of the 6th corps was handed over to Marchand, his senior divisional general. There was an even more important change of command pending—Jourdan had been soliciting permission to return to France ever since July. He had been on excellent terms with King Joseph, but found it hard to exact obedience from the marshals—indeed he was generally engaged in a controversy either with Victor or with Soult. The Emperor was not inclined to allow him to quit Spain, but Jourdan kept sending in applications to be superseded, backed by medical certificates as to his dangerous state of health. Finally he was granted leave to return, by a letter which reached him on October 25, just as the new campaign was beginning to develop into an acute phase. But he gladly handed over his duties to Soult, who thus became ‘major-general’ or chief of the Staff to King Joseph, and departed without lingering or reluctance for France, glad to be quit of a most invidious office[79].

Before Jourdan’s departure there had been some small movements of the French troops: hearing vague rumours of the passage eastward of Eguia’s army, King Joseph ordered a corresponding shift of his own troops towards that quarter. Soult and the 2nd Corps were ordered from Plasencia to Oropesa and Talavera, there relieving Mortier and the 5th Corps, who were to push up the Tagus toward Toledo. This would enable Victor to call up Sebastiani’s cavalry and two of his infantry divisions from Toledo into La Mancha. Having thus got[p. 75] together some 25,000 men, Victor advanced to Daimiel, and pressed in the advanced posts of the main Spanish army on October 15. Eguia, who was still in temporary command, since Areizaga had not yet arrived, made no attempt to stand, but retired into the passes of the Sierra Morena. This apparent timidity of the enemy convinced the Marshal that nothing dangerous was on hand in this quarter. He drew back his army into cantonments, in a semicircle from Toledo to Tarancon, leaving the cavalry of Milhaud and Paris out in his front.

Nothing more happened in La Mancha for a fortnight: but on the other wing, in the kingdom of Leon, matters came to a head sooner. About the middle of September the bulk of the Galician army, the divisions of Losada, Belveder and La Carrera, had moved down the Portuguese frontier via Alcanizas, and joined Del Parque at Ciudad Rodrigo. On the twenty-fifth of the same month the Prince of Anglona, with the cavalry brigade from Estremadura, also came in to unite himself to the Army of the Left. Del Parque had thus 25,000 infantry and 1,500 horse concentrated. He had still to be joined by Ballasteros and the Asturians, who had to pick their way with caution through the plains of Leon. Mahy and the 4th division of the Galicians had been left in the passes above Astorga, to cover the high-road into Galicia. He had a vanguard in Astorga, under Santocildes, and the town, whose walls had been repaired by the order of La Romana, was now capable of making some defence.

Facing Del Parque and his lieutenants there were two distinct forces. The 6th Corps, now under Marchand, was concentrated at Salamanca. Having received few or no drafts since its return from Galicia it was rather weak—its twenty-one battalions and four cavalry regiments only counted at the end of September some 13,000 bayonets and 1,200 sabres[80] effective—the sick being numerous. In the north of Leon and in Old Castile Kellermann was in charge, with an independent force of no great strength: his own division of dragoons, nearly 3,000 sabres, was its only formidable unit. The infantry was composed of three Swiss battalions, and four or five French battalions, which had been left in garrisons in Old Castile when the[p. 76] regiments to which they belonged went southward in the preceding winter[81]. The whole did not amount to more than 3,500 bayonets. The dragoons were very serviceable in the vast plains of Leon, but it was with difficulty, and only by cutting down garrisons to a dangerous extent, that Kellermann could assemble a weak infantry brigade of 2,000 men to back the horsemen.

It was nevertheless on Kellermann’s side, and by the initiative of the French, that the first clash took place in north-western Spain. Hearing vague reports of the movement of the Galician divisions towards Ciudad Rodrigo, Kellermann sent General Carrié, with two regiments of dragoons and 1,200 infantry, to occupy Astorga, being ignorant apparently that it was now garrisoned and more or less fortified. Carrié found the place occupied, made a weak attack upon it on October 9, and was beaten off. He was able to report to his chief that the Spaniards (i. e. Mahy’s division) were in some force in the passes beyond.

At much the same moment that this fact was ascertained Del Parque began to move: he had been lying since September 24 at Fuente Guinaldo in the highland above Ciudad Rodrigo. On October 5 he made an advance as far as Tamames, on the by-road from Rodrigo to Salamanca which skirts the mountains, wisely avoiding the high-road in the more level ground by San Martin del Rio and Castrejon. He had with him his three Galician divisions and his 1,500 horse, but he had not brought forward his raw Leonese division under Castrofuerte, which still lay by Rodrigo. On hearing of the duke’s advance Marchand sent out reconnaissances, and having discovered the position of the Spaniards, resolved at once to attack them. On October 17 he started out from Salamanca, taking with him his whole corps, except the two battalions of the 50th regiment, which were left to garrison the town.

On the afternoon of the next day Marchand came in sight of the enemy, who was drawn up ready to receive him on the heights above Tamames. The French general had with him[p. 77] nineteen battalions, some 12,000 bayonets—his 1,200 horse, and fourteen guns. Del Parque had 20,000 Galician infantry, Anglona’s cavalry, and eighteen guns: his position was so strong, and his superiority in infantry so marked, that he was probably justified in risking a battle on the defensive.

Tamames, an unwalled village of moderate size, lies at the foot of a range of swelling hills. Its strategical importance lies in the fact that it is the meeting-place of the two country roads from Ciudad Rodrigo to Salamanca via Matilla, and from Ciudad Rodrigo to Bejar and the Pass of Ba?os via Nava Redonda. Placed there, Del Parque’s army threatened Salamanca, and had a choice of lines of retreat, the roads to Rodrigo and to the passes into Estremadura being both open. But retreat was not the duke’s intention. He had drawn up his army on the heights above Tamames, occupying the village below with a battalion or two. On the right, where the hillside was steeper, he had placed Losada and the 2nd Division: on the left, where the ridge sinks down gently into the plain, was Martin de la Carrera with the Vanguard Division. The Conde de Belveder’s division—the third—formed the reserve, and was drawn up on the reverse slope, behind La Carrera. The Prince of Anglona’s cavalry brigade was out on the extreme left, partly hidden by woods, in the low ground beyond the flank of the Vanguard.

Marchand, arriving on the ground in the afternoon after a march of fourteen miles from Matilla, was overjoyed to see the enemy offering battle, and attacked without a moment’s hesitation. His arrangements much resembled those of Victor at Ucles—though his luck was to be very different. It was clear that the Spanish left was the weak point, and that the heights could be turned and ascended on that side with ease. Accordingly Maucune’s brigade (six battalions in all)[82] and the light cavalry, strengthened by one regiment of dragoons, were ordered to march off to the right, to form in a line perpendicular to that of Del Parque, and break down his flank. When this movement was well developed, Marcognet’s brigade (six battalions)[83] was[p. 78] to attack the Spanish centre, to the east of the village of Tamames, while the 25th Léger (two battalions) was to contain the hostile right by a demonstration against the high and difficult ground in that direction. Marchand kept in reserve, behind his centre, the 27th and 59th of the Line (six battalions) and his remaining regiment of dragoons. The vice of this formation was that the striking force—Maucune’s column—was too weak: it would have been wise to have strengthened it at the expense of the centre, and to have made a mere demonstration against the heights above the village of Tamames, as well as on the extreme French left.

Maucune accomplished his flank march undisturbed, deployed in front of La Carrera’s left and advanced against it. The Spanish general threw back his wing to protect himself, and ordered his cavalry to threaten the flank of the advancing force. But he was nearly swept away: when the skirmishing lines were in contact, the French brigadier ordered his cavalry to charge the centre of the Spanish division: striking in diagonally, Lorcet’s Hussars and Chasseurs broke La Carrera’s line, and captured the six guns of his divisional artillery. Almost at the same moment Anglona’s cavalry came in upon Maucune’s flank; but being opposed by two battalions of the 69th in square, they received but one fire and fled hastily to the rear. Maucune then resumed his march up the hill, covering his flank with his horsemen, and pushing La Carrera’s broken line before him. But at the head of the slope he met Belveder’s reserve, which let the broken troops pass through their intervals, and took up the fight steadily enough. The French were now opposed by triple numbers, and the combat came to a standstill: Maucune’s offensive power was exhausted, and he could no longer use his cavalry on the steep ground which he had reached.
Map of the battle of Tamames

Enlarge  BATTLE OF TAMAMES.
Oct. 18, 1809.

Meanwhile, on seeing their right brigade opening the combat with such success, the two other French columns went forward, Marcognet against the Spanish centre, Anselme of the 25th Léger against the extreme right. But the ground was here much steeper: Losada’s Galician division stood its ground very steadily, and Marcognet’s two regiments made an involuntary halt three-quarters of the way up the heights, under the full[p. 79] fire of the two Spanish batteries there placed and the long line of infantry. The officers made several desperate attempts to induce the columns to resume their advance, but to no effect. They fell in great numbers, and at last the regiments recoiled and descended the hill in disorder. Losada’s battalions pursued them to the foot of the slope, and the Spanish light troops in the village sallied out upon their flank, and completed their rout. Marcognet’s brigade poured down into the plain as a disordered mass of fugitives, and were only stayed when Marchand brought up the 27th and 59th to their rescue. Del Parque wisely halted the pursuing force before it came into contact with the French reserves, and took up again his post on the heights.

Meanwhile the 25th Léger, on the extreme French right, had not pressed its attack home, and retreated when the central advance was repulsed. Maucune, too, seeing the rout to his left, withdrew from the heights under cover of his cavalry, carrying off only one of the Spanish guns that he had taken early in the fight, and leaving in return a disabled piece of his own on the hill.

The battle was fairly lost, and Marchand retired, under cover of his cavalry along the Salamanca road. The enemy made no serious attempt to pursue him in the plain, where his horsemen would have been able to act with advantage. The French had lost 1,300 or 1,400 men, including 18 officers killed, and a general (Lorcet) and 54 officers wounded[84]. Marcognet’s brigade supplied the greater part of the casualties; the 76th lost its eagle, seven officers killed and fifteen wounded: the 39th almost as many. The cavalry and Maucune’s brigade suffered little. The very moderate Spanish loss was 713 killed and wounded, mostly in La Carrera’s division.

This was the first general action since Baylen in which the Spaniards gained a complete victory. They had a superiority of about seven to four in numbers, and a good position; nevertheless the troops were so raw, and the past record of the Army[p. 80] of the Left was so disheartening, that the victory reflects considerable credit on the Galicians. The 6th Corps was reckoned the best of all the French units in Spain, being entirely composed of old regiments from the army of Germany. It is not too much to say that Ney’s absence was responsible for the defeat of his men. Marchand attacked at three points, and was weak at each. The Marshal would certainly have massed a whole division against the Spanish left, and would not have been stopped by the stout resistance made by Belveder’s reserve. A demonstration by a few battalions would have ‘contained’ Losada’s troops on the left, where the ground was too unfavourable for a serious attack[85].

On the 19th of October the beaten army reached Salamanca by a forced march. Marchand feared that the enemy would now man?uvre either by Ledesma, so as to cut him off from Kellermann and the troops in the north, or by Alba de Tormes, so as to intercept his communication with Madrid. In either case he would have to retreat, for there was no good defensive ground on the Tormes to resist an army coming from the west. As a matter of fact Del Parque moved by Ledesma, for two reasons: the first was that he wished to avoid the plains, fearing that Kellermann might have joined the 6th Corps with his cavalry division. The second was that, by moving in this direction, he hoped to make his junction with Ballasteros, who had started from the Asturias to join him, and had been reported to have moved from Astorga to Miranda del Duero, and to be feeling his way south-eastward. The juncture took place: the Asturian division, after an unsuccessful attempt to cut off the garrison of Zamora on the seventeenth, had marched to Ledesma, and met the main army there. Del Parque had now 28,000 men, and though still very weak in cavalry, thought himself strong enough to march on Salamanca. He reached it on October 25 and found it evacuated. Marchand, learning that Kellermann was too far off to help him, and knowing that no reinforcements from Madrid could reach him for many[p. 81] days, had evacuated the town on the previous evening. He retired towards Toro, thus throwing up his communications with Madrid in order to make sure of joining Kellermann. This seems doubtful policy, for that general could only aid him with 4,000 or 5,000 men, and their joint force would be under 20,000 strong. On the other hand, by retiring on Pe?aranda or Medina de Campo, and so approaching the King’s army, he could have counted on picking up much larger reinforcements, and on resuming the struggle with a good prospect of success.

As a matter of fact Jourdan, on hearing of the disaster of Tamames, had dispatched, to aid the 6th Corps, Godinot’s brigade of Dessolles’ division, some 3,500 bayonets, from Madrid, and Heudelet’s division of the 2nd Corps, about 4,000 strong, from Oropesa, as well as a couple of regiments of cavalry. He made these detachments without scruple, because there was as yet no sign of any activity on the part of the Spanish armies of La Mancha and Estremadura. A week later he would have found it much more hazardous to weaken his front in the valley of the Tagus. These were the last orders issued by Jourdan, who resigned his post on October 31, while Soult on November 5 arrived at Madrid and replaced him as chief of the staff to King Joseph.

Del Parque, not unnaturally elated by his victory, now nourished ambitious ideas of clearing the whole of Leon and Old Castile of the enemy, being aware that the armies of La Mancha and Estremadura ought now to be on the move, and that full occupation would be found ere long for the French corps in the valley of the Tagus. He ordered up his 5th Division, the raw Leonese battalions of Castrofuerte, from Ciudad Rodrigo, and made vehement appeals to the Portuguese Government to lend him the whole of Beresford’s army for a great advance up the Douro. The Regency, though much pressed by the Spanish ambassador at Lisbon, gave a blank refusal, following Wellington’s advice to have nothing to do with offensive operations in Spanish company[86]. But part of[p. 82] Beresford’s troops were ordered up to the frontier, not so much to lend a moral support to Del Parque’s advance[87] as to be ready to defend their own borders in the event of his defeat. Showing more prudence than Wellington had expected, Del Parque did not push forward from Salamanca, when he became certain that he would have to depend on his own forces alone. Even after the arrival of his reserves from Rodrigo he remained quiet, only pushing out reconnaissances to discover which way the enemy had gone. He had, in fact, carried out his part in the Central Junta’s plan of campaign, by calling the attention of the French to the north, and distracting troops thither from the King’s army. It was now the time for Albuquerque and Areizaga to take up the game, and relieve him. Marchand meanwhile had retired across the Douro, and taken up an extended line behind it from Zamora to Tordesillas—a front of over forty miles—which it would have been impossible to hold with his 13,000 men against a heavy attack delivered at one point. But he was hardly in position when Kellermann arrived, took over the command, and changed the whole plan of campaign (November 1). He had left two battalions to guard Benavente, two to hold Valladolid, and had only brought up his 3,000 dragoons and 1,500 infantry. Seeing that it was absolutely necessary to recover the line of communication with Madrid, he ordered the 6th Corps to leave Zamora and Toro, mass at Tordesillas, and then cross the Douro to Medina del Campo, the junction point of the roads from Madrid, Segovia, Valladolid, and Toro. To this same place he brought up his own small force, and having received Godinot’s brigade from Madrid, had thirty-four battalions and eighteen squadrons concentrated—about 23,000 men. Though not yet joined by the other troops from the south—Heudelet’s division—he now marched straight upon Salamanca in two columns, one by Cantalapiedra, the other by Fuente Sauco, intending to offer battle to Del Parque.

But the duke, much to the surprise of every one, utterly refused to fight, holding the plain too dangerous for an army so weak in cavalry as his own, and over-estimating the enemy[p. 83]’s force at 36,000 men[88]. He retired from Salamanca, after having held it less than a fortnight, on November 5, and took not the road to Ciudad Rodrigo but that to Bejar and the Pass of Ba?os, as if he were about to pass the mountains into Estremadura[89]. This was an excellent move: the French could not pursue him in force without evacuating Old Castile and Leon, which it would have been impossible for them to contemplate. For when Kellermann had concentrated his troops to strike at Salamanca, there was nothing left behind him in the vast upland save a battalion or two at Benavente, Valladolid, and Burgos. Mahy, from Galicia, and the Asturians might have overrun the whole region unopposed. As it was, the whole of the provinces behind the Douro showed signs of bursting out into insurrection. Julian Sanchez, the Empecinado, and other guerrillero chiefs, whose names were soon to be famous, raised large bands during the absence of the normal garrisons, and swept the country-side, capturing convoys and cutting the lines of communication between Vittoria, Burgos, and Valladolid. Porlier came down with a flying column from the Asturias, assaulted Palencia, and threatened Burgos. The French governors on every side kept reporting their perilous position, when they could get a message through to Madrid[90].

Realizing that he must cover his rear, or the whole of Old Castile would be lost to the insurgents, Kellermann, after occupying Salamanca on November 6, left the 6th Corps and Godinot’s brigade distributed between Ledesma, Salamanca, and Alba de Tormes, watching Del Parque, and returned in haste with his own troops to the Douro. He commenced to send out flying columns from Valladolid to deal with the guerrilleros, but did not work too far afield, lest he might be called back by a new forward movement on the part of the Army of the Left. But in a few days he had to recast all his arrangements, for—as[p. 84] Del Parque had calculated—the campaign in La Mancha had just opened, and the position of the French in Leon and Old Castile was profoundly affected by the new developments.

In the south, as we have already explained, the Junta designed Albuquerque’s army of Estremadura to be a mere demonstrating force, while Areizaga’s 55,000 men were to strike the real blow. The Estremaduran troops, as was proper, moved early to draw the attention of the enemy. Albuquerque’s first division under Bassecourt—6,000 infantry and 600 horse—was on the Tagus from Almaraz to Meza de Ibor: his second division under St. Juan and the rest of his cavalry—some 4,000 in all—were moving up from Truxillo. Bassecourt began by sending a small force of all arms across the river at Almaraz, to drive in Soult’s outposts and spread reports abroad in all directions that he was acting as the vanguard to Wellington’s army, which was marching up from Badajoz. Unfortunately the full effect that he desired was not produced, because deserters informed Soult that the British Army was still quiescent on the Guadiana[91]. The French made no movement, and left the 2nd Corps alone to watch Albuquerque.

Meanwhile Areizaga, within a few days of assuming the command of the army of La Mancha, commenced his forward movement. On November 3, having concentrated his eight divisions of infantry and his 5,700 horse at Santa Cruz de Mudela, at the foot of the passes, he gave the order to advance into the plains. The head quarters followed the high-road, with the train and three divisions: the rest, to avoid encumbering the chaussée, marched by parallel side-roads, but were never more than ten miles from their Commander-in-Chief: at any rate Areizaga avoided the sin of dispersion. His army was the best which had been seen under the Spanish banners since Tudela. The men had all been furnished with new clothes and equipment since August, mainly from English stores landed at Cadiz. There were sixty guns, and such a body of cavalry as had never yet been collected during the[p. 85] war. The value of the troops was very unequal; if there were many old battalions of the regular army, there were also many new units composed of half-trained Andalusian levies. The cavalry included the old runaways of Medellin, and many other regiments of doubtful value. The morale was on the whole not satisfactory. ‘I wish I had anything agreeable to communicate to you from this army’ wrote Colonel Roche, a British officer attached to Areizaga’s staff, to Wellington. ‘The corps which belonged to the original army of La Mancha are certainly in every respect superior to those from Estremadura, and from everything that I can learn none of those abuses which were to be lamented in the army of Estremadura existed here—or, at least, in a much less degree. But nothing can exceed the general discontent, dissatisfaction, and demoralization of the mass of the people and of the army. How can anybody who has the faculty of reason separate the inefficiency, intrigue, bad organization, and consequent disasters of the army from the source of all those evils in the Junta? There is not a man of the least reflection who, as things now stand, has a hope of success; and this is the more melancholy, because the mass of the people are just as inveterate in their resentment and abhorrence of the French as at the first hour of the revolution[92].’ The fact seems to have been that the superior officers doubted the wisdom of taking the offensive according to the Junta’s orders, and had no confidence in Areizaga, who was only known as a fighting general, and had no reputation for skill. The rank and file, as Arteche remarks, were disposed to do their duty, but had no confidence in their luck[93]. Their government and not their generals must take the major part of the blame for the disaster that followed.

Areizaga was well aware that his best chance was to strike with extreme boldness and vigour, and to dash into the midst of the French before they could concentrate. Hence his march was at first conducted with great rapidity and decision; between the 3rd and the 8th of November he made nearly fifteen miles a day, though the roads were somewhat broken up by the autumn[p. 86] rains. On the eighth he reached La Guardia, eighty miles from his starting-point, and his advanced cavalry under General Freire had its first skirmish with a brigade of Milhaud’s dragoons at Costa de Madera, near Dos Barrios. The Spanish horse deployed in such numbers that the French were compelled to move off in haste and with some loss, though they had beaten off with ease the first two or three regiments which had gone forward against them.

The Spanish advance had been so rapid and so unexpected that Soult and King Joseph had been taken completely by surprise. On November 6 the Marshal had reported to Paris that ‘the troops on the Tagus and in La Mancha are up to the present unmolested, and as, from all I can learn, there is no prospect of the enemy making any offensive movement on that side, I intend to form from them a strong flying column to hunt the brigands in the direction of Burgos[94].’ Only four days later he had to announce that an army of at least 40,000 men was close in front of Aranjuez, and not more than thirty-five miles from Madrid, and that he was hurrying together troops from all quarters to make head against them. At the moment indeed, there was nothing directly between Areizaga’s vanguard at La Guardia and the Spanish capital, save the Polish division of the 4th Corps stationed at Aranjuez, and Milhaud’s five regiments of dragoons at Oca?a. If the Spaniard had pushed on for three days more at his starting pace, he might have crossed the Tagus, and have forced King Joseph to fight, close in front of Madrid, with an imperfectly assembled army. On the ninth and tenth Leval’s Germans were in march from Toledo to Aranjuez to join Sebastiani’s Poles: Mortier’s first division was hurrying from Talavera to Toledo, and his second division was making ready to follow. The 2nd Corps, despite Albuquerque’s demonstration in front of Almaraz, was preparing to quit Oropesa, in order to replace Mortier’s men at Talavera. Victor, in the meanwhile, with the First Corps, was lying in front of Toledo at Ajofrin, with his cavalry at Mora and Yebenes: he reported that no hostile force had come his way, but that he had ascertained that a large army had marched past his front along the great chaussée from Madridejos to Aranjuez. He was[p. 87] in a position to attack it in rear and flank, if there was a sufficient force gathered in its front to justify him in closing[95].

But on reaching La Guardia, Areizaga seemed suddenly to realize the dangers of his movement. No doubt it was the news that Victor was almost in his rear that paralysed him, but he halted on the ninth, when a bold advance would certainly have enabled him to seize Aranjuez, by evicting the small force under Milhaud and Sebastiani. For three fatal days, the 9th, 10th, and 11th of November, the Spanish main body remained halted in a mass at La Guardia, as if for the special purpose of allowing the enemy to concentrate. On the eleventh Areizaga at last began to move again: he sent forward the whole of his cavalry, supported by Zayas and his Vanguard division, to press back the force in his front. They found Milhaud’s five regiments of dragoons ranged in line of battle before the small town of Oca?a, and supported by Sebastiani’s Polish infantry. Freire advanced, using his triple superiority of numbers to turn both flanks of the French cavalry; Milhaud, after some partial charges, retired behind the Poles, who formed a line of six battalion squares. The Spanish horse made a half-hearted attempt to attack them, but were repelled by their rolling fire before they came to close quarters, and drew back. It was now four o’clock in the afternoon, and the Spanish infantry was only just beginning to come up. Zayas and Freire agreed that it was too late to begin a second attack, and put off fighting till the next morning. But during the night the French evacuated Oca?a and retired to Aranjuez, wisely judging that it would be insane to wait for the arrival of the Spanish main body. They had lost about fifty men, Freire’s cavalry just over two hundred.

Next day [November 12], Areizaga brought up the whole of his army to Oca?a, and his cavalry reconnoitred up to the gates of Aranjuez and the bridge of Puente La Reyna. Sebastiani made ready to defend them, and having been joined by the German division from Toledo, wrote to Soult to say that he would resist to the last extremity, in order to gain time for the arrival of Victor’s corps and the other troops which were[p. 88] marching up from the west and north[96]. The attack which he expected was never delivered. Areizaga, nervous about the presence of the 1st Corps on his flank, had resolved to shift his army eastward to get further away from it. Abandoning his line of communication by La Guardia and Madridejos, he marched his whole force by cross-roads parallel to the Tagus up to La Zarza, and seized the fords of Villamanrique, twenty-five miles above Aranjuez, on the Madrid-Albacete road. If Victor, as he supposed, had been man?uvring on his flank, this movement would have cut him off from his base in Andalusia, and have left him only the mountains of Murcia as a line of retreat. But, as a matter of fact, the 1st Corps was no longer at Ajofrin or Mora, but had been called behind the Tagus, so that his retreat was safer than he supposed.

Soult and King Joseph, meanwhile, had been completing their concentration. They had written to Kellermann, ordering him to send back to Madrid without delay the brigade of Dessolles’ division under Godinot which had been lent him, and to spare them as well one infantry brigade of the 6th Corps. These troops were too far off to be available at once; but of the remainder of their units the Royal Guard and Spanish battalions of King Joseph, with Dessolles’ remaining brigade, were moved out to support Sebastiani. Victor had been brought back across the Tagus, and was also marching on Aranjuez. Mortier’s corps was concentrated at Toledo, while the 2nd Corps was in motion from Oropesa to Talavera, having discovered no signs of a serious advance on the part of Albuquerque. The care of Madrid was handed over to the incomplete French division of the 4th Corps[97], some of whose battalions were dispersed at Guadalajara, Alcala, Segovia, and other garrisons. Paris’s light cavalry of the same corps was also at this moment watching the roads to the east of Madrid.

On the twelfth Areizaga threw Lacy’s division across the Tagus, and laid down two pontoon bridges near Villamanrique, so as to be able to bring over his whole army in the shortest possible time. But the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth[p. 89] were days of storm, the river rose high, and the artillery and train stuck fast on the vile cross-roads from Oca?a over which they were being brought. In consequence less than half the Spanish army was north of the Tagus on November 15, though the advance cavalry pushed on to the line of the Tajuna, and skirmished with Paris’s chasseurs about Arganda. It seemed nevertheless that Areizaga was committed to an advance upon Madrid by the high-road from Albacete, wherefore Soult blew up the bridges of Aranjuez and Puente la Reyna, and ordered Victor to march from Aranjuez on Arganda with the 1st Corps, nearly 20,000 men, purposing to join him with the King’s reserves and to offer battle on the Tajuna, while Mortier and Sebastiani’s Poles and Germans should fall upon the enemy’s flank. But this plan was foiled by a new move upon Areizaga’s part; he now commenced a retreat as objectless as his late advance. Just as Victor’s cavalry came in touch with his front, he withdrew his whole army across the Tagus, destroyed his bridges, and retired to La Zarza on the seventeenth, evidently with the intention of recovering his old line of communication with Andalusia, via Oca?a and Madridejos.

The moment that this new departure became evident, Soult reversed the marching orders of all his columns save Victor’s, and bade them return hastily to Aranjuez, where the bridge was repaired in haste, and to cross the Tagus there, with the intention of intercepting Areizaga’s line of retreat and forcing a battle on him near Oca?a. Victor, however, had got so far to the east that it would have wasted time to bring him back to Aranjuez, wherefore he was directed to cross the river at Villamanrique and follow hard in Areizaga’s rear.

On the morning of the eighteenth Milhaud’s and Paris’s cavalry, riding at the head of the French army, crossed the Tagus at Aranjuez, and pressing forward met, between Ontigola and Oca?a, Freire’s horsemen moving at the head of Areizaga’s column, which on this day was strung out between La Zarza and Noblejas, marching hastily westward towards the high-road. The collision of Milhaud and Freire brought about the largest cavalry fight which took place during the whole Peninsular War. For Milhaud and Paris had eight regiments, nearly 3,000 men, while three of Freire’s four divisions were[p. 90] present, to the number of over 4,000 sabres. On neither side was any infantry in hand.

Sebastiani, who had come up with the light cavalry of his corps, was eager for a fight, and engaged at once. Charging the Spanish front line with Paris’s light horse, he broke it with ease: but Freire came on with his reserves, forming the greater part of them into a solid column—an odd formation for cavalry. Into this mass Milhaud charged with four regiments of dragoons. The heaviness of their formation did not suffice to enable the Spaniards to stand. They broke when attacked, and went to the rear in disorder, leaving behind them eighty prisoners and some hundreds of killed and wounded. The French lost only a few scores, but among them was Paris, the not unworthy successor of the adventurous Lasalle in command of the light cavalry division attached to the 4th Corps.

Moving forward in pursuit of the routed squadrons, Sebastiani approached Oca?a, but halted on discovering that there was already Spanish infantry in the town. The head of Areizaga’s long column had reached it, while the cavalry combat was in progress: the rest was visible slowly moving up by cross-roads from the east. Soult was at once apprised that the enemy’s army was close in his front—so close that it could not get away without fighting, for its train and rearguard were still far behind, and would be cut off if the main body moved on without making a stand.

Areizaga, though he had shown such timidity when faced by Sebastiani’s 9,000 men at Aranjuez, and by Victor’s 20,000 on the Tajuna, now offered battle to the much more formidable force which Soult was bringing up. He was indeed compelled to fight, partly because his men were too weary to move forward that night, partly because he wished to give time for his train to arrive and get on to the chaussée.

On the morning of the nineteenth his army was discovered drawn up in two lines on each side of the town of Oca?a. There were still some 46,000 infantry and 5,500 cavalry under arms despite of the losses of the late week[98]. The oncoming French army[p. 91] was smaller; though it mustered 5,000 horse it had only 27,000 foot—the Germans and Poles of Sebastiani, Mortier with nearly the whole of the 5th Corps, a brigade of Dessolles’ division, the King’s guards, and the cavalry of Milhaud, Paris, and Beauregard[99]. Victor was too far off to be available; having found the flooded Tagus hard to cross, he was on this day barely in touch with the extreme rearguard of Areizaga’s army which was escorting the train. Being nearly twenty miles from Oca?a, he could not hope to arrive in time for the general action, if it was to be delivered next morn. If Areizaga stood firm for another day, Victor would be pressing him from the flank and rear while the main army was in his front: but it was highly probable that Areizaga would not stand, but would retreat at night; all his previous conduct argued a great disinclination to risk a battle. Wherefore Soult and the King, after a short discussion[100], agreed to attack at once, despite their great numerical inferiority. In the open plain of La Mancha a difference of 16,000 or 17,000 infantry was not enough to outweigh the superior quality and training of the French army.

There is, so to speak, no position whatever at Oca?a: the little unwalled town lies in a level upland, where the only[p. 92] natural feature is a ravine which passes in front of the place; it is sufficiently deep and broad at its western end to constitute a military obstacle, but east of the town gradually grows slighter and becomes a mere dip in the ground. Areizaga had chosen this ravine to indicate the line of his left and centre; but on his right, where it had become so shallow as to afford no cover, he extended his troops across and beyond it. The town was barricaded and occupied, to form a central support to the line. There were olive-groves in the rear of Oca?a which might have served to hide a reserve, or to mark a position for a rally in case a retreat should become necessary. But Areizaga had made no preparation of this sort. His trains, with a small escort, had not arrived even on the morning of the nineteenth, but were still belated on the cross-roads from Noblejas and La Zarza.

The order of the Spanish army in line of battle is difficult to reconstruct, for Areizaga uses very vague language in the dispatch in which he explained his defeat, and the other documents available, though they give detailed accounts of some of the corps, say little or nothing of others. It seems, however, that Zayas, with the vanguard division, formed the extreme left, behind the deepest part of the ravine, with a cavalry brigade under Rivas on its flank and rear. He had the town of Oca?a on his right. Then followed in the line, going from left to right, the divisions of Vigodet, Giron, Castejon, and Lacy. Those of Copons, Jacomé, and Zerain appear to have formed a second line in support of the other four[101]. Vigodet’s left was in the town of Oca?a and strongly posted, but the other flank, where Lacy lay, was absolutely in the air, with no natural feature to cover it. For this reason Areizaga placed[p. 93] beyond it Freire, with the whole of the cavalry except the brigade on the extreme left under Rivas. Unfortunately the Spanish horse, much shaken by the combat of the preceding day, was a weak protection for the flank, despite its formidable numbers. The sixty guns of the artillery were drawn out in the intervals of the infantry divisions of the first and second line.

Soult’s plan of attack was soon formed. The ravine made the Spanish left—beyond Oca?a—inaccessible, but also prevented it from taking any offensive action. The Marshal therefore resolved to ignore it completely, and to concentrate all his efforts against the hostile centre and right, in the open ground. The scheme adopted was a simple one: Sebastiani’s Polish and German divisions were to attack the Spanish right wing, and when they were at close quarters with the enemy the main mass of the French cavalry was to fall upon Freire’s horse, drive it out of the field, and attack on the flank the divisions already engaged with the infantry. For this purpose Milhaud’s, Paris’s, and Beauregard’s regiments, more than 3,500 sabres, were massed behind the Poles and Germans. For a time their march would be masked by olive-groves and undulations of the ground, so that they might come in quite suddenly upon the enemy. Mortier with his first division—that of Girard—and a regiment of Gazan’s, followed in the rear of the Polish and German infantry, to support their frontal attack. Dessolles, with his own brigade and Gazan’s remaining one, took post opposite Oca?a, ready to fall upon the Spanish centre, when the attack to his left should have begun to make way. He had in his front the massed artillery of the 4th and 5th Corps, thirty guns under Senarmont, which took ground on a low knoll above the great ravine, from which they could both play upon the town of Oca?a and also enfilade part of the Spanish line to its immediate right—Vigodet’s division and half of Giron’s. Finally the King, with his guards and other troops, horse and foot, were placed to the right rear of Dessolles, to act as a general reserve, or to move against Zayas if he should attempt to cross the ravine and turn the French right.

The plan, despite of some checks at the commencement, worked in a satisfactory fashion. The German and Polish[p. 94] divisions of Leval and Werlé attacked Lacy’s and Castejon’s divisions, which gave back some little way, in order to align themselves with Vigodet who was sheltered by the slight eastern end of the ravine. The enemy followed and brought up six guns to the point to play upon the new position which the Spaniards had taken up. The forward movement was continuing, when suddenly to the surprise of the French, Lacy’s, Castejon’s, and Giron’s men, leaving their places in the line, made a furious counter-charge upon the Poles and Germans, drove them back for some distance, and threw them into disorder. This movement was no result of Areizaga’s generalship: he had betaken himself to the summit of the church-tower of Oca?a, an inconvenient place from which to issue orders, and practically left his subordinates to fight their own battle. Mortier was forced to bring forward Girard’s division to support his broken first line. It was hotly engaged with Lacy and Giron, when suddenly it felt the Spaniards slacken in their fire, waver, and break. This was the result of the intervention of a new force in the field. The great mass of French squadrons, which had been sent under Sebastiani to turn the Spanish right, had now come into action. Arriving close to Freire’s cavalry before it was discovered, it fell on that untrustworthy corps, and scattered it to the winds in a few minutes. Then, while three or four regiments followed the routed horsemen, the rest turned inwards upon the hostile infantry. The flanks of the first and second lines of Areizaga’s right were charged simultaneously, and hardly a regiment had time to get into square. Brigade after brigade was rolled up and dispersed or captured; the mass of fugitives, running in upon the troops that were frontally engaged with Girard, wrecked them completely. Of the five divisions of the Spanish left, a certain number of steady regiments got away, by closing their ranks and pushing ahead through the confusion, firing on friend and foe alike when they were hustled. But many corps were annihilated, and others captured wholesale. The last seems to have been the fate of nearly the whole of Jacomé’s division of the second line, as hardly a single unit from it is reported as rallied a month later, and the French accounts speak of a whole column of 6,000 men which laid down its arms in a mass before the light cavalry of the 4th Corps. Just as the Spanish right broke up,[p. 95] Dessolles with his two brigades, followed by the King’s reserve, crossed the ravine and attacked the town of Oca?a, and the two divisions—Vigodet and Copons—which lay in first and second line immediately to the east of it. These retired, and got away in better order than their comrades to the right. Of all the Spanish army only Zayas’s vanguard division, on the extreme left, now remained intact. Areizaga had sent it an order to cross the ravine and attack the French right, when he saw his army beginning to break up. Then, a few minutes later, he sent another order bidding it close to the right and cover the retreat. After this the Commander-in-Chief descended from his tower, mounted his horse, and fled. Zayas carried out the second order, moved to the right, and found himself encompassed by masses of fugitives from Giron’s, Castejon’s, and Lacy’s broken divisions, mixed with French cavalry. He sustained, with great credit to himself and his troops, a rearguard action for some miles, till near the village of Dos Barrios, where his line was broken and his men at last mixed with the rest of the fugitives[102].
Map of the battle of Oca?a

Enlarge  BATTLE OF OCA?A.
Nov. 19, 1809.

The whole routed multitude now streamed wildly over the plain, with the French cavalry in hot pursuit. Thousands of prisoners were taken, and the chase only ended with nightfall. The fugitives headed straight for the Sierra Morena, and reached it with a rapidity even greater than that which they had used in their outward march a fortnight before. Victor’s cavalry arrived in time to take up the pursuit next morning: they had on their way to the field captured the whole of the trains of the Spanish army, on the road from Noblejas to Oca?a. The losses of Areizaga’s army were appalling; about 4,000 killed and wounded and 14,000 prisoners. Thirty flags and fifty out of the sixty guns had been captured. When the wrecks of the army had been rallied in the passes, three weeks after the battle, only some 21,000 infantry[103] and 3,000 horse were reported as[p. 96] present. The divisions of Lacy, Jacomé, and Zerain had practically disappeared, and the others had lost from a third to a half of their numbers. The condition of the cavalry was peculiarly disgraceful; as it had never stood to fight, its losses represent not prisoners, for the most part, but mere runaways who never returned to their standards. The French had lost about 90 officers and 1,900 men, nearly all in the divisions of Leval, Werlé, and Girard[104]. The cavalry, which had delivered the great stroke and won the battle, suffered very little. Mortier had been slightly wounded, Leval and Girard severely.

Even allowing for the fact that Areizaga had been the victim of the Junta’s insensate resolve to make an offensive movement on Madrid, it is impossible to speak with patience of his generalship. For a combination of rashness and vacillation it excels that of any other Spanish general during the whole war. His only chance was to catch the enemy before they could concentrate: he succeeded in doing this by his rapid march from the passes to La Guardia. Then he waited three days in deplorable indecision, though there were only 10,000 men between him and Madrid. Next he resumed his advance, but by the circuitous route of Villamanrique, by taking which he lost three days more. Then he halted again, the moment that he found Victor with 20,000 men in his front, though he might still have fought at great advantage. Lastly he retreated, yet so slowly and unskilfully that he was finally brought to action at Oca?a by the 34,000 men of Mortier and Sebastiani. He was sent out to win a battle, since Madrid could not be delivered without one, and knew that he must fight sooner or later, but threw away his favourable opportunities, and then accepted an action when all the chances were against him. For he must have known by this time the miserable quality of his cavalry, yet gave battle in a vast plain, where everything depended on the mounted arm. In the actual moment of conflict he seems to have remained in a hypnotized condition on his church-tower, issuing hardly an order, and allowing the fight to go as it pleased. Yet he was, by all accounts, possessed[p. 97] of personal courage, as he had proved at Alca?iz and elsewhere. Apparently responsibility reduced him to a condition of vacillating idiocy. Perhaps the most surprising fact of the whole business is that the Junta retained him in command after his fiasco, thanked him for his services, and sent him an honorary present—as it had done to Cuesta after Medellin with somewhat better excuse. He was its own man, and it did not throw him over, even when he had proved his perfect incompetence.

To complete the narrative of the deplorable autumn campaign of 1809, it only remains to tell of the doings of Albuquerque and Del Parque. The former played his part with reasonable success; he was ordered to distract the attention of the enemy from the army of La Mancha, and did what he could. Having got some 10,000 men concentrated at Almaraz, he sent one column over the Tagus to demonstrate against the 2nd Corps from beyond the river, and with another threatened the bridge of Talavera from the near side. But Heudelet, now in command of the 2nd Corps, soon found that there was no reality in his demonstration, and that he was not supported by the English, though he had given out that Wellington was close in his rear. After skirmishing around Talavera from the 17th to the 22nd of November, the Duke hastily recrossed the river on hearing the news of Oca?a, and resumed his old positions.

Del Parque’s campaign was more vigorous and more unfortunate. While he lay in the passes above Bejar and Ba?os, he got early news of the withdrawal of Godinot’s and Marcognet’s troops toward Madrid, when Soult summoned them off to reinforce the main army. He reasoned that since he had now only the 6th Corps, shorn of one of its brigades, in his front, he might repeat the success of Tamames, for Marchand was weaker than he had been in October, while he himself was far stronger. Accordingly he disregarded an order from the Junta to extend his operations southward, and to join Albuquerque in the valley of the Tagus. Instead, he marched once more upon Salamanca on November 18, the day before the disaster of Oca?a. He drove in an outlying brigade of Marchand’s force from Alba de Tormes, and pressed it vigorously back towards the main body. Conscious that with his 10,000 men[p. 98] he could not hope to face 30,000, Marchand promptly evacuated Salamanca on December 19, and retired, just as he had done in October, behind the Douro, concentrating his whole corps at Toro. He sent urgent demands for help both to Kellermann at Valladolid, and to Soult at Madrid. By the time that they arrived Areizaga had been dealt with, and the army in New Castile could spare as many reinforcements as were required. Marcognet’s brigade, the one which had been borrowed from the 6th Corps, was first sent back from Segovia, the point which it had reached in its southward march, and Gazan’s division of the 5th Corps was ordered by Soult to follow.

Meanwhile Del Parque, still ignorant of the disaster in the south, had occupied Salamanca on November 20, and on the following day moved out towards Cantalapiedra and Medina del Campo, with the object of throwing himself between Marchand and Kellermann and the capital. This was an excellent move, and, but for what had happened at Oca?a, might have had considerable results, since the Army of the Left ought to have made an end of the small French force in Old Castile.

Kellermann, however, had seen the danger of Marchand’s retreat to Toro, and had directed him to close in towards the east, and to occupy Medina del Campo, as the strategical point that must be held in order to maintain touch with Madrid. Thus it chanced that on November 23 Labassée’s brigade and four regiments of cavalry, coming from Tordesillas, reached Medina del Campo just as Marcognet’s brigade, returning from Segovia, came into the town from the other side. They had hardly met when the approach of Del Parque’s army along the Salamanca road was reported. The two French brigadiers thought for a moment of fighting, and the cavalry was ordered to press back the Spanish advanced guard. They drove off with ease Anglona’s horsemen, who rode at the head of the long column, but were repulsed by Ballasteros’s infantry, which formed square in good style, and drove them off with a rolling fire of musketry. Seeing that the whole Spanish army was coming up, Marcognet and Labassée then evacuated Medina del Campo, and retired to Valdestillas. With one push more the Spaniards could have cut the line between Valladolid and Madrid.

On November 24 the whole 6th Corps and Kellermann[p. 99]’s dragoons, with a battalion or two from the garrisons of Old Castile, were concentrated at Puente de Duero, with their van at Valdestillas. If attacked, they must have gone behind the Douro and abandoned all touch with Madrid; for there were not more than 16,000 men in line, and they were forced to take the defensive. But, to their surprise, Del Parque made no advance. He had heard on that morning of the disaster of Oca?a, and guessed that reinforcements for Kellermann must already be on the march. Wherefore he resolved to regain the mountains without delay, and to give up Salamanca and his other conquests. With this prudent resolve he broke up from Medina del Campo, and marched hastily away in retreat, making, not for Salamanca, which was too much in the plains to please him, but for Alba de Tormes. He had gained a day’s start by his prompt action, but on the twenty-sixth Kellermann set off in pursuit, leaving orders for the troops that were expected from Madrid to follow him.

On the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh the French cavalry failed even to get in touch with Del Parque’s rearguard, and found nothing but a few stragglers on the road. But on the afternoon of the twenty-eighth the leading squadrons reported that they had come upon the whole Spanish army encamped in a mass around the town of Alba de Tormes. The duke had flattered himself that he had shaken off his pursuers, and was surprised in a most unfortunate position. Two of his divisions (Ballasteros and Castrofuerte) were beyond the Tormes, preparing to bivouac on the upland above it. The other three were quartered in and about the town, while the cavalry was watching the road, but had fallen in so close to the main body that its vedettes gave very short notice of the approach of the enemy. Kellermann was riding with the leading brigade of his cavalry—Lorcet’s chasseurs and hussars; the six regiments of dragoons were close behind him, so that he had over 3,000 sabres in hand; but the infantry was ten miles to the rear. If he waited for it, Del Parque would have time to cross the river and take up a defensive position behind it. The French general, therefore, resolved to risk a most hazardous experiment, an attack with unsupported cavalry upon a force of all arms, in the hope of detaining it till the infantry should come up. The Spaniards[p. 100] were getting into line of battle in a hurry, Losada’s division on the right, Belveder’s and La Carrera’s on the left, the cavalry—1,200 sabres at most—in their front. The divisions beyond the river were only beginning to assemble, and would take some time to recross the narrow bridge: but 18,000 men were on the right bank prepared to fight.

Without a moment’s delay Kellermann ordered Lorcet’s brigade to charge the Spanish right and centre: it was followed by the six regiments of dragoons in three successive lines, and the whole mass came down like a whirlwind upon Del Parque’s front, scattering his cavalry to the winds, and breaking the whole of Losada’s and the right of Belveder’s divisions. A battery of artillery, and nearly 2,000 prisoners were taken. The wrecks of the broken divisions fell back into Alba de Tormes, and jammed the bridge, thus preventing the divisions on the further side from recrossing it. Kellermann then rallied his squadrons, and led them against La Carrera’s division and the remaining battalions of that of Belveder. These troops, formed in brigade-squares upon a rising ground, held out gallantly and repulsed the charge. But they were cut off from the bridge, which they could only reach by a dangerous flank movement over rough ground. By continually threatening to repeat his attacks, Kellermann kept them from moving off, till, two hours and a half after the action had begun, the French infantry and guns commenced to come up. La Carrera saw that it would be fatal to await them, and bade his division retreat and reach the bridge as best it could. This was naturally done in disorder, and with some loss; but it was already growing dusk, and the bulk of the Spanish left got away.

While the Spaniards were defiling over the bridge, Marchand’s leading brigade attacked Alba, out of which it drove some rallied troops of Losada’s division, who held the town to cover La Carrera’s retreat. This was done with ease, for Del Parque had not brought over his two intact divisions, preferring to use them as a second line behind which the others could retire. Alba was stormed, and two guns, which had been placed behind a barricade at its main exit, were taken by the French.

Here the fighting stopped: the Spaniards had lost five flags,[p. 101] nine guns, most of their baggage, and about 3,000 killed or taken—no very ruinous deductions from an army of 32,000 men. The French casualties were less than 300 in all[105]. Del Parque was determined not to fight again next morning, and bade his army make off under cover of the night. The disorder that followed was frightful: the three divisions that had been in the battle dispersed, and went off in all directions, some towards Ciudad Rodrigo, others towards Tamames, others by the hill-road that leads towards Tala and the Pass of Ba?os. Many of the raw Leonese troops, though they had not been engaged, also left their colours in the dark[106]. It was a full month before Del Parque could collect his whole army, which, when it had been reorganized, was found to number 26,000 men, despite all its misfortunes. It would seem, therefore, that beside the losses in the battle some 3,000 men must have gone off to their homes. The duke fixed his head quarters at San Martin de Trebejos in the Sierra de Gata, and dispersed his infantry in cantonments about Bejar, Fuenteguinaldo, and Miranda de Castanar. Having only the ruined region around Coria and Plasencia, and the small district about Ciudad Rodrigo, to feed them, these troops suffered dreadful privations during the winter, living on half-rations eked out with edible acorns. By the middle of January they had lost 9,000 men from fever, dysentery, and starvation.

Despite all this, it is fair to say that Del Parque’s campaign contrasts most favourably with that of Areizaga. He showed a laudable prudence when he twice evacuated Salamanca rather than fight a battle in the plain. His victory of Tamames was most creditable, showing that when prudently conducted, and ranged in a well-chosen hill-position, his army could give a good account of itself. But for the disaster of Alba de Tormes his record might be considered excellent. There, it is true, he committed a grave mistake, by separating his army into two halves by the river when his enemy was in pursuit. But in his[p. 102] defence it may be urged that his cavalry ought to have had vedettes out for ten or fifteen miles to the rear, and to have given him long warning of the approach of the French. And when the enemy’s horse did make its sudden appearance, it was contrary to the laws of probability that it would attack at once, without waiting for its infantry and guns. Kellermann’s headlong charge was a violation of all rules, a stroke of inspiration which could not have been foreseen. If the Spanish cavalry had been of any use whatever, and if Losada’s division had only known how to form square in a hurry, it ought to have been beaten off. But the resisting-power of a Spanish army was always a doubtful quantity. Kellermann resolved to take the risk of attacking, and was rewarded by a victory on which he was not entitled to reckon. He would probably have justified his tactics by urging that failure could have no severe penalty, for the Spaniards could not pursue him if he were repulsed, while success would bring splendid results. This was true: and if his infantry had been five miles more to the front, he might have captured the whole of La Carrera’s division.


SECTION XVIII  THE CONQUEST OF ANDALUSIA CHAPTER I
THE CONSEQUENCES OF OCA?A. DECEMBER 1809-JANUARY 1810

The news of the disaster of Oca?a gave a death-blow to the Central Junta. Its attempt to win back its lost credit by an offensive campaign against Madrid having ended in such a lamentable fashion, there was nothing left for it but to acquiesce in its own supersession by the oft-discussed national Cortes. But that assembly was not to meet till March 1, 1810—a date still four months in the future,—and even its form and constitution had not yet been settled. For it would have been absurd to have called it together in the ancient and unrepresentative shape,—a legacy from the time of Charles V,—in which it had been wont to meet under the Bourbon kings. Many regions had few or no members; decayed mediaeval towns of Old Castile had more deputies than the most populous provinces. Moreover, it had yet to be settled how that larger half of the realm which was now occupied by the French was to elect its representatives. The commission was still sitting to determine these vital points, and in this moment of dismay the day of the assembly of the Cortes seemed very far distant. The French might be following hard on the heels of Areizaga’s broken host, and might enter Seville, long before it had been decided what sort of a Cortes was to take over the power from the hands of the discredited Central Junta.

That most unhappy government, therefore, had to face both an acute constitutional crisis and an acute military crisis. Something had to be done without delay to satisfy public opinion concerning the convocation of the Cortes, or the revolution which had been checked by Wellesley’s aid in September would certainly burst forth again. But even more pressing was the necessity for rallying and reinforcing the army which had been[p. 104] crushed at Oca?a, before the French should resume their advance. The actual administrative power was for the moment in the hand of the first of those temporary executive committees to which the Junta had agreed to delegate its authority by the decree of September 19. This body, composed of six members, among whom La Romana was numbered, had come into office on November 1. The rest of the Junta were only too eager to throw on their comrades the weight of the responsibility which should have fallen upon them all. The executive committee was accused on all sides of slow and feeble action. It published, as soon as possible, the details concerning the constitution of the forthcoming Cortes, which (in pursuance of the recommendation of the commission of inquiry) was to consist of two classes of members, elected representatives who were to be allotted in due proportion to all the provinces of the realm, and ‘privilegiados’ or chosen individuals from the nobility and the higher clergy. The American colonies were to be given members no less than the mother country, but their numbers were to be small. Such an arrangement seemed to foreshadow a double-chambered legislature, resembling that of Great Britain, and British precedents had no doubt been running in the minds of the framers of the constitution. But—as we shall see—the Cortes, when it actually met, took no such shape. The mandate for the election of the assembly was duly published; and so far public opinion was to a certain extent satisfied, for it was clear that the Central Junta was at last about to abdicate. But though the majority of the Spanish people were contented to wait, provided that the executive committee should show signs of rising to the occasion, and doing its best as an interim government, there were some politicians who saw in the crisis only an opportunity for pushing their private ambitions. Those veteran intriguers, the Conde de Montijo and Francisco Palafox, undismayed by the failure of the September plot, began to make arrangements with the Seville demagogues for a fresh attempt at a coup d’état. Their plots seem to have distracted Romana and his colleagues from their obvious military duties—the conspirator at home is always the enemy who looms most large before the eyes of a weak government. But after some search both were discovered, arrested and imprisoned.

[p. 105]Meanwhile the executive committee, with the Junta’s approval, issued a long series of edicts concerning the reorganization of the army, and the defence of Andalusia from the French attack, which might at any moment begin. The ‘Army of the Centre,’ of which Areizaga was still, strange to say, left in command, was to be raised to 100,000 men by a strenuous conscription. The press was to be all-embracing, married men, novices in monasteries, persons in minor orders, only sons of widows, all the classes hitherto exempt, were to be subject to it. To provide funds the clergy were ordered to send in to the mint all church plate save such as was strictly necessary for the celebration of the sacraments, and all private citizens were bidden to contribute one half of their table-silver. In order to provide teams for the artillery—which had lost nearly all its horses and guns at Oca?a—a strict requisition for draught animals was begun all over Andalusia. Engineers were sent out to fortify all the passes of the Sierra Morena, with permission to exact forced labour from the peasantry of the hill country. Three members of the Junta—Rabe, Riquelme and Campo Sagrado—were sent to Areizaga’s head quarters at La Carolina as ‘field deputies,’ to stir up or support the energy of the commander-in-chief. This was a device borrowed from the practice of the French Revolution, and had no better effect than might have been expected. As in 1793, the ‘Representatives on Mission’ were either useless or positively harmful. They either wished to thrust amateurish plans of their own upon the military men, or at least distracted them by constant inquisitorial supervision.

On the whole the effect of this volley of violent decrees was small. With six months to carry them out they might, no doubt, have produced great results. But within nine weeks after the disaster of Oca?a the French had commenced their attack, and in that space of time little had been accomplished. The money was beginning to come in, the recruits were being collected, but had not been armed or clothed, still less drilled. Of the fortifications in the passes many had been sketched out, but only a few had begun to take tangible shape. To man them there was still only the wrecks of Areizaga’s old army, which had hardly begun to receive its drafts of conscripts. Its[p. 106] whole force at the New Year did not exceed 30,000 men, and these were distributed over a front of more than 150 miles, for not only the main group of passes in front of La Carolina had to be watched, but also the eastern ingress into Andalusia by Baeza and Ubeda, and the western defiles from Almaden and Benalcazar, which lead directly down on to Cordova. The whole country-side was in a state of desperate turmoil and excitement, yet very little in the way of practical defence had been completed by the middle of January.

Meanwhile, in accordance with the ridiculous constitution of the ‘executive committee,’ half of its members went out of office at the New Year, and were succeeded by other individuals of the Junta. Among those superseded was La Romana, who was now directed to go off to Valencia as captain-general. The Junta seems to have considered that he would be less dangerous in company with his brother José Caro in that province, than when posted at the seat of government, with his brother to back him by threats of Valencian military interference. Yet La Romana did not depart, and was still lingering at Seville when the French crossed the Sierra Morena.

There was a larger military problem before the Junta and the new ‘executive committee’ than the mere defence of Andalusia. The whole arrangement of the national armies had to be recast in consequence of the black day of Oca?a. The corps of Del Parque and Albuquerque, as well as all the smaller outlying bodies of troops, had to receive new orders. Above all it was necessary to discover what were the plans of Wellington, for the present position of the British army at Badajoz was the most important factor in the whole situation. As long as it remained there, in support of the small force under Albuquerque which was guarding the passages of the Tagus at Almaraz and Arzobispo, the western section of the front of Andalusia was secure. The defence of the eastern section, too, was in no small degree helped by the fact that Wellington’s solid troops were in a position to march up the Guadiana, and to threaten the flank of any French army which might intend to attack the Despe?a-Perros, or any other of the passes which lead from La Mancha down to the Andalusian plains.

It was a terribly disquieting fact for the Junta that, even[p. 107] before Oca?a had been fought and lost, Wellington had begun to announce his intention of leaving Badajoz and retiring within the boundaries of Portugal. He had paid a flying visit to Seville on the 2nd-4th[107] of November, just as Areizaga’s unhappy advance into La Mancha was commencing. The project had been concealed from him[108], and when he learnt of it he had expressed his entire disapprobation of it, and had refused to give any promise to support the Spanish armies in their offensive movements. For this reason he had been bitterly provoked when Areizaga and Albuquerque both wrote him, a little later, to say that they had been promised the assistance of his army by the Junta[109]. He had consistently prophesied ill of the adventure, and had recorded his opinion that both Del Parque and Areizaga would probably lose their armies. In a dispatch of November 20, six days before the news of Oca?a reached him, he had announced his definite intention of leaving Badajoz with the main body of his army, and transferring himself to the north of the Tagus, where, by posting himself in the Portuguese province of Beira, he would cover the high-roads to Lisbon from Old Castile. This decision was founded on his belief that when the French had made an end of Areizaga and Del Parque—a contingency which he regarded as almost certain[110]—they would strike at Lisbon and not at Seville. He had good reasons for holding this view; it was exactly consonant with[p. 108] Napoleon’s own plan, which was only abandoned by reason of King Joseph’s pleadings with his brother. For, from the French standpoint, it was far more profitable to conquer Portugal and to expel the British army from the Peninsula, than to overrun Andalusia. Wellington and his troops formed the one solid nucleus of resistance which still remained; it was clear that the dispersion of the miserable wrecks of Areizaga’s host would present no difficulty. And not only was it advisable, from the Emperor’s point of view, to destroy the most formidable hostile force still surviving, but the balance of strategical advantage was all in favour of subduing Portugal, before Andalusia should be invaded. For Portugal flanks the attack on southern Spain, and a good army based upon it could check the advance on Seville and Cadiz by demonstrations aimed at Valladolid or Madrid, which might wreck or delay the conquest of Andalusia. It may be objected that Andalusia also flanks the attack on Portugal; but the objection had no validity since the day of Oca?a, as the Junta had now no longer any striking force in hand. It would be many months before Areizaga’s host was in a proper condition for undertaking even cautious defensive operations. A French attack on Portugal, therefore, would be practically unmolested by external interference.

At the present moment the strength of the French troops in Spain was not sufficient to provide two armies for offensive purposes, the one destined to march on Seville, the other on Lisbon. The numbers at the front had not appreciably increased since the autumn, though already the reinforcements which the Emperor had set upon the march, after concluding his peace with Austria, had begun to appear at Bayonne, and to cross the Bidassoa. But in December and January the roads were bad, the days short, and provisions hard to procure. Hence Wellington reckoned that, till the spring should arrive, the allies would have to face no more than the forces which were already opposed to them. When, however, the campaigning season should have come round, and the reinforcements from Germany should have been incorporated with the old Army of Spain, he thought that Portugal would be the enemy’s main objective. It was therefore his intention to withdraw his army, or at least the greater part of it, from Spanish Estrema[p. 109]dura, and to arrange it so as to cover Lisbon, even though by making this movement he was weakening the left flank of the defence of Andalusia. If he had to choose between the interests of Portugal and those of Spain, he was prepared to sacrifice the latter. His reasons were simple: (1) he considered Portugal more important in the grand strategy of the defence of the Peninsula than Andalusia; (2) he regarded it as more defensible, and he had already—as we shall presently see—sketched out and commenced the construction of his great lines of Torres Vedras, in which his trust as a final impregnable stronghold was already fixed; (3) he held that although Great Britain was pledged to assist both Spain and Portugal, yet her moral obligation to the latter was far more binding, since Portugal had placed herself entirely in the hands of her allies, had put her army at their disposal, and had contributed all her resources to the common cause, while the Spanish Junta had shown a jealous and suspicious spirit, had refused to show confidence in Great Britain, and had persisted in carrying out a military policy of its own, which led to a consistent series of disasters; (4) the Portuguese army, though its fighting power was not as yet ascertained, could be at least relied upon for obedience; experience had shown that the promises of the Spaniards could not be trusted, and that any campaign undertaken in their company might be wrecked by some incalculable piece of slackness or miscalculation[111].

Accordingly on November 20 Wellington declared his[p. 110] intention of withdrawing his army—save one single division—to the north of the Tagus, and of placing it at various points in the province of Beira, so as to cover all the practicable roads to Lisbon from the side of Old Castile. On the twenty-sixth he sent formal notice of his intentions to Seville, well knowing the storm of indignation that would be roused thereby. At the same time he advised the Junta to reinforce Albuquerque’s army of Estremadura with troops drawn from Del Parque, adding that to keep Albuquerque well to the front, in his present positions at Almaraz and Arzobispo, was the best means of protecting the western approaches of Andalusia. Del Parque’s corps, whose reason for existence was the ‘containing’ of the French troops in Old Castile, would be able to spare troops to strengthen the army of Estremadura, because the English host, in its new position, would be behind it, and opposed to the forces under Kellermann and Marchand, which had hitherto had nothing in their front but the ‘Army of the Left.’ Moreover, it would be an appreciable relief to Del Parque, who was finding the greatest difficulty in feeding his army in the thinly-peopled mountain region between Ciudad Rodrigo and Bejar, to be freed from the burden of maintaining one or two of his five divisions.

The Junta, as might have been expected, took Wellington’s determination to remove from Badajoz with the worst of graces. They could hardly have failed to do so, when one of his main reasons for departing, barely concealed in his dispatches to them, was his fear of getting involved in their operations, and his reluctance to place his troops in line with the Spanish armies. Nor could they have been expected to agree with his strategical view that Lisbon, not Cadiz, would be the main objective of the grand advance of the French armies, when the spring should come round. To every man or body of men their own possible dangers naturally seem more imminent and more interesting than those of their neighbours. The departure of the English from Badajoz was formally announced to the Junta on November 26, and began to be carried out on December 8, when the brigade of Guards marched for Portalegre, and was followed on successive days by the other brigades of the army. By the 24th of December Wellington and his[p. 111] staff alone were left in the Estremaduran fortress, and next day his head quarters were at Elvas, across the frontier. The second division, under Hill, halted at Abrantes, where Wellington intended to leave it, as the nucleus of a covering force which was to guard Lisbon from any possible attack from the south side of the Tagus. The rest of the army pursued its way across the mountains of Beira, and by January 3, 1810, head quarters were at Coimbra, and the main body of the British troops was beginning to take up billets in the small towns of the valley of the Mondego.

Convinced that no more was to be hoped from Wellington, the Executive Committee issued their orders for a new arrangement of the line of defence of Andalusia. Albuquerque was ordered to leave no more than a small corps of observation on the Tagus, in front of Almaraz, and to bring back the main body of the army of Estremadura to the line of the Guadiana, in order to link his right wing to the left of Areizaga’s forces. On December 24 his new head quarters were at Don Benito, and he had some 8,000 men collected there and at the neighbouring town of Merida; the rest of his small army was furnishing the garrison of Badajoz, and the detached force on the Tagus, whose duty was to watch the movements of the French 2nd Corps, which still lay in its old post at Talavera, and remained entirely quiescent.

From Albuquerque’s post at Don Benito there was a gap of seventy-five miles to the next force in the Spanish line. This consisted of the wrecks of the two old divisions of Copons and Zerain from the army of Areizaga, not more than 4,500 strong[112]. They were encamped at Pozo Blanco and at Almaden, the mining town on the Alcudia, where the frontiers of Estremadura, Andalusia, and La Mancha meet. This place lies near the northern exit of the two passes, the Puerto Blanco and Puerto Rubio which lead down from La Mancha on to Cordova, the one by Villaharta, the other by Villanueva de la Jara and Adamuz. Both are difficult, both pass through a desolate and uninhabited country, but either of them might conceivably serve for the passage[p. 112] of an army. Sixty miles east of Almaden was the main body of the rallied Army of the Centre, occupying the group of passes which lie around the high-road from Madrid to Andalusia. Head quarters were at La Carolina, the central point upon which the routes from most of these passes converge. About 13,000 men were disposed in front, covering the main chaussée through the Despe?a-Perros, and the side defiles of the Puerto del Rey and the Puerto del Muradal. Here Areizaga had concentrated the remains of the divisions of Zayas, Castejon, Giron and Lacy, of which the last two were mere wrecks, while the two former counted about 4,000 bayonets apiece. Finally, some fifteen miles off to the right, the remnants of the divisions of Vigodet and Jacomé, perhaps 6,000 men in all, covered the two easternmost passes from La Mancha, those of Aldea Quemada and Villa Manrique, which descend not upon La Carolina, but on Ubeda and Linares, the towns at the headwaters of the Guadalquivir in the extreme north-eastern angle of the Andalusian plain. Areizaga’s artillery was all in the passes, placed in the various new entrenchments which were being thrown up. His cavalry had for the most part been sent back to recruit and reform itself in the interior of the province, being useless in the mountains.

The mere description of this disposition of forces is sufficient to show the hopeless condition of the defence of Andalusia. Areizaga was trying to cover every possible line by which the French might advance, with the result that his army and that of Albuquerque were strung out on a front of 150 miles, and could not concentrate 15,000 men on any single point. The passes which they were trying to guard were not only numerous, but in several cases very practicable, where roads lay not between cliffs or precipices, but over slopes which could be ascended by infantry on each side of the pass. The fortifications and the troops holding them could be turned by enemies who took the trouble to climb the side acclivities. It was clear that if the French chose to attack the Sierra Morena with no more than the 60,000 men who had been concentrated after the battle of Oca?a, they could bring an overwhelming force to bear on any one or two of the passes which they might select, while leaving the garrisons of the rest alone, or threatening them[p. 113] with trifling demonstrations. If the enemy should choose to strike by Almaden at Cordova, the Spanish centre and right wing would be cut off from their retreat on Seville, and would have to take refuge in the kingdom of Murcia. If the Despe?a-Perros and its neighbours should turn out to be the selected objective, Areizaga’s right wing must suffer the same fate. And, if driven from the passes, the army would have to encounter, in the broad plain behind, the overpowering force of French cavalry which King Joseph could bring up. The problem set before the defence was a hopeless one, and most of the generals under Areizaga were aware of the fact—as indeed were the rank and file. Disaster was bound to follow if the enemy managed his business with ordinary prudence.
Spanish Infantry 1808

Enlarge  Spanish Infantry 1808
(Showing the old Bourbon uniform)

Note: This shows the old uniform of Charles IV. The Line regiments had white, the Foreign and Light regiments blue, coats. Both wore white breeches and black gaiters: the plume and facings varied in colour for each regiment.

SECTION XVIII: CHAPTER II
THE CONQUEST OF ANDALUSIA. KING JOSEPH AND HIS PLANS

When considering the action of the French after the victory of Oca?a, it is necessary to remember that King Joseph and Soult were not in the position of ordinary invaders, who have just succeeded in demolishing the last army of their enemy. In wars of a normal type the victor knows that the vanquished will sue for terms when further resistance appears hopeless; he proceeds to dictate the cessions of territory or payments of indemnities that he thinks proper, as the price of peace. But it was not a profitable treaty which Napoleon desired: he had put it out of his own power to end the war in such a fashion, when he declared his brother King of Spain. For him there was no Spanish government in existence save that which he had set up at Madrid: the Central Junta, and the Cortes when it should meet, were mere illegal assemblies, with which he could not deign to enter into negotiations. It was now perfectly clear that the Spaniards would never submit of their own accord. Their position in December 1809, desperate as it might be, was no worse than it had been in the March of the same year. Areizaga’s army had suffered no more at Oca?a than had those of Cuesta and Cartaojal nine months before, on the disastrous fields of Medellin and Ciudad Real. Indeed, there were probably more men actually in line to defend Andalusia in December than there had been in April. Moreover, in the early spring Soult had been in the full career of conquest in Portugal, and nothing save Cradock’s insignificant force appeared to prevent his onward march to Lisbon. At mid-winter, on the other hand, the flank of Andalusia was covered by Wellington’s victorious army, and by the reorganized Portuguese host of Beresford. If the Junta had refused to listen to the insidious advances of Sotelo in April[113], there was no reason[p. 115] to suppose that it would lend a ready ear to any similar advocate of submission in December. Indeed, its every action showed a resolve to fight out the losing game to the end.

Joseph Bonaparte would never be King of Spain till every province was held down by French bayonets. Not only must each corner of the land be conquered, but after conquest it must be garrisoned. For, where there was no garrison, insurrection burst out at once, and the weary process of pacification had to be repeated.

It was this last fact that restrained King Joseph from following up his pursuit of the wrecks of the Spanish army to the Sierra Morena, and the gates of Seville, on the morning after Oca?a. To make up the host that had defeated Areizaga, and the other smaller force that was dealing with Del Parque in Leon, the King had been forced to concentrate all his divisions, and the consequence had been that the control of the broad tracts behind him had been lost. We have already had occasion to mention[114] that throughout Old Castile and Leon, the open country was now in the hands of the guerrilleros, who had been growing in force and numbers ever since the time of Talavera, and had risen to the height of their confidence after the day of Tamames, and Del Parque’s repeated occupation of Salamanca. Navarre, and many parts of New Castile were equally disturbed, and Aragon, which Suchet had tamed during the autumn, was beginning once more to move. There were no French troops in the disturbed regions save scanty garrisons at Burgos, Valladolid, Benavente, Avila, Segovia, Guadalajara, Palencia, Tudela, Tafalla, and a few other strategic points. These were cut off from each other, and from Madrid, save when a governor sent out his messenger with an escort many hundreds strong, and even such a force had often to fight its way through half a dozen bands before reaching its destination. The garrisons themselves were not always safe: so powerful were the bands of some of the guerrillero chiefs that they aspired to waging regular war, and did not confine themselves to blocking the roads, or intercepting couriers and convoys. The Empecinado, whose sphere of activity lay on the borders of Old and New Castile, got possession of Guadalajara for a day, though he retired when[p. 116] reinforcements from Madrid were reported to be approaching. Somewhat later, the younger Mina—‘the Student,’ as he was called to distinguish him from his more celebrated uncle Espoz, stormed the town of Tafalla, and shut up the remains of its garrison in its castle, while the flying-columns of the governor of Navarre were seeking him in every other direction. He too, like the Empecinado, had to seek safety in retreat and dispersion, when his exploit drew in upon him forces sent from Suchet’s army of Aragon.

The activity of the guerrilleros did not merely constitute a military danger for King Joseph. It affected him in another, and an equally vexatious, fashion, by cutting off nearly all his sources of revenue. While the open country was in the hands of the insurgents, he could raise neither imposts nor requisitions from it. The only regular income that he could procure during the later months of 1809 was that which came in from the local taxes of Madrid, and the few other large towns of which he was in secure possession. And save in the capital itself, his agents and intendants had to fight hard with the military governors to secure even this meagre pittance[115]. The King could not command a quarter of the sum which he required to pay the ordinary expenses of government. His courtiers and ministers, French and Spanish, failed to receive their salaries, and the Spanish army, which he was busily striving to form, could not be clothed or armed, much less paid. Nothing vexed Joseph more than this: he wished to make himself independent of his brother’s generals, by raising a large force of his own, which should be at his personal disposition. He formed the cadre of regiment after regiment, and filled them with deserters from the foreign troops of the Junta, and with any prisoners who could be induced to enlist under his banners in order to avoid transportation to France. But the recruits, when sent to join the new regiments, disappeared for the most part within a few weeks. Joseph thought that it was from lack of pay and proper sustenance, and raged at the idea that, but for the want[p. 117] of money, he might have at his disposition a formidable army of his own. But he deceived himself: the ‘juramentados’ had for the most part no desire save to desert and rejoin their old colours: the real renegades were few. In the ranks of the Junta’s army the soldier was even worse clothed, fed, and paid than in that of Joseph. No amount of pampering would have turned the King’s Spanish levies into loyal servants.

Pending the reduction to order of the country-side of the two Castiles, which he vainly hoped to see accomplished during the next six months, Joseph found only one expedient for raising money. It was a ruinous one, and could not be repeated. This was the confiscation of property belonging to all persons who were in the service of the Junta, and of all the religious orders. This would have given him vast sums, if only he could have found buyers. But it was not easy to persuade any one to pay ready cash for lands overrun by the guerrilleros, or for houses in towns which were practically in a state of siege, and were also subject to a grinding taxation. Property of immense value had to be alienated for wholly inadequate sums. The afrancesados, whom Joseph was most anxious to conciliate, got such payment as he could afford, mainly in the form of vain grants of property which they could not turn to account. The only ready money which was in circulation was that which came from the coining down, at the Madrid mint, of the considerable amount of plate belonging to the monasteries and the churches on which the King had laid hands. Naturally, he was regarded as a sacrilegious robber by his unwilling subjects—though few, or none, murmured when the Central Junta filled its exchequer by similar expedients. But the Junta had not decreed the abolition of the religious orders—it only purported to be raising a patriotic loan from their resources. A minister of Joseph sums up the situation sufficiently well in three sentences. ‘Spanish public opinion was inexorable: it rejected everything coming from us—even benefits: thus the King and his councillors spent themselves in fruitless labours. Nothing answered their expectations, and the void in the Treasury, the worst danger, showed no sign of diminution. On the contrary, the financial distress increased every day, and the unpleasant means which we were compelled to employ in order to supply the[p. 118] never-ceasing wants of the army completely alienated the nation from us[116].’

The orders issued by the King and Soult after the battle of Oca?a, show that they had no immediate intention of pursuing Areizaga’s routed host, and entering Andalusia at its heels—tempting though such a policy might be from the purely military point of view. After Victor and the 1st Corps had joined him, on the day following the battle, Joseph had nearly 60,000 men in hand. But his first move was to disperse this formidable army: Gazan’s division of Mortier’s corps was at once hurried off towards the north, to reinforce Kellermann in Leon—for the battle of Alba de Tormes had not yet taken place, and it was thought that the 6th Corps needed prompt assistance. Laval’s division of Sebastiani’s corps was detached in another direction, being told off to escort to Madrid, and afterwards to Burgos and Vittoria, the vast mass of prisoners taken at Oca?a. Milhaud, with his own dragoons, and an infantry brigade taken from Sebastiani’s corps, was directed to push eastwards by way of Tarancon, and then to march on Cuenca, where it was reported that many of the fugitives from Areizaga’s army had rallied. The brigade of Dessolles’ division which had been present at Oca?a and Joseph’s own troops returned to Madrid, in company with their master. When the capital was again adequately garrisoned, numerous flying-columns were sent out from it, to clear the roads, and disperse the guerrilleros. Mortier, with that part of the 5th Corps which had not been detached under Gazan, was drawn back to Toledo. Thus of all the troops which had been concentrated on November 20th, only Victor’s corps and the Polish division, with the cavalry brigade of the 4th Corps, were retained in La Mancha, facing the Sierra Morena. The 1st Corps was pushed forward to Ciudad Real and its neighbourhood, with its advanced cavalry watching the passes. The Poles remained at Oca?a and La Guardia, with Perreymond’s three regiments of light horse in front of them at Madridejos[117].

[p. 119]

In the dispatch which detailed to the Minister of War at Paris this disposition of the army, Soult explained his reasons for holding back. It was a more pressing necessity to restore order in the provinces of the interior than to pursue the wrecks of Areizaga’s force, which was so completely dispersed that no further danger need be feared from it. Before undertaking any large general scheme of operation, the King thought it best to consult his imperial brother as to his wishes. It was rumoured that Napoleon himself might appear on the scene within a few weeks, and it was certain that the first columns of reinforcements from Germany, which might prove to be the heralds of his approach, were just about to cross the Bidassoa. Moreover, it would be prudent to discover what had become of Albuquerque and of the English, before any great move to the southward was made, as also to make an end of the army of Del Parque, by means of the reinforcements which had just been sent to Kellermann[118].

Within three weeks the situation had changed, and many of the reasons which had induced the King and Soult to adopt a waiting policy had disappeared. On November 28th, as we have already seen, Kellermann routed Del Parque at Alba de Tormes, though he had not yet received the succours which Gazan was bringing up to his aid. The Army of the Left[p. 120] being no longer a source of danger, Kellermann not only sent orders to Gazan—who had reached Segovia—to return to New Castile, since he was no longer wanted in the North, but presently sent back to the King Rey’s brigade of Dessolles’ division which had been lent him early in November. Thus 10,000 men who had been detached came back under the King’s control[119], and were once more available for offensive operations.

Still more important was the fact that in the first days of December the reinforcements from Germany had at last begun to cross the Pyrenees, and were arriving in Navarre and Biscay in enormous numbers. Two strong divisions, commanded by Loison and Reynier and counting more than 20,000 bayonets, had already appeared, and the head of the interminable column which followed them had reached Bayonne. It was certain that at least 90,000 men were on the march, to fill up the void in Old Castile which had been causing the King and Soult so much trouble. The roads would soon be cleared, the isolated garrisons relieved, and the communications with Madrid made safe. The newly arrived generals had received orders to sweep every valley on their southward march, and to disperse every band of guerrilleros[120]. Another possible source of danger, which had preoccupied the minds of Joseph and his Major-general after Oca?a, had also been removed. The English had made no forward movement towards the Tagus; they were reported to be still quiescent at Badajoz, and rumours (which afterwards turned out to be correct) had already reached the French head quarters, to the effect that Wellington was just about to retire into Portugal. Moreover, Milhaud’s expedition to Tarancon and Cuenca, and the excursions of the flying-columns sent out from Madrid, had all proved successful. The insurgents had been dispersed with ease, wherever they had been met with.

Of all the reasons for delay which were valid on November 20th there was now none left unremoved save the most impor[p. 121]tant of all. The Emperor had not yet made his intentions known; though pressed to declare his will by every letter sent by his brother or by Soult, he gave no answer as to a general plan of campaign. Several of his dispatches had reached Madrid: they were full of details as to the troops which he was sending across the Pyrenees, they contained some advice as to finance, and some rebukes for the King concerning petty matters of administration[121], but there was no permission, still less any order, to invade Andalusia or Portugal; nor did Napoleon deign to state that he was, or was not, coming to Spain in person. It was only when Joseph received the first dispatch opening up the matter of the divorce of Josephine[122], that he was able to guess that, with such an affair on hand, his brother would not set out for the Peninsula during the winter or the early spring.

By the middle of December Joseph had made up his mind that it would be politic to attack Andalusia without delay. He had won over Soult to his ideas—the Marshal having now abandoned the plan, which he had urged so strongly in the autumn, that Lisbon not Seville should be the objective of the next French advance. It is easy to understand the King’s point of view—he wished rather to complete the conquest of his own realm, by subduing its wealthiest and most populous province, than to do his brother’s work in Portugal, where he had no personal interest. It is less obvious why Soult concurred with him—as a great strategist he should have envisaged the situation from the military rather than the political point of view. Apparently Joseph had won him over by giving him all that he asked, and treating him with effusive courtesy: their old quarrels of the preceding summer had been entirely forgotten. At any rate Soult had now become the ardent advocate of the invasion of Andalusia, though—as his predecessor Jourdan tersely puts it—‘the English army being now the only organized force in a state to face the imperial troops, and its presence in the Peninsula being the thing that sustained the Spanish government and[p. 122] gave confidence to the Spanish people, I imagine that we ought to have set ourselves to destroy that army, rather than to have disseminated our troops in garrisoning the whole surface of Spain[123].’ The same thought was in the Emperor’s mind when he wrote in January—too late to stop the Andalusian expedition—that ‘the only danger in Spain is the English army; the rest are partisans who can never hold the field against us[124].’

On the 14th of December, 1809, Soult at last made a formal appeal, in a dispatch to Berthier, for leave to commence the march on Seville. ‘At no time since the Spanish War began,’ he wrote, ‘have circumstances been so favourable for invading Andalusia, and it is probable that such a movement would have the most advantageous results. I have already informed your Excellency that preparations would be made for this movement, while we waited for his Majesty to deign to make known to us his supreme will.’ Soult adds that if only Loison’s division of the reinforcements may be brought up to Burgos, and a second division sent to Saragossa, in order to free Suchet for field service, the invasion can be begun, as soon as the army in New Castile has completed its equipment and received its drafts.

No direct reply was received to this dispatch, nor to several subsequent communications, in which Soult and Joseph set forth the arrangements which they were making, always subject to the Imperial approval, for concentrating an army for the Andalusian expedition. Strange as it may appear, it was only in a letter written on January 31, 1810, when the King had already crossed the Sierra Morena, that Napoleon vouchsafed a word concerning the all-important problem[125]. It is clear that he had ample time to have stopped it, if such had been[p. 123] his will; the ultimate responsibility, therefore, lay with him. But he refrained from ordering it, or from approving it, thus reserving to himself all the possibilities of ex-post-facto criticism. Since no prohibition came, Joseph made up his mind to strike; it was natural that he should be fascinated by the idea of conquering in person the one great province of Spain which remained intact. A brilliant campaign, in which he would figure as commander-in-chief as well as king, might at last convince the Spaniards of his capacity. He was prepared to play the part of a merciful and generous conqueror. At the worst the revenues of the wealthy Andalusia would be a godsend to his depleted treasury.

Two plans were drawn up for the invasion. The first was more cautious, and more consonant with the strict rules of strategy. The second was bolder and promised more immediate results. According to the first the King was to concentrate his main army in La Mancha, and to threaten the passes, while two great flanking columns carried out the preliminary conquest of Estremadura and Valencia. Mortier was to march with the 5th and 2nd Corps upon Badajoz, to crush Albuquerque, and to occupy the valley of the Guadiana. Simultaneously Suchet was to make a push from Aragon into Valencia with the bulk of his corps, while his place at Saragossa was to be taken by a large force drawn from the newly-arrived reinforcements from France. Only when Badajoz and Valencia had fallen, and Suchet and Mortier could advance parallel with him on either flank, was the King to march against Seville. The weak point of the scheme was that either Badajoz or Valencia might make a long resistance; if their garrisons fought like that of Gerona the central advance on Andalusia might be delayed for an indefinite time.

The second plan, the one that was adopted, was to leave the 2nd Corps alone to watch Albuquerque and Estremadura, to order Suchet to advance against Valencia, but to strike straight at Seville, without waiting for the completion of either the Estremaduran or the Valencian operations. In the original draft for this campaign[126], nearly the whole of the King’s army[p. 124] was to concentrate at Almaden and Ciudad Real, and from thence to strike straight at Cordova, by the difficult and little-used passes of the central Sierra Morena. Meanwhile Sebastiani, with no more than a single infantry division and Milhaud’s dragoons, was to demonstrate against the main group of passes in front of La Carolina, along the line of the high-road from Madrid, so as to distract the attention of the Spaniards from the real point of attack. More than 50,000 men were to descend suddenly on Cordova, for the whole of the 1st and 5th Corps, Dessolles’ Reserve division, the King’s Guard, and Latour-Maubourg’s dragoons, were to march in a mass by the unexpected route via Almaden, Villanueva de la Jara, and Adamuz. The Spanish centre would undoubtedly be broken, and it was probable that Cordova, Seville, and Cadiz would be carried by the first rush, for Areizaga’s army would be cut off from them and driven eastward towards Murcia.

The plan, an admirable one from the point of view of strategy, had to be abandoned, for it was found that the country between Almaden and Cordova was so absolutely barren and uninhabited, and the roads so bad, that it would be impossible to carry a very large body of troops across it at mid-winter. It was doubtful whether the passes were practicable for artillery; it was certain that no food could be obtained, and the train required to carry rations for 50,000 men would be so large and heavy that it would probably stick fast in the mountains.

On January 11, when Mortier, Dessolles, and the rest of the army had already moved out of their cantonments and taken the road for La Mancha, the revised draft of the plan of campaign was issued. It was inferior in unity of conception to the first plan, and did not seem likely to produce such good results; but it had the merit of being practicable. By this scheme Victor alone was to march on Cordova, with the 22,000 men of the 1st Corps: he was to endeavour to take his artillery with him, but if the passes proved too rough, he was to send it back by Almaden to join the main army. Mortier, Dessolles, Sebastiani, Milhaud, and the King’s Reserves were to strike at the group of passes in front of La Carolina, and to drive the Spaniards out of them: it was hoped that they would thrust Areizaga’s host into the arms of Victor, who would be descending into the valley of the[p. 125] Guadalquivir just in time to meet the enemy retiring from the defiles. For this operation the King was to take with him rather more than 40,000 men.

It may be remarked that this plan divided the French army into two separate columns entirely destitute of lateral communications, and that, if the Spaniards had been stronger, considerable danger would have been incurred. Areizaga might have concentrated every man against one or other of the columns, and have brought it to a stand, while merely observing the other. But to do so he would have required a far larger force than he actually possessed: he had, as we have seen, only 23,000 men under arms, and even if he collected every available bayonet in one mass, either half of the French army was strong enough to meet and to beat him. The King, therefore, was running no real risk when he divided up his troops. As a matter of fact, Areizaga had made matters easy for the enemy, by splitting his small and dilapidated host into three sections—Zerain, with 4,500 men only, was on Victor’s road; the head quarters, with 13,000 men, were at La Carolina opposite the King; Vigodet with 6,000, was far to the right in the eastern passes[127]. Disaster was inevitable from the first moment of the campaign.

On January 7 King Joseph and Soult moved out from Madrid in the wake of the columns of Dessolles and the Royal Guard, which had already started. On the 8th they were at Toledo, on the 11th at Almagro, near Ciudad Real; here they conferred with Victor, and, in consequence of his reports concerning the state of the passes in the direction of Cordova, recast their plans, and adopted the scheme of operations which has just been detailed. On the following day Victor and his corps marched from Ciudad Real for Almaden, to carry out the great turning movement. The main army waited for six days to allow him to get far forward on his rugged route, and only on the 18th started out to deliver the frontal attack on the Despe?a-Perros and the other passes in front of La Carolina.

It may be mentioned that Joseph had left behind him to garrison Madrid the French division of the 4th Corps[128], and not[p. 126] Dessolles’ troops, who had been wont to occupy the capital during the earlier operations. Both Dessolles’ and Joseph’s own reserves, his Royal Guard and a strong brigade of his newly-raised Spanish army, joined in the invasion. Since the German division of the 4th Corps was still absent, escorting the prisoners of Oca?a, it resulted that Sebastiani had with him only his Polish division, his cavalry, and some details sufficient to muster up a total of just 10,000 men. His corps was never properly reassembled during the whole of the rest of the war, as some of the regiments which he now left behind never rejoined him in Andalusia, but were left in garrison in New Castile till 1812, and practically became part of the ‘Army of the Centre.’

Besides the garrison of Madrid, Joseph left to cover his rear the whole 2nd Corps, still under the provisional command of Heudelet, which lay at Talavera and was charged to watch Albuquerque. If the rumour of the departure of the English from Badajoz were true, there would be no danger in this quarter. But Joseph was not yet quite certain that Wellington had retired into Portugal. The only serious preoccupation which vexed his mind, at the moment when he was preparing to attack, was the idea that the English might still come up by Truxillo and join Albuquerque in a raid on Madrid. Heudelet, the constant purveyor of false information, did his best to scare his master on January 13, by sending him a report that Wellington was still at Badajoz with 23,000 men[129]. But later and more trustworthy news from other quarters, showing that the English army had marched off for Abrantes long before Christmas, at last set the King’s mind at rest on this all-important topic.

There was nothing to be feared from the west when Wellington had taken his departure. Albuquerque’s small force was powerless, and if Del Parque moved down from the Sierra de Francia into the valley of the Tagus, the 6th Corps could make a corre[p. 127]sponding movement. Ney had now returned to take command at Salamanca, and the confidence of his troops, shaken somewhat by Marchand’s incapable leadership, was now restored. Behind Ney and Kellermann were the innumerable battalions of the new reinforcements from Germany, the head of whose column had now reached Burgos. The King’s rear, therefore, was well guarded when he began his great offensive movement against Andalusia.
SECTION XVIII: CHAPTER III
ANDALUSIA OVERRUN: CADIZ PRESERVED. JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1810

On the 19th of January, 1810, the unfortunate Areizaga began to receive from all quarters dispatches which left him no doubt that the fatal hour had arrived, and that the whole of his line, from Villamanrique on the east to Almaden on the west, was about to be assailed by the enemy. From every point on his front of 150 miles, his subordinates sent him in reports to the effect that strong hostile columns had come up, and had thrust in their outposts. Indeed, Zerain, from his remote cantonment on the extreme left, had announced that an overwhelming force, coming from the direction of Ciudad Real, had beaten him out of the town of Almaden as early as the 15th, and had compelled him to retire towards the south-west, leaving the direct road to Cordova uncovered. This was, of course, the corps of Victor, whose flanking movement was already threatening to cut the line of communication between La Carolina and Seville. But it would take some days for the 1st Corps to pass the rugged defiles of the Sierra de Los Pedroches, which lie between Almaden and the valley of the Guadalquivir. An even more pressing danger seemed to be foreshadowed from the less-remote right of the Spanish line, where Vigodet reported, from the pass of Villamanrique, that he had been driven in to his final fighting position at Montizon, by a French column marching up from Villanueva de los Infantes. In the centre, the enemy had advanced to Santa Cruz de la Mudela, where the roads to all the group of passes about the Despe?a-Perros branch off, but had not yet shown how many of them he intended to use. Areizaga could not determine whether some of the French movements were mere demonstrations, or whether every one of them portended a real attack on the morrow. Zerain was too far off to be helped; but Vigodet’s demands for assistance were so pressing that the Commander-in-Chief sent off to his aid,[p. 129] on the night of the 19th, the one division which he had hitherto kept in reserve at La Carolina, the 4,000 bayonets of Castejon. This left him only three divisions—those of Zayas, Lacy, and Giron, not more than 9,000 men in all, to defend the high-road to Madrid and the subsidiary passes on its immediate flank.
Map of Andalusia

Enlarge  ANDALUSIA,
to illustrate the Campaign of 1810.

As a matter of fact, the appearance of the French advanced guards implied a genuine attack at every possible point of access. King Joseph had resolved to carry the whole of the defiles by a simultaneous onslaught on the morning of the 20th. His policy seems to have been one of very doubtful wisdom, for it would have been as effective to pierce the Spanish line at one point as at four, and he could have concentrated an overwhelming force, and have been absolutely certain of success, if he had launched his main body at one objective, while demonstrating against the rest. He had preferred, however, to cut up his army into four columns, each of which assailed a different pass. Sebastiani, on the extreme French left, separated by a gap of twenty miles from the main column, was the enemy who had driven in Vigodet at the opening of the Villamanrique pass. He had with him the remains of his own 4th Corps—of which such a large proportion had been left behind in New Castile,—a body of about 10,000 men[130]. His orders were to force the defile in his front, and to descend into the plain in the rear of the Spanish centre, by way of Ubeda and Linares, so as to cut off the enemy’s retreat towards Murcia, and to envelop him if he should hold the Despe?a-Perros too long.

Next to Sebastiani in the French line was a column composed of Girard’s division of the 5th Corps, the King’s Guards, and the Spanish regiments in Joseph’s service[131]. It was nearly 14,000 strong, and advanced straight up the Madrid chaussée, aiming at the Despe?a-Perros and the Spanish centre. If the enemy should fight well, and if the flanking movements should[p. 130] fail, this column would have the hardest work before it: for, unlike the minor passes to east and west, the Despe?a-Perros becomes in its central length a narrow and precipitous defile, easily capable of defence. The Spaniards had run entrenchments across it, and had mined the road at more than one point. But its fatal weakness lay in the fact that the by-paths from the western passes descend into it to the rear of the point where these obstructions had been placed. If they were seized by the advancing French, the fortifications across the chaussée would prove a mere trap for the troops which held them.

Mortier, with Gazan’s division of the 5th Corps and Dessolles’ troops, about 15,000 strong, was told off to assail these flanking defiles on the Spanish left[132]. The two passes are the Puerto del Rey and the Puerto del Muradal. The former got its name from Alfonso VIII, who in 1212 had turned the position of the Almohad Sultan Mohammed-abu-Yakub by this route, and so forced him to the decisive battle of Navas de Tolosa, a few miles to the rear. In 1810 it was a tortuous and rough road, but practicable for artillery: the slopes on either side of it, moreover, were not inaccessible to infantry. A mile or two to its left, nearer the Despe?a-Perros, was the still rougher path of the Puerto del Muradal, which was practicable for infantry but not for guns. Between this defile and the entrenchments across the Madrid chaussée, the crest of the Sierra was accessible to troops advancing in loose order and prepared for a stiff climb: the Spanish engineers had therefore placed a large earthwork on its culminating point, known as the Collado de Valdeazores. Giron’s weak division of no more than 3,200 bayonets was entrusted with the defence both of the Puerto del Rey and the Puerto del Muradal. Those of Lacy and Zayas, about 5,000 in all, held the Despe?a-Perros and the entrenchments on each side of it. Areizaga lay behind them, with a reserve of 1,000 men at most—having sent off Castejon and his division to join Vigodet on the preceding night, he had no more with him than his personal guard, the ‘Batallón del General’, and some detached companies.

Mortier, like the good general that he was, did not confine[p. 131] his operations to an attack against the narrow fronts of the two passes, but assailed the rough hillside on each side of them, sending out whole battalions deployed as skirmishers to climb the slopes. Of Gazan’s division, one brigade marched against the Puerto del Muradal, but the other went up, in open order, on the space between the Puerto and the Spanish redoubt at the Collado de Valdeazores. Similarly, Dessolles attacked the Puerto del Rey with a few battalions, but sent the rest up the less formidable portions of the flanking slopes. Girard and the King’s Reserves, meanwhile, did not press their attack on the Despe?a-Perros, till the troops on their right had already begun to drive the enemy before them.

The results of these tactics might have been foreseen from the first: Giron’s 3,200 men, attacked by 15,000, were driven in at a pace that ever grew more rapid. They could not defend the passes, because the slopes on each side were turned by the enemy. Their line was broken in two or three places, and they fled in haste down the rear of the Sierra, to escape being captured by flanking detachments which were pushing on at full speed to head them off. The moment that the Despe?a-Perros was turned by Mortier’s movement, the troops occupying it had to retreat at headlong speed, just as Girard was commencing his attack on them. All did not retire with sufficient promptness: the battalion in a redoubt on the Collado de los Jardines, on the right flank of the high-road, was cut off and captured en masse. All the guns in the pass were taken, there being no time to get them away down the steep road in their rear. After two hours of scrambling rather than fighting, the main passages of the Sierra Morena were in the hands of the French. The mines on the high-road had been fired when the retreat was ordered, but did not wreck the chaussée in such a way as to prevent the enemy from pursuing. The losses of the Spaniards were no more than a few hundreds killed and wounded, and 500 prisoners; those of the French were less than 100 in all[133]. There had, in truth, been hardly the semblance of a battle.

[p. 132]

The full results of the disaster were only developed next day: the troops which had defended the central passes escaped, though in dreadful disorder. But those further to their right were destined to a worse fate. While Mortier and the King were forcing the great defiles, Sebastiani had been fighting all day with Vigodet, in the defiles about Montizon and St. Esteban del Puerto. He had no such superiority in numbers over his enemy as had the King on the main field of operations[134], hence his progress was slower, and his victory, though complete, was not so prompt and crushing. Vigodet and his 6,000 men were dispersed by the afternoon, and fled down the valley of the Guadalen towards the plains, with Sebastiani’s cavalry in pursuit. Having fought much longer than Lacy and Giron, their losses were heavier than those of the central division—probably 1,000 killed, wounded, or taken. Shortly after, there appeared on the scene, moving along the steep hill-path from La Carolina, the Spanish division of Castejon, which had been sent off on the previous night to support Vigodet. It found the St. Esteban position in the possession of the French, and turned hastily back to rejoin Areizaga. But, while it had been on the march, the Commander-in-Chief and his army had been routed, and La Carolina was in the hands of the French. Castejon found himself enclosed between Sebastiani and the King, in a most perilous position. On the morning of the 21st, he tried to escape by the by-path to Linares, but on arriving near that place found that Mortier’s troops were already across his road. A brigade of Sebastiani’s corps was in hot pursuit in his rear, and Castejon, seeing himself thus enclosed, surrendered at Arquillos, with his whole intact division of over 4,000 men and ten guns.

Already, before the capture of this Spanish corps, the King and Sebastiani had joined hands, their reconnoitring parties having met in the valley of the Guadalen. On learning of the complete success of both columns, Joseph and Soult resolved to urge the pursuit in two separate directions. Sebastiani was told[p. 133] to push forward by way of Ubeda and Baeza to Jaen, while the main column marched by Baylen on Andujar and Cordova. It was hoped that news of Victor would soon be received: if all had gone well, he would have reached the Guadalquivir somewhere in the neighbourhood of Cordova, so as to be in the rear of any Spanish force that might have retreated from La Carolina in the direction of Seville.

As a matter of fact, however, both Vigodet and also Areizaga with the wreck of the troops from the central passes, had abandoned any hope of covering Seville, and had retreated southwards on Jaen. There was no force whatever left upon the Cordova road, and the King met no resistance upon the 22nd or the 23rd. On the latter day Sebastiani, arriving in front of Jaen, found the Spanish commander-in-chief with some 7,000 or 8,000 men prepared to defend the town. He attacked at once, and routed these dispirited troops, who made little or no show of resistance. Practically the whole force went to pieces: the French captured forty-six guns, mostly those of the reserve-park of the Army of Andalusia, which had been deposited in Jaen. Of the wrecks of that unhappy force, Areizaga carried off a small remnant to Guadix in the eastern mountains, near the borders of Murcia. Lacy, with another fraction, retired on Granada. But the large majority had left their colours, and dispersed to their homes.

King Joseph and Soult meanwhile, advancing unopposed along the high-road to Cordova and Seville, got into touch at Andujar with the advanced cavalry of Victor on the night of the 22nd of January. The march of the 1st Corps had been toilsome in the extreme, but almost unopposed save by the difficulties of the road. After driving Zerain’s little detachment out of Almaden on the 15th, they had hardly seen an enemy. Zerain and his colleague Copons had retired by the road towards Seville south-westward. Victor, though he sent out flying parties of cavalry to threaten Benalcazar and Hinojosa, to his right, had really pushed further to the left, on the easternmost of the two rough passes which lead to Cordova. The day after leaving Almaden he had sent his artillery back to La Mancha, the dilapidated and abandoned road to which he had committed himself proving absolutely impracticable for anything that[p. 134] travelled on wheels. But he pushed on with his infantry and horsemen, and passing Santa Eufemia, Torrecampo and Villanueva de la Jara, came down into the plain of the Guadalquivir at Adamuz, fifteen miles to the east of Cordova, on January 21st, the day after Soult and King Joseph had forced the Despe?a Perros and the Puerto del Rey. Wishing to get into touch with them before attacking Cordova, he halted his infantry, but sent out his cavalry to the gates of that city on the one side, and on the other to Montoro and Andujar, where they met the vedettes of the main army on the evening of the 22nd. Thus the French host was once more concentrated: the march on Seville could be continued without delay. Victor now became the advanced guard: he entered Cordova, which opened its gates without resistance, on the 24th. There was no Spanish force in front of the French army, since Zerain and Copons had retired towards Seville by a road far to the west, while the wrecks of Areizaga’s army had been driven off in a south-easterly direction.

Soult and King Joseph, therefore, had leisure to plan out the remainder of their campaign without any disturbance from the enemy. On the 25th[135] they resolved to detach Sebastiani and his 10,000 men for the conquest of Granada, to leave Dessolles’ division at Cordova and Andujar, but to march on Seville in a single mass with the remaining 50,000 sabres and bayonets of the Army of Andalusia. The desire to seize the capital from which the Junta had so long defied him, seems to have mastered every other idea in the mind of the intrusive King. The rebel government should be captured, or at least forced to take refuge in Portugal or the sea. Then at last the provinces would submit, the regular armies would lay down their arms, the guerrillero bands would disperse to their homes, and he might reign as a real king, not as the mere tool of his imperious brother. The capture of Seville would be the last act but one of the drama: after that he would become the national monarch of a submissive people, and carry out all the schemes of vague benevolence on which his mind was wont to dwell in his more hopeful hours. That the resistance would continue, even if Seville were his own[p. 135] and the Junta were scattered and discredited, he did not dream. And Seville, he knew, must fall; to defend it there could be, as he concluded, nothing but a half-armed mob, backed by the few thousand dispirited soldiers who had fled before Victor from the western section of the Sierra Morena. Even if the rebel capital made itself a second Saragossa, he had at his disposal an army double the strength of that which had reduced the obstinate Aragonese city.

In subsequent years critics, wise after the event, never tired of declaiming against the policy which Joseph and Soult approved on January 25, 1810. It was easy in 1811 or 1812 to point out that a division or two might have been spared from the victorious army to execute a march upon Cadiz, while the main force was dealing with Seville. The island-fortress, which was to defy the French during the next three years, might have been caught while it was still ungarrisoned and panic-stricken, if only the invaders had detached a column from Carmona, where the road from Cordova bifurcates to Seville on the right and Cadiz on the left. It is certain that, if any suggestion to that effect was made at the time, Soult, Mortier, and the other generals present at the council of war passed it over[136]. The fact was that Seville loomed large before the imaginations of them all: Cadiz seemed but a secondary affair at the moment. It appeared probable that the whole of the scattered forces of the enemy would mass themselves to defend the insurgent capital. On January 25th, when the original plan was drawn up, no one realized that there was a Spanish army approaching, whose presence in Andalusia had not yet become known, or that the general of that army[p. 136] would deliberately leave Seville to its fate, as incapable of defence and doomed to destruction, and hasten by forced marches to throw himself into the island-city which was destined to become the new capital of insurgent Spain. Unable to foresee such a development, Joseph wrote to his brother on January 27 that Seville would probably submit without fighting, and that he would then enter Cadiz ‘sans coup férir.’

Albuquerque’s operations, which ultimately turned out to be the most important section of the Andalusian campaign, need a word of explanation. It will be remembered that, early in January, he had assembled, at Don Benito and Medellin, the small field-force that he could command, after providing the garrison of Badajoz and leaving a detachment above Almaraz to watch the French 2nd Corps. It did not amount to more than 8,000 men, of which some 1,000 were cavalry. His position at Don Benito was intended to protect the flank of Zerain and Copons, who lay to his right, covering the passes that lead from Almaden on to Cordova. On January 15th he received from Zerain the news that he was about to be attacked at Almaden by a French column of at least 20,000 men. The Duke promptly began to march eastward to join his colleague, and reached Campanario on January 16th. Here he was met by the information that Zerain had been driven out of Almaden on the preceding day, and had drawn back by Benalcazar and Hinojosa on to the Seville road. Copons from Pozo Blanco was retiring in the same direction. The Duke thereupon concluded that his duty was to fall back by a route parallel to that of Victor’s advance, and to draw nearer to Seville, strengthening himself as he approached that city by Zerain’s and Copons’ small corps.

Accordingly he sent off three of his weakest battalions to strengthen the garrison of Badajoz, which was very small at the moment, directed his artillery (with a cavalry escort) to take the good but circuitous high-road to Seville by Merida, Los Santos, and Santa Olalla, and started off across the mountains with his infantry and 500 horse. Marching very rapidly, though the roads were bad and the days short, he moved by Zalamea and Maguilla to Guadalcanal, on the borders of Andalusia, which he reached on January 18th. Here he received from the Central[p. 137] Junta an absurd order, apparently based on the idea that he was still at Campanario, which bade him stop Victor’s advance, by falling on his flank and rear by the road to Agudo and Almaden. But since the marshal had seized Almaden on the 15th, and was known to have moved southward from thence, it was clear that he must now be more than half-way to Cordova: if the Army of Estremadura plunged back into the mountains to seek Agudo and Almaden, it would only reach them on the 22nd or 23rd, and Victor would be at the gates of Cordova on the 21st. The Junta’s order was so hopelessly impracticable that the Duke took upon himself to disobey it, and wrote in reply that he should move so as to place himself between Victor and Seville, and would cover the Andalusian capital ‘so far as was possible with the small force at his disposition.’

Accordingly Albuquerque, instead of returning northward into the Estremaduran mountains, moved a stage further south, to El Pedroso, on the road from Guadalcanal to Seville, and sent orders to Copons and Zerain to join him with their small divisions. Two days later he received the order which should have been sent him on the 18th, instead of the insane directions that were actually given; by it he was directed to march on Seville with all speed. On the 23rd, therefore, he arrived at the ferry of Cantillana, twenty miles north of Seville: here he received news that his artillery and its escort had safely completed its round, and were about to cross the Guadalquivir at Rinconada, fifteen miles to the south. At Cantillana, however, the Duke got the last dispatch which the Central Junta ever issued; it was dated on the 23rd, a few hours before the members dispersed and fled. By this he was directed to march not on Seville but on Cordova, which at the moment the document came to hand—the morning of the 24th—had just been occupied by Victor.

That day Albuquerque crossed the Guadalquivir and occupied Carmona, where he was joined by his artillery, and by part of Copons’ division, but not (apparently) by Zerain’s, which had retired into Seville. He had now about 10,000 men, of whom 1,000 were horsemen, and 20 guns. From Carmona he threw out a cavalry screen on all sides: his vedettes on the 27th struck French cavalry at Ecija, and were driven in; they reported that[p. 138] the enemy was advancing in enormous force from Cordova—as was indeed the case. Meanwhile news had come up from Seville that the Junta had fled on the night of the 23rd-24th, that anarchy reigned in the city, and that a new revolutionary government had been installed. There was no longer any legitimate executive from which orders could be received. Albuquerque had to make up his mind whether he would retire into Seville, and put himself at the disposition of the mob and its leaders, or whether he should seek some safer base of operations. Without a moment’s hesitation he resolved to leave the Andalusian capital to itself, and to retire on Cadiz, which he knew to be ungarrisoned, yet to be absolutely impregnable if it were properly held. This wise resolution, it may be said without hesitation, saved the cause of Spain in the south. If Cadiz had been left unoccupied there would have been no further resistance in Andalusia.

But we must return to the operations of the French. On the 25th Victor had advanced from Cordova, taking the direct road to Seville via La Carlota and Ecija, while Mortier and the Royal Guard followed him at short intervals. The Duke of Belluno occupied Ecija on the 27th and Carmona on the 28th. On these two days his advanced guard got into contact with Albuquerque’s cavalry screen, and learnt from prisoners that the Army of Estremadura, whose presence in Andalusia thus became known, was in front of them[137]. On reaching Carmona Victor obtained the still more important news that Albuquerque, after staying in that place for two days, had not retired into Seville, as might have been expected, but had marched southward to Utrera on the road to Cadiz, leaving the greater city uncovered. On the night of the 29th the leading division of Victor’s corps, the dragoons of Latour-Maubourg, appeared in front of Seville, and reported that works were being hastily thrown up around it on all sides[138], and that they had been fired[p. 139] on by masses of armed irregulars at every point where they had pushed forward vedettes towards its suburbs[139].

Seville was at this moment, and had been now for six days, in a state of chaos. The Central Junta had absconded on the 23rd, taking along with it both its Executive Committee and the Ministers of State. The panic had begun on the 18th, when the news had come in that Victor’s corps had thrust Zerain out of Almaden three days before, and was marching on Cordova. It had grown worse two days later, when Areizaga reported that another French army was marching against the Despe?a-Perros. The Junta published a proclamation on the 20th, exhorting the Andalusians to have no fear, for Albuquerque had been directed to fall on Victor’s flank, and Del Parque with the Army of Castile was on the march to join him, so that the enemy would be forced to turn back to guard himself. Such orders were indeed sent, but any man of sense could see that they must arrive too late. If Victor was at Almaden on the 15th, he might be at Cordova on the 21st: if King Joseph was at the foot of the passes on the 19th, he might be across them on the 20th. What use, therefore, would be a summons sent to Albuquerque in Estremadura, or to Del Parque in the mountains between Bejar and Ciudad Rodrigo? The French would be in the valley of the Guadalquivir long before Del Parque had even received his orders to move. As a matter of fact, that general got his dispatch on January 24, the day that Victor entered Cordova, and even Albuquerque[p. 140] was informed of the Junta’s behests only on the 18th, when he reached Guadalcanal.

The obvious ineptitude which the Government had shown, and the imminent peril to which Seville was exposed, gave another chance to the local conspirators, who had already twice prepared a pronunciamento against the Junta. On the 22nd riots broke out, and demagogues were preaching at every street corner the necessity for deposing these incapable rulers, and substituting for them a regency of true patriots, and a Committee of Public Safety, which should show the energy in which the Junta had been so lacking. The people clamoured at the doors of the Arsenal, asking for muskets and cannon, they mustered outside the prisons where Palafox, Montijo, and other chiefs who had been arrested for their earlier plots, were still confined. Many of the members of the Junta left Seville on this and the following day, on the plausible pretext that it was necessary for them to betake themselves to Cadiz—which, by a decree of Jan. 13, had been designated as the meeting-place of the approaching National Cortes—in order to make preparations for the meeting of that august assembly. Indeed, the Junta had been directed to meet at Cadiz on February 1 for that purpose. The news that King Joseph had forced the passes of the Sierra Morena, which came to hand early on the 22nd, sufficed to make an end of any shadow of power which the Junta still possessed. Next day those members who had hitherto stuck to their post, and the Ministers, left the town with elaborately contrived secrecy. Seville fell into the hands of the mob, who, led by a Capuchin friar riding on a mule and brandishing a crucifix, burst open the prisons and the Arsenal, armed themselves, and nominated a new ‘Supreme National Junta.’ Its executive was to be composed of Palafox and Montijo, the Marquis of La Romana, General Eguia, and Francisco Saavedra, an aged and respectable person, who had been president of the old Junta of Seville, the original committee which had been suppressed by the Central Junta. He is said to have been used as a mere tool by Palafox and Montijo, and to have been disgusted by their acts. This new, and obviously illegal, Government issued decrees stigmatizing the fugitive ‘Centralists’ as cowards and traitors, and claiming[p. 141] authority not only over Andalusia, but over all Spain. They ordered the calling out of the levy en masse, and issued commissions displacing generals and governors in all the provinces. One of these documents declared Del Parque removed from the command of the Army of the Left, and named La Romana as his successor. The marquis, glad to escape from the tumult, rode off at once, presented himself at the head quarters of the Castilian army, and was recognized without difficulty as its chief—though his authority might well have been contested if any general had chosen to take up the cause of the discredited Central Junta.

But that unhappy body had no longer a single friend: its members were mobbed and arrested on their flight from Seville to Cadiz; its President the Archbishop of Laodicea, its Vice-President the Conde de Altamira, and the War Minister Cornel were seized at Xeres by a frantic mob, and would have been murdered, if General Casta?os, whom the Junta had treated so badly in December 1808, had not arrived in time to save their lives. Twenty-three members reached Cadiz, and there, by a proclamation dated January 29th, abdicated their authority, and nominated a Regency, to which they resigned their power, and the duty of receiving and welcoming the expected Cortes. The Regents were Casta?os, the Bishop of Orense, Admiral Esca?o, Saavedra—the president of the new and illegal Junta at Seville—and Fernandez de Leon, an American Treasury-official, who was to represent the Colonies[140]. It will be noted that the nominators were wise enough to refrain from appointing any of their own number to serve in the Regency.

Meanwhile, the duty of resisting the first shock of the French advance fell not on the Regency, but on the Revolutionary Government which had installed itself in power at Seville. These usurpers proved themselves quite as incapable as the men whom they had superseded. When once in possession of power, Palafox and his friends had to count up their resources: they had at their disposal an armed mob of 20,000 men, and a mere handful of regular troops, consisting of the regiments which had served as the guards of the late Junta, and four or[p. 142] five isolated battalions from the division of Zerain, which had finally sought refuge in Seville. These troops seem to have been about 4,000 strong at the most[141]. There was an immense quantity of artillery from the arsenal; it had been dragged out to line the new earthworks, on which the populace was busily engaged, but not two hundred trained gunners existed to man the batteries. It was hoped that Albuquerque’s Estremaduran army would come to their aid, but—as we have already seen—the Duke deliberately refused to acknowledge the authority of the Seville Junta, and, instead of falling back upon the city, marched southwards to Utrera on the Cadiz road, leaving the great chaussée Ecija-Carmona-Seville open to the French.

On the 28th, the leaders of the Junta having taken stock of their position, and discovered its danger (for the lines which the people had thrown up would have required 50,000 men to man them, and not half that force was forthcoming even if every rioter armed with a musket was counted), copied in the most ignominious fashion the prudence or cowardice of the Central Junta, which they had so fiercely denounced five days before. Under the cover of the night Eguia, Montijo, Saavedra, and Palafox absconded from Seville without taking leave of their followers. Saavedra fled to Cadiz, where it is surprising to find that he was made a member of the new Regency, Palafox to Albuquerque’s camp, Montijo to the southern mountains, where (as he announced) he was intending to collect an army of succour for Seville. When, therefore, on the next evening Latour-Maubourg’s dragoons appeared before the entrenchments of the city, there was no longer any responsible government to turn the ardour of the multitude to account. Nevertheless, mobs, headed by frantic friars, ran to the entrenchments, and discharged musketry and cannon-shot at every French vedette that showed itself.

On the afternoon of the 30th, Victor appeared to reinforce Latour-Maubourg’s cavalry, bringing with him the bulk of the[p. 143] infantry of the 1st Corps. The King, Soult, and Mortier were close behind[142]. On this day it had been settled at a Council-of-War held at Carmona that the whole of the army should march on Seville, leaving Cadiz alone for the present, and detaching only a brigade of cavalry to pursue the army of Albuquerque. On the next morning Victor received assurances, from persons who had escaped from the city, that it was doubtful whether he would be opposed, since the mob was panic-stricken at the flight of its leaders, and the senior military officers were convinced that resistance was impossible. Certain that the defence would be feeble, if any were offered, Soult gave orders that the 1st Corps should storm the lines on February 1st. But no military operations were necessary: on the evening of January 31st the corporation of Seville had sent out a deputation to negotiate for surrender. They offered to admit the enemy, if they were guaranteed security of life and property for all who should submit, and a promise that no extraordinary war-contribution should be levied on their city. To this the King, who was anxious to enter the place as a pacific conqueror, without storm or bloodshed, gave an eager consent. While the civil authorities were treating with Victor, the small body of regular troops in Seville, under the Visconde de Gand, quietly left the place by the bridge leading to the western side of the Guadalquivir, and retreated in haste toward the Condado de Niebla and the borders of Portugal.

On the afternoon of February 1, Joseph entered Seville in triumph at the head of his Guard, and lodged himself in the Alcazar, the old residence of the Kings of Spain. He was welcomed by a deputation which comprised some persons of mark. The impression made on the citizens by the conduct of the two Juntas, and the turbulence of the mob which had ruled during the last eight days, had been so deplorable that a considerable number of the Sevillians despaired of the national cause, and rushed to acknowledge the usurper. Indeed, there were more ‘Josefinos’ found in this city than in any other[p. 144] corner of Spain. The ‘intrusive king’ released a number of political prisoners, whom the last Junta had arrested on suspicion of treason. Apparently this suspicion had been well grounded, as many of the captives, headed by the Swiss generals Preux and Reding[143], did homage to Joseph, and accepted office under him.

Encouraged by these defections to his cause, and by the fact that deputations had presented themselves from Cordova and Jaen to bespeak his protection, Joseph hastened to publish an absurd address to his army, couched in the magniloquent style which all French writers of proclamations at this time were wont to borrow from their Emperor. ‘The barriers placed by Nature between the North and the South of Spain have fallen. You have met with friends only beyond the Sierra Morena. Jaen, Cordova, Seville have flung open their gates.... The King of Spain desires that between the Pillars of Hercules a third pillar shall arise, to recall to posterity, and to the navigators of both the new and the old world, the memory of the officers and men of that French army which drove back the English, saved thirty thousand Spaniards, pacified the ancient Baetica, and regained for France her natural allies.’ The rather puzzling passage concerning the ‘thirty thousand Spaniards saved’ refers to the prisoners of Oca?a and the Sierra Morena, whom the French, according to the King, ‘recognized as brethren led astray by the common enemy. You spared them, and I have received them as my children.’

Some elation in the King’s language was, perhaps, pardonable at the moment. The moral effect of the surrender of Seville was considerable in France, England, and the rest of Europe, though less in Spain than elsewhere. The tangible trophies of the conquest were enormous—the place had been the central arsenal of Spain, and the amount of artillery, ammunition, and warlike equipment captured was very large. The cannon-foundry and other military factories were taken over in excellent condition, and kept the French army of Andalusia well supplied during the three years of its existence. Tobacco to the value, as it was said, of ￡1,000,000 was found in the great central magazine, and quinine, quicksilver, and other commodities of[p. 145] government monopoly to a considerable additional sum. Nothing had been done, since the news of the passage of the Sierra Morena had arrived, to destroy or remove all this valuable state property.

On the day following their entry into Seville, Joseph and Soult directed Victor to march in pursuit of Albuquerque, and to take possession of Cadiz. So complete had been the débacle of the Spanish armies since the Andalusian campaign began, that it seems to have been supposed that the Army of Estremadura would offer no serious resistance, even if it should succeed in throwing itself into Cadiz before it was overtaken. Marching with laudable expedition, the Duke of Belluno covered the eighty-three miles between Seville and Cadiz in four days, and presented himself in front of the place on the evening of February 5th. But Albuquerque, unmolested in his march from Utrera, had arrived on the 3rd, bringing with him not only his own troops and those of Copons, but several recruit-battalions picked up at Xeres, Lebrija, San Lucar, and Puerto Santa Maria, where they had been organizing. He had some 12,000 men in all, not counting the civic militia of Cadiz, which had hitherto been its sole garrison.

Cadiz, in the days when the practicable range of the heaviest artillery did not exceed 2,500 yards, was one of the strongest places in the world. The town lies on the extreme point of a long sandy peninsula, which runs out into the sea from the Isla de Leon, a large island separated from the mainland of Andalusia by the salt-water channel of the Rio Santi Petri, an arm of the sea varying from 300 to 400 yards in breadth, and flowing through marshes which make access to its banks very difficult. The Isla, protected by this enormous wet ditch, has a front towards the continent of about seven miles, from the naval arsenal of La Carraca at its north end to the Castle of Santi Petri at its south. Batteries had already been thrown up at all the commanding points, and Albuquerque had broken the only bridge, that of Zuazo, which crossed the marsh and the Rio. It would be impossible to pass the channel save by collecting great quantities of boats, and these would have to move under artillery fire. Venegas, the military governor of Cadiz, had already ordered all the vessels, small and great, of[p. 146] the villages round the bay to be destroyed or brought across to the city. Moreover, there were a score of gunboats in the channel, manned from the Spanish fleet, which could be used to oppose any attempt to cross the Rio. Indeed, naval assistance to any amount was available for the defence of Cadiz: there were a dozen Spanish and four English line-of-battle ships in the harbour. All through the three long years while the French lay in front of the Isla, no attempt was ever made to throw a force in boats across the channel: the venture seemed too hazardous.

If, however, Victor had, by some expedient, succeeded in crossing the Rio, there were two lines of defence behind it, of far greater strength than that formed by this outer ditch of the Cadiz works. The triangular Isla de Leon forms with its apex a long sand-spit, which projects for four miles into the Atlantic. Half way along it the breadth of the spit is contracted to no more than 200 yards, and here there was a continuous entrenchment from water to water, called the Cortadura, or the battery of San Fernando, armed with many heavy guns. Supposing this isthmus to have been passed, there lies, two miles further along the sand-spit, the outer enceinte of Cadiz itself, with a front of not more than 400 yards in breadth, and deep water on either side.

Cadiz had been captured more than once in earlier wars, but always by an enemy who could attack from the sea. Neither the Isla de Leon nor the San Fernando line could be held against an attack supported by a fleet which came close in shore, and battered the works from flank and rear, or landed troops behind them. The sea, it may be remarked, is four fathoms deep to within a short distance (about 300 yards) of the shore, all along the south front of the Isla and the Isthmus, so that there was nothing to prevent a fleet coming close to the works. But against any naval attack Cadiz was, in 1810, absolutely secured by the predominance of the English fleet. There was no armed French vessel nearer than Bayonne or Barcelona, nor any possibility of bringing one round. All that was done by the besiegers in a three years’ leaguer was to build some gunboats in the northern inlets of the bay, and these they never dared to bring out into the open water.

[p. 147]

The real danger to Cadiz lay not from the sea side, nor on the Isla front, but from the inner side of the harbour and the east. Here a long spit of land runs out from beside the town of Puerto Real in the direction of Cadiz. It is called the Trocadero, from a village situated on its south-eastern side. At its extreme point is a fort named San José, while another fort, named San Luis, lies alongside of the other on a low mud-island. In advance of both, built right in the marsh, and surrounded by water at high-tide, was a third called Matagorda. These three forts were the outer defences of the harbour against a naval attack, and could cross fires with the town batteries and a castle called Puntales, which lies on the easternmost point of the isthmus, a mile from the battery of San Fernando. Matagorda is only 1,200 yards from Puntales, and 3,000 yards from the eastern point of the city of Cadiz. If the French took possession of it, and of the neighbouring San José and San Luis, they could bombard the Puntales castle and all the neighbouring section of the Isthmus, to the grave danger and discomfort of all who had to pass between the city and the Isla de Leon. They would also be able to annoy ships lying in all the eastern reaches of the great harbour. But before Victor arrived in front of Cadiz, San José, San Luis, and Matagorda were blown up, with the leave of the governor Venegas, by a detachment of seamen from the British fleet. There could, therefore, be no trouble from this direction, unless the enemy succeeded in restoring and rearming the three forts,—no easy task under the fire of the Puntales castle and the fleet. It was not till some months had passed that the struggle began for these ruined works, the only points from which the defence could be seriously incommoded.

On his first arrival Victor summoned the town, and received a prompt and angry answer of refusal from the governor and the local Junta. The marshal inspected the city’s outer defences, and was forced to report to the King at Seville that it seemed that nothing could be done against the place till he had brought up heavy artillery, and built himself boats. Joseph, unwilling to believe anything that contradicted the hopes of complete triumph that he had been nourishing ever since the passage of the Sierra Morena, came up to Puerto Santa Maria,[p. 148] on the bay of Cadiz, looked at the situation, did not find it reassuring, and wrote to his imperial brother to propose that he should send out his Toulon fleet to attack the place on the sea side[144]. Napoleon, still smarting under the memory of how Admiral Martin had destroyed an important section of that fleet in the preceding October, ignored this proposal. He did not forget, though his brother had apparently done so, the fact that the British Mediterranean fleet was still in existence.

Thus the position in front of Cadiz assumed the shape which it was to maintain for months, and even for years. Victor’s corps could provide enough men to observe the whole shore of the bay, and to blockade the garrison. But the Spaniards recovered their courage when they saw the enemy reduced to inactivity, and began ere long to receive reinforcements. The first to arrive were 3,000 of the regular troops which had been at Seville. This corps, under the Visconde de Gand, had escaped westward after the capitulation, and, though pursued by a brigade of Mortier’s corps, reached Ayamonte, at the mouth of the Guadiana, and there took ship for Cadiz. Somewhat later there arrived some troops sent by Wellington. The Spaniards in their day of disaster had forgotten their old jealousy about Cadiz, and asked for aid. Wellington, though loath to spare a man from Portugal, sent them in the early days of February three British[145] and two Portuguese battalions from Lisbon, under General William Stewart. So promptly were these troops shipped and landed, that they arrived at Cadiz between the 10th and the 15th of February, to the number of about 3,500 bayonets[146]. Thus the town was placed in security from any coup de main on Victor’s part.
Map of Cadiz

Enlarge  CADIZ
AND ITS ENVIRONS

The internal situation in Cadiz, however, left much to be desired. The town had elected a local Junta of defence, of which the governor Venegas was made President, and this body[p. 149] had frequent disputes with the new Regency, nominated by the Central Junta at the time of its abdication, and also with Albuquerque, whom Venegas did not wish to recognize as his hierarchical superior. The local body could make a fair show of objections to recognizing the legitimacy of the Regency: the old Central Junta itself had a doubtful origin, and the government nominated by those of its members who had taken refuge in Cadiz could not claim a clear title. But to raise the point at this moment of crisis was factious and unpatriotic, and the conduct of the local Junta became merely absurd when it tried to arrogate to itself authority extending outside its own city, and to issue orders to the outlying provinces, or the colonies of America. Still worse, it refused to issue clothing and footgear to Albuquerque’s army, whose equipment had been worn out by the long march from Estremadura, or to subsidize the military hospitals, though it had a considerable stock both of money and of military stores at its disposition. At the end of February the Regency nominated Venegas Viceroy of Mexico, and having bought him off with this splendid piece of preferment, made Albuquerque his successor in the governorship of Cadiz. But even thus they did not succeed in getting proper control over the city, for the Junta refused to allow the Duke to place his head quarters within the walls, or to issue orders to the civic militia. A modus vivendi was only reached when the Regents made an ignominious pact with the local oligarchy, by which the latter, in return for recognizing their legitimate authority, and undertaking to pay and feed the garrison, were granted the control of the port-revenues and other royal taxes of Cadiz, as well as of all the subsidies arriving from America. How the functions of government became still further complicated, when the members of the long-expected Cortes began to arrive, and to claim their rights as the sole legitimate representatives of the nation, must be told in another chapter[147].

Leaving matters at a deadlock in and about Cadiz, we must turn back to the operations of the French in the outlying parts[p. 150] of Andalusia. Sebastiani, it will be remembered, had taken Jaen on January 23rd. He was directed to march from thence on Granada and Malaga, to scatter the remains of Areizaga’s army, and to subdue the valleys of the Sierra Nevada and the long sea-coast below them. All this he accomplished with ease. On the 28th he routed at Alcala la Real a force composed of some of Areizaga’s fugitives, which had been joined by Freire and all the cavalry of the Andalusian army. These regiments, which had been cantoned in the valley of the Guadalquivir, since they were useless in the passes, had been collected by Freire to the number of 2,000 sabres. They were routed and dispersed by Milhaud’s and Perreymond’s dragoons and chasseurs, losing over 500 men and the whole of their artillery. The survivors dispersed, and retired in small parties eastward, only rallying in the province of Murcia. That same evening Sebastiani pushed on towards Granada, and was met by a deputation of its magistrates, who brought the keys of the city and a promise of submission. The French vanguard entered it next day. Lacy, who had taken refuge there with the small remains of his division, retired to Guadix. Sebastiani levied a military contribution of 5,000,000 reals on the city, placed a garrison of 1,500 men in the Alhambra, and marched with a mixed force on Malaga, the only place in this quarter where organized resistance showed itself. Here the local magistrates had been deposed by a popular rising, and several thousand irregulars had been collected by a Colonel Abello, a Capuchin friar named Fernando Berrocal, and three brothers, notaries, of the name of San Millan. They seized the passes of the Sierra de Alhama, and called all the hill-country to arms. Sebastiani, marching by Antequera, cleared the passes on February 5th, beat the half-armed insurgent bands outside the suburbs of Malaga, and stormed the town. He exacted a contribution of 12,000,000 reals, and hung the three San Millans and several other leading insurgents. After this he extended his troops along the coast, and occupied Velez Malaga, Motril, and Almunecar. The roads and the towns were his, but many of the insurgents took to the hills, and maintained a guerrilla warfare, which never ceased throughout the next three years. There were always bands on foot in the Alpujarras and the Sierra de Ronda,[p. 151] though the 4th Corps expended much energy in hunting them down.

Meanwhile Giron, Lacy, Freire, and the rest of the fugitive generals had retired eastward. They had now come under the orders of Blake, who superseded Areizaga and took over charge of 3,000 or 4,000 dispirited men at Guadix on January 30th. He retired at once within the borders of the kingdom of Murcia. Small parties and stragglers continued to come in for many weeks, and by March there were 10,000 foot and 1,500 horse collected—all in the worst state of equipment, and thoroughly demoralized by their late disasters.

We must now turn to the other end of Andalusia: King Joseph, when departing to inspect the outworks of Cadiz, had left Mortier in command in this quarter. The Marshal, after hunting the little force of the Visconde de Gand out of the Condado de Niebla, had been directed to deal a stroke at Badajoz. Accordingly, leaving a brigade in Seville and another in the Condado, he marched with one infantry division and his light cavalry into Estremadura. He reached Olivenza with 9,000 men, and summoned Badajoz on February 12th, but he had arrived too late. A considerable Spanish force was now before him, the old host of Del Parque, which the Central Junta had called down to the Guadiana when the original Army of Estremadura marched under Albuquerque to succour Andalusia. How Mortier and La Romana, the successor of Del Parque, dealt with each other in the months of the spring must be told in a later chapter[148].

The King, meanwhile, spent the months of February and March in a circular tour through Andalusia, where he affected to perceive nothing but friendly feeling among the inhabitants. He visited Ronda, Malaga, Granada, Jaen, celebrating Te Deums, and giving bull-fights and banquets. It is certain that a sufficient show of submission was made to nourish his happy illusions as to the finality of his conquest. Threats or bribes induced many notables to present themselves at his receptions, and it seems that a considerable portion of the Andalusians hoped to save themselves from the rapacity of the military authorities by professing an enthusiasm for the King. He, for[p. 152] his part, did his best to protect them—but he was soon gone, and the native officials whom he appointed were powerless against Sebastiani, the church plunderer, and Soult, the judicious collector of works of art. ‘At the very moment when the King was lavishing assurances and promises,’ writes his devoted servant Miot, ‘and everywhere extolling the thorough disinterestedness of France, severe and crushing exactions were being laid on the provinces in our occupation. An iron hand was grinding them to the dust. The King was powerless to resist the open violation of the promises which he was daily giving[149].’

Open resistance, however, had ceased, save at Cadiz and in the inaccessible recesses of the Sierra Nevada. Andalusia had been subdued from end to end, and neither the King nor Soult yet realized that a lamentable strategic mistake had been made when 70,000 veteran troops had been pinned down to garrison the newly conquered realm, while Portugal and Wellington’s army remained untouched. In their conception, as in that of the Emperor, the conquest of Portugal was to be sufficiently provided for by the new reinforcements which were now pouring over the Ebro, to the number of over 100,000 sabres and bayonets.

SECTION XIX  THE PORTUGUESE CAMPAIGN OF 1810.  THE PRELIMINARIES: JANUARY–AUGUST 1810 CHAPTER I
THE MILITARY GEOGRAPHY OF PORTUGAL

The continual existence of Portugal down to the present day in face of the persistent hostility and immensely superior force of its neighbour Spain seems at first sight to be one of the most inexplicable phenomena in modern history. It appears all the more astounding when we remember that the lesser kingdom was once conquered, and held down for sixty years, by the greater power. Few states have won back and maintained their independence in such masterful fashion as did Portugal, in the long ‘War of Independence’ that followed the insurrection of 1640 under the house of Braganza. But intense national spirit and heroic obstinacy on the part of the smaller people are not sufficient to account for the survival of the Portuguese kingdom as a separate entity. Its geography, which at the first sight seems hopelessly unfavourable to its defence, turns out on investigation to be eminently suitable for resistance against an attack from the east. On a first glance at the map it appears as if Portugal was composed of no more than the lower valleys of three great Spanish rivers, the Douro, the Tagus, and the Guadiana, so that the state which owns three-quarters of the course of each of these streams has but to send down its armies from the uplands of Leon and New Castile, to conquer the narrow land which lies about their estuaries. But nothing can be more deceptive than the map, when the Iberian Peninsula is in question. As we observed in our earlier volume[150], the rivers of Spain and Portugal are not highways, or lines of communication,[p. 154] but barriers—torrents sunk in gorges cut deep below the level of the face of the land. The chief roads, with few exceptions, avoid, instead of courting, the neighbourhood of the great streams. The leading routes which descend from Spain into Portugal in no case follow the lines of the Douro or the Tagus. Though the coast-plains, which form the heart of the kingdom of Portugal, its most wealthy and populous regions, lie about the mouths of those rivers, it is not by descending their banks that conquest or trade arrives most easily at its goal. As a matter of fact, Spain and Portugal turn their backs upon each other: the smaller realm looks out upon the sea; her strength and wealth lie upon the Atlantic coast: the inland that touches Spain is rugged and unpeopled, in many parts a mere waste of rock and heath. Nor, on the other hand, do Leon and New Castile look towards Portugal: the real ports of Madrid are Valencia and Alicante, not Lisbon, and that not from political reasons, but simply because those are the points where the sea can be reached with the minimum of mountain and desert to be passed through. The way down from the central tableland of Spain to the Mediterranean is less difficult than the way down to the Atlantic. Hence comes the fact that the high-roads leading from Spain into Portugal are so surprisingly few, and that the two main alternative routes from Madrid to Lisbon run, the one much further north, the other much further south, than might have been expected. There is not now, and never has been, any straight road down the Tagus between the two capitals, obvious though the line looks upon the map. The two main gates of Portugal are at Almeida and Elvas; at Alcantara, which appears the natural point of approach, there is but the most miserable of posterns—as Junot discovered in November 1807, much to his discomfiture. Marshal Berwick had made the same experience in 1705, during the War of the Spanish Succession[151].

In the old wars between Spain and Portugal the whole land frontier of the smaller kingdom was exposed to attacks from the larger. But the circumstances of 1810 differed from those of[p. 155] 1705 or 1762 or 1801, in that the subsidiary campaigns in the extreme north and south, which had always accompanied the main clash along the frontiers of Beira and Alemtejo, could not on this occasion take place. The French were no longer in possession of Galicia, from which the Spaniards had been wont to demonstrate against Oporto, nor, at the other extremity of the line, had they a firm grip on Huelva, and the Condado de Niebla, from which alone an attack could be directed against the remote southern province of Algarve.

Portugal presents three sections of frontier to an invader coming from the side of Spain. The northernmost, that from the mouth of the Minho to Miranda-de-Douro, was not within the scope of operations in 1810. It can only be approached from Galicia; that province was not subdued, nor had the French any intention of dealing with it till after they should have dealt with Portugal. An invasion of the Tras-os-Montes and the Entre-Douro-e-Minho would have been an objectless operation: they would fall of themselves if once Lisbon were captured and the English expelled from the Peninsula. A move against Oporto by some flanking division of the invading army might have been conceivable, but such an attempt would be made, if made at all, from the south of the Douro, through northern Beira, and not through the mountains of the Tras-os-Montes.

There remain two other sections of the Portuguese frontier: the one from the Douro to the Tagus, and the other from the Tagus to the Guadiana. Both of these were accessible to the French in 1810, since they were in possession alike of the plains of Leon and of La Mancha, and of northern Andalusia. It was open to them to choose one or the other front for attack, or to attack both at once. Lisbon being the objective, it was clear that an attack on the northern or Beira frontier possessed a paramount advantage over an attack on the southern or Alemtejo frontier. A successful advance north of the Tagus brings the invader directly to the gates of Lisbon; one south of the Tagus brings him only to the heights of Almada, where he is separated from the Portuguese capital by the broad estuary of the Tagus. Napoleon’s power, like that of the devil in mediaeval legends, ended at the edge of the salt water; and in face of the naval strength which the[p. 156] English always maintained at Lisbon, a victorious French army camped on the heights of Almada would be almost as far from final success as when it started from Spain. The 1,900 yards of strait which protected the Portuguese capital could not be crossed. The most that the invader could accomplish would be to worry the ships in the port, and the lower quarters of the city, by a distant bombardment, if he could bring up heavy guns from Spain[152]. For nearly twenty miles inland from Lisbon the estuary of the Tagus expands into a broad brackish lagoon four to eleven miles broad, a complete protection against any attack from the east. Only at Alhandra does this inland sea contract, and for some further miles northward from that point the eastern bank of the Tagus is formed by broad salt-marshes (lezirias) cut up by countless channels of water, and practically inaccessible. It is only at Salvaterra, thirty miles north of Lisbon, that the Tagus assumes its ordinary breadth, and becomes an ordinary military obstacle. From that point upwards an invader from the Andalusian side might endeavour to cross it, and it presents no more difficulties than any other broad river. But, though even Rhines and Danubes may be passed in the face of an enemy, the operation is not one which a prudent general courts, and the Tagus is broad, absolutely bridgeless, and fickle in the extreme in its alternations of high and low water. To fight one’s way from the valley of the Guadiana in order to meet such a problem at the end does not seem inviting. And even if the Tagus is passed, there are still thirty miles of road, including some formidable defensive positions, between the invader and Lisbon[153]. Yet there was one contingency under which an advance on the left bank of the river might be advantageous to the invader, and so possible was this contingency that Wellington from the very first had declared that he thought it probable that the French would move troops in that direction. If the[p. 157] Anglo-Portuguese army were drawn away to the Beira frontier, between Tagus and Douro, in order to resist a front attack delivered from the plains of Leon, and if it became involved in an active campaign somewhere far to the north, on the line of the Coa, or the Mondego, or the Alva, a subsidiary French force, striking south of the Tagus from the direction of Spanish Estremadura, might give dreadful trouble. If it could cross the Tagus anywhere between Abrantes and Salvaterra, it might get between the Anglo-Portuguese army and its base, and either fall upon its rear or capture Lisbon. For this reason Wellington, so far back as October 1809, had made up his mind that, if the French had an army on foot anywhere in the direction of Badajoz and Elvas, he must leave a considerable proportion of his own forces to watch them, and to defend, if need be, the line of the lower Tagus[154]. As long as the enemy had not yet subdued Badajoz and the neighbouring fortresses, and while there was still a strong Spanish army in that quarter, the need for precaution was not so pressing. Nevertheless, all through the summer of 1810 Wellington kept Hill with one English and one Portuguese division at Portalegre, south of the Tagus, though he withdrew this detachment when Masséna marched on Coimbra. Matters were much more perilous after the battle of the Gebora and the fall of Badajoz in February 1811. From that time onward, all through 1811 and 1812, nearly a third of the Anglo-Portuguese army was kept in the Alemtejo, first under[p. 158] Beresford, then under Hill, in order to guard against the possible stab in the back from the French army of Andalusia.

But the attack south of the Tagus was in Wellington’s, and also, we may add, in Napoleon’s conception[155], only a secondary operation. The main invasion was almost inevitably bound to take place on the Beira, not on the Alemtejo frontier. Between Fregeneda, where the Portuguese border line quits the Douro, to the pass of Villa Velha on the Tagus there is a distance of somewhat more than 100 miles. The division between Portugal and Spain does not lie along any well-marked natural feature, such as a mountain range or a broad river—though two small sections of the frontier are coincident with the insignificant streams of the Elga and the Agueda. It is rather drawn, in a somewhat arbitrary and haphazard fashion, through the midst of the desert upland, where Spain and Portugal turn their backs to each other. For the only piece of flat plain-land on the whole border is that from the Douro to Almeida, a mere ten or twelve miles, and immediately behind the Coa, only three or four miles from Almeida, the mountains begin. The rest of the frontier runs through thinly-peopled, barren highlands, from which the Coa, the Mondego, the Zezere, and the Pon?ul fall away towards Portugal, and the Agueda and the Alagon towards Spain. The mountains are not, for the most part, very high—the culminating peak of the Serra da Estrella is only 6,540 feet—but they are singularly rugged and scarped, and much cleft by ravines, along whose sides the few roads crawl miserably, in constant precipitous dips and rises. This broad belt of upland, one long series of defiles for an invader, is some hundred miles broad, and does not cease till Coimbra, on the one side, or Abrantes, on the other, is reached: only then does the plain-land begin, and the country-side become fertile and thickly peopled. Only from those points onward is it possible for an army to live on the local produce: in the upland it must carry its food with it; for a single division would exhaust in a day the stores of the poor villages of the mountains; and the small[p. 159] poverty-stricken towns of Guarda, Celorico, Sabugal, Penamacor, and Idanha have few resources. Castello Branco and Vizeu are the only two places in the upland where there is a valley of some breadth and richness, which can supply an army for many days. In this simple fact lies the explanation of the difficulties of the Portuguese campaigns of 1810 and 1811. Both the invader and the defender must bring their food with them, and protracted operations can only be kept up by means of incessant convoys from the rear. The campaign not infrequently became a starving-match, and the combatant who first exhausted his provisions had to retire, and to disperse his divisions in search of the wherewithal to live. Thanks to Wellington’s providence it was always the French who were forced to this expedient.

The Beira frontier is divided into two sections by the range of mountains which crosses the border at right angles, half way between Douro and Tagus: it is known as the Sierras de Gata and de Jarama while in Spain, as the Serra da Estrella when it reaches Portugal. Its central ganglion lies between the high-lying towns of Sabugal and Penamacor in Portugal and the pass of Perales in Spain. From this point run off the great spurs which separate the valleys of the Pon?ul, the Zezere, the Agueda, the Coa, and the Alagon. An invader must make his choice whether he will advance into Portugal south or north of the Serra da Estrella: to attempt to do so on both sides of the range would be risking too much, if there is an enemy of any strength in the field, since the columns to the right and to the left would be hopelessly separated, and liable to be beaten in detail. In the whole Peninsular War there was only one invasion made by the southern route, that of Junot in the winter of 1807-8. It was successful because it was absolutely unopposed. Nevertheless the French lost many men, had to leave their artillery behind them, and only arrived with the shadow of an army at Abrantes. It is true that Junot chose absolutely the worst path that could be found between the Serra da Estrella and the Tagus—the pass of Rosmarinhal, close above the latter river—and that he would have fared not quite so badly if he had marched from Zarza on Idanha and Castello Branco. But even at the best this region is most inhospitable: there are points where water is not procurable on stretches of eight or ten miles, others where the main[p. 160] road is so steep that a six-pounder requires not only a dozen horses but the assistance of fifty men to get it up the slope. Except in the immediate neighbourhood of Castello Branco, the country-side is almost uninhabited[156]. The whole ‘corregidoria,’ which took its name from that town, and extended from the Elga to the Zezere, had only 40,000 souls in its broad limits—it was forty miles long by thirty broad, the size of a large English county. Junot’s experiences served as a warning to his successors, and no French army during the rest of the war endeavoured to cross this corner of Portugal when advancing on Lisbon. Castello Branco was seized once or twice by a raiding force, but it was never used as the starting-point of an army making a serious attempt to advance towards the Portuguese capital.

There remains to be considered only the section of the frontier between the Douro and the Serra da Estrella, the front on which Masséna’s great blow was delivered in the autumn of 1810. It was a region which had from the earliest times been the battle-ground of the Spanish and Portuguese. Half a dozen times since the Middle Ages armies from the plains of Leon had invaded the Beira on this front. Such campaigns always began with a siege of Almeida, the sentinel-fortress pushed out in front of the mountains to face the Spanish Ciudad Rodrigo. Almeida generally fell—it is too advanced a position for safety, and (as Dumouriez remarked in his military study of Portugal) its value would have doubled if it had only been placed upon the west instead of the east bank of the Coa, close to the friendly mountains, and not on the outskirts of the perilous plain. But rare, indeed, were the occasions on which the Spaniard succeeded in piercing the broad belt of tangled upland beyond Almeida, and appearing at the gates of Coimbra or Oporto.
Map of Central Portugal

Enlarge  CENTRAL PORTUGAL

There are four lines of further advance open to an invader who has captured Almeida. The first, a march on Oporto via Pinhel and Lamego, may be mentioned only to be dismissed from consideration. It is of no use to an army which aims at Lisbon, and proposes to conquer Portugal by a blow at its heart. Masséna, whose directions were to drive the British into the sea in[p. 161] the shortest and most effective fashion, could not have contemplated such a secondary object as the capture of Oporto for a moment. There remain three other roads to be investigated.

(1) The road north of the river Mondego, by Celorico, Vizeu, Bussaco, and Coimbra. (2) The corresponding and parallel road south of the Mondego, from Celorico by Chamusca, Maceira and Ponte de Murcella to Coimbra. (3) The road which, striking south from Celorico, crosses the headwaters of the Zezere, by Belmonte and Fund?o, and then, climbing the Serra de Moradal, descends to Castello Branco, and from thence reaches Abrantes by the Sobreira Formosa. It may be remarked, by the way, that nothing in all the geography of Portugal seems more astonishing than that there should not be a fourth alternative road, one down the long valley of the Zezere, which, running in a straight line from Belmonte to Abrantes, looks on the map as if it ought to be a main artery of communication, and seems to indicate the obvious road to Lisbon from Almeida, since a straight line drawn between these points would run along the river for some forty miles. But as a matter of fact there was neither a first nor a second-rate road down the Zezere: the only towns on its course, Covilh?o and Belmonte, lie hard by its sources, and its central reaches were almost uninhabited. The only good line of communication running near it is a by-road or duplication of the third route mentioned above, called the Estrada Nova, which, leaving the upper Zezere at Belmonte, keeps high up the side of the Serra de Moradal, and rejoins the Castello Branco road at Sobreira Formosa. This route was much employed by Wellington in later years, as a military road from north to south, usable even when Castello Branco was threatened by the French. But in 1810 he had ordered it to be rendered impassable, and this had been done by making several long cuttings at points where the track passed along precipices, the whole roadway being blown or shovelled down into the gulf below[157]. The French were, of course, unaware of this, and[p. 162] Masséna is said by his confidant Foy to have taken the Estrada Nova into serious consideration, and to have decided against it because of the necessity for forcing the passage of the Zezere when the defiles were passed, and for laying siege to Abrantes[158]. A far more practical objection was its extreme wildness: it runs along an absolutely uninhabited mountain-side, and the neighbourhood is destitute not only of food but of water for great sections of its length. This Masséna ought to have known, if his Portuguese advisers had been competent. Apparently he was wholly unaware of its character, just as he was necessarily ignorant of the fact that his prescient adversary had blasted away huge sections of it, so that it was absolutely impassable for guns or wagons, as also that earthworks had been carefully constructed to cover the point where it debouches on to the Zezere.

The Castello Branco road, therefore, with this dependent by-road, the Estrada Nova, was practically left out of consideration by the Marshal. There remains the choice between the two northern routes, Celorico-Vizeu-Coimbra, and Celorico-Chamusca-Ponte de Murcella-Coimbra. Both traverse rough ground—but ground less rough than that to be found on some parts of the Castello Branco road. Along both there is an intermittent belt of cultivated land, and not unfrequent villages. Both are intersected by many good military positions, on which a defending army can offer battle to an invader with advantage. In especial, the northern road strikes and climbs the granite ridge of Bussaco with every disadvantage for the attacking side, and the southern road is contracted into a difficult defile at the passage of the Alva near Ponte de Murcella. On the whole,[p. 163] however, this last is the better line for advance:—the strongest testimonial to the fact is that Wellington expected Masséna to take it, and erected at the passage of the Alva almost[159] the only earthworks, save those of the lines of Torres Vedras, which he constructed in his preparations for the reception of the invader. When he first heard that the Marshal was moving forward from Almeida to Celorico, and was clearly aiming at the Mondego valley, he announced that he should endeavour to stop the invader on the Alva[160], not apparently thinking it at all probable that Masséna would move by Vizeu and the north bank of the Mondego. On realizing that this was really his adversary’s design, he observed with some exultation that, while there were certainly many bad roads in Portugal, the enemy had taken decidedly the worst of those open to him[161]; moreover, he had committed himself to attack the heights of Bussaco, the most formidable position in the whole of northern Portugal. How the French commander came to make this choice we shall discuss in its proper place. Suffice it to say that Wellington had not realized how bad was Masséna’s information, how worthless his maps, and—what is most surprising of all—how entirely destitute of local knowledge were the Portuguese traitors—Alorna, Pamplona, and the other renegade officers—whom the Emperor had sent as guides and advisers to the Marshal. And in truth, the unsuspected ignorance of Masséna and his advisers added an incalculable element of chance to the problem set before Wellington. He was obliged to make his plans on the hypothesis that the enemy would make the correct move: and not unfrequently the enemy, for reasons which the English general could not possibly foresee, made the wrong one.

The French invasion was bound to commence with a preliminary clearance of the outlying fortresses still in the hands of the Spaniards. These to some extent protected the Portuguese frontier in 1810, though they had been built with the express purpose, not of protecting, but of threatening it, and had never[p. 164] before been attacked by an enemy coming from the east. Only three of these fortresses were of any importance—Astorga, Ciudad Rodrigo, and Badajoz. The other strongholds of Spanish Estremadura, Alcantara (which had stood a siege in the War of the Spanish Succession), Albuquerque, Olivenza, were either not in a state of defence at all, or were hopelessly antiquated, and little suited to face modern artillery and modern siegecraft.

Astorga lies so far to the north that it might have been neglected without much peril to the French scheme of invasion. But the Emperor had ordered that it should be reduced before the great enterprise began: it gave the Spanish army of Galicia a foothold in the plains of Leon, from which it might operate against Masséna’s rear, if he should pass it by. Its capture, too, was considered a matter of small difficulty, for it was but a mediaeval walled town, to which some hasty outworks had been added during the last year. It will be remembered that when Moore passed that way in January 1809, Astorga had been treated by both sides as an open town, and no attempt had been made to garrison or defend it. Since then La Romana had repaired its dilapidated enceinte, stockaded its suburbs, and armed it with guns brought from Ferrol. As late as January 11, 1810, Napoleon seems hardly aware of this fact: in a dispatch of that date he orders Loison to make his head quarters there, evidently under the impression that it is not held by the Spaniards, or at least that it is a place which they will evacuate at the first appearance of a serious attack[162]. It is only in March that he writes to Junot that Astorga must be besieged and taken, in order to occupy the attention of the Galicians and to thrust them back into their mountains[163].

Ciudad Rodrigo was a more serious business. It was a regular fortress, though only one of the second class; its prestige, as the only Spanish stronghold on the Portuguese frontier, was great. It commands the whole southern stretch of the plains of Leon, being the only place out of the control of an invader who is superior in cavalry, and therefore master of the defenceless Tierra de Campos. There was also a small Spanish army depending upon it, and clinging to the skirts of the Sierra de Gata. This was the division[p. 165] of Martin de la Carrera, which had been left behind when the greater part of Del Parque’s Army of the Left marched down into Estremadura in January 1810, in order to replace there the troops which had gone off to the defence of Cadiz. It was clear that Ciudad Rodrigo must be taken, and Martin de la Carrera brushed away or destroyed, before any serious attempt to invade Portugal was begun. If the Emperor thought that such a remote place as Astorga was worth his notice, it was obvious that he would regard Ciudad Rodrigo as absolutely indispensable to his designs. It was for its reduction that he gave Masséna the great battering train of fifty heavy guns, with 2,500 artillerymen and sappers, which was assigned to him, independent of the artillery of the three corps of the Army of Portugal.

Badajoz, far to the south, in Spanish Estremadura, stood to the defence of Southern Portugal exactly as Ciudad Rodrigo to the defence of Northern Portugal. It possessed also in Elvas a counterpart to Almeida. But Badajoz is immensely larger and stronger than Rodrigo, just as Elvas is infinitely more formidable than Almeida. The two fortresses on the frontier of Leon are small places crowning mere mounds set in a plain. Badajoz and Elvas have towering citadels set on rugged hills, and overlooking the whole country-side. They have also strong detached forts on dominant positions: the circuit of ground that must be taken up by an army that intends to besiege them is very large, and at Badajoz there is a first-class river, the Guadiana, which cuts in two the lines which the assailant must occupy. It may be added that based on Badajoz there was a whole Spanish army of 15,000 men, not a mere division of 3,000, like that which lurked in the mountains above Rodrigo. Noting the strength of Badajoz and Elvas, the Emperor had made up his mind that they should be observed and ‘contained’ by troops from the Army of Andalusia, but not attacked till Lisbon had been conquered and the English expelled from Portugal. ‘Les Anglais une fois battus et rembarqués, Badajoz et Elvas tombent d’eux-mêmes,’ he wrote in a holograph minute addressed to Masséna, just before the advance across the Portuguese frontier began[164]. It was only when the invasion had been brought to a standstill before the lines of Torres Vedras, that he came to the conclusion that pressure must[p. 166] be applied south of the Tagus, to distract Wellington, and that Soult, as a preliminary to an attack on the Alemtejo, must capture Badajoz and Elvas, and disperse the Spanish Army of Estremadura. The idea came to him tardily: thanks to Wellington’s careful starvation of the main French army, Masséna was forced to retreat into Leon when Soult had only recently captured Badajoz, and had not yet shown a man in front of Elvas. The scheme was hatched, like so many of Napoleon’s Spanish plans, about three months too late for effective realization. As late as November 1810 the orders to Soult are merely to demonstrate against Badajoz, and to hinder the departure of La Romana’s army for the lines of Torres Vedras, but not to besiege the Estremaduran fortress. Probably it was Foy’s information as to the existence and strength of the unsuspected lines of Torres Vedras, which reached him late in November, that made the Emperor realize the advisability of that secondary attack by the south bank of the Tagus which Wellington had foreseen and taken means to meet a full year before. Fortunately a capable general on the defensive always knows his own weak spots long before they are discovered by the enemy. By the time that Soult had at last captured Badajoz and the small dependent places—Olivenza, Albuquerque, Campo Mayor—Wellington had got rid of Masséna from the neighbourhood of Lisbon, and was preparing to chase him home across Northern Portugal. Within a few weeks of its surrender by the traitor Imaz, Badajoz was being besieged by a detachment of the British army, and Soult had his hands full, as he strove at once to hold down Andalusia and to relieve the beleaguered fortress.
SECTION XIX: CHAPTER II
WELLINGTON’S PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENCE

As far back as September 1809, while his army still lay at Badajoz and the Talavera campaign was hardly over, Wellington had foreseen the oncoming invasion of Portugal, which did not actually begin till August 1810[165]. Writing to his brother, then on his special mission to Seville, he had laid down his conclusions. Bonaparte would, in consequence of the cessation of the Austrian war, be enabled to pour unlimited reinforcements into Spain. The British army, even if raised to 40,000 men, would not be strong enough to cover both Seville and Lisbon. Considering the temper of the Spanish government and the Spanish troops, he thought it would be most unadvisable to commit himself to the defence of Andalusia. But he was prepared to undertake the defence of Portugal. He implored the British Ministry not to sacrifice its strong position on the Tagus in order to embark upon a hazardous campaign in the South[166]. His views as to Portugal were simply the development of those which he had drawn up for Castlereagh’s eye on his first sailing for the Peninsula[167]. Portugal though ‘all frontier’ might be defended against any French army of less than 100,000 men, if its resources were placed at his disposal, and he were given a free hand to utilize them according to his own plan. The Portland Cabinet, though much doubting whether Wellington could carry out his pledge, and though reluctant to abandon the idea that Andalusia might be defended and Cadiz made[p. 168] secure by British troops, finally yielded to the General’s appeal.

But on December 2, 1809, the Portland Cabinet gave place to Spencer Perceval’s new administration, and Wellington had to reiterate the arguments which he had used to Castlereagh and Canning to new correspondents, Lord Liverpool and Lord Bathurst. Fortunately the incoming ministers resolved to adhere to the promises made by their predecessors, and to persist in the defence of Portugal. It was of immense value to Wellington that his brother Wellesley soon replaced Lord Bathurst at the Foreign Office, so that he could command in this Ministry a supporter as firm as Castlereagh had been in the last. Nevertheless his position was not entirely fortunate: the new administration was being fiercely assailed by the Whigs over the general policy of risking British armies on the Continent. The calamities of the Walcheren expedition supplied a text on which the Opposition could preach interminable sermons. The men who were not ashamed to allege, for party reasons, that Wellington was a rash general, and that the Talavera campaign had been a disaster, were continually harassing the Ministry, by their suggestions that when the French Emperor marched in person to Spain the British army in the Peninsula must inevitably be destroyed. It was probably to aid them that Napoleon kept inserting in the Moniteur articles in which it was asserted that the maintenance of the incapable ‘Sepoy General’ at the head of the British forces was the thing which France must most desire. In Lord Liverpool’s correspondence with Wellington it is easy to see that the idea that it might be necessary to evacuate Portugal, when the French attack was delivered, almost preponderated over that of preparing for the defence of that realm. While Wellington’s whole mind is set on working out the details of a campaign from which he hopes great things, his correspondent is always thinking of the possibility of a disastrous embarkation at the end of it. The General could not pledge himself that Portugal might be defended against any odds whatever: it was possible that the Emperor might lead or send against him an army of absolutely overpowering strength, though he did not think such a contingency probable. But since he could not say that his[p. 169] position was impregnable, he was being continually worried with suggestions as to all the possible contingencies that might occur to his discomfiture. The ministers dreaded that the Peninsular venture might end in a fiasco, like the Duke of York’s Dutch expedition of 1799, and thought that such a failure would lose them their offices. Hence they were nervous about every false rumour that reached them from France concerning the Emperor’s approaching departure; and the more certain information about the immense numbers of troops that were passing the Pyrenees filled them with dread. It required all Wellington’s robust self-confidence to keep them reassured. He had to be perpetually repeating to them that all his preparations for retreat and embarkation, if the worst should happen, had been already thought out—they might make up their minds that he would do nothing rash. But he was inclined to think that there would in the end be no need to depart. ‘I shall delay the embarkation,’ he wrote, ‘as long as it is in my power, and shall do everything that is in my power to avert the necessity of embarking at all. If the enemy should invade this country with a force less than that which I should think so superior to ours as to create a necessity for embarking, I shall fight a battle to save the country, and for this I have made the preparations.’ He did not think he could be beaten; but if, by some mischance, the fortune of war went against him, he had still no doubt that he could bring off the army in safety. ‘If we do go, I feel a little anxiety to go like gentlemen, out of the hall door (particularly after all the preparations I have made to enable us to do so), and not out of the back door or by the area.’

It is curious to find that in this most interesting dispatch to Lord Liverpool Wellington distinctly asserts that his worst enemy was the ghost of Sir John Moore[168]. ‘The great disadvantage under which I labour is that Sir John Moore, who was here before me, gave his opinion that Portugal could not be defended by the army under his command. It is obvious that the country was in a very different situation at that time from what it is at present, and that I am in a very different situation from that in which he found himself ..., yet persons who ought[p. 170] to be better acquainted with these facts entertain a certain prejudice against the adoption of any plan for opposing the enemy of which Portugal is to be the theatre. I have as much respect as any man for the opinion and judgement of Sir John Moore, and I should mistrust my own if it were opposed to his in a case where he had had the opportunity of knowing and considering. But he positively knew nothing about Portugal, and could know nothing about its existing state[169].’

The most vexatious thing for Wellington was that ‘the persons who ought to have known better,’ yet were perpetually uttering melancholy vaticinations as to the approach of disaster, included some of his own senior officers. I have seen a letter from a general in Portugal to his friend in England containing such phrases as this: ‘I most strongly suspect that before many months are over our heads there will be no opportunity for this employment (that of a cavalry brigadier) left to any one, on the Continent at least. The next campaign will close the eventful scene in the Peninsula, as far as we are concerned; for I am decidedly of opinion that neither (Marshal) Wellington nor (Marshal) Beresford will prevent the approaching subjugation of Portugal.’ Or again: ‘I am quite surprised at Lord W.’s pliant disposition. I suspect he feels himself tottering on his throne, and wishes to conciliate at any sacrifice[170].’ The frequent complaints in Wellington’s correspondence as to the sort of letters that were going home to England in the spring of 1810 sufficiently show that these down-hearted views were not uncommon among his subordinates. If the generals on the spot foresaw disaster, it is no wonder that the ministers in London felt anxious, and refused to be comforted by the confident dispatches of the Commander-in-Chief.

[p. 171]

The preparations which Wellington was making during the winter of 1809-10 and the ensuing spring, for the reception of the inevitable French invasion, may be arranged, in the main, under three heads. We must first treat of the complete reorganization of the Portuguese military forces, not only the regulars but the militia, and the old levée en masse of the Ordenan?a. Second come the elaborate plans for the construction of enormous field-works for the protection of Lisbon, the famous lines of Torres Vedras, and the fortification of certain other, and more advanced, points. The third, and in some ways the most important of all, was the arrangement of the great scheme for devastating the country-side in front of the invader, and fighting him by the weapon of starvation, a device new to the French, but not unprecedented in the earlier history of Portugal.

The Portuguese regular army had taken hardly any part in the campaigns of 1809. The only sections of it that had been under fire were Silveira’s two regiments, the four battalions that marched with Wellington to Oporto in May, and Wilson’s Loyal Lusitanian Legion, which had fought with more valour than success at the bridge of Alcantara and the Pass of Ba?os[171]. Beresford, with the greater part of the troops that were in a condition to take the field, had been out on the border in July, and had remained for some days in Spain, on the side of Coria and Zarza Mayor, but he had never been in contact with the enemy[172]. The fighting power of the reorganized Portuguese army was still a doubtful quantity.

The field-strength of the Portuguese regular forces should have been, according to its establishments, 56,000 men. In September 1809 there were only 42,000 men with the colours[173], and of these much more than half were recruits, who had recently been thrust into the depleted cadres of the old army. There were many regiments which had been practically destroyed by the French, and which showed, when Beresford first marched out to the frontier, only 200 or 300 men instead of their normal[p. 172] 1,500[174]. Many others had less than half their complement. The first thing that required to be done was to fill up the gaps, and this was accomplished during the winter of 1809-10 by a stringent use of the conscription law already existing. The line regiments in the Bussaco campaign showed, with hardly an exception, 1,200 or 1,300 effectives present—i.e. if the sick and ‘details’ are added they were nearly or quite up to their establishment of 1,500[175]. The cavalry was less effective: the number of men could be filled up, but horses were hard to find, and in the end Wellington sent four of the twelve regiments to do dismounted duty in garrison, and served out their mounts to the remaining eight, which nevertheless could never show more than 300 or 400 sabres present, out of their nominal 594. Portugal is not a horse-breeding country, and the British cavalry was competing with the native for the small supply of remounts that could be procured. The artillery, on the other hand, was high in strength and very satisfactory.

Mere numbers are no test of the efficiency of a host. The weak point of the old national army had been—as we mentioned in another place—the effete and unmilitary character of its body of officers—more especially of its senior officers[176]. The junior ranks, filled up since the French invasion with young men who had taken up the military career from patriotic motives, were infinitely better. By the second year of the war there were many admirable officers among them. But it was men capable of handling a battalion or a regiment that were wanting. We saw how Beresford had been forced to introduce many British officers into the service, though he was aware that the personal pride of the Portuguese officers was bitterly hurt thereby. His justification may be deduced from a confidential[p. 173] memorandum written for him by his chief-of-the-staff, Benjamin D’Urban[177], which is well worth quoting:—

‘There are yet among the field officers, captains, and older subalterns a number of incorrigible officers of the old school, who are a dead weight upon their respective regiments, and mischievous in the way of example. Whenever it may be thought expedient, from time to time, to get rid of them, there will be no difficulty in finding excellent young men to replace them from the ranks respectively below.... But I feel it incumbent upon me to give it you as my decided opinion, resulting from a close investigation into the causes of the defects of the Portuguese, that it will be utterly impossible either to make a regiment fit for service, or to preserve it when made so, without giving it an English commanding-officer and at least two English captains.

‘The Portuguese soldier is naturally indolent. He falls with the greatest facility into slouching and slovenly habits, unless he is constantly roused and forced to exert himself. But many a Portuguese officer, if not constantly spurred and urged to do his duty, is at least as indolent as his men. Nothing (I am persuaded by experience) will counteract this, and create activity among the officers and consequent diligence and care among the men, but the strictness, energy and vigilance of an English commanding-officer.

‘Even supposing a sufficient energy of character in the native officer, he does not and will not, if he be not a Fidalgo himself, exercise coercive or strong measures to oblige one of that class to do his duty. He is aware that in doing so he makes a powerful enemy, and all the habits of thought in which he has been educated inspire him with such a dread of this, that no sense of duty will urge him to encounter it. Thus, whenever a regiment is commanded by a non-Fidalgo, it never fails to suffer extremely: for the noblemen are permitted to do as they please, and afford a very bad example, for they are at least as indolent as the ordinary Portuguese.

[p. 174]

‘The English captains will be found invaluable, especially in the hands of an English commandant. Their example is infinitely useful. The Portuguese captains are piqued into activity and attention, when they see their companies excelled in efficiency by those of the English, and they do from emulation what a sense of duty would perhaps never bring them to. There are a variety of by-paths and oblique means by which the parts of a Portuguese corps are constantly, and almost insensibly, endeavouring to return to the old habits that they are so much attached to. To nip this, from time to time, in the bud, it is necessary to be aware of it: without the faithful surveillance of English subordinate officers (who, ever mixing with the mass of the men, can’t well be ignorant of what is going on) the commanding-officer can rarely be warned in time.’

Beresford replied that all this was true, but that ‘the national feeling required management,’ and that to place every regimental or brigade command in British hands would provoke such fierce jealousy that he was ‘compelled to humour the prejudices and satisfy the pride of the nation.’ His device for doing this was to make a general rule that wherever a Portuguese officer was in chief command he should have a British officer second in command under him, and vice versa[178]. When a brigade was given to a Portuguese, he managed that the two colonels of the regiments forming it should be Englishmen; similarly, if a Portuguese commanded a regiment his senior major was always an Englishman. By this means it was secured that a fair half of the higher pieces of promotion should be left to the native officers, but that every Portuguese placed in a responsible position should have a British officer at his back. In addition there were from two to four British captains in each battalion, but no subalterns; for, to encourage good men to volunteer into the Portuguese service, it was provided that all who did so should receive a step of promotion, and a British lieutenant became a Portuguese captain on exchange, and a British captain a Portuguese major. The system seems to have[p. 175] worked well, and with far less friction than might have been expected[179]. The better class of native officers were piqued into emulation, just as D’Urban had expected; the worst was gradually eliminated[180]. It must be noted that to every battalion there were added one or two British sergeants, whose services were needed for the drilling of the men in the English exercises, which now superseded the old German system left behind by La Lippe, the last reorganizer of the Portuguese army. For the whole drill of the infantry was changed, and the British formations and man?uvres introduced. Dundas’s ‘Eighteen Man?uvres’ were translated, and became the Bible of the Lusitanian no less than the British officer[181]. The employment of the two-deep line, the essential feature of the system, was made the base of all Portuguese drill; at Bussaco it justified itself. The Ca?adores were trained on the ‘Rifle Regulations’ of Coote Manningham, and their uniform was modified in cut, though not in colour, to a close resemblance of that of the British rifleman[182]. The net result of all these changes was that for the future the British and Portuguese units of Wellington’s army could be moved by the same words of command, and in the same formations, and that all the disadvantages resulting from the coexistence of two different systems of drill disappeared.

Two principal difficulties still remained in the administration of the Portuguese army. The first was, what to do with the few senior officers of undoubted patriotism but more doubtful capacity, who were too important and influential to be placed upon the shelf, yet might cause a disaster if placed in a critical position of responsibility. The most notable of them was Silveira, who had acquired much popularity by his obstinate, if ill-managed, resistance to Soult in the spring of 1809. Wellington, with many searchings of heart, placed him in com[p. 176]mand of the Tras-os-Montes, where it was most unlikely that any serious irruption of the French would take place[183]. He had a large force placed under him, but it did not include a single regular regiment, and, with militia only at his disposition, it was hoped that he would be discouraged from attempting any hazardous experiments. Moreover, he was given a British second-in-command, first John Wilson and afterwards Miller, to curb his eccentricities so far as was possible. Baccelar, another officer of doubtful merit, but more dangerous from torpidity than from rashness, was given charge of the militia of the three northern provinces, so that Silveira was technically under his orders—though the nominal subordinate would seem to have paid little attention to his superior. The most important post, however, assigned to a Portuguese officer was the governorship of Elvas, the strongest fortress of Portugal, and one which would stand in the forefront of the battle if the French made the subsidiary invasion south of the Tagus, which Wellington was inclined to expect. The command of this great stronghold and the 6,000 men of its garrison (of whom half were regulars) was given to General Leite, an active and ingenious officer, and (what was more important) a man who obeyed orders. Of all the Portuguese he was the one whom Wellington most trusted; every British narrator of the war who came in contact with him has a word of praise in his behalf. Of the other native generals, Lecor, in command of a division, and Fonseca, in command of a brigade, were with the field army. Miranda was given charge of the militia of Northern Estremadura, who were likely to be in the thickest of the trouble. But the other Portuguese units of the allied host were under British officers: Pack, Archibald and Alexander Campbell, MacMahon, Coleman, Harvey, Collins, and Bradford[p. 177] had charge of the regular brigades of the field army. The native generals, save those above mentioned, were placed in administrative posts, or in charge of those sections of the militia which were probably destined to see no service.

The second point of difficulty in the organization of the Portuguese army was the commissariat. In the old days it had been a purely civilian branch of the service, non-military intendants dealing with contractors and merchants. For this had been substituted a Junta de Viveres mainly composed of officers, which proved as ineffective, if not as corrupt, as the body which had preceded it. The British government had taken over the responsibility of paying half the Portuguese army[184], but not that of feeding it, and despite of the handsome subsidies that it paid to the Regency for the general purposes of the war, the native troops, especially those quartered far from Lisbon, were often in a state of semi-starvation. ‘The Portuguese corps ought to have a commissariat attached to them, and I believe each brigade has a commissary,’ wrote Wellington, ‘but they have no magazines and no money to purchase supplies[185].’ One main difficulty arose from the fact that the Junta de Viveres shrank from the heavy expense of organizing a proper transport train, and tried to make shift with requisitioned carts and oxen, which were difficult to get (since the British army was competing with the Portuguese for draught animals) and still harder to retain—for the peasant driver always absconded with his beasts when he found an opportunity. Another difficulty was that the Junta tried to feed the troops with requisitioned corn, instead of paying for it with money down; hence it got grudging service. ‘I know from experience,’ observes Wellington, ‘that the Portuguese army could not be in the distress under which it suffers, from want of provisions, if only a part of the food it receives from the country were paid for.’ And he suggested as a remedy that the British ministers should earmark part of the subsidy for use on the commissariat and no other purpose[186]. It was long before this[p. 178] matter was set to rights. Beresford’s correspondence in 1810 bristles with complaints as to the inefficiency of the Junta de Viveres[187].

If the regular army was badly fed, so that desertion and sickness were both too prevalent in some corps, it was not to be expected that the militia would fare better. Wellington had ordered, and Beresford had arranged for, the embodiment of every one of the 48 militia regiments of the national establishment. They should properly have given 70,000 men, but such a figure was never reached. Some of the regimental districts were too thinly peopled to give the full 1,500 men at which each was assessed. In others the officers placed in charge were incapable, or the local magistrates recalcitrant. Many regiments could show only 500 or 600 bayonets in 1810, few over 1,000[188]. The total number under arms at the time of Masséna’s invasion may have reached 45,000 bayonets. Of the 48 regiments eight belonged to the lands south of the Tagus, and were never brought up to the front; they furnished the garrisons of Elvas and Campo Mayor, and a corps of observation on the lower Guadiana, destined to watch the French in the direction of Ayamonte and the Condado de Niebla, lest any unexpected raid might be made in that quarter[189]. The five regiments from the district immediately round the capital were at work on the ever-growing lines of Torres Vedras. One regiment was in garrison at Peniche, two at Abrantes, three at Almeida. The main force, consisting of the remaining units contributed by the[p. 179] North and the Beira, was divided into five corps, destined partly for active operations against the enemy’s flanks and rear, when he should enter Portugal, partly for the defence of Oporto and the Tras-os-Montes, if any assault should be threatened in that direction. These divisions stood as follows:—three regiments under Lecor were left in the Castello Branco country, to protect it against raids from Spanish Estremadura. Seven under Trant, all corps from the coast-land between the Douro and the Mondego, were to cover Oporto from the south, or to operate against the rear of the invading army, if it should leave that city alone and keep on the direct road to Lisbon. Six under Silveira guarded the Tras-os-Montes, and watched the French detachments in the northern part of the plains of Leon. Eight under Miller lay around Oporto, ready to support either Silveira or Trant if occasion should arise[190]. After the campaign began, and Masséna’s intention to leave the North[p. 180] alone became evident, half Miller’s division was placed under John Wilson (who had originally been Silveira’s chief-of-the-staff and second-in-command) and sent south into the Beira to co-operate with Trant. Finally, four regiments under the Portuguese brigadier Miranda lay at Thomar, apparently for the purpose of aiding Lecor or strengthening the garrison of Abrantes. This division ultimately retreated into the lines of Torres Vedras.

All these troops were entirely unfitted for a place in the line of battle; Wellington refused to mix them with the regular brigades, save in the garrisons of Almeida, Abrantes, and Elvas. He directed the brigadiers never to risk them in battle, even against a much inferior force of the French. Their sole purpose was to cut lines of communication, to render marauding by the enemy’s small detachments impossible, and to restrict his power of making reconnaissances far afield. They were told that they might defend a pass or a ford for a time, so as to delay the advance of a hostile column, but that they were never to commit themselves to a serious combat with any considerable body. Convoys, stragglers, small detachments, were the game on which they must prey. The programme was not a brilliant one to lay down before an ambitious officer, and more than once Silveira, Trant, and Wilson disobeyed orders, and tried to withstand a full French division in some chosen position. Such experiments almost always ended in a disaster. It was not surprising, for the militia were not troops from whom much could be expected. The best men in every district had been taken for the regular army; all the trained officers were also needed there. The militia cadres were composed of civilians who had to learn their duties just as much as the privates whom they were supposed to instruct. All the patriotic and energetic young men of the governing classes had sought commissions in the line; the less willing and active were driven into the militia. Service therein brought neither much credit nor much promotion. If the Regency half-starved the regulars, it three-quarter-starved the militia, which was normally in a state of destitution of clothing, shoes, and food. Hardly a regiment was provided with uniforms; as a rule only the officers showed the regulation[p. 181] blue and silver. As long as the corps was in its own district it was fed somehow, but when moved to some strategical point in the rugged mountains of the Beira, it was liable to go wholly to pieces from sheer privation. Fortunately the Portuguese peasant led a frugal life at all times, and expected little; the desertion, though large, was not nearly so great as might have been expected. The fact was that the men were essentially loyal, and hated the French with a perfect hatred. They might be very poor soldiers, but they were very bitter personal enemies of the invader. Nevertheless, they were liable to panics on very slight provocation. ‘At the best they are a very daily and uncertain sort of fighting people[191],’ remarked one of their leaders. Another wrote in a more forcible language, ‘Scripture says, Put not your trust in princes—I say, Fool is the man who puts his trust in a damnable militia.’ Each of these sentences was indited the day after a disastrous and wholly unnecessary rout.

Over and above the regular army and the militia, the Portuguese military system contemplated the utilization of the whole levée en masse of the nation under the name of the Ordenan?a. This was no foreshadowing of the modern idea of universal service, but a survival of the mediaeval practice which, in Portugal as in England, made every freeman liable to be called out in time of extremity, at his own cost and with his own weapons. Every peasant between sixteen and sixty was theoretically supposed to be enrolled in one of the companies of 250 which each group of villages was supposed to possess. The organization had been effective enough in the old mediaeval wars with Castile: it had even proved serviceable in the ‘War of Independence’ that followed the successful rising of 1640. But against modern regular armies it was comparatively useless; when called out in the war of 1762 the Ordenan?a had not justified its old reputation. Little could be expected of mobs armed with pikes and fowling-pieces, save that they should cut off a few convoys and stragglers, or occasionally obstruct a defile. A French officer who deeply studied this forgotten campaign[p. 182] wrote that, ‘whatever the Spaniards may say to the contrary, this war of the peasantry is by no means important, except against ignorant and undisciplined troops[192].’

When Wellington resolved to call out the Ordenan?a in 1810 he was ignorant of none of these facts. Nevertheless, he insisted that the Regency should issue the old royal ‘Ordinance’ to call out the levy. His object was threefold: from the political and moral point of view it was necessary to take this measure, because it was the ancient and established method of proclaiming that the country was in danger. It was so understood by the peasantry, in whose memories the traditions of the Spanish invasions were still fresh; they expected to be summoned, and would have doubted the imminence of the emergency if they had not been. The call was at once an appeal to their patriotism, and equivalent to a proclamation of martial law. Secondly, Wellington hoped to find assistance to a certain degree for the work which he had set aside for the militia, by the aid of the Ordenan?a. Pervading the whole country-side, and knowing every goat-track and inaccessible fastness, their motley companies would surround the invading army as it marched, prevent marauding by small parties, and render inter-communication between columns impossible, save by large detachments. French narrators of the campaign speak of ‘the cruel callousness with which Wellington exposed these half-armed peasants to the wrath of the most efficient army in the world,’ and wax sentimental over the miseries of the Portuguese. But sentiment from such a quarter is suspicious: it is absurd to find old soldiers writing as if the main duty of a general defending a country were to spare its peasantry as much inconvenience as possible. Did not Napoleon in 1814 make every endeavour to raise Lorraine and Champagne en masse in the rear of the Allies, and has any French critic ever blamed him for doing so? Was the actual misery suffered by the inhabitants of Beira so much greater than what they would have endured if they had remained at home, and offered no resistance? The country-side would have been stripped bare by an army forced to make ‘war[p. 183] support war,’ and one can hardly believe, judging from parallel incidents in Spain, that outrages would have been conspicuous by their absence.

But it would seem that the third of Wellington’s reasons for calling out the Ordenan?a was far more cogent, and lay nearer to the heart of his scheme than the other two. Throughout Portuguese history the summons to the levy en masse had always been combined with another measure, from which indeed it could not be disentangled—the order to the whole population to evacuate and devastate the land in face of the advancing enemy. The use of the weapon of starvation against the French was an essential part of Wellington’s plan for defending Portugal. When he told the British Ministry that he would undertake the defence of the realm, this was one of the main conditions of his pledge. He had realized the great fact that the conduct of the war in the Peninsula depended on supplies: the old aphorism that ‘beyond the Pyrenees large armies starve and small armies get beaten’ was at the back of all his schemes for the year 1810. He calculated that the French would find the greatest difficulty in accumulating stores sufficient to feed an army of invasion large enough to attack Portugal, and that, even if such stores could be gathered, there would be a still greater difficulty in getting them to the front as they were needed. For not only would it be hard to collect the mass of transport required for an army of 70,000, 80,000, or 100,000 men, but the convoys which it formed would find it impossible to move over the vast stretch of bad roads between Salamanca and Lisbon, when the communications were cut and the Militia and Ordenan?a were infesting every pass and hillside. It was almost certain that the invaders would make no such attempt to feed themselves from the rear, but would start with a moderate train, carrying no more than provisions for a week or two, and hoping to subsist (in the usual French style) on the resources of the invaded country. Such resources Wellington was determined that they should not find. They would ere long be starved out, and forced to fall back on their magazines, certainly losing a large proportion of their men from privations by the way. If this scheme had been carried out with rigid perfection, Masséna’s invasion would have amounted to no more than a promenade to[p. 184] Torres Vedras, and a prompt return to the borders of Spain with a famished army. Unfortunately the device, though it worked well and was ultimately quite successful, was not perfectly executed in every corner and by every subordinate, so that the French, showing a magnificent obstinacy, and suffering untold privations, remained before the Lines for three months before they retired. But retire they did, and with a loss of a third of their army, and a deplorable decadence of their morale, so that Wellington’s scheme was fully justified[193].

The plan for defeating the enemy by the system of devastation was neither ‘dictated by the hard heart of a general trained in the atrocious wars of the East,’ as certain French authors have written, nor was it (as some of the English authors have supposed) suggested to Wellington by the measures which had been taken in 1803-4 for withdrawing all food and transport from the south coast of England, if Napoleon should be successful in crossing from Boulogne. It was an ancient Portuguese device, practised from time immemorial against the Castilian invader, which had never failed of success. Nor had it come to an end with the War of Independence of 1640, or the war of the Spanish Succession of 1704. When Spain had made her last serious assault on Portugal in 1762 (Godoy’s miserable mock-war of 1801 does not deserve to be counted), the plan had worked admirably. When the Conde d’Aranda invaded the Beira ‘the country had been “driven” in the most systematic style, and everything that could not be carried off had been destroyed, so that the Spaniard found himself in a desert, being unable to discover either provisions, cars, or peasants: the inhabitants had abandoned their villages, and carried off everything. The enemy had to be supplied with every necessary from Spain: the infantry were harassed with fatigue in remaking the roads, and the cavalry-horses destroyed[p. 185] in conducting provisions. At last d’Aranda retreated, leaving his sick and wounded at Castello Branco, with a letter commending them to the attention of the allies[194].’ Of this same war Dumouriez wrote: ‘As soon as the Spaniards enter Portugal the King publishes a declaration, by which he enjoins on his subjects to fall upon the invaders, and the national hatred always excites them to execute the “Ordinance.” As the Spanish army pushes on, the villages are depopulated, and the inhabitants fall back on the capital. The peasantry arrive there in crowds with wives and children, so that the king at the end of three months has 200,000 or 300,000 extra mouths to feed[195].’

This sounds like a description of the great migration of 1810, but was actually written in 1766. It is clear, then, that Wellington did not invent the system of devastation, but simply utilized, and carried out to its logical end, an old custom essentially national, and familiar to the Portuguese from time immemorial. It was the regular device of the weak against the strong in the Middle Ages, and differed in nothing from ‘Good King Robert’s Testament,’ the time-honoured system applied by the Scots to the English in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

‘In strait placis gar hide all store,

And byrnen ye plaineland thaim before,

Thanne sall thei pass away in haist,

When that thai find na thing but waist,

So sall ye turn thaim with gret affrai,

As thai were chasit with swerd awai.’

Fortunately for himself, for England, and for Europe, Wellington had to deal with a peasantry almost as frugal, as tough, and as stubborn in their hatred as the mediaeval Scot. They saw nothing strange in the demand now made to them, and obeyed. The difficulty lay with the townsfolk of large places, such as Coimbra, Thomar, or Santarem, which lay far from the frontier, and had not the old traditions of the peasantry, since the Spaniards had never penetrated to their doors since the seven[p. 186]teenth century. Here there was much recalcitrance, as was but natural; the burgher had much to abandon where the peasant had little. Yet, as we shall see, the scheme was carried out in the end, and those who stayed behind to greet the French could be counted on one hand in places of the size of Vizeu, Coimbra, or Leiria. That fanatical patriotism went far towards producing such a result is true, but does not explain the whole matter: quite as strong a motive was the unforgotten tale of the horrors that had followed Soult’s entry into Oporto. To the Portuguese citizens the approach of the French meant probable murder and rape, hence came the readiness that they showed to depart. There were exaggerated rumours abroad of the ruthlessness of the French: was not Loison, the ‘Maneta’ of whom so many atrocious (and mostly false) stories were told, known to be in high command?

Wellington’s scheme for the clearing of the country-side in face of the enemy had long been thought out. It included not merely the evacuation of the towns and villages, but the destruction of bridges, mills, even ovens; the removal of all animals and means of transport, the destruction of all food-stuff that could not be carried off, the burning of all ferry-boats and other small craft on the navigable rivers. ‘The moment that the enemy crosses the frontier,’ he wrote to Beresford, ‘the governor of the province of Estremadura must be told that it is necessary to order all carts, carriages, and other means of conveyance, with all the provisions they can carry, away. He ought to have all his arrangements prepared for ordering them off as soon as the French approach. The Captains Mor[196] and their Ordenan?a must be prepared to give the enemy all the opposition in their power, not by assembling in large bodies, but by lying out in the mountains and the strong parts of the roads, annoying their patrols and small parties, and interrupting their communications[197].’ This comes from an order of February: by August, when a new harvest had been gathered in, the question of the destruction of food stuffs became more difficult. The peasantry, as was natural, persisted in hiding rather than[p. 187] burning what could not be carried off. By one means or another a certain number of these concealed stores, even when buried in pits or removed to remote ravines, were discovered by the French, and enabled them to prolong their precarious stay in front of the Torres Vedras lines.

As to the displacement of the population, Wellington considered that in many parts it would be sufficient if it took to the hills for a few days, while the French army was passing. His military arrangements were such that he thought it impossible that the enemy would be able either to leave small posts behind him, or to maintain his lines of communication with Spain. It would suffice, therefore, that the peasantry in parts off the main roads, and remote from large towns or points of strategical importance, should make ready for a merely temporary migration. They must always, however, be ready to flit again, if fresh columns of the enemy, advancing or retreating, should come near their abodes. The townsfolk and the inhabitants of the fertile coast plains of Estremadura and Western Beira were recommended to retire either to Lisbon or to Oporto, according as they were nearer to one or to the other. It was clear that the problem of feeding them there would be a matter for the Government, for individuals of the poorer classes could not be expected to carry or to buy provisions for many weeks. Hence there was a need for the accumulation of immense stores, over and above those required for the army. The Portuguese Regency did what it could, but in its usual slip-shod and inefficient fashion, and there is no doubt that much misery and a certain amount of starvation fell to the lot of the unhappy emigrants. Fortunately Lisbon and Oporto were great ports and full of food; but despite of this, the position of the refugees became deplorable, when Masséna tarried at Santarem two months longer than Wellington had considered probable. But their suffering was not in vain: the French were starved out, even if it was a few weeks later than had been expected.

Having dealt with the organization of the military force of Portugal, and the arrangements for the depopulation of the country, we have still to explain the third section of Wellington’s great scheme of defence—that consisting of fortifications. We have already mentioned that Almeida and Elvas had been[p. 188] repaired and garrisoned, the former with 5,000 men, consisting of one regiment of regulars and three of militia, under the English general William Cox, the other by 8,000 men,—two regiments of regulars and five of militia,—under General Leite. These were the outer bulwarks of the realm. Campo Mayor, a small and antiquated fortress, a sort of outlying dependency of Elvas, was held by one militia battalion under a Colonel Talaya, a retired engineer officer. It was not expected to make a serious resistance, but did so in the time of need, and detained a French division before its walls for some precious days in the spring of 1811, to the great glory and credit of its governor.

Only two other of the ancient fortresses of Portugal were placed in a state of defence, and made to play a notable part in Wellington’s general scheme for checking the French. These were Peniche and Abrantes. The former is a very strong isolated sea-fortress, on a projecting headland in the Atlantic, forty miles north of Lisbon. It commands several good creeks and landing-places, suitable for the embarkation and disembarkation of troops, and is nearly impregnable, because of the narrowness of the isthmus connecting it with the mainland. Placed where it is, just in the rear of the position which an enemy must take who is meditating an attack on Lisbon, it offers unique opportunities for making incursions on his rear and his communications. Moreover, it afforded a refuge and a safe point of departure by sea, for any section of the allied troops which might become isolated, and be pressed towards the water by the advancing enemy. Some of Wellington’s officers considered that it was an even better place for embarkation than Lisbon, if the French should prove too strong, and the British should be compelled to abandon Portugal. The Commander-in-Chief thought otherwise, but caused its fortification to be carefully restored, and garrisoned it with a picked regiment of militia[198].

[p. 189]

Even more important than Peniche was Abrantes, the one great crossing-place of the Tagus above Lisbon where there was a permanent bridge, and free communication by good roads between Beira and Alemtejo. It lies at the point where the road from Spain by way of Castello Branco crosses the road from north to south down the Portuguese frontier, from Almeida and Guarda to Evora and Elvas. An invader who has advanced towards Lisbon through Beira has it on his flank and rear, equally so an invader who has advanced on the same objective from Badajoz and the Guadiana. It is the natural point at which to move troops north and south along the frontier, though Wellington had established an alternative temporary crossing-point at Villa Velha, thirty miles higher up the river, by means of pontoons. But this secondary passage was inferior in safety, since it was not protected by a fortress like Abrantes. Orders were given to burn the pontoons if ever a French force from the East should came near. At Abrantes, on the other hand, the boat-bridge could be pulled up and stacked under the city walls in the event of an attack, and did not need to be destroyed. The town is situated on a lofty eminence upon the north bank of the Tagus. Its fortifications were antiquated in 1809, but had been for many months in process of being rebuilt and strengthened by the English engineer Patton. With new earthworks and redoubts it had been made a strong place, which could not be taken without a regular siege and plenty of heavy artillery. Here Wellington had placed a garrison of two militia regiments under the Portuguese general Lobo, whose orders were to resist to the last, and to make sure of burning the boat-bridge, down to the last plank, before surrendering. The French never put him to the test, since they had no heavy guns with them, and[p. 190] therefore regarded it as hopeless to attempt an attack on the place[199].

Almeida and Elvas, Peniche and Abrantes, were regular fortresses with large garrisons. There were, however, other points where Wellington ordered fortifications of a less permanent kind to be thrown up, because he thought them of first-rate strategical importance. The two most important were one on the northern line of advance which the French might take, the other on the central or Castello Branco line. The first was a line of redoubts behind the river Alva, just where it joins the Mondego, on either side of the bridge and village of Ponte de Murcella. It was here, he thought, that Masséna would choose his road, along the south bank of the Mondego, if he marched on Lisbon by the Beira line. But the Marshal moved by Vizeu, partly (as it seems) because he had heard of the fortifications of this defile, and the works were never used. Equally unprofitable (so it chanced) was another important series of field-works, constructed to cover the lowest reach of the Zezere against an invader who should come by the Castello Branco road, and should have masked or taken Abrantes. This was a line of redoubts and trenches, almost a fortified camp, on the east bank of the river from Tancos to opposite Martinchel, blocking both the roads which lead from Castello Branco into Estremadura. Masséna, coming not by the route which was guarded against, but from Leiria and Thomar, took the lines of Zezere in the rear, and they proved useless.

Along with the precautions taken on the banks of the Alva and the Zezere, two other pieces of engineering must be mentioned. The one, the destruction of the Estrada Nova,—the mountain-road which leads from Fund?o and Belmonte to the lower Zezere without passing through Castello Branco,—has already been noticed, when we were dealing with the possible lines of invasion in Portugal. The other move was constructive, not destructive, in character. Foreseeing that Abrantes might be masked, or besieged on the northern bank of the Tagus, and[p. 191] all the roads in that direction thereby blocked, while it might still be very profitable to have free communication between Lisbon and the Castello Branco region, he caused the road above the south bank of the Tagus, from opposite Abrantes to the flying-bridge at Villa Velha, to be thoroughly reconstructed. This route, by Gavi?o and Niza, was so much easier in its slopes than the old high-road Abrantes-Castello Branco, that, even when the latter was safe, troops moving from east to west, along the Tagus often used it during the next two years of the war, though it involved two passages of the river instead of one.

But all the matters of engineering hitherto mentioned were unimportant and merely subsidiary, when placed beside the one great piece of work which formed the keystone of Wellington’s plan for the defence of Portugal. His whole scheme depended on the existence of an impregnable place of refuge, available both for his army, and for the emigrant population of the country-side which he was about to devastate. He must have a line on which the invader could be finally checked and forced to halt and starve. If such a line had not existed, his whole scheme would have been impracticable, and after a lost battle he might have been driven to that hurried embarkation which the ministers in London foresaw and dreaded. But his eye had been fixed upon the ground in front of Lisbon ever since his second landing in the Peninsula in April 1809, and there he thought that the necessary stronghold might be found. A full year before Masséna’s invasion he had informed the British cabinet that though he could not undertake to defend all Portugal, ‘for the whole country is frontier, and it would be difficult to prevent the enemy from entering by some point or other,’ he yet conceived that he might protect the essential part of the realm, the capital, against anything save the most overwhelming odds[200]. The scheme had taken definite shape in his head when, on October 20, 1809, he wrote his famous dispatch to Colonel Fletcher, the commanding engineer at Lisbon, directing him to draw up without delay a scheme for the construction of two successive lines of trenches and redoubts, covering the whole stretch of country from the Atlantic to a point on the estuary of the Tagus twenty miles or more north of the capital. This[p. 192] was, in its essentials, the order for the construction of the lines of Torres Vedras, for though the front designated does not exactly tally with that ultimately taken up, it only differs from it in points of detail. Fletcher is directed to survey a line from the mouth of the Castanheira brook to the mouth of the Zizandre, and another, a few miles behind, from Alhandra on the Tagus by Bucellas and Cabe?a de Montechique towards Mafra. These roughly represent the two lines of defence ultimately constructed, though in the end the extreme right flank was drawn back from the Castanheira to the Alhandra stream. Fletcher is told that the works will be on the largest scale: the fortified camp above Torres Vedras is to hold 5,000 men, the works at Cabe?a de Montechique alone will require 5,000 workmen to be set to dig at once; great operations, such as the damming up of rivers and the creation of marshes many miles long, are suggested.

How the great scheme worked out, and how the works stood when Masséna’s long-expected army at last appeared in front of them, will be told in a later chapter, in its due place. Suffice it here to say that all through the spring and summer of 1810 they were being urged forward with feverish haste.

It must not be supposed that it was an easy matter to carry out all these preparations. The Portuguese government ended by adopting all Wellington’s suggestions: but it was not without friction that he achieved his purpose. While he was planning works at the very gates of Lisbon, and making provisions for the devastation of whole provinces in view of the approaching invasion, he was often met by suggestions that it would be possible to defend the outer frontiers of the realm, and that his schemes were calculated to dishearten the Portuguese people, rather than to encourage them to a firm resistance. The Regency, moreover, had enough national pride to resent the way in which a policy was dictated to them, without any reference to their own views. The governing party in Portugal had accepted the English alliance without reserve, but it often winced at the consequences of its action. There was a view abroad that the little nation was being set in the forefront of the battle of European independence mainly for the benefit of Great Britain. Fortunately the memory of Junot’s dictatorship and Soult’s ravages was still fresh enough to overcome all other considera[p. 193]tions. A moment’s reflection convinced Wellington’s most ardent critics that though the British yoke might sometimes seem hard, anything was better than a return to French servitude. The Regency murmured, but always ended by yielding, and issued the edicts necessary to confirm all the orders of the general.

The state of the Portuguese government at this moment requires a word of explanation. The original Regency confirmed by Sir Hew Dalrymple in 1808 had been somewhat changed in its personnel. It was now a more numerous body than at its first installation; of the original members, only the Patriarch (Antonio de Castro, late bishop of Oporto), and the Marquez de Olh?o (Francisco de Mello e Menezes, the Constable or Monteiro Mor, as he is more frequently called), now survived. But four new members had been appointed in 1810. The most important of them was José Antonio de Menezes e Sousa, generally known as the ‘Principal Sousa,’ an ecclesiastic who was one of the band of three Sousa brothers, who formed the backbone of the anti-French party in Portugal. The eldest of them, Rodrigo de Sousa Coutinho, Conde de Linhares, was prime minister of the Prince Regent at Rio de Janeiro. The third, Domingos Antonio de Sousa Coutinho, afterwards Conde de Funchal, was Portuguese minister in London. Thus when the Principal entered the Regency, this busy and capable family could pull the strings alike at Rio, London, and Lisbon, in the interests of their relations and dependants. This they did without scruple and without ceasing. Domestic politics in Portugal had always been a matter of family alliances, as much as of principles. They presented, indeed, a considerable resemblance to those of Great Britain during the Whig domination of the eighteenth century. Hence there was considerable danger that the policy of the alliance against Napoleon might become identified in the eyes of the Portuguese nation with the domination of the Sousa faction. That this peril was avoided was not their fault: they did their best to keep all promotion, civil and military, for their own adherents; hence came interminable quarrels on petty personal questions both with Wellington and Beresford. Fortunately the two Marshals could generally get their way in the end, when large interests[p. 194] were at stake, because the Sousas were pledged to the British alliance, and dared not break with it. To do so would have brought other politicians to the front. But, meanwhile, unending controversies wasted Wellington’s time and soured his temper: more than once he is found writing in his dispatches to Lord Liverpool that the ‘impatient, meddling, mischievous’[201] Principal ought to be got out of the Regency and promoted to some foreign embassy, or great civil post, where he could do less harm. But the British government thought, and probably was right in thinking, that it was better to bear with known evils than to quarrel with the Sousa family, and thereby to break up the pro-British party in Portugal. Wellington had to endure the Principal’s small intrigues and petty criticism till the end.

The other members who entered the Regency in 1810 were the Conde de Redondo, Fernando Maria de Sousa Coutinho—another of the Sousa clan—Doctor Raymundo Nogueira, a law professor of the University of Coimbra[202] and—far the most important of all—the newly appointed British Minister at Lisbon, Mr. Charles Stuart. The nomination of a foreigner to such a post touched Portuguese pride to the quick, and was looked upon by all enemies of the Sousa faction as an act of miserable weakness on the part of the Conde de Linhares and the Prince Regent. It was considered doubtful policy on the part of the Perceval Cabinet to consent to the appointment, considering the offence which it was certain to give. In their justification it must be pleaded that both the Patriarch and the Principal Sousa were men capable of causing any amount of difficulty by their ill-considered plans and their personal intrigues, and that a colleague who could be trusted to keep an eye upon their actions, and to moderate their ambitions was much needed. Stuart was a man of moderate and tactful bearing, but could be[p. 195] neither cajoled nor overruled. It was on his influence in the Regency that Wellington relied most for support. At this moment there were two questions in process of discussion which rendered it most necessary that the Portuguese government should not be left entirely to its own guidance. Taking advantage of the unhappy condition of Spain, and the weakness of the newly appointed executive at Cadiz, the Portuguese were pressing for the restoration of Olivenza, Godoy’s old conquest of 1801, and for the recognition of the Princess Carlotta of Spain, the wife of the Prince of the Brazils, as the person entitled to act as Regent of Spain during the captivity of her brothers at Valen?ay. Dom Pedro de Sousa Holstein, the Portuguese minister at Cadiz—a kinsman of Linhares and the Principal—was actively urging both these demands on the Spanish government. If he had succeeded in imposing them on Casta?os and his colleagues there would have been desperate friction between the allies. But by promising the active support of the Portuguese army within the Spanish frontiers—which he had no power to guarantee, and which Wellington had absolutely refused to grant—the minister won some support at Cadiz. Extra pressure was brought to bear upon the Spaniards by the massing of Brazilian troops on the South American frontier, on the side of Rio Grande do Sul—a most unjustifiable act, which might have led to an actual rupture, a thing which the British government was bound to prevent by every means in its power. The only way to prevent an open breach between Spain and Portugal was to check the activity of Sousa Holstein, an end which Stuart found much difficulty in accomplishing, because the objects for which the minister was striving, and especially the restoration of Olivenza to its old owners, were entirely approved by his colleagues in the Regency. When it is added that there were numerous other points of friction between the British and the Portuguese governments—such as the question of free trade with Brazil, that of the suppression of the slave trade, and that of the form to be adopted for the payment of the subsidies which maintained the Portuguese army—it is easy to understand that Stuart’s position on the Council of Regency was no easy one. He often found himself in a minority of one when a discussion started: he frequently had to acquiesce[p. 196] in decisions which he did not approve, merely in order to avoid friction on matters of secondary importance. But in matters of really primary moment he generally succeeded in getting his way, owing to the simple fact that Portugal was dependent on Great Britain for the continuance of her national existence. Conscious of this, the other members of the Regency would generally yield a reluctant assent at the last moment, and Wellington’s plans, when set forth by Stuart, though often criticized, delayed, and impeded, were in the end carried out with more or less completeness.
SECTION XIX: CHAPTER III
THE FRENCH PREPARATIONS: MASSéNA’S ARMY OF PORTUGAL

During the summer campaign of 1809 the French Army of Spain had received hardly any reinforcements from beyond the Pyrenees. Every man that the Emperor could arm was being directed against Austria in May and June. But when Wagram had been won, and the armistice of Znaym signed, and when moreover it had been discovered that the British expedition to the Isle of Walcheren need not draw off any part of the Army of Germany, the Emperor began to turn his attention to the Peninsula. The armistice with Austria had been signed on July 12: only six days later, on the 18th of the same month, Napoleon was already selecting troops to send to Spain, and expressing his intention of going there himself to ‘finish the business’ in person[203]. But he had made up his mind that it was too late in the year for him to transport any great mass of men to the Peninsula in time for operations in the autumn, and had settled that the expulsion of the English and the conquest of Cadiz, Seville, and Valencia must be delayed to the spring of 1810. On September 7 he wrote[204] to approve King Joseph’s decision that Soult should not be allowed to make any attempt on Portugal in the autumn, and a month later he advised his brother to defend the line of the Tagus, and drive back Spanish incursions, but to defer all offensive movements till the reinforcements should have begun to arrive[205].

The composition of the new army that was to enter Spain was dictated in a minute to the Minister of War on October 7, in[p. 198] which the Emperor stated that the total force was to be about 100,000 men, including the Guard, that it was all to be on the roads between Orleans and Bayonne by December, and that he should take command in person[206]. It may be noted that the troops designated in this memorandum were actually those which took part in the campaign of 1810, with the exception of the Old Guard, which was held back when Napoleon determined to remain behind, and to send a substitute as commander-in-chief in Spain. Since the bulk of the immense column was only directed to reach Bayonne at the end of the year, it was clear that it would not be within striking distance of the enemy till March 1810.

Down to the month of December 1809, Napoleon’s correspondence teems with allusions to his approaching departure for Spain. They were not merely intended to deceive the public, for they occur in letters to his most trusted ministers and generals. We might be inclined to suspect an intention to cajole the English Ministry in the magnificent phrases of the address to the Corps Législatif on December 3, when the Emperor declares that ‘the moment he displays himself beyond the Pyrenees the Leopard in terror will seek the Ocean to avoid shame, defeat, and death.’ But business was certainly meant when Berthier was advised to send forward his carriages and horses to Madrid, and when the Old Guard’s departure for the frontier was ordered[207]. Suddenly, in the third week of December, the allusions to the Emperor’s impending departure cease. It would appear that his change of purpose must be attributed not to the news of Oca?a, where the last great Spanish army had perished, but to a purely domestic cause: this was the moment at which the question of the Imperial Divorce came into prominence. It would seem that when Napoleon had conceived the idea of the Austrian marriage, and had learnt that his offers were likely to be accepted, he gave up all intention of invading Spain in the early spring in person. The divorce was first officially mooted when the ‘protest’ was laid before a Privy Council on December 15[208],[p. 199] and after that day there is no more mention of a departure for the South. All through January, February, and March the negotiations were in progress, and on April 1-2[209] the Emperor married his new wife. The festivities which followed lasted many days, and when they were over the Emperor conducted his spouse on a long tour through the Northern Departments in May, and did not return to the vicinity of Paris till June, when the army of invasion, which had long since reached the Peninsula, had been already handed over to a new chief.

In the months during which the marriage negotiations were in progress, and the columns of reinforcements were pouring into Navarre and Old Castile, it is not quite certain what were the Emperor’s real intentions as to the allocation of the command. Nothing clear can be deduced from an order given to Junot in the middle of February ‘to spread everywhere the news of the arrival of the Emperor with 80,000 men, in order to disquiet the English and prevent them from undertaking operations in the South[210].’ This is but a ruse de guerre; the marriage project was so far advanced that the ratifications of the contract were signed only four days later than the date of the dispatch[211], and Napoleon must have known that he could not get away from Paris for another two months at the least. But it was only on April 17 that an Imperial Decree, dated at Compiègne, was published, announcing that not the whole French force in Spain, but three army corps (the 2nd, 6th, and 8th), with certain other troops, were to form the Army of Portugal and to be placed under the command of Masséna, Duke of Rivoli and Prince of Essling. After this it was certain that the Emperor would not cross the Pyrenees. Five days later this was made still more clear by an order to the Commandant of the Guard to recall the old Chasseur and Grenadier regiments of that corps from the various points that they had reached on the way to Bayonne, and to send on to Spain only the Tirailleur and Voltigeur regiments recently raised in 1809, and generally known as the[p. 200] ‘Young Guard’[212]. Napoleon never took the field in person without the veteran portion of his body-guard.

The non-appearance of the Emperor had one most important result. If he had taken the field, every marshal and general in Spain would have been subject to a single directing will, and would have been forced to combine his operations with those of his neighbours, whether he wished or no. On determining to devote the spring and summer of 1810 to nuptial feasts and state progresses, instead of to a campaign on the Tagus, he did not nominate any single commander-in-chief to take his place. Masséna, from his seniority and his splendid military record, might have seemed worthy of such promotion. He was not given it, but only placed in charge of three army corps, and of certain parts of Old Castile and Leon and the garrison troops there residing. This was a vast charge, embracing in all the command of 138,000 men. But it gave Masséna no control over the rest of the armies of Spain, and no power to secure their co-operation, save by the tedious method of appeals to Paris. Indeed, the Emperor had chosen the precise moment of King Joseph’s conquest of Andalusia to break up such hierarchical organization of command as existed in the Peninsula. By a decree of February 8 he took the provinces of Aragon and Catalonia, with the army corps there employed, completely out of the sphere of the authority of King Joseph: Augereau and Suchet were forbidden to hold any communication with Madrid, and were directed to make every report and request to Paris. This would not have been fatal to the success of the main operations of the French army, for Aragon and Catalonia were a side-issue, whose military history, all through the war, had little connexion with that of Castile and Portugal. But their severance from the military hierarchy dependent on the King was followed by that of Navarre, the Basque provinces, Burgos, Valladolid, Palencia, and Toro, which were formed into four ‘Military Governments’ under Generals Dufour, Thouvenot, Dorsenne, and Kellermann. These governors were given complete civil and military autonomy, with power to raise taxes, administer justice, to name and displace Spanish functionaries, and to move their troops at[p. 201] their own pleasure, under responsibility to the Emperor alone. The ‘6th Government’ (Valladolid, Palencia, Toro) was afterwards placed under the authority of Masséna; the others remained independent Viceroyalties. Thus military authority in the Peninsula was divided up for the future between (1) the Commander of the Army of Portugal, who controlled not only his army but all the regions which it occupied—Leon, the greater part of Old Castile, and part of Estremadura; (2) the military governors of Catalonia, Aragon, Navarre, Biscay, Burgos; (3) the King, who practically controlled his Army of the Centre and the kingdom of New Castile alone, since Soult, in Andalusia, though not formally created a ‘military governor,’ practically acted on his own responsibility, without any reference to the King’s wishes. All the viceroys reported directly to Paris, and kept the Emperor fully employed with their perpetual bickerings. How Napoleon came to create and continue such a vicious system it is hard to conceive. Apparently the explanation must be sought in the fact that he feared servants with too great power, and acted on the principle of divide et impera, despite of the fact that he knew, as a soldier, that the want of a commander-in-chief is ruinous in practical war. At the bottom was the idea that he himself could manage everything, even when his armies were a thousand miles away, and when it took three weeks or a month to transmit orders to them. He sometimes acknowledged in a moment of self-realization that this was a bad arrangement, and that it was impossible for him to conduct or criticize the details of strategy at such a distance, or under such conditions. But after a lucid moment he would fall back into his usual ways of thought, and proceed to give orders and directions which were obsolete before the dispatches that conveyed them could be delivered to the hands of his marshals.

To proceed to details—the old Army of Spain had come to a standstill after it had overrun Andalusia in February 1810. Three corps under Soult were absorbed by that new conquest, some 73,000 men in all[213]. Suchet with his 3rd Corps, 26,000 men,[p. 202] held Aragon; Augereau with the vast 7th Corps, 56,900 in all, did not hold down, but was executing military promenades in, the turbulent Catalonia. The 2nd and 6th Corps lay observing Portugal, the former with head quarters at Talavera, the latter with head quarters at Salamanca. Ney had now returned to take charge of the 6th Corps, and Reynier (an old enemy of the English, who had beaten him at Alexandria and Maida) was named chief of the 2nd Corps. This last had now been shorn of its third division,—that which had been composed of so many fractional units in 1809; these had been made over to the 6th Corps, which in 1810 possessed three divisions[214] and no longer two. Reynier had about 18,000 men, Ney no less than 38,000 after this rearrangement; he had been assigned Lorges’ dragoon-division as well as the troops transferred from the 2nd Corps. The King had 14,000 men in Madrid and New Castile: the old garrisons of the Northern Provinces, excluding the newly arrived reinforcements, made up nearly 20,000 men more. This 237,000 sabres and bayonets represents the old army of 1809[215]; the troops sent down by the Emperor after the termination of the Austrian War had not, for the most part, been absorbed into the old units, though they had crossed the Pyrenees in December and January.

It is now time to see what troops constituted these succours, the 100,000 men with whom the Emperor had originally intended to march in person to the conquest of the Peninsula. On looking through their muster roll the first thing that strikes the eye is that very little—almost nothing indeed—had been taken from the Army of Germany. The Emperor, though Austria was tamed and Prussia was under his feet, did not think it safe to cut down to any great extent the garrisons of Central Europe and Eastern France:

(1) Of all the corps that had taken part in the Wagram campaign only one had been directed on Spain, and this was a force of the second line, a unit originally called[p. 203] the ‘Corps de Réserve de l’Armée d’Allemagne’ and afterwards the 8th Corps. It had played only a small part in the late war, and was mostly composed of the newly raised 4th battalions of regiments serving elsewhere. Recruited up to a strength of 30,000 men by the addition of some stray battalions from Northern Germany, it was the first of all the new reinforcements to reach Spain[216]. Indeed, the head of its column reached Burgos by the 1st of January, 1810. It was assigned to the Army of Portugal. By the drafting away of some of its 4th battalions to join the regiments to which they appertained it ultimately came down to about 20,000 men.

(2) Next in point of importance were the two divisions of the Young Guard under Generals Roguet and Dumoustier, nineteen battalions, with three provisional regiments of the Guard Cavalry, nearly 15,000 men in all. These units had been formed in 1809, just in time for some of them to take their share in the bloody days of Essling and Wagram. The Emperor did not make them over to the Army of Portugal, but retained them in Biscay and Navarre, close under the Pyrenees. Apparently he disliked sending any of his Guards so far afield as to render it difficult to draw them back to France, in the event (unlikely as it was at this moment) of further troubles breaking out in Central Europe. The Guard divisions stayed in Spain two years, but were never allowed to go far forward into the interior.

(3) Deeply impressed with the danger and difficulty of keeping up the lines of communication between Bayonne and Madrid, since Mina and his coadjutors had set the guerrilla war on foot in Navarre and Old Castile, Napoleon had formed a corps whose special duty was to be the keeping open of the roads, and the policing of the country-side between the frontier and the Spanish capital. This was composed of twenty squadrons of Gendarmes, all veterans and picked men, each with a total strength of seven officers and 200 troopers. The decree ordering their selection[p. 204] from among the gendarmerie of Southern and Central France was published on November 24, 1809: but the first squadrons only began to pass the Pyrenees in February 1810, and many did not appear till April and May. Yet 4,000 men were in line by the summer[217].

(4) A few new regiments which had not hitherto been represented in the Peninsula were moved down thither. Among these were the Neuchatel troops from Berthier’s principality, a German division from the minor states of the Confederation of the Rhine under General Rouyer[218], which went to Catalonia, the 7th, 13th, and 25th Chasseurs à Cheval, with two battalions of Marines. The total did not amount to more than some 10,000 men.

(5) By far the largest item in the reinforcements was composed of the 4th battalions of wellnigh every regiment which was already serving in Spain. The army which had marched across the Pyrenees in 1808 had been organized on the basis of three field-battalions to the regiment, the 4th battalion being the dép?t battalion. But Napoleon had now raised the standard to four (or in a few cases more) field-battalions, over and above the dép?t. All the fourth battalions were now existing and available; a few had served in the Austrian War, many of the others had been lying in the camps which the Emperor had formed at Boulogne, Pontivy, and elsewhere, to protect his coasts against possible English descents. Those belonging to 40 regiments already in Spain, with the full complement of 840 men each, were first ordered to cross the Pyrenees: they numbered 33,600 men: these were all at the front by May 1810. The Emperor somewhat later dispatched the fourth battalions of twenty-six regiments more to the Peninsula, giving to the temporary organization the name of the 9th Corps. This should have given another 21,840 men, and nearly did so; their gross total, when all had reached Vittoria in September 1810, was 20,231. But the 9th Corps should not be reckoned in the first 100,000 men which the[p. 205] Emperor set aside for the spring campaign of 1810, it was a supplementary addition[219].

(6) The Emperor dealt in a similar way with the cavalry; the regiments already in Spain had been reduced to a strength of two or three squadrons by the wear and tear of eighteen months of war. The dép?ts had now got ready two squadrons fit for field service. Those belonging to sixteen regiments of dragoons, organized into eight provisional regiments, were sent early to the front, and were all in Spain by January 1810.

(7) In addition to units like 4th battalions and 3rd and 4th squadrons added to the strength of each dragoon or infantry regiment, the Emperor did not neglect to send drafts to fill up the depleted 1st, 2nd, and 3rd battalions and 1st and 2nd squadrons. In the early months of 1810, 27,000 men, in small drafts not amounting to the strength of a battalion or squadron were forwarded to recruit the old units. They went forward in ‘régiments de marche,’ which were broken up on reaching the head quarters of the corps to which each party belonged.

Adding together all the units, with an extra allowance of 3,500 artillery for the new batteries that came in with Junot’s Corps, the Guard divisions, and the 9th Corps, we get as a total of the reinforcements poured into Spain between December 1809, and September 1810, the following figures:—
Junot’s corps, at its final strength in June, infantry only     20,000
Young Guard divisions     15,000
Gendarmerie     4,000
New regiments     10,000
4th battalions, the first arrivals     33,600
4th battalions forming the 9th Corps     20,000
Cavalry in organized squadrons     5,000
Artillery in complete batteries     3,500
Drafts, not in permanent units, for Infantry, Cavalry, and Artillery     27,000
      138,100

[p. 206]This total far exceeds the original 100,000 of which Napoleon had spoken in the autumn of 1809, but is certainly rather below the actual number of men received into the Peninsula; the figure for drafts, in especial, is hard to verify. But as the total strength of the Army of Spain in the autumn of 1809 was 237,000 men, and in September 1810, 353,000 men, while at least 25,000 had been lost in the interval[220], the figures cannot be far out.

Of this total, as we have already said, the 2nd, 6th, and 8th Corps and the troops under Kellermann and Bonnet occupying the provinces of Toro, Palencia, Valladolid, and Santander formed the ‘Army of Portugal’ assigned to Masséna; he was also given an extra unattached division under Serras[221], and promised the use of the 9th Corps when it should have crossed the Pyrenees. The gross total of this force was in May, when the new Commander-in-Chief had taken up his post, about 130,000 men, of whom some 86,000 were effective and available for active operations at the moment. Serras, Kellermann, and Bonnet were tied down to their local duties—the first had to look after the Spanish army of Galicia, the second to keep the plains of Valladolid quiet, the third to hold Santander and (when it was fully subdued) to enter and overrun the Asturias. The 20,000 men of the 9th Corps were not yet arrived in Spain[222]. The troops in the provinces of Burgos, Biscay, and Navarre, though not placed under the Marshal’s actual command, were yet in existence to cover his rear and his communications with France. If they are added to the total of the force which, directly or indirectly, was employed for the conquest of Portugal, some 30,000 more must be taken into consideration. But, though they were useful, indeed[p. 207] indispensable, for the conquest of Portugal, it is fairer to leave them out of consideration.

But the exact total of an army is, after all, less important than the character and capacity of its generals. The individuality of Masséna was the most important factor in the problem of the invasion of Portugal. He was fifty-two years of age—very nearly the eldest of all the Marshals—and he was the only one of those on active service, save Jourdan, who had achieved greatness in the days before Napoleon arrived at supreme power. He had led an army of 60,000 men when, of the three corps-commanders now under him, Ney was but a lieutenant-colonel, Junot a young captain, and Reynier a brigadier-general. Like nearly all the men of the Revolution he had risen from below; he sprang from a poor family in Genoa: according to his enemies they were Jews, and his name was but Manasseh disguised. His personal character was detestable; many of the marshals had an evil reputation for financial probity, but Masséna’s was the worst of all. ‘He plundered like a condottiere of the Middle Ages,’ wrote one of his lieutenants. He had been in trouble, both with the Republican government and with the Emperor, for his shameless malversations in Italy, and had piled up a large private fortune by surreptitious methods[223]. Avarice is not usually associated with licentiousness, but he shocked even the easy-going public opinion of the French army by the way in which he paraded his mistress at unsuitable moments and in unsuitable company. He took this person, the sister of one of his aides-de-camp, with him all through the dangers of the Portuguese campaign, where her presence often caused friction and delays, and occasionally exposed him to insults[224]. Masséna was hard, suspicious, and revengeful; an intriguer to the finger-tips, he was always prone to suppose[p. 208] that others were intriguing against himself[225]. Though an old Republican, who had risen from the ranks early in the revolutionary war, he had done his best to make himself agreeable to Napoleon by the arts of the courtier. Altogether, he was a detestable character—but he was a great general. Of all the marshals of the Empire he was undoubtedly the most capable; Davoust and Soult, with all their abilities, were not up to his level. As a proof of his boldness and rapid skill in seizing an opportunity the battle of Zurich is sufficient to quote; for his splendid obstinacy the defence of Genoa at the commencement of his career has its parallel in the long endurance before the lines of Torres Vedras at its end. His best testimonial is that Wellington, when asked, long years after, which of his old opponents was the best soldier, replied without hesitation that Masséna was the man, and that he had never permitted himself to take in his presence the risks that he habitually accepted when confronted with any of the other marshals[226].
Portrait of Masséna

Enlarge  ANDRé MASSéNA,
DUC DE RIVOLI PRINCE D’ESSLING,
Né à Nice, en 1755,
Mort à sa Terre près Paris, en Avril 1817.

The fatigues of the late Austrian war, in which he had borne such an honourable part, had tried Masséna’s health; it was not without difficulty that the Emperor had persuaded him to undertake the Portuguese campaign. When he first assembled round him at Salamanca the staff which was to serve him in the invasion, he astonished and somewhat disheartened his officers by beginning his greetings to them with the remark, ‘Gentlemen, I am here contrary to my own wish; I begin to feel myself too old and too weary to go on active service. The Emperor says that I must, and replied to the reasons for declining this post which I gave him, by saying that my reputation would suffice to end the war. It was very flattering no doubt, but no man has two lives to live on this earth—the soldier least of all[227].’ Those who had served under the Marshal a few years back, and now saw him after an interval, felt that there was truth in what he said. Foy wrote in his diary, ‘He is no longer the Masséna of the flashing eyes, the mobile face,[p. 209] and the alert figure whom I knew in 1799, and whose head then recalled to me the bust of Marius. He is only fifty-two, but looks more than sixty; he has got thin, he is beginning to stoop; his look, since the accident when he lost his eye by the Emperor’s hand[228], has lost its vivacity. The tone of his voice alone remains unchanged.’ But if the Marshal’s bodily vigour was somewhat abated, his will was as strong as ever. He needed it at this juncture, for he had to command subordinates who were anything but easy to deal with. Ney, though an honest man and an admirable soldier, had the fault of insubordination in the highest degree. He never obeyed any one save the Emperor in the true military fashion. He quarrelled with every colleague that he met—notably with Soult—and had an old and very justifiable personal dislike for Masséna. Even before the latter appeared at the front, he had been heard to use threatening language concerning him. Junot was almost as bad; having held the chief command in the last Portuguese expedition he had a strong, if a mistaken, belief that it was becoming that he should be placed in charge of the second. His record rendered the idea absurd, but this he was the last to understand, being of an overweening and self-confident disposition. He was stupid enough to regard Masséna as his supplanter, and to show sullen resentment. Of the three chiefs of the army corps about to invade Portugal, Reynier was the only one on decent terms with his Commander-in-Chief, but even he was not reckoned his friend[229].

Masséna’s chief of the staff was Fririon, a scientific soldier and a man well liked by his colleagues; but it is said that he was not so much in the Marshal’s confidence as Lieut.-Colonel[p. 210] Pelet, the senior aide de camp of his staff. Complaints are found, in some of the letters and memoirs of the time, that Masséna would talk matters over with Pelet, and issue orders without letting even his chief of the staff know of his change of plan or new inspiration. Pelet’s own indiscreet statements on this point seem to justify the complaints made by others against him[230]. There was friction, therefore, even within the staff itself, and all that the Marshal did, or said, was criticized by some of those who should have been his loyal subordinates, under the notion that it had been inspired by others, who were accorded a more perfect confidence by their common chief. Exact knowledge of the disputes in the état Major is hard to obtain, because, when the campaign was over, every man tried to make out that its failure had been due to the advice given to Masséna by those of whom he was jealous. At the bottom, however, all this controversy is not very important—there is no doubt that the Marshal himself was responsible for all that had happened—he was not the man to be led by the nose or over-persuaded by ambitious or intriguing underlings.

Failure or success is not the sole criterion of merit. Masséna’s campaign was a disastrous business; yet on investigating the disabilities under which he laboured, we shall be inclined in the end to marvel that he did so much, not that he did no more. The fundamental error was the Emperor’s, who gave him too few men for the enterprise with which he was entrusted. Napoleon refused to take the Portuguese troops into considera[p. 211]tion, when he weighed the needs of the expedition. He repeatedly wrote that ‘it was absurd that his armies should be held in check by 25,000 or 30,000 British troops,’ as if nothing else required to be taken into consideration. He did not realize that Wellington had turned the Portuguese regular army into a decent fighting machine, capable of holding back French divisions in line of battle—as was shown at Bussaco. He had not foreseen that the despised militia required to be ‘contained’ by adequate numbers of troops on the line of communications. Still less had he dreamed of the great scheme for the devastation of Portugal, which was to be not the least effective of the weapons of its defender. But of this more will be said in the proper place.


SECTION XIX: CHAPTER IV
THE MONTHS OF WAITING: SIEGE OF ASTORGA (MARCH-MAY 1810)

Masséna, as we have seen, was only appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Portugal on April 17, 1810, and did not appear at Valladolid, to take up his charge, till May. The campaign, however, had begun long before under the Emperor’s own directions. There were preliminary operations to be carried out, which could be finished before either the new General-in-Chief or the main body of the reinforcements from beyond the Pyrenees had arrived. These were the repression of the insurgent bands of Navarre, Biscay, and Old Castile, the firm establishment of the line of communications between Salamanca and Bayonne, and the capture of the outlying Spanish fortresses, Astorga and Ciudad Rodrigo, which served as external defences for the Portuguese frontier. ‘Les besoins en Espagne sont successifs,’ wrote the Emperor early in the winter of 1809-10[231], ‘il faut d’abord un corps qui soumette les derrières. étant en Novembre il serait impossible de réunir tous les moyens avant du commencement de janvier. Et dans cette presqu’?le coupée de montagnes les froids et les neiges de janvier ne permettront de rien faire.’ All that he could do before spring would be to send forward Junot’s corps, and the other earlier reinforcements, to positions from which they should be ready to strike, the moment that the fine weather began. With the coming of the new year, when these corps had reached their destined positions, the imperial orders begin to abound in elaborate directions for the extermination of the guerrillas of the Upper Ebro and the Upper Douro[232], orders which led to much marching and counter-marching of the newly arrived troops, but to little practical effect in the way of repression, for skilled leaders like Mina, the[p. 213] Empecinado, and Julian Sanchez, nearly always slipped between the fingers of their pursuers, and on the few occasions when they were pressed into a corner, simply bade their men disperse and unite again at some distant rendezvous. These operations, however, were wholly subsidiary: the actual advance against Portugal only commences with the orders given to Junot in February to concentrate his corps at Valladolid, to hand over the charge of Salamanca and Old Castile to Kellermann’s dragoons and the divisions of the 6th Corps, and then to subdue the whole of the plain-land of Leon, as far as the foot of the Asturian and Galician mountains, including the towns of Benavente, Leon, and Astorga. Bonnet and his division, now as always based on Santander, were already advancing to invade the Asturias, and to threaten Galicia from the east. Ney with the 6th Corps was ordered to draw near to the frontier of Portugal on the side of Ciudad Rodrigo, ‘to inundate all the approaches to that kingdom with his cavalry, disquiet the English, and prevent them from dreaming of transferring themselves back to the south.’ The news of the near approach of the Emperor himself with 80,000 men was to be spread in every direction[233].

Meanwhile the third great unit which was to form part of the projected Army of Portugal, the 2nd Corps (under the temporary command of General Heudelet[234]), was taking part in a separate and remote series of operations, far to the South. This corps, it will be remembered, had been left on the Tagus about Talavera and Oropesa, to protect the rear of Soult and King Joseph, when they marched in January with the 1st, 4th, and 5th Corps to conquer Andalusia. That exploit having been accomplished, Mortier went, with half of the 5th Corps, to attack Badajoz, and to subdue Estremadura, which Soult imagined to be defenceless, since Albuquerque had marched with the old Estremaduran army to save Cadiz. Mortier advanced unopposed to the walls of Badajoz, which he reached on February 12, but found himself unable to undertake its siege with his small force of 9,000 men, because a new Spanish host[p. 214] had just appeared upon the scene. La Romana, with three of the divisions of the army that had been beaten at Alba de Tormes in November, had marched down the Spanish-Portuguese frontier by the Pass of Perales; and on the same day that Mortier appeared in front of Badajoz, his vanguard arrived at Albuquerque, only twenty miles away. These divisions were 13,000 strong: La Romana could add to this force a few thousands more left behind by Albuquerque. Mortier rightly felt that he dare not commence the regular siege of Badajoz when he had such superior numbers in his front. He therefore asked for reinforcements, both from Soult and from King Joseph. The former could spare nothing from Andalusia at this moment, but the 2nd Corps was ordered to leave the Tagus and place itself in communication with Mortier. Heudelet had other projects on hand at the moment: he had just seized Plasencia on February 10, and was engaged in bickering with Carlos d’Espa?a and Martin Carrera, whom La Romana had left in the Sierra de Gata. But, in obedience to his orders, he called in his detachments, and marched by Deleytosa and Truxillo into the valley of the Guadiana. This movement, from the French point of view, was a hazardous one; by the transference southward of the 2nd Corps, a long gap was left between Ney at Salamanca and Heudelet and Mortier in Estremadura. No troops whatever covered Madrid from the side of the south-west and the valley of the Tagus, and an irruption of the English on this line was one of the dangers which Napoleon most dreaded[235]. He was unaware of Wellington’s deeply-rooted determination to commit himself to no more Spanish campaigns.

Long before Heudelet approached the Guadiana, Mortier had been compelled, partly by want of supplies, partly by the threatening attitude of La Romana, who began cautiously to turn his flanks, to retire from in front of the walls of Badajoz. He gave back as far as Zafra on the road to the south, and six days after marched for Seville, leaving only a rearguard at Santa Ollala, on the extreme border of Estremadura. Soult required his presence, for, on account of a rising in Granada, and a[p. 215] threatening movement by the Spanish army of Murcia, the French reserves in Andalusia had been moved eastward, and its capital was almost stripped of troops. Hence when the 2nd Corps reached Ca?eres on March 8, and appeared in front of Albuquerque on March 14, it found that the 5th Corps had departed, and that it was nearly 100 miles from the nearest friendly post. Heudelet, therefore, having all La Romana’s army in his front, and no orders to execute (since the junction with Mortier had failed), retired to Merida, where Reynier arrived from the north, superseded him, and took command. Here the 2nd Corps remained practically passive for the rest of the spring, keeping open, but with difficulty and at long intervals, the communications between Madrid and Seville, by means of detachments at Truxillo and Almaraz. To a certain extent Reynier kept La Romana’s army in check, but he did not fully discharge even that moderate task, for the Spanish general detached southward two of his divisions, those of Contreras and Ballasteros, to threaten the frontiers of Andalusia and stir up an insurrection in the Condado de Niebla and the other regions west of Seville. Ballasteros surprised the cavalry brigade of Mortier’s corps at Valverde, at midnight on February 19, and scattered it, killing Beauregard, the brigadier. He then advanced to Ronquillo, only twenty miles from Seville, where, on March 25-6, he had an indecisive engagement with one of Gazan’s brigades, after which he retired into the Condado. Mortier, thereupon, came out against him from Seville at the head of a whole division. Unwisely offering battle at Zalamea, on the Rio Tinto, on April 15, Ballasteros was beaten, and retired into the mountains. Thither, after some time, he was pursued by Mortier’s columns, and again defeated at Ara?ena on May 26. But he rallied his broken force in the Sierra de Ara?ena, where he remained for long after, a thorn in the side of the Army of Andalusia, always descending for a raid in the plains of Seville when he was left unwatched. Soult was forced to keep a considerable part of the 5th Corps in observation of him—a detachment that he was loth to spare.

La Romana’s central divisions, meanwhile, those of Charles O’Donnell (brother of the Henry O’Donnell who had distinguished himself at Gerona in the previous autumn), Mendizabal,[p. 216] and Contreras, bickered with the 2nd Corps in the direction of Ca?eres and Torresnovas, without any notable advantage on either side. But as long as Reynier lay at Merida, and Mortier might at any moment come up from Seville to his aid, Wellington felt uneasy as to the possibility of a French advance between Tagus and Guadiana, and, regarding La Romana’s army as an insufficient security on this side, moved Hill with a force of 12,000 men to Portalegre, close to the rear of Badajoz. Hill had with his own British division, now consisting of three brigades[236], another division composed of Portuguese, under General Hamilton[237], the English heavy cavalry brigade of Slade, a weak Portuguese cavalry brigade under Madden[238], and three batteries. He was ordered not to countenance any offensive movements on the part of La Romana, but to support him, and to endeavour to cover Badajoz, if the French should unite the 2nd and 5th Corps, and make a serious move westward. There was no need, as matters turned out, for any such support, for Reynier, though he executed some rather useless feints and counter-marches in April and May, undertook nothing serious. One of his demonstrations drew Hill to Arronches, close to Elvas, on May 14, but it turned out to be meaningless, and the British troops returned to their usual head quarters at Portalegre a few days later. There seems to have been some uncertainty of purpose in all this man?uvring of the French in Estremadura. Reynier was not strong enough to offer to fight La Romana and Hill combined; he might have done so with good prospect of success if Mortier could have been spared from Andalusia; but half the 5th Corps was usually detached far to the south, hunting the insurgents of the Sierra de Ronda, and the other half had to garrison Seville and watch Ballasteros. Hence Reynier, left to himself, did no more for the common cause of the French in Spain than detain Hill’s two divisions in the Alemtejo. That Wellington was thus obliged to divide his army was no doubt[p. 217] a permanent gain to the enemy: yet they obtained it by the very doubtful expedient of leaving nothing on the Tagus; a push in the direction of Plasencia and Almaraz by even a small Spanish force would have been a very tiresome and troublesome matter for King Joseph, who would have been forced either to bring down Ney from Salamanca, or to call Reynier back from the Guadiana, for Madrid was entirely uncovered on the West. But nothing of the sort happened; La Romana kept his main body concentrated in front of Badajoz, and had the full approval of Wellington for doing so.

At the extreme opposite flank of the French front, on the shores of the Bay of Biscay, there was going on at this same time a side-campaign conducted with a much greater degree of vigour, but equally indecisive in the end. The Asturias had been almost stripped of troops by Del Parque, in order to reinforce the army that fought at Tamames and Alba de Tormes. When the Duke moved his main force southward after the last-named fight, he carried off with him the division of Ballasteros, which had been the core of the old Asturian Army. General Antonio Arce was left in the principality with some 4,000 men, whom he kept at Colombres, behind the Deba, under General Llano-Ponte, watching the French force in the province of Santander. New levies, little more than 2,000 strong, were being collected at Oviedo. In the end of January General Bonnet, whose division at Santander had received its drafts, and had been strengthened up to 7,000 men[239], thought himself strong enough to drive in Arce’s weak line and to make a dash at the Asturian capital. On the 25th he attacked the lines of Colombres, and carried them with no difficulty. On the 31st he captured Oviedo, which was evacuated by the Captain-General Arce and the local Junta without serious fighting. But that active partisan Juan Porlier at once cut off his communication with Santander, by seizing Infiesto and Gijon. Bonnet at once evacuated Oviedo, and turned back to clear his rear. Porlier escaped along the coast to Pravia, and meanwhile the main body of the Asturians, under General Barcena, reoccupied the capital. Having driven off Porlier, the French general marched west[p. 218]ward once more, beat Barcena at the bridge of Colleto on February 14, and again made himself master of Oviedo. The Asturians rallied behind the Narcea, where they were joined by a brigade of 2,000 men sent to their aid by Mahy, the Captain-General of Galicia.

That province, like the Asturias, had been left almost ungarrisoned by Del Parque, when he took the old ‘Army of Galicia’ across the Sierra de Gata, and transferred it to Estremadura. Mahy had been left behind with the skeleton of one division, which he was to recruit, as best he could, by new levies. His main preoccupation at this moment was the defence of the newly fortified stronghold of Astorga, which was already threatened by the French troops in the plains of Leon. But seeing his flank menaced by Bonnet’s advance, he lent what men he could spare to aid in the defence of the Asturias.

The Asturian junta, having deposed General Arce for incapacity and corruption, and appointed Cienfuegos to take over his troops, ordered the resumption of offensive operations against Bonnet in March. Porlier, their great partisan-hero, made a circuit along the coast, and threatened the French communications with Santander. At the same time their main force advanced against Oviedo by the valley of the Nalon. Bonnet’s advanced brigade was driven in, after a sharp skirmish at Grado on March 19, and disquieted by Porlier’s simultaneous attack on his rear, he evacuated the Asturian capital for the third time, and gave back as far as Cangas de Onis, in the valley of the Ona. He then called up all the reinforcements that he could obtain from Santander, and marched—for the fourth time in three months!—on Oviedo with his whole division; the Spaniards retired without offering serious opposition, and took up a line behind the Narcea [March 29]. This time Bonnet left them no time to rally, but forced the passage of that river, whereupon the Asturians ascended to Tineo in the mountains, while the Galician succours gave back to Navia, almost on the edge of their own principality [April 25-26]. After this, Bonnet’s offensive force was spent; having to occupy Oviedo and its ports of Gijon and Aviles, as well as all the central and eastern Asturias, and, moreover, to defend his communication with Santander from new attacks of Porlier, his strength[p. 219] sufficed for no more. His 7,000 men were immobilized for the rest of the year: he had conquered two-thirds of the Asturias, and barely succeeded in keeping it down. But he was quite unable to spare a man to aid in French operations in the plains of Leon, or even to make a serious attempt to threaten Galicia. Once or twice he succeeded in communicating with the forces which Junot (and after him Kellermann and Serras) commanded in the plains beyond the Cantabrian range, by expeditions pushed down through the pass of Pajares on to Leon; but the road was always closed again by the guerrillas, and no co-operation could take place. In short, the Spaniards lost the greater part of the Asturias, and the French lost the further services of Bonnet’s division[240]. It had no power to threaten Galicia, because it was forced to keep garrisons in Gijon, Aviles, Lastres, Santona, and all the sea-ports, with a full brigade at Oviedo in the centre, to support them. Any concentration of troops, leading to the evacuation of the smaller garrisons, at once let loose the guerrillas from their mountains. Bonnet had but 7,000 men in all: of these, not more than half could be used[p. 220] for an expedition, and such a force was too small to have any practical effect on the general course of events in north-western Spain.

Bonnet’s operations were, of course, wholly subsidiary; the really important movements that were on foot in the early spring of 1810 were those of Junot and Ney in the plains of Leon. In pursuance of the Emperor’s orders to the effect that the whole plain-land of Leon was to be occupied, as a preliminary to the invasion of Portugal, Loison, who had re-entered Spain at the head of a number of battalions which were ultimately to join the corps of Ney, was ordered to move on from Valladolid and occupy the country about Benavente and Astorga. He was left free to select either of those towns as his head quarters, and was directed to communicate with Bonnet, when the latter should have entered the Asturias, so that their operations should threaten Galicia simultaneously[241]. Loison’s expedition, however, proved a complete failure; he marched towards Astorga early in February with nearly 10,000 men. On the 11th he appeared before that town, and learnt that since Carrié’s reconnaissance in October 1809[242], it had been much strengthened. La Romana had repaired the breaches of its mediaeval walls. He had thrown up entrenchments round the suburb of La Reteibia, which occupies that part of the hill of Astorga, which is not covered by the town itself. He had also established outlying posts in the suburbs of San Andrés and Puerta del Rey, which lie at the foot of the hill, on its northern and eastern sides. Fourteen guns, only two of them 12-pounders, the rest light, had been mounted on the walls. The place, therefore, was a make-shift fortification of the most antiquated style. General Garcia Velasco, who had been left behind in Galicia with one division of the old Northern army when Del Parque marched for Estremadura, was in charge of this portion of the Spanish front, under the superintendence of Mahy, the Captain-General. He had placed half his troops—five battalions, or 2,700 men, in Astorga, while he himself with the remainder lay beyond the mountains, at Villafranca, in the Vierzo, with about the same force. The total of organized troops in Galicia[p. 221] at this moment did not exceed 8,000 men, including the small brigade which Mahy sent to the Asturias, and a detachment under Echevarria at Puebla de Senabria. Astorga had not been expecting a siege at such an early date as February 11; it was only provisioned for twenty days, and the guns had not ammunition to last for even that short space of time. The governor, José Santocildes, was a man of courage and resource, who knew how to put on a bold face to an impossible situation, or instant disaster might have followed.

Loison was disconcerted to find that Astorga, his destined head quarters, was held and garrisoned against him. His engineers reconnoitred its walls, and informed him that it could not be taken without a regular battering-train. He had only field-pieces with him, the weather was abominable, and his troops—all conscript battalions from France—were suffering terribly from the continued rain and cold. Wherefore he contented himself with inviting Santocildes to surrender, promising him promotion at King Joseph’s hands, if he ‘would implore the clemency of a sovereign who treats all Spaniards like a father[243].’ When the governor sent a curt reply, intimating that he and his people intended to do their duty, Loison retired to La Baneza, and reported to his chiefs that he was helpless for want of siege-guns. He announced at the same time that he had attempted to communicate with Bonnet at Oviedo, by sending two battalions to the foot of the pass of Pajares, but that the mountain roads were all blocked with snow, and that this detachment had been forced to fall back into the plains, without obtaining any news of what was afoot in the Asturias[244].

A few days later, the head of Junot’s corps entered the province of Leon, and Loison was directed to move southward and join Ney at Salamanca. His place on the Esla and the Orbigo was taken by Clausel’s division of the 8th Corps. The newly arrived general executed another reconnaissance to the neighbourhood of Astorga, and on February 26 sent Santocildes a second summons, in the name of Junot. It received the same answer that had been given to Loison. It was clear that Astorga[p. 222] must be besieged, and that a battering train must be placed at the disposition of the force charged with the operation. But in the present state of the roads it would take some time to bring heavy guns to the front. Further operations had to be postponed. The 6th Corps, it may be remarked, had executed at the same time that Loison appeared in front of Astorga, a demonstration against Ciudad Rodrigo. King Joseph had written from Andalusia to beg Ney to threaten the place, while the news of the French victories in the south were still fresh, assuring him that the Spaniards were so cowed that a prompt surrender was probable. The Marshal, though doubting the wisdom of these optimistic views, concentrated his corps, advanced to San Felices, and on February 13 summoned Rodrigo. He got from General Herrasti, the governor, an answer as bold and confident as that which Loison received from Santocildes, and returned to Salamanca to disperse his troops in cantonments and ask for a battering-train[245]. His short and ineffective excursion to the banks of the Agueda had taken him in sight of the British outposts on the Spanish frontier, and had induced Wellington for a moment to think that the invasion of Portugal was at hand. It was impossible that he should have guessed that Ney’s advance had no better cause than King Joseph’s foolish confidence. Hence the withdrawal of the 6th Corps, after the vain summons of Ciudad Rodrigo, was as inexplicable as its advance. ‘I do not understand Ney’s movement,’ he wrote to his trusted subordinate, Robert Craufurd, ‘coupled as it is with the movement upon Badajoz from the south of Spain. The French are not strong enough for the two sieges at the same time, and I much doubt whether they are in a state to undertake one of them[246].’ The prompt retirement of Ney from before Ciudad Rodrigo, and of Mortier from before Badajoz, completely justified his conclusions within a day or two of the writing of his letter.

There was nothing for the French in the kingdom of Leon to do, save to await the arrival of the great battering-train which[p. 223] Napoleon had bestowed upon his Army of Portugal. It was far to the rear: on February 20 its head was only beginning to approach Burgos, and its tail had not quitted Bayonne. The reason of this tardiness was the want of draught animals at the southern dép?ts of France. The equipment of the train and the artillery of the 8th Corps, and the other great reinforcements which had just passed the Pyrenees, had exhausted the available supplies of horses[247], and when the authorities at Bayonne had to place the ‘grand park’ on a war footing there was intolerable delay. Even when detachments of the park had started, they made slow progress in Spain, for the French horses died off rapidly in the bitter weather of the plateau of Old Castile, and it was almost impossible to replace them by requisition from the country-side. Junot, bold to the verge of rashness, and feverishly anxious to remake the reputation that he had lost at Vimiero, could not endure the delay. He sent to requisition Spanish guns from the governors of Burgos and Segovia, dispatched his own teams to draw them, and when he heard that a small train was procurable, ordered the 8th Corps towards Astorga on March 15, leaving the cannon to follow. The month’s delay in the investment had enabled Santocildes to fill up the supply of food and ammunition which had been so low in February; he had now got his fortress in as good state as was possible, considering the intrinsic weakness of its mediaeval walls, and had induced 3,000 of the 4,000 inhabitants to retire to Galicia.

On March 21 Clausel’s division invested Astorga, while Solignac’s came up to Leon and Benavente in support, and St. Croix’s division of dragoons took post in advance of La Baneza, to observe the Spanish forces in southern Galicia and the Portuguese of the Tras-os-Montes. Till the guns should arrive, there was nothing to be done save to choose the point of attack, prepare fascines and gabions, and open the first parallel, out of harm’s way from the small artillery of the garrison—none of it heavier than a 12-pounder. Valazé, Junot’s chief engineer, opined that the low-lying suburbs at the foot of the hill of Astorga might be neglected, and the newly entrenched[p. 224] Reteibia on the high ground masked by a false attack, while the projecting and unflanked north-west corner of the old walls of the city itself might be battered from the slopes below: here, as in all its circuit, the place had neither ditch nor glacis: there was simply the stout mediaeval wall, broken every 30 yards by a small square tower, which followed the sky-line of the plateau.

The first three weeks of the siege had an unusual character, since the French could build what works they pleased, but could not seriously batter Astorga with the sixteen field-guns of small calibre belonging to the division lying before the walls. The officer in temporary command of the artillery, Colonel No?l, contented himself with opening fire from various false attacks, from which the guns were repeatedly moved, in order to distract the attention of the enemy from the chosen front on the north-west, where the approaches were completed, and a great battery constructed, ready for the siege-guns when they should arrive. Meanwhile there was a good deal of infantry skirmishing in and about the lower suburbs, in whose outskirts the French ultimately established themselves, though they had no intention of pushing up to the walls either from Puerta del Rey or from San Andrés[248]. The garrison defended itself well, executed several vigorous sorties, and lost no post of importance, though the line of resistance in the suburbs was gradually thrust back. Santocildes received several encouraging messages from his chief Mahy, who announced that he was bringing up to the pass of Foncebadon, on the edge of the plain of Astorga, every man that Galicia could furnish. But even when the Captain-General had brought his reserves from Lugo to join Garcia’s division, they had only 5,000 bayonets. To hold them off, Junot sent Clausel’s division to the outposts, and replaced it in the trenches by Solignac’s and one brigade of Lagrange’s. Mahy, in face of such an accumulation of men, was absolutely helpless. Echevarria, with his weak brigade from Puebla de Senabria, had pushed a little forward, to give moral support to Mahy. He was surprised and routed near Alcanizas on April 10, by St. Croix’s dragoons.
Map of the siege of Astorga

Enlarge  SIEGE OF ASTORGA

On the 15th the siege-train arrived from Valladolid; it was[p. 225] small[249], but sufficient against an enemy so miserably provided with guns as Santocildes. Junot himself came up on the 17th to watch the effect of the attack. It was instant and overpowering. When once the artillery had been placed in the works prepared for it, and had begun its fire, the old walls of Astorga began to crumble. The light Spanish pieces on the enceinte were overpowered, despite of the gallant way in which the gunners stuck to their work[250]. By noon on the 21st of April the north-western angle of the walls of Astorga had been beaten down, and the fallen stones, there being no ditch, had accumulated at the foot of the broad breach, so as to give an easy entrance. Fortunately for the defence, there was a large church just inside the angle: its roof and tower had been shot down, but the garrison had made themselves strong in the lower parts of the building, and threw up traverses from it to the wall on each side of the breach. This gave them a second line of defence, though but a weak one, and when Junot sent in a summons in the afternoon Santocildes refused his offer. At seven the French general bade 700 men storm the breach; the forlorn hope was composed of the voltigeur and grenadier companies of the Irish Legion and the 47th of the Line. The column penetrated to the foot of the breach without much difficulty, though exposed to heavy musketry from the walls, and a flanking fire from the suburb of the Reteibia. The breach was carried, and, in addition, a house built with its back to the ramparts just inside the enceinte. But the assailants could get no further, owing to the murderous fire which the Spaniards kept up from behind the ruined church and the traverses. After an hour of desperate attempts to break in, they took shelter, some in the house that they had captured, but the majority behind the lip of the breach, where they covered themselves as best they could, by piles of débris built in with their haversacks, and even with the corpses of the fallen. Under[p. 226] this poor shelter they lay till dark, suffering heavily. During the night the troops in the trenches ran out a line of gabions from the front works to the foot of the walls, and by dawn had opened a good communication with the men at the breach, though they had to work under a furious but blind fire from above.

At dawn on April 22, Santocildes surrendered. He might have held out some hours longer behind his inner defences, if he had not exhausted nearly all his musket ammunition in resisting the storm. There were less than thirty cartridges a head left for the infantry of the garrison, and only 500 pounds of powder for the artillery. The defence had been admirable, and, it may be added, very scientific, a fact proved by the low figures of the dead and wounded, which did not amount to 200 men[251]. The French, in the assault alone, lost five officers and 107 men killed, and eight officers and 286 men wounded[252]. Junot was thought to have been precipitate in ordering the storm: his excuse was that there were less than two hours of daylight left, and that, if he had deferred the attack till next morning, the Spaniards would have retrenched the breach under cover of the dark, and made it impracticable. The siege cost the 8th Corps in all 160 killed and some 400 wounded, a heavy butcher’s bill for the capture of a mediaeval fortress armed with only fourteen light guns. Two thousand five hundred prisoners were taken, as shown by Santocildes’ lists, but Junot claimed to have ‘captured 3,500 fine troops, all with good English muskets, and well clothed in English great coats,’ as well as 500 sick and wounded—impossible figures.

On the morning of the surrender Mahy made a feeble demonstration against the covering troops, on both the passes of Manzanal and Foncebadon, while Echevarria beat up the force at Penilla which lay facing him. All three attacks were checked with ease, the Galician army not being able to put more than 6,000 men in the field on the three fronts taken together. Its loss was heavy, especially at Penilla.

[p. 227]

After detaching the 22nd Regiment, which was ordered to endeavour to communicate with Bonnet in the Asturias, and garrisoning Astorga with two battalions, Junot drew back the greater part of his corps to Valladolid and Toro. He had been ordered to place himself near Ney, in order to aid and cover the 6th Corps in the oncoming siege of Ciudad Rodrigo. At the same time he received the unwelcome news that Masséna had been named Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Portugal, and that the 8th Corps was placed under his orders.

Masséna, as has been already mentioned, did not arrive at Salamanca till May 28th: he could not well have reached the front earlier, since the Emperor had only placed him in command in April. The long delay in the opening of the main campaign must, therefore, be laid to Napoleon’s account rather than to that of his generals. If he had suspected that every day of waiting meant that Wellington had added an extra redoubt to the ever-growing lines of Torres Vedras, it is permissible to believe that he would have hurried forward matters at a less leisurely pace. But his determination to conduct the invasion of Portugal in what he called ‘a methodical fashion’ is sufficiently shown by the orders sent to Salamanca on May 29. ‘Tell the Prince of Essling that, according to our English intelligence, the army of General Wellington is composed of no more than 24,000 British and Germans, and that his Portuguese are only 25,000 strong. I do not wish to enter Lisbon at this moment, because I could not feed the city, whose immense population is accustomed to live on sea-borne food. He can spend the summer months in taking Ciudad Rodrigo, and then Almeida. He need not hurry, but can go methodically to work. The English general, having less than 3,000 cavalry, may offer battle on ground where cavalry cannot act, but will never come out to fight in the plains[253].’

The Emperor then proceeds to add that with the 50,000 men of the 6th and 8th Corps, the cavalry reserve, &c., Masséna is strong enough to take both Rodrigo and Almeida at his ease: Reynier and the 2nd Corps can be called up to the bridge of Alcantara, from whence they can menace Central Portugal and cover Madrid. No order is given to bring up this corps[p. 228] to join the main army: it seems that the Emperor at this moment had in his head the plan, with which Wellington always credited him, of threatening a secondary attack in the Tagus valley. The 2nd Corps is treated as covering Masséna’s left, while on his right he will be flanked by Kellermann, who is to add to the small force already under his command in Old Castile a whole new division, that of Serras, composed of troops just arrived from France[254]. This, added to Kellermann’s dragoons, would make a corps of 12,000 men. In addition, as the Emperor remarks, by the time that the Army of Portugal is ready to march on Lisbon, it will have in its rear the 9th Corps under Drouet, nearly 20,000 men, who will be concentrated at Valladolid before the autumn has begun. There will be over 30,000 men in Leon and Old Castile when Masséna’s army moves on from Almeida, and in the rear of these again Burgos, Navarre, and Biscay will be held by the Young Guard, and by twenty-six 4th battalions from France, which were due to start after the 9th Corps, and would have made their appearance south of the Pyrenees by August or September.

This document is a very curious product of the imperial pen. It would be hard to find in the rest of the Correspondance a dispatch which so completely abandons the ‘Napoleonic methods’ of quick concentration and sharp strokes, and orders a delay of three months or more in the completion of a campaign whose preliminary operations had begun so far back as February. We may reject at once the explanation offered by some of Napoleon’s enemies, to the effect that he was jealous of Masséna, and did not wish him to achieve too rapid or too brilliant a success. But it is clear that a humanitarian regard for the possible sufferings of the inhabitants of Lisbon—the only reason alleged for the delay—is an inadequate motive. Such things did not normally affect the Emperor, and he must have remembered that when Junot occupied Portugal at the mid-winter of 1807-8[p. 229] famine had not played its part in the difficulties encountered by the French. Nor does it seem that an exaggerated estimate of the enemy’s strength induced him to postpone the attack till all the reinforcements had arrived. He under-estimates Wellington’s British troops by some 5,000, his Portuguese troops by at least 15,000 men. He is utterly ignorant of the works of Torres Vedras, though six months’ labour has already been lavished on them, and by this time they were already defensible. Three months seem an altogether exaggerated time to devote to the sieges of the two little old-fashioned second-rate fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida. From whence, then, comes this unprecedented resolve to adopt a ‘methodical’ system in dealing with the invasion of Portugal? It has been suggested that the Emperor was very desirous to make sure of the absolute suppression of the guerrilleros of the Pyrenees and the Ebro, before pushing forward his field army to Lisbon. Possibly he was influenced by his knowledge of the infinite difficulty that Masséna would find in equipping himself with a train, and more especially in creating magazines during the months before the harvest had been gathered in. Some have thought that, looking far forward, he considered it would be more disastrous to the English army to be ‘driven into the sea’ somewhere in the rough months of October and November rather than in the fine weather of June—and undoubtedly no one who reads his dispatches can doubt that the desire to deal an absolutely crushing blow to that army was his dominating idea throughout. But probably the main determining factor in Napoleon’s mind was the resolve that there should be no failure this time, for want of preparation or want of sufficient strength; that no risks should be taken, and that what he regarded as an overwhelming force should be launched upon Portugal. After Junot’s disaster of 1808 and Soult’s fiasco in 1809, the Imperial prestige could not stand a third failure. The old pledge that ‘the leopard should be driven into the sea’ must be redeemed at all costs on this occasion. Solid success rather than a brilliant campaign must be the end kept in view: hence came the elaborate preparations for the sustaining of Masséna’s advance by the support of Drouet, Kellermann, and Serras. Even Suchet’s operations in Eastern Spain were to be conducted with some[p. 230] regard to the affairs of Portugal[255]. It was a broad and a formidable plan—but it failed in one all-important factor. Wellington’s strength was underrated; it was no mere driving of 25,000 British troops into the sea that was now in question, but the reduction of a kingdom where every man had been placed under arms, and every preparation made for passive as well as for active resistance. When Napoleon was once more foiled, it was because he had treated the Portuguese army—a ‘tas de coquins’ as he called them—as a negligible quantity, and because he had foreseen neither that systematic devastation of the land, nor the creation of those vast lines in front of Lisbon, which were such essential features of Wellington’s scheme of defence. The French attack was delivered by 65,000 men, not by the 100,000 whose advent the British general had feared: and precisely because the numbers of the Army of Portugal were no greater, the attack was made on the Beira frontier only. Masséna had no men to spare for the secondary invasion south of the Tagus which Wellington had expected and dreaded. The Emperor’s plans went to wreck because he had under-estimated his enemy, and assigned too small a force to his lieutenant. But it was no ordinary general who had so prepared his defence that Napoleon’s calculations went all astray. The genius of Wellington was the true cause of the disastrous end of the long-prepared invasion.

SECTION XIX: CHAPTER V
THE MONTHS OF WAITING: THE SIEGE OF CIUDAD RODRIGO (MAY-JULY 1810)

The long months of delay that followed the first operations of the French in 1810 were a time of anxious waiting for Wellington. He had moved his head quarters to Vizeu on the 12th of January, and had been lying in that bleak and lofty town all through the rest of the winter. With him there had come to the North all the old British divisions save the 2nd, which had been left with Hill, first at Abrantes and then at Portalegre, to watch the French between the Tagus and the Guadiana. The 1st Division was placed at Vizeu, the 3rd at Trancoso and the neighbouring villages, the 4th at Guarda, while the cavalry wintered in the coast plain between Coimbra and Aveiro. Only the Light Brigade of Robert Craufurd, which takes the new style of the Light Division on March 1, was pushed forward to the Spanish frontier, and lay in the villages about Almeida[256], with its outposts pushed forward to the line of the Agueda. The Portuguese regular brigades, which were afterwards incorporated in the British divisions, were still lying in winter quarters around Coimbra and Thomar, drilling hard and incorporating their recruits. The militia were also under arms at their regimental head quarters, save the few battalions which had already been thrown into Elvas, Almeida, Peniche, and Abrantes.

Wellington’s front, facing the French, was formed by Hill’s corps in the Alemtejo, Lecor’s Portuguese brigade in the Castello Branco district, and Craufurd’s force on the Agueda. Neither Hill nor Lecor was in actual contact with the enemy, and La Romana’s army, spread out from the Pass of Perales to[p. 232] Zafra and Ara?ena in a thin line, lay between them and Reynier’s and Mortier’s outposts. It was otherwise with Craufurd, who was placed north of La Romana’s left division, that of Martin Carrera; he was in close touch with Ney’s corps all along the line of the Agueda, as far as the Douro. Since the outposts of the 6th Corps had been pushed forward on March 9th, the Commander of the Light Division was in a most responsible, not to say a dangerous, position. The main army was forty miles to his rear in its cantonments at Vizeu, Guarda, and Trancoso. He had with him of British infantry only the first battalions of the 43rd, 52nd, and 95th, with one battery, and one regiment of cavalry, the 1st Hussars of the King’s German Legion. His orders were to keep open the communication with Ciudad Rodrigo till the last possible moment, to cover Almeida as long as was prudent, and to keep the Commander-in-Chief advised of every movement of the enemy. It was clear that he might be thrust back at any moment: the 6th Corps, since Loison had joined it, was 30,000 strong: the Light Division had only 2,500 infantry with the 500 German light horse. On March 28th Wellington sent up to reinforce Craufurd two battalions of Ca?adores, the 1st and 2nd. The latter of these units was afterwards changed for the 3rd[257], which, trained by Elder, the best of all the colonels lent to the Portuguese army, was reckoned the most efficient corps that could be selected from Beresford’s command. But the two Ca?ador battalions only added 1,000 bayonets to the Light Division, and even after their arrival Craufurd’s force was less than 4,000 strong.

Robert Craufurd, though only a brigadier, and junior of his rank, had been chosen by Wellington to take charge of his outpost line because he was one of the very few officers then in the Peninsula in whose ability his Commander-in-Chief had perfect confidence. Nothing is more striking than to compare the tone and character of the letters which Wellington wrote to him with those which he dispatched to most of his other[p. 233] general officers. Only with Craufurd, Hill, and Beresford, did he ever condescend to enter into explanations and state reasons. The rest receive orders without comment, which they are directed to carry out, and are given no opportunity to discuss[258]. The difference was noted and resented by the others: when on March 8th Craufurd was formally given charge of the whole outpost line of the army, and his seniors Picton and Cole were told to conform their movements to his, without waiting for orders from head quarters, some friction was engendered[259]. Picton and Craufurd, in especial, were for the rest of the campaign in a state of latent hostility, which more than once led to high words when they met—a fact which was not without its dangers to the welfare of the army[260].

The celebrated commander of the Light Division was at this time well known for his ability, but reckoned rather an unlucky soldier. He had entered the army so far back as 1779, and had seen service in every quarter of the globe, yet in 1809 was only a colonel. This was the more astounding since he was one of the few scientific soldiers in the British army when the Revolutionary War broke out. He had spent some time at Berlin in 1782, studying the tactics of the army of Frederick[p. 234] the Great, and had translated into English the official Prussian treatise on the Art of War. His knowledge of German, a rare accomplishment in the British army at the end of the eighteenth century, caused him to be given the post of military attaché at Coburg’s head quarters in 1794, and he followed the Austrian army through all the disasters of that and the two following years. Again in 1799 he went out to take the same post at the head quarters of the army of Switzerland, but quitted it to serve on the staff of the Duke of York, during the miserable Dutch expedition of that same year. He seemed destined to witness nothing but disasters, and though he was known to have done his duty with admirable zeal and energy in every post that he occupied, promotion lingered. Probably his caustic tongue and fiery temper were his hindrances, but it seems astonishing that he took twenty-six years to attain the rank of colonel, though he was not destitute of political influence, having friends and relatives in Parliament, and even in the Ministry[261]. In 1801 he was a disappointed man, thought of retiring from the army, and, having accepted a nomination borough, sat in the Commons for five years. In 1805 he was at last made a colonel, and in the following year went on active service with the expedition which, sent originally to the Cape, was distracted in 1807 to the unhappy Buenos Ayres campaign. This was the zenith of his misfortunes; it was he who, placed in charge of a light brigade by the incapable Whitelocke, was thrust forward into the midst of the tangled streets of Buenos Ayres, surrounded in the convent of San Domingo, and forced to capitulate for lack of support. At the ensuing court-martial he was acquitted of all blame, but the fact that he had surrendered a British brigade rankled in his mind for the rest of his life. The unshaken confidence in his abilities felt by the Home authorities was marked by the fact that he was sent out in October 1808 with Baird’s corps, which landed at Corunna, and again in June 1809 to Lisbon, each time in command of a brigade. But his bad luck seemed still to attend him: he missed the victory of Corunna because Moore[p. 235] had detached his brigade on the inexplicable march to Vigo. He failed to be present at Talavera, despite of the famous forced march which he made towards the sound of the cannon.

In 1810 Craufurd was burning to vindicate his reputation, and to show that the confidence which Wellington placed in him was not undeserved. He still regarded himself as a man who had been unjustly dealt with, and had never been given his chance. He could not forget that he was four years older than Beresford, five years older than Wellington, eight years older than Hill, yet was but a junior brigadier-general in charge of a division[262]. He was full of a consuming energy, on the look-out for slights and quarrels, a very strict disciplinarian, restless himself and leaving his troops no rest. He was not liked by all his officers: in the Light Division he had many admirers[263] and many bitter critics. Nor was he at first popular with the rank and file, though they soon began to recognize the keen intelligence that guided his actions, and to see that he was a just if a hard master[264]. In the matter of feeding his troops, the most difficult task imposed on a general of the Peninsular army, he had an unparalleled reputation for accomplishing the impossible—even if the most drastic methods had to be employed. The famous old story about Wellington and the commissary had Craufurd (and not, as it is sometimes told, Picton) as[p. 236] its hero. As a sample of his high-handed ways, it may be mentioned that he once seized and impounded some church-plate till the villages to which it belonged found him some corn for his starving division. Craufurd, on one of his happy days, and they were many, was the most brilliant subordinate that Wellington ever owned. His mistakes—and he committed more than one—were the faults of an ardent and ambitious spirit taking an immoderate risk in the hour of excitement.

From March to July 1810 Craufurd, in charge of the whole outpost system of Wellington’s army, accomplished the extraordinary feat of guarding a front of forty miles against an active enemy of sixfold force, without suffering his line to be pierced, or allowing the French to gain any information whatever of the dispositions of the host in his rear. He was in constant and daily touch with Ney’s corps, yet was never surprised, and never thrust back save by absolutely overwhelming strength; he never lost a detachment, never failed to detect every move of the enemy, and never sent his commander false intelligence. This was the result of system and science, not merely of vigilance and activity. The journal of his aide de camp Shaw-Kennedy, giving the daily work of the Light Division during the critical months of 1810, might serve as an illustrative manual of outpost duty, and was indeed printed for that purpose in 1851[265].

Craufurd’s one cavalry regiment, the German Hussars, had to cover a front of nearly forty miles, and performed the duty admirably; it had been chosen for the service because it was considered by Wellington superior in scouting power to any of his British light cavalry corps. ‘General Craufurd worked out the most difficult part of the outpost duty with them. He had the great advantage of speaking German fluently, and he arranged for the outpost duties of the different parts of the long line that he had to guard by his personal communications with the captains of that admirable corps, men who were themselves masters of the subject. They each knew his plan for the space that they covered, though not his general plan, and each worked out his part most admirably. The General communicated with them direct. He had the great advantage[p. 237] of possessing, with his great abilities and energy, uncommon bodily strength, so that he could remain on horseback almost any length of time.... When his operations began, the point to be observed was the line of the Agueda, extending for some forty miles. The country, although very irregular in its surface, was quite open and unenclosed, and fit almost everywhere for the action of all three arms. When he took up the line he kept his infantry back entirely, with the exception of four companies of the Rifles above the bridge of Barba del Puerco, upon the calculation of the time that would be required to retire the infantry behind the Coa, after he received information from the cavalry of the enemy’s advance. If we are properly to understand Craufurd’s operations, the calculation must never be lost sight of, for it was on calculations that he acted all along. The hazarding of the four companies at Barba del Puerco forms a separate consideration: it rested on the belief that the pass there was so difficult, that four companies could defend it against any numbers, and that, if they were turned higher up the river, the Hussars would give the Rifles warning in ample time for a safe retreat.... Special reports were made of the state of the fords of the Agueda every morning, and the rapidity of its rises was particularly marked. An officer had special charge of all deserters from the enemy, to examine them and bring together their information[266]. Beacons were prepared on conspicuous heights, so as to communicate information as to the enemy’s offensive movements. To ensure against mistakes in the night, pointers were kept at the stations of communication, directed to the beacons.... As Napier has remarked in his History, seven minutes sufficed for the division to get under arms in the middle of the night, and a quarter of an hour, night or day, to bring it in order of battle to its alarm-posts, with the baggage loaded and assembled at a convenient distance to the rear. And this not upon a concerted signal, nor as a trial, but at all times and certain[267].’

[p. 238]

To complete the picture it remains to be added that there were some fifteen fords between Ciudad Rodrigo and the mouth of the Agueda, which were practicable in dry weather for all arms, and that several of them could be used even after a day or two of rain. The French were along the whole river; they had 3,000 horse available in March and April, 5,000 in May and June. Their infantry at some points were only three or four miles back from the river: yet Craufurd’s line was never broken, nor was even a picket of ten men cut off or surrounded. The least movement of the enemy was reported along the whole front in an incredibly short time, the whole web of communication quivered at the slightest touch, and the division was immediately ready to fight or to draw back, according as the strength of the French dictated boldness or caution.

During February Wellington had rightly concluded that Craufurd had nothing to fear; Ney’s early demonstration against Ciudad Rodrigo had no more serious significance than Mortier’s similar appearance in front of Badajoz. But when March arrived, and the 8th Corps appeared in the plains of Leon and commenced the siege of Astorga, while Ney began to move up his cavalry to the line of the Yeltes, and Loison’s division, coming from Astorga, established itself on the lower Agueda, it seemed likely that serious work would soon begin. The first test of the efficiency of Craufurd’s outpost system was made on the night of March 19-20, when Ferey, commanding the brigade of Loison’s division which lay at San Felices, assembled his six voltigeur companies before dawn, and made a dash at the pass of Barba del Puerco. He had the good luck to bayonet the sentries at the bridge before they could fire, and was half way up the rough ascent from the bridge to the village, when Beckwith’s detachment of the 95th Rifles, roused and armed in ten minutes, were upon him. They drove him down the defile, and chased him back across the river with the loss of two officers and forty-five men killed and wounded. Beckwith’s riflemen lost one officer and three men killed, and ten men wounded in the three companies engaged. After this alarm Craufurd was in anxious expectation of a general advance of the 6th Corps, and made every preparation to receive them. But Ferey’s reconnaissance had no sequel, and a whole month passed by[p. 239] without any serious move on the part of the enemy. The Agueda was in flood for the greater part of April, owing to incessant rains, which made the outpost work simple, as the number of points to be observed went down from fifteen to three or four. It was not till the twenty-sixth that Maucune’s and Ferey’s brigades moved up close to Ciudad Rodrigo, drove in the Spanish outposts, and formed the blockade of the place on the east side of the Agueda. Even then its bridge remained unmolested, and Craufurd could communicate quite freely with the garrison, and did so till June 2nd. Masséna at a later date blamed Ney for having established this partial and useless blockade before he was ready to commence the siege in earnest. The two French brigades consumed, during the month of May, the whole of the local resources of the district around Rodrigo, so that, when the rest of the army came up, all supplies had to be brought up from a great distance. It may also be remarked that to advance a corps of no more than 7,000 men within striking distance of the British army would have been very hazardous, if Wellington had been entertaining any designs of taking the offensive—and Ney at this time could not have been sure that such a contingency was unlikely. The only advantage which the Marshal got from keeping his detachment so close to the fortress was that, in their month of waiting, the brigades were able to prepare a great store of gabions and fascines, and the engineers to make a thorough survey of the environs.

Ciudad Rodrigo stands on a single circular knoll of no great height, whose summit it exactly covers. It is a small place of some 8,000 souls, packed tight in narrow streets within a stout mediaeval wall thickly set with towers. A fourteenth-century castle, on which the houses press in too close for strength, fills its south-eastern corner: there is no other inner place of refuge. The Agueda, divided into several channels, runs under the southern side of the place; it is crossed by a bridge completely commanded by the fire of the walls. On the water-front the knoll is at its highest, on the opposite face it is much less steep, and only very slightly exceeds the level of the surrounding ground. Round the circuit of the mediaeval wall a low modern enceinte had been constructed, and served as an outer protection (fausse-braye); it was only twelve feet high, so did not shield[p. 240] more than a third of the inner wall, which could be battered over its summit. Its outline was zigzagged in the form of redans, and it was furnished with a dry ditch. Its glacis, owing to the rising of the knoll, gave it little protection, so that both the older and the modern wall could be searched, for the greater part of their height, by the artillery of a besieger. Outside the eastern gate of Rodrigo lies the straggling suburb of San Francisco, on very low ground. It was so large and so close to the walls that the governor Herrasti considered it absolutely necessary to take it inside the circuit of his defences. It had accordingly been surrounded by a strong earthwork, and the three great monasteries which it contains—San Francisco, San Domingo, and Santa Clara—had been strengthened and loopholed. The small suburb of La Marina, just across the bridge, was retrenched and manned, as was also the convent of Santa Cruz, which stands isolated 200 yards outside the north-west angle of the town. Other outlying buildings had been levelled to the ground, lest they should afford cover to the enemy.
Map of the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo

Enlarge  SIEGE OF CIUDAD RODRIGO

These preparations were very wise and helpful, but they did not do away with the main weakness of Ciudad Rodrigo considered as a modern fortress. Like many other mediaeval strongholds it is commanded by outlying heights, which could be disregarded as an element of danger in the fourteenth or the sixteenth century, because of their distance, but became all-important with the improvement of artillery. In this case two knolls, considerably higher than that on which the place stands, lie outside its northern walls. The smaller, named the Little Teson, lies only 200 yards from the northern angle of the town; it is some fifty feet higher than the base of the ramparts. Immediately behind it rises the Great Teson, which dominates the whole country-side, its broad flat top, three-quarters of a mile in diameter, being a hundred feet above the level of the plain. It was hopeless to think of holding the little Teson as an outwork, since the greater one looks down into it and searches it from end to end. The Great Teson, on the other hand, is so large—its circuit is about the same as the city itself—that it would be impossible to think of defending it, as when entrenched it would require a garrison of at least 3,000 men, and Herrasti[p. 241] had but 5,500 troops under his command. Its slopes, moreover, are gentle, and do not lend themselves to fortification. The southern edge of the plateau of the Great Teson being only 500 yards from the town wall, it was obvious that here was the place from which Rodrigo could best be assailed. Batteries on its sky-line could breach both the inner and outer walls, and could command every square foot both of the town and of the fortified suburbs. Accordingly the brigades which lay before the place in May had encamped on and behind the Teson, and stored the gabions, fascines, and sandbags which they were making in a park, near the convent of La Caridad and the village of Pedro de Toro, on its further side.

Herrasti, as we have said, had a garrison of 5,500 men, composed of one line battalion, two militia battalions, three battalions of new levies from the town and its vicinity, called ‘Voluntarios de Ciudad Rodrigo,’ and one battalion of ‘Urban Guards[268].’ None of these troops, save the line battalion of Majorca (which had formed part of the old Army of Estremadura) had ever been under fire—a fact which makes their fine defence all the more creditable. There were only 11 officers and 37 men of the artillery of the line in the place: these had to train 350 men assigned to them from the infantry; but fortunately the long delay in the opening of the siege had allowed the instruction to be thoroughly carried out. Of engineers there were only 4 officers and 60 sappers—of cavalry none—but the partisan chief Julian Sanchez with some 200 of his Lancers chanced to be in the place on the day when it was completely invested, and was forced to cut his way out when the bombardment began. Perhaps the main strength of Ciudad Rodrigo, as of Gerona, lay in the personality of its governor. General Andrés Herrasti, a veteran of nearly seventy years, was determined to do his duty, and showed as much ingenuity and readiness as obstinacy in his defence.

Though the French had appeared before the walls of Ciudad[p. 242] Rodrigo on April 26th, it was not till May 30th that Ney came up in person, with four brigades of infantry and Montbrun’s division of reserve cavalry, to complete the investment. The main cause of the delay was, as usual, the lack of supplies. Ney had to levy and forward from Salamanca two months’ rations for an army of 30,000 men, and could only do so after long and harassing preparation. He nearly came to actual blows with King Joseph over the matter, for he sent a cavalry brigade to raise requisitions in the province of Avila, which was outside his command, and General Hugo, the King’s governor, put his troops under arms and refused to allow the dragoons to enter his district. An imperial rescript, however, soon arrived, which placed Avila at the disposition of the 6th Corps, and the royal authorities had to yield[269].

All Ney’s troops were now concentrated for the siege, his outlying detachments in every direction having been relieved by Junot, who, at Masséna’s orders, brought down the 8th Corps from the Douro, placed a brigade to watch the Pass of Ba?os, left garrisons in Zamora and Toro, and advanced with the remainder of his troops to the line of the Agueda. Clausel’s division and St. Croix’s division of dragoons took post at San Felices, in immediate touch with Craufurd’s division. Solignac’s division lay a march and a half to the rear at Ledesma. San Felices is only 20, Ledesma is 40 miles from Ciudad Rodrigo, so that the 8th Corps, deducting the outlying brigades, could have joined Ney in two days. These distances were the governing factor in Wellington’s policy during the next month. Ney had 26,000 men of the 6th Corps and Montbrun’s 4,000 dragoons in front of Rodrigo; Junot could join him with 8,000 infantry and 1,800 cavalry in a day; a second day would bring up Solignac with 7,000 men more. Unless the 6th Corps could be surprised in its camps, and forced to fight before it received its reinforcements, there would be 47,000 French to face. Of their numbers Wellington was roughly aware; the figures sent in to him by Craufurd were accurate to within a few thousands[270], and estimated the enemy at 40,000 men. The Commander-in-Chief’s own calculation was even nearer the truth; early in May he reckoned[p. 243] Ney, with Loison’s division included, at 30,000 men, Junot and Kellermann at 30,000[271]. Early in June he made out that the two corps in his front, without Kellermann, amounted to 50,000 men[272], which was only 3,000 over the true total. He himself had at this moment only 18,000 British troops under his hand, and within striking distance. He had on April 27th, brought up his head quarters and the 1st Division to Celorico, and moved forward Picton and the 3rd Division to Pinhel, while Cole with the 4th remained at Guarda, and the Light Division was, as usual, facing the Agueda. The cavalry had also come up from the Mondego valley, and lay behind Almeida. Moreover, the five Portuguese brigades of Harvey, Collins, Pack, Coleman, and Alex. Campbell were ordered up to the front[273], and joined the army in the first days of May. Wellington thereupon incorporated Harvey’s brigade with the 3rd Division and Collins’s with the 4th, a system which he afterwards carried out with nearly all the Portuguese units. The whole of this mass of troops came to some 15,000 men[274].[p. 244] These, with the British, making a total of 32,000 men, were all that Wellington could count upon, for he could not dare to move Hill’s 12,000 men from the south, where they were observing Reynier, nor to displace the small reserve, which lay at Abrantes and Thomar to guard against a possible French move along the Tagus by Castello Branco. Lisbon could not be left unprotected on this side, so long as Reynier lay between the Tagus and the Guadiana.

By bringing up every man Wellington could have attacked Ney’s 30,000 in front of Rodrigo with 33,000, of whom nearly half would have consisted of the newly organised Portuguese brigades, of which hardly a battalion had been under fire. He would have had under 3,000 cavalry to face 5,000, and a marked inferiority in artillery also. No practical assistance could have been got by inviting the co-operation of Martin Carrera’s depleted Spanish division of 3,000 men, which lay on the hills about the sources of the Agueda, watching Ney’s flank. If the first stroke should fail, and Ney were not surprised, Wellington would have Junot’s 17,000 men to count with within forty-eight hours. Ciudad Rodrigo lies on a plain, a full day’s march from the hills, and by advancing to relieve it the British army must commit itself to an action in the open. It is no wonder then that Wellington refused to attempt the movement; weak in cavalry and with 15,000 troops of uncertain value in his ranks, he would have been mad to embark upon such an operation. It was most improbable that Ney could have been surprised, and forced to fight without Junot’s aid, when he had 5,000 horsemen at hand, to discover and report the first movement of the Anglo-Portuguese. Napoleon had been right when he told Masséna that it was practically impossible that Wellington would offer battle in the plains. Herrasti had been sent assurances that the British army would do anything that was feasible for his relief, but he was warned in a supplementary letter of June 6th that it might be impossible to aid him. ‘You will believe,’ wrote Wellington, ‘that if I should not be able to attempt your relief, it will be owing to the superior strength of the enemy, and to the necessity for my attending to other important objects[275].’ Notwithstanding this[p. 245] caution it would appear that the Spanish governor still hoped for prompt assistance. It seemed to him, as it did to all Spanish and some English officers at the time[276], that Wellington would not be able to endure the spectacle of Ciudad Rodrigo being taken while his outposts were lying only six miles in front of it. Those who held such views little knew the inflexible character of the man with whom they had to deal, or his contempt for considerations of pride or sentiment. To take a great risk, when victory would mean only the raising of the siege of Rodrigo till Junot and Kellermann should have joined Ney, while defeat might mean the loss of Portugal, was not in consonance with Wellington’s character. The possible gain and loss were too unequal, and he very rightly, and not without much regret, remained in observation at Celorico[277]. He sums up the matter thus:—‘I must leave the mountains and cross the plains, as well as two rivers, to raise the siege. To do this I have about 33,000 men (including Carrera’s Spaniards), of which 3,000 are cavalry[278]. Included are 15,000 Spaniards and Portuguese, which troops (to say the best of them) are of doubtful quality. Is it right, under these circumstances, to risk a general action to raise the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo? I should think not[279].’ And again, ‘My object is to be able to relieve the place, if it should be advisable to attempt it, in consequence of any alteration in the enemy’s force. This does not appear to be a very probable event at present, and ought not to be provided for according to the common rules of prudence, at any considerable risk[280].’ Expressions of regret are added, ‘I do not give the matter[p. 246] up; if they hold out like men they are worth saving, and under certain circumstances it might be possible to “incur the risk.”’ But the ‘certain circumstances’ never came about; they seem to have been the possibility either that (1) Ney or Junot might make detachments, or move their corps into a less concentrated position than they at present occupied, or (2) that they might form a covering army, and advance to drive him off from his present quarters, which were too close to Ciudad Rodrigo for their comfort. This last contingency almost happened, as we shall see; probably if the enemy had come out to attack him Wellington would have accepted battle, in one of the defensive positions that he knew so well how to select.

Ney, as has been already mentioned, arrived before the fortress with some 20,000 men on May 30th. On June 1st he threw a bridge across the Agueda, a mile and a half above Rodrigo, but sent no troops across it. Two days later Masséna came up from the rear, approved of the plan that had been formed for breaching the city from the side of the two Tesons, and, having reviewed the 6th Corps, took his way back to Salamanca. At this moment he gave orders to Reynier and the 2nd Corps to leave Truxillo and the valley of the Guadiana, and to cross the Tagus to Coria and Plasencia, from whence they could threaten Castello Branco and Abrantes. This was in accordance with the orders of the Emperor, who had bidden him call up Reynier from the Guadiana, to cover his flank. Such a movement had been foreseen by Wellington, who as early as June 9th had directed Hill to leave Portalegre with his 12,000 men, and to cross the Tagus at Villa Velha the moment that Reynier should have passed it at Almaraz[281]. Some days later the Galician general Mahy sent to the British head quarters four duplicates of Napoleon’s dispatches to Masséna and King Joseph, which had been intercepted by guerrillas on the way to Salamanca[282]. They corroborated all Wellington’s suspicions,[p. 247] and enabled him to provide against the danger on this side even before it had begun to arise. Hill’s route by Villa Velha being appreciably shorter than that of Reynier, he was in position beyond the Tagus before the 2nd Corps had reached Coria. Their cavalry met and skirmished at Ladoeiro on the Zarza-Castello Branco road on July 22nd. Thus the relative position of the two hostile forces in the south was exactly preserved: Wellington knew that he could call in Hill to join his main army as quickly as Masséna could draw Reynier to himself through the Pass of Perales—the only route possible for him. He felt all the more secure because he had now some British troops at Abrantes ready to support Hill. Three newly arrived battalions[283], which landed at Lisbon early in April, had been passed up the Tagus to Thomar and the line of the Zezere, where, uniting with two Portuguese brigades, they formed Leith’s ‘5th Division,’ a fresh factor in the situation. This detachment, with two batteries added, could assist Hill with 7,000 men, if Reynier should push forward in the direction of Castello Branco.

Whether at this moment Masséna was proposing to order a serious attack on this side, or whether he was from the first intending to bring up the 2nd Corps to join the main army, is not certain. Napoleon in some of his dispatches seems to recommend the rather hazardous ‘attack on double external lines’—a result of his general under-estimate of Wellington’s resisting power. On May 29th he told his lieutenant that with 50,000 men of the 6th and 8th Corps he could capture both Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, and then march ‘methodically’ into Portugal, while Reynier at Alcantara could cover the communication with Madrid and menace Upper Beira; ‘le prince le maintiendra dans cette position sans le laisser entamer.’ Masséna, however, did not think his main army strong enough, and, being left a free hand by his master, ultimately called in Reynier to join him, and so freed Wellington from the harassing doubt as to whether he might not have to defend himself on the Zezere and on the Mondego at the same moment.

[p. 248]

Long before the orders reached the 2nd Corps to move up from Truxillo to Coria and Zarza, the siege of Rodrigo had begun in earnest. On June 1st, as we have already seen, Ney had cast a bridge across the Agueda above the town; four days later a second was constructed at the ford of Lora, below the place. The moment that it was completed, Marchand’s division, half Mermet’s, and the light cavalry brigade of Lamotte crossed the river and established camps on its western bank. The horsemen pushed back Craufurd’s pickets to Marialva and Manzanilla, and completely cut his communication with Rodrigo, which had hitherto been intermittently open. The troops which had passed the river threw up redoubts to cover the bridge heads, and slightly entrenched their camps. On June 8th Ney received the first convoy of his siege train, which continued to come in by detachments during the next week, till he had fifty heavy guns in hand, with 700 rounds for each, and 2,000 gunners and sappers of the ‘Grand Park[284].’

On the 15th the French opened their first parallel on the Great Teson, on a front of 1,500 yards; it was only 500 yards from the glacis of the town. Herrasti kept up a furious fire upon it, and vexed the workmen by two sorties, which were not pressed home and did no harm. On the 19th six batteries on the Teson were commenced; the work was easy owing to the great store of gabions and sandbags already in store, which the brigades of Maucune and Ferey had prepared in May. While the emplacements for the guns were being got ready, the sappers pushed forward zig-zags from the right end of the first parallel down the slopes on the flank of the Little Teson. One approach was directed toward the isolated convent of Santa Cruz, the other toward the extreme northern angle of the town. The Spaniards, though firing furiously day and night, could not prevent either the construction of the batteries or the advance of the approaches; wherefore Julian Sanchez, seeing that his cavalry could not live under the oncoming bombardment, got leave from the governor to quit the town. On the night of the 21st-22nd he crossed the bridge, broke through the lines of Marchand’s division, and escaped by the Fuente Guinaldo road with his 200 Lancers. He came into Craufurd’s camp, and gave[p. 249] a full report of the state of the garrison and the progress of the enemy’s works.

It was impossible for the French to open their second parallel so long as the convent of Santa Cruz was held, for the fire of this outwork would have enfiladed its whole length. On the night of the 23rd-24th, therefore, Ney tried to storm the convent with a picked body of Grenadiers; they blew in its door with a petard, and set fire to its lower story, but were finally driven off. The convent was partially destroyed, but the garrison gallantly clung to its ruins, and covered themselves in the débris. The French lost fifteen killed and fifty wounded that night. On June 25th the batteries opened, without waiting for the reduction of Santa Cruz, with forty-six guns placed in six batteries along the crest of the Teson. The counter-fire of the besieged was very effective; two expense magazines containing 9,000 lb. of powder were blown up in the trenches, many guns dismounted, and one battery silenced. The loss of the besiegers was heavy[285]. The Spaniards suffered less, but fires broke out in several quarters of the town from the shells thrown by the French mortars, and many houses were destroyed. The ruins of the convent of Santa Cruz, moreover, were so thoroughly battered to pieces that the garrison retired, when an assault was made upon it by 300 Grenadiers after nightfall. This enabled the French to push forward their works much nearer to the town.

Four days of furious artillery engagement followed, in which the besiegers, though suffering heavily, succeeded not only in setting more than half the town on fire, but, what was more serious, in making a breach in the fausse-braye, at the projecting angle of the north side of the city, on which four of the batteries had been trained, and in injuring the inner mediaeval wall at the back of it. Believing, wrongly as it seems, that the breach was practicable, Ney sent an officer to summon the town. Herrasti replied that he was still in a position to defend himself,[p. 250] and ‘that after forty-nine years of service he knew the laws of war and his military duty.’ He made, however, the unusual request that he might be allowed to send a letter to Wellington, and that a suspension of arms should be granted till the return of his messenger. The Marshal, as was natural, sent a refusal, and ordered the bombardment to recommence (June 28th).

Up to this moment the French engineers had been under the impression that Ciudad Rodrigo would probably surrender when it had been breached, without standing an assault. Now that they recognized that the governor intended to fight to the last, and noted that he had spent the night following the summons in clearing the ditch and repairing the damaged fausse-braye with sandbags, they resolved that the breaching batteries must be brought closer in, and the approaches pushed up to the foot of the walls. Accordingly a second parallel was opened along the front of the Little Teson, two hundred and fifty yards in advance of the first, on the night of July 1st. On the same night a column of 600 men stormed the convent of San Francisco in the suburb, a post which would have enfiladed the southern end of the new parallel in the most dangerous fashion. Having obtained this lodgement in the suburb the French set to work to conquer the whole of it, and after some stiff street-fighting stormed Santa Clara, its central stronghold. Herrasti thereupon evacuated the rest of the scattered houses, and withdrew all his troops inside the town (July 3rd).

The new battery on the Little Teson was costly to build and maintain—on one night the French lost sixty-one men killed and wounded in it[286]. But it was very effective; the original breach was much enlarged, and the old wall behind it was reduced to ruins. Meanwhile a mortar battery, placed in the conquered suburb, played upon the parts of the town which had hitherto escaped bombardment, and reduced many streets to ashes. The position of the garrison was unsatisfactory, and Herrasti sent out several emissaries to beg Wellington to help him, ere it was too late. Most of these adventurers were captured by the French, but at least two reached the British[p. 251] commander[287], who had recently come up to the front to observe for himself the state of the enemy’s forces. He found them too strong to be meddled with, and sent back a letter stating that he was ready to move if he saw any chance of success, but that at present none such was visible. He then retired, after leaving Craufurd two squadrons of the 16th Light Dragoons to strengthen his thin outpost line. Herrasti, though much dispirited by Wellington’s reply, continued to make a vigorous defence, but the town was now mostly in ruins, and the breach gaped wide.

On July 4th Masséna, who had again come up to visit the siege, obtained intelligence that Wellington had been with the Light Division at Gallegos, and determined to push back the British outposts, in order to discover whether the front line of his enemy had been strengthened by any troops from Portugal. It seemed to him likely enough that the British general might have massed his army for a bold stroke at the besiegers, now that the strength of Ciudad Rodrigo was running low. Accordingly St. Croix’s division of dragoons, supported by a brigade of Junot’s infantry, crossed the Azava brook and drove in Craufurd’s cavalry pickets. They retired, skirmishing vigorously all the way, to Gallegos, where the five infantry battalions of the Light Division had concentrated. Craufurd, having strict orders from his chief that he was not to fight, fell back on Fort Concepcion, the work on the Spanish frontier half way to Almeida. Thereupon the French retired, having obtained the information that they wanted, viz. that Craufurd had not been reinforced by any considerable body of troops from the rear. The Light Division had man?uvred with its customary intelligence and alertness all day; its flanks were being continually turned by horsemen in overpowering numbers, but it beat them off with ease, and lost only five men wounded while falling back across ten miles of absolutely open country. The French lost five officers and over twenty men[288], mostly in combats with the German Hussars, who surpassed themselves on[p. 252] this day, and repeatedly charged the heads of the hostile columns on favourable occasions. For the future Craufurd kept behind the Dos Casas, while the French took up his old line on the Azava. This move made any attempt to help Ciudad Rodrigo a harder business than before, since the British outposts were now fifteen instead of only six miles from the town. An attempt to storm by surprise the French camps on the near side of the place was for the future impossible.

Warned by this activity on the part of the enemy, Wellington again reinforced Craufurd’s cavalry, giving him three squadrons of the 14th Light Dragoons, so that the Light Division had now some 1,200 horse to watch its long and much exposed front. But the French advance now halted again for a full fortnight, the demonstration of July 4th having had no other purpose than that of ascertaining the strength of the British observing force behind the Azava.

On the four days that followed Craufurd’s retreat the French batteries were thundering against the northern angle of Ciudad Rodrigo, and had reduced it to one vast breach more than 120 feet broad. But Ney, more sparing of life than was his wont, refused to order an assault till the whole of the Spanish artillery on the neighbouring front should have been silenced, and till the engineers should have worked up to and blown in the counterscarp. This last preliminary was accomplished on the night of the eighth, when a mine containing 800 lb. of powder was exploded with success just outside the counterscarp, and cast down a vast amount of earth into the ditch, so that there was now an almost level road from the advanced trenches to the foot of the inner wall. The garrison repeatedly built up the lip of the breach with palisades and sandbags, under a heavy fire and at great expense of life. But their flimsy repairs were swept away again and again by the batteries on the Little Teson, and all their guns on this front of the walls were gradually disabled or destroyed. Early on the afternoon of July 9th the engineers informed the Marshal that Ciudad Rodrigo was untenable, and that a storm could not fail of success. Three battalions, composed of picked voltigeur and grenadier companies, were brought up to the advanced trenches, under the Marshal’s personal superintendence. Before letting them loose[p. 253] on the broad acclivity of rubble before them, Ney asked for three volunteers who would take the desperate risk of climbing up to the crest of the breach to see if it were retrenched behind. A corporal and two privates made this daring venture, ran lightly up to the summit, fired their muskets into the town, and descended unhurt, under a scattering fire from the few Spaniards who were still holding on to the ruins. On receiving their assurance that nothing was to be feared, Ney ordered the storming battalions to move out of the trenches, but ere they had started an officer with a white flag appeared on the breach, and descended to inform the Marshal that the Governor was prepared to capitulate. Finding that Ney was immediately below, Herrasti came out in person with his staff a few minutes later, and settled the whole matter in a short conversation. Ney congratulated the white-haired veteran on his handsome defence, returned him his sword, and told him that he should have all the honours of war.

Accordingly the garrison marched out next morning about 4,000 strong, laid down its arms below the glacis, and was marched off to Bayonne. The Spaniards had lost 461 killed and 994 wounded, just a quarter of their force, in their highly honourable resistance. They had only a few days’ provisions left, and, though their munitions were by no means exhausted, they would have been forced to yield for want of food, even if the storm had failed, which was absolutely impossible. The French captured 118 guns, most of them in bad order or disabled, and 7,000 muskets. Not a house or church in the place was intact, and a large majority were roofless or levelled to the ground. There was no use whatever in protracting the resistance, and it is clear that Herrasti had done all that a good officer could. In his dispatch to the Junta he spoke somewhat bitterly of the fact that Wellington had made no effort to relieve the place, showing feeling natural enough under the circumstances. Martin La Carrera, who had been commanding the Spanish division that lay in the mountains south of the town, expressed his wrath still more bitterly, and marched off to Estremadura in high dudgeon, the moment that the news of the surrender reached him.

The French had been forced to much greater exertions in[p. 254] the siege of Rodrigo than they had expected when they first sat down before its walls. Their artillery had thrown 11,000 shells and 18,000 round shot into the place, which almost exhausted their store of munitions—only 700 rounds for each of their fifty guns having been provided. They had lost 180 killed and over 1,000 wounded, mainly in the costly work of pushing forward the approaches towards the wall, before the Spanish artillery fire had been silenced. Professional critics attributed the delays and losses of the siege entirely to the fact that the engineers believed, when they first planned their works, that the enemy would surrender the moment that a breach had been made, an idea which had never entered into Herrasti’s head[289]. Masséna showed his ill-temper, when all was over, by sending the civilian members of the Junta as prisoners to France, and imposing a fine of 500,000 francs on the miserable ruined town. It is surprising to learn that he actually succeeded in extracting half that sum from the homeless and starving population.

On the day that the garrison of Rodrigo marched out (July 10) Craufurd had suffered a misadventure. Seeing that the French foragers were busy in the villages between the Azava and the Dos Casas, he had resolved to make an attempt to surprise some of their bands, and went out from Fort Concepcion with six squadrons of cavalry[290], six companies of the Rifles and the 43rd, a battalion of Ca?adores and two guns. Coming suddenly upon the French covering party near the village of Barquilla, he ordered his cavalry to pursue them. The enemy, consisting of two troops of dragoons and 200 men of the 22nd regiment from Junot’s corps, began a hasty retreat towards their lines. Thereupon Craufurd bade his leading squadrons, one of the German Hussars and one of the 16th, to charge[291]. They did so, falling upon the infantry, who halted and[p. 255] formed square in a corn-field to receive them. The charge, made by men who had been galloping for a mile, and had been much disordered by passing some enclosures, failed. The troopers, opening out to right and left under the fire of the square, swept on and chased the French cavalry, who were making off to the flank. They followed them for some distance, finally overtaking them and making two officers and twenty-nine men prisoners. Meanwhile Craufurd called up the next squadron from the road, the leading one of the 14th Light Dragoons, and sent it in against the little square. Headed by their colonel Talbot the men of the 14th charged home, but were unable to break the French, who stood firm and waited till the horses’ heads were within ten paces of their bayonets before firing. Talbot and seven of his men fell dead, and some dozen more were disabled. Before another squadron could come up, the French slipped off into the enclosures of the village of Cismeiro and got away. It was said that no effort was made to stop them because two outlying squadrons of British cavalry[292], which had ridden in towards the sound of the firing, were mistaken for a large body of French horse coming up to the rescue of the infantry. Both Craufurd and the British cavalry were much criticized over this affair[293]; but it was, in truth, nothing more than an example of the general rule that horsemen could not break steady infantry, properly formed in square, during the Peninsular War. The instances to the contrary are few. It was said at the time that Craufurd might have used his[p. 256] leading squadrons to detain and harass the French till his guns or his infantry, which were a mile to the rear, could be brought up. This may have been so, but criticism after the event is easy, and if the guns or the riflemen had come up ten minutes late, and the French infantry had been allowed to go off uncharged, the General would have been blamed still more. He lost in all an officer and eight men killed, and twenty-three wounded, while he took thirty-one prisoners, but the defeat rankled, and caused so much unpleasant feeling that Wellington went out of his way to send for and rebuke officers who had been circulating malevolent criticism[294]. The French captain Gouache, who had commanded the square, was very properly promoted and decorated by Masséna: nothing could have been more firm and adroit than his conduct[295].
SECTION XIX: CHAPTER VI
COMBAT OF THE COA: SIEGE OF ALMEIDA (JULY-AUGUST 1810)

On July 10th the French had entered Ciudad Rodrigo, but ten days more elapsed before they made any further advance. Masséna, who had returned to the front, was resolved to follow his master’s orders and to act ‘methodically.’ It was clearly incumbent on him to begin the siege of Almeida as soon as possible, and, as that place is only twenty-one miles from Ciudad Rodrigo, one long march would have placed him before its walls. But since he had only a few thousand rounds of ammunition left for his heavy guns, he refused to move on till all the available reserves were on their way from Salamanca to the front, and requisition for a further supply had been sent to Bayonne. He had also to do his best to scrape together more food, since the magazines that Ney had collected were nearly exhausted when Rodrigo fell. Moreover, 1,500 draught animals had died during the late siege, and it was necessary to replace them before the Great Park could move forward.

On July 21st, however, some convoys having come up from Salamanca, Masséna directed Ney to advance with the 6th Corps and to drive Craufurd back on to Almeida. The main point that he was directed to ascertain on this day was whether the English intended to make a stand at Fort Concepcion, the isolated Spanish work which faces Almeida on the frontier, beyond the Turones. This was a solid eighteenth-century fort, covering the bridge where the high-road passes the river. It had lately been repaired, and could have resisted a bombardment for some days. But it would have required a garrison of 1,000 men, and, since it lies in the midst of the plain, there would be little chance of relieving it, if once it were surrounded. Wellington, therefore, gave orders that it should be blown up whenever the French should advance in force toward Almeida, and that Craufurd should make no attempt to defend the line[p. 258] of the Turones, and should send back his infantry to Junca, a village about a mile outside the gates of Almeida[296], keeping his cavalry only to the front. On the 21st Ney advanced with the whole of Loison’s division, and Treillard’s cavalry brigade. Thereupon Craufurd, with some reluctance, retired and blew up Fort Concepcion as he went. The French advanced, skirmishing with the 14th Light Dragoons and the German Hussars, but finally halted at Val de Mula, four miles from Almeida. Craufurd established himself at Junca, only three miles from the enemy’s line of pickets. On the next evening he received a strong suggestion, if not quite an order, from his Chief to send his infantry across the Coa. ‘I am not desirous of engaging an affair beyond the Coa,’ wrote Wellington. ‘Under these circumstances, if you are not covered from the sun where you are, would it not be better that you should come to this side of it, with your infantry at least[297]?’ The tentative form of the note well marks the confidence that the Commander-in-Chief was wont to place in his subordinate’s judgement. This time that confidence was somewhat misplaced, for Craufurd tarried two days longer by the glacis of Almeida, and thereby risked a disaster.

It must be remembered that Almeida is not on the Coa, but two miles from it, and that its guns, therefore, did not cover the one bridge over which Craufurd could make his retreat. Indeed, that bridge and the river also are invisible from Almeida. The fortress is slightly raised above the level of the rolling plain, which extends as far as Ciudad Rodrigo: the river flows in a deep bed, so much below the plateau as to be lost to sight. Its ravine is a sort of ca?on which marks the end of the plains of Leon. It has often been remarked that Almeida’s value would have been doubled, if only it had been on the near side of the Coa, and commanded its bridge. But Portuguese kings had built and rebuilt the old fortress on its original site, with no regard for strategy. Craufurd, then, should have remembered that, if he were suddenly attacked in his camp outside the gates, he risked being thrown back into the town (the last thing he would wish), or being hustled down to the bridge and forced to[p. 259] pass his division across it in dangerous haste. But he had so often challenged, held back, and evaded Ney’s and Junot’s advanced guards, that he evidently considered that he was taking no very serious risk in staying where he was. He was, moreover, discharging a valuable function by keeping Almeida from being invested, as stores and munitions were still being poured into the place. The only peril was that he might be attacked both without warning and by overwhelming superiority of numbers, with the defile at his back. Neither of these misadventures had yet happened to him during the four and a half months while he had been defying the 6th and the 8th Corps along the banks of the Agueda. The French had never assailed him with much more than a division, nor had they ever pressed on him with headlong speed, so as to prevent an orderly retreat properly covered by a moderate rearguard.

Now, however, Ney, untrammelled by any other operation, had his whole corps concentrated behind Val de Mula, and having learnt of the defile that lay in Craufurd’s rear, thought that he might be hurled into it and crushed or caught. Before dawn he arrayed his whole 24,000 men in one broad and deep column. Two cavalry brigades, Lamotte’s 3rd Hussars and 15th Chasseurs, and Gardanne’s 15th and 25th Dragoons, were in front. Then came the thirteen battalions of Loison’s division, in a line of columns; behind them was Mermet with eleven battalions more, while three regiments of Marchand’s division (the fourth was garrisoning Ciudad Rodrigo) formed the reserve. In a grey morning, following a night of bitter rain, the French horsemen rode at the British cavalry pickets, and sent them flying helter-skelter across the three miles of rolling ground that lay in front of the Light Division. On hearing the fire of the carbines Craufurd’s men turned out with their accustomed celerity, and in a very short space were aligned to the right of Almeida, with their flank only 800 yards from the glacis, and their front covered by a series of high stone walls bounding suburban fields. There would have been just enough time to get cavalry, guns, and impedimenta across the bridge of the Coa if the General had started off at once. But, not realizing the fearful strength that lay behind the French cavalry advance, he resolved to treat himself to a rearguard action, and not to[p. 260] go till he was pushed. On a survey of the ground it is easy to understand the temptation, for it would be hard to find a prettier battlefield for a detaining force, if only the enemy were in no more than moderate strength. A long double-headed spur runs down from the high plateau on which Almeida stands to the Coa. Successive points of it can be held one after the other, and it is crossed by many stone walls giving good cover for skirmishers. With his left covered by the fire of the fortress, and his right ‘refused’ and trending back towards the river, Craufurd waited to be attacked, intending to give the leading French brigade a lesson. There was a delay of more than an hour before the French infantry was up, but when the assault came it was overwhelming. Craufurd’s line of three British and two Portuguese battalions[298] was suddenly assaulted by Loison’s thirteen, who came on at the pas de charge ‘yelling, with drums beating, and the officers, like mountebanks, running ahead with their hats on their swords, capering like madmen and crying as they turned to wave on their men, “Allons, enfants de la Patrie, le premier qui s’avan?era, Napoléon le recompensera[299].”’ The rolling fire of the British stopped the first rush, when suddenly a French cavalry regiment, the 3rd Hussars, charged across the interval between Craufurd’s left and the walls of Almeida, braving the fire of the ramparts in the most gallant style. Some fell, but the gunners were flurried at this unexpected development, and fired wildly, so that the hussars swept down unchecked on the extreme flank of the Light Division, where a company of the 95th Rifles was annihilated[300], and began riding along the rear of the line and rolling it up. They were luckily checked for a moment by a stone wall, but Craufurd saw that he must retreat at once, since he was turned on the side where he had thought that he was safest. The cavalry and guns were ordered to gallop for the bridge, the[p. 261] Ca?adores to follow them, and the rest of the infantry to fall back in échelon from the left, defending each enclosure and fold of the hillside as long as possible. But it is hard to make an orderly retreat when a foe with twofold strength in his fighting line is pressing hard. Moreover, the road to the bridge has an unfortunate peculiarity; instead of making straight for its goal it overshoots it, in order to descend the slope at an easy point, and then comes back along the river bank for a quarter of a mile. The cavalry and guns, forced to keep to the road because the hillside was too steep for them, had to cover two sides of a triangle with a sharp turn at the apex, which delayed them terribly. To add to the trouble an artillery caisson was upset at a sharp turn, and took much trouble to right and send forward. Thus it chanced that the covering infantry were driven down close to the bridge before the Ca?adores and the last of the guns had crossed the river. The retreat of the three British battalions had been most perilous; at one moment a wing of the 43rd found themselves checked by a vineyard wall ten feet high, while the French were pressing hard on their rear. They only escaped by shoving a long part of it over by sheer strength—fortunately, like all other walls in this part of Portugal, it was made of dry flat stones without mortar. Finally the 43rd, the Rifles, and part of the 52nd were massed on a long knoll covered with pine-trees, which lies above the bridge and completely masks it against an attack from above. While they held firm, Craufurd ranged the guns and the Ca?adores on the slopes upon the other side, so as to command the passage when the rest of the troops should have to cross. He then began to withdraw the 43rd, and part of that battalion had already crossed the water, when five companies of the 52nd, which had occupied the extreme right wing of the division, were seen hastening along the river bank some way above the bridge. They had held out a little too long on the slopes above, and seemed likely to be cut off, for the French, noting their position, made a vigorous effort, and carried the knoll which protected their line of retreat to the point of passage. This was a desperate crisis, but such was the splendid courage and initiative of the regimental officers of the Light Division that the disaster was averted. At one point Beckwith,[p. 262] colonel of the Rifles, at another Major McLeod of the 43rd, called on the disordered mass of men, who had been driven back to the bridge head, to charge again and save the 52nd. The soldiers grasped the situation, cheered and followed; they recaptured the knoll that they had just lost, and held it for ten minutes more, gaining time for the companies of the 52nd to pass behind and cross the bridge. ‘No one present,’ wrote an eye-witness, ‘can fail to remember the gallantry of Major McLeod. How either he or his horse escaped being blown to atoms, while in this daring manner he charged on horseback at the head of some 200 skirmishers of the 43rd and 95th mixed together, and headed them in making a dash at the line of French infantry, whom we dislodged, I am at a loss to imagine. It was one of those extraordinary escapes which tend to implant in the mind some faith in the doctrine of fatality[301].’

The moment that the 52nd were safe, the troops on the knoll evacuated it, and crossed the bridge behind them at full speed, while the French reoccupied the wooded eminence. If Ney had been wise he would have stopped at this moment, and have contented himself with having driven in the Light Division with a loss of 300 men, while his own troops had suffered comparatively little. But, carried away by the excitement of victory, he resolved to storm the bridge, thinking that the British troops were too much shaken and disordered to make another stand, even in a strong position. There were plenty of examples in recent French military history, from Lodi to Ebersberg, where passages had been forced under difficulties as great. Accordingly he ordered the 66th, the leading regiment of Loison’s division, to push on and cross the river. This was a dire mistake: Craufurd already had the Ca?adores in position behind stone walls a little above the bridge, and Ross’s guns placed across the road so as to sweep it from end to end. The British battalions were no sooner across the river than they began to string themselves out behind the rocks and walls, which lie in a sort of small amphitheatre on the slope commanding the passage. The bridge, a two-arched structure seventy yards long, crosses the Coa diagonally, at a point where it is narrowed down between rocks, and flows very fiercely: it was flooded at[p. 263] this moment from the rain of the previous night, and was swelling still, for a tropical storm had just begun and raged at intervals throughout the afternoon. The cavalry, useless at the bridge, was sent up-stream to watch some difficult fords near Alveirenos.

The French 66th, ordered by the Marshal to carry the bridge, formed its grenadiers on the knoll, to lead the column, and then charged at the passage. But the leading company was mown down, before it had got half way across, by a concentrated musketry salvo from the hillside in front, and the enfilading fire of the guns from the right. The column broke, and the men recoiled and dispersed among the rocks and trees by the bank, from whence they opened a fierce but ineffective fire upon the well-sheltered British battalions. Ney, who had now lost his temper, ordered up a bataillon d’élite of light infantry[302] which had distinguished itself at the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo, and told his aide de camp Sprünglin to take the command and cross at all costs[303]. There ensued a most gallant effort and a hideous butchery. The Chasseurs flung themselves at the bridge, and pushed on till it was absolutely blocked by the bodies of the killed and the wounded, and till they themselves had been almost literally exterminated, for out of a battalion of little more than 300 men 90 were killed and 147 wounded in less than ten minutes. A few survivors actually crossed the bridge, and threw themselves down among the rocks at its western end, where they took shelter from the British fire in a little corner of dead ground, but could of course make no further attempt to advance.

[p. 264]

Ney, irritated beyond measure, now bade a mounted officer sound for a ford at a spot above the bridge, where the river spreads out into a broad reach. But horse and man were killed by a volley from the British side, and floated down the swollen stream[304]. Finding the river impracticable, the Marshal again ordered the 66th to go forward: this third attack, delivered without the dash and determination of the first two, was beaten back with little trouble. The firing then died down, and during one of the fierce rainstorms of the late afternoon the few chasseurs who had crossed the bridge ran back and escaped to their own bank. Craufurd held the position that he had occupied till midnight, and then retired on Pinhel. He had lost 333 men only[305], and was fortunate therein, for half his division might have been destroyed if the officers had shown less intelligence and the men less pluck. The French had 527 casualties, four-fifths of them in the mad attempt to force the bridge, in which the colonel of the 66th and fifteen of his officers had fallen, and the battalion of Chasseurs had been practically exterminated[306]. Ney forwarded an honest chronicle of the day’s doings to his chief, which Masséna wrote up, and sent to the Emperor turned into a work of fancy, in which he declared that he had destroyed 1,200 of Craufurd’s men (whom he estimated at 2,000 horse and 8,000 infantry, double their real strength), taken 300 prisoners, a colour, and two guns. Making no mention of the complete check that Loison’s division had suffered at the bridge, he stated that ‘the Imperial troops have shown once again this day that there is no position which can resist their intrepidity.’ He added foolish gossip, ‘Their Estafete-Mor (chief Portuguese courier) has been captured with all his dispatches, in which are several of the 25th and 26th instant, which declare that the English army is in complete rout, that its deplorable state cannot be exaggerated, that the English have never been in such a hot corner, that they[p. 265] have lost sixty officers, of whom they buried twenty-four on the battlefield, about 400 dead and 700 wounded[307].’ Apparently these ‘dispatches’ are an invention of Masséna’s own. It is incredible that any British officer can have written such stuff after a combat of which every man present was particularly proud, and in which the losses had been incredibly small, con[p. 266]sidering the risks that had been run. Four officers, not twenty-four, had been killed, and one made prisoner. Instead of being in ‘complete rout’ the Light Division had retired at leisure and unmolested, without leaving even a wounded man or a single cart behind.

Wellington was justly displeased with Craufurd for accepting this wholly unnecessary combat: if the Light Division had been withdrawn behind the Coa on the 22nd, as he had advised, no danger would have been incurred, and the bridge might have been defended without the preliminary retreat to the water’s edge. Yet so great was the confidence in which Craufurd was held by Wellington, that their correspondence shows no break of cordiality or tension of relations during the ensuing days[308], though unofficially the divisional general was aware that the Commander-in-Chief had disapproved his action, and felt the blame that was unspoken in the keenest fashion[309]. There was another British general involved in a serious degree of culpability on the 24th: this was Picton, who hearing at his post of Pinhel the firing in the morning, rode up to the bridge of the Coa; there he met Craufurd, who was just preparing to resist Ney’s attempt to cross the river. Picton was asked to bring up the 3rd Division in support, which could have been done in less than three hours, but roughly refused, saying apparently that Craufurd might get out of his own scrape. The generals parted after an exchange of some hard words, and Picton rode back to order his division to get ready to retreat, having committed one of the greatest military sins, that of refusing to support a comrade in the moment of danger, because he did not choose to compromise his own troops[310].

[p. 267]

Having cleared the country-side beyond the Coa by pressing back the Light Division, and having ascertained by a reconnaissance that Picton had evacuated Pinhel on the night of the 25th, Masséna was able to sit down to besiege Almeida at his leisure. The investment was assigned to Ney and the 6th Corps, while Junot and the 8th Corps were brought up from the Agueda, and placed in the villages behind and to the right of the besieged place, so as to be able to support Ney at a few hours’ notice. The extreme steepness of the banks of the Coa during its whole course rendered it most unlikely that Wellington would attempt the relief of Almeida by a direct advance. He would have had to force a passage, and the Coa, unlike the Agueda, has very few fords. Its only two bridges, that opposite Almeida, and that higher up at Castello Bom, were held in force by the 6th Corps. The siege however might not improbably prove long. Almeida was in far better repair than Ciudad Rodrigo, and had less defects. The little town is situated on the culminating knoll of an undulating plateau, a very slight eminence, but one which was not commanded by any higher ground as Rodrigo was by the two Tesons. The outline of the place is almost circular, and exactly fits the round knoll on which it stands. It has six bastions, with demi-lunes and a covered way. There is a dry ditch cut in the solid rock, for Almeida lies on a bare granite plateau, with only two or three feet of earth covering the hard stratum below. It was well armed with over 100 guns, forty of which were 18-pounders or still heavier. It had casemates completely proof against bomb fire, and large enough to cover the whole garrison. This, as has been already said, consisted of one regular regiment, the 24th of the Line over 1,200 strong, and the three militia regiments of Arganil, Trancoso, and Vizeu—in all some 4,000 infantry, with a squadron of the 11th cavalry regiment and 400 gunners. The governor was William Cox—an English[p. 268] colonel and a Portuguese brigadier; he had with him five other English officers, all the rest of the garrison being Portuguese. There was an ample store both of food and of ammunition, which Wellington had been pouring in ever since the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo began. Only two serious defects existed in the place: the first was that its glacis was too low, and left exposed an unduly large portion of the walls[311]. The second, a far worse fault, was that the grand magazine was established in a rather flimsy mediaeval castle in the centre of the town, and was not nearly so well protected as could have been desired. Nevertheless Wellington calculated that Almeida should hold out at least as long as Ciudad Rodrigo, and had some hope that its siege would detain Masséna so much that the autumn rains would set in before he had taken the place, in which case the invasion of Portugal would assume a character of difficulty which it was far from presenting in August or September.

For some days after the investment of Almeida had been completed the 6th Corps remained quiescent, and made no attempt to break ground in front of the place. Ney was waiting for the Grand Park and the train, which had now started in detachments from Ciudad Rodrigo, but were advancing very slowly on account of the lack of draught animals. For a moment Wellington thought it possible that the enemy was about to mask Almeida, and to advance into Portugal with his main army without delay[312]. This hypothesis received some support from the facts that Junot had moved up from the Agueda, and that Reynier had shown the head of a column beyond the Pass of Perales. This last appeared a most significant movement; for if the 2nd Corps was about to march up from the Tagus to[p. 269] join Masséna, the deduction was that it was required to join in a general invasion, since it was clear that it was not needed for the mere siege of Almeida. Wellington accordingly wrote to urge Hill to keep a most vigilant eye on Reynier, and to be ready to move up to the Mondego the moment that it was certain that his opponent had passed the Sierra de Gata and linked himself to the main French army. As a matter of fact there was, as yet, no danger from Reynier. The advance of one of his flanking detachments to Navas Frias beyond the Pass of Perales, and a raid made upon Penamacor on July 31 and upon Monsanto on August 1, by another, were pure matters of foraging and reconnaissance. Reynier had no orders to move up his whole force to join Masséna, and was only amusing himself by demonstrations. His actions became most puzzling to Wellington when, a few days later, he called back all the troops that had moved northward, and concentrated his force at Zarza la Mayor, on the road to Castello Branco, so as to threaten once more to invade Central Portugal by the line of the Tagus. This was no device of his own, but the result of a dispatch from Masséna dated July 27, ordering him to keep more to the south for the present, to threaten Abrantes, and to afford Hill no chance of joining Wellington.

Reynier’s feints meanwhile had given Hill some trouble; the appearance of a northward move on the part of his adversary had caused the British general to make ready for a parallel march on Fund?o and Guarda, so as to connect himself with his chief. He transferred his head quarters first from Castello Branco to Sarzedas, and then from Sarzedas to Atalaya, at the foot of the pass that leads to the Mondego valley, intending to cross the mountains the moment that Reynier had passed over the Perales defiles with his main body. But seeing the 2nd Corps unexpectedly turning back and concentrating at Zarza, Hill also retraced his steps, and lay at Sarzedas again from August 3rd till September 21st, with his advanced guard at Castello Branco and his cavalry well out to the front along the Spanish frontier, watching every movement of the 2nd Corps. During this time of waiting the Portuguese cavalry of his division had two small but successful engagements with Reynier’s horse, of whom they cut up a squadron on the 3rd of[p. 270] August near Penamacor and another on the 22nd at Ladoeiro, when two officers and sixty men of the Hanoverian Chasseurs à Cheval were killed or taken[313].

Wellington’s doubts as to Masséna’s intentions in the first days of August were provoked not merely by the movements of the 2nd Corps, but by a demonstration made on an entirely new front by General Serras, the officer who had been left with an unattached division to hold the plains of Leon, when Junot and the 8th Corps went off to join the main army on the Agueda. In obedience to Masséna’s orders, on July 27 Serras collected at Benavente as much of his division as could be spared from garrison duty, and moved forward to threaten the frontier of the Tras-os-Montes, far to the north of Portugal. He advanced with some 5,000 men as far as Puebla de Senabria, from which on July 29 he drove out a small Spanish force under General Taboada—the weak brigade which Echevarria had formerly commanded. Silveira immediately collected all the Portuguese militia of his district at Braganza, and prepared to defend the frontier. But Serras unexpectedly turned back, left a battalion of the 2nd Swiss Regiment and a squadron of horse in Puebla de Senabria, and returned to Zamora. The moment that he was gone Silveira and Taboada united their forces, attacked this small detached force, routed it, and shut it up in the town on August 4. It was forced to surrender some six days later, about 20 officers and 350 men, all that remained of 600, being made prisoners. Serras, who had hurried back when he heard of Silveira’s offensive movement, was too late by twelve hours to save his men, and found Puebla de Senabria empty, for the allies had gone off with their prisoners and taken to the mountains. He then retired to Benavente, and Taboada reoccupied Puebla de Senabria, where he was not again disturbed. Serras soon after was drawn away to the north-east by the demands of Bonnet, whose communications with Santander had once more been cut by Porlier’s roving Asturian bands. He called on his colleague to attack this partisan force in the rear, and while Serras was hunting it at Potes and Alba, in the[p. 271] Cantabrian Hills, Northern Portugal and Galicia were left undisturbed in September[314].

While glancing at the subsidiary operations in this remote corner of Spain, it may be worth while to note, as a proof of the slight hold which Bonnet and Serras possessed on their allotted districts, that on June 7 Mahy threatened Astorga, while the Asturian bands of Colonel Barcena, eluding Bonnet, came down into the plains by the Pass of Pajares and surprised Leon[315]. They got into the town by escalade at night, held it for two days, and only evacuated it when Serras came up in strength on June 9. Provoked at this bold adventure, Bonnet made his last attempt to conquer Western Asturias, and so to destroy the indefatigable and evasive partisans in his front. He forced his way across the Narcea and the Navia, and his vanguard had reached Castropol, on the Galician border, upon July 5, when he heard to his disgust that the enemy had slipped behind him. Barcena was threatening his base at Oviedo, while Porlier’s band, carried round by English ships, had landed near Llanes and cut the communication with Santander. These clever moves brought Bonnet back in haste: he evacuated Western Asturias, called up Serras to his aid, and was engaged in August and September in the hunt after Porlier which we have already mentioned[316].

But to return to the main focus of the war in the North. On August 15th Ney’s troops, having at last received the siege-train and a good supply of munitions from Ciudad Rodrigo and Salamanca, broke ground in front of Almeida. Wellington was much relieved at the news, as it was now clear that Masséna was about to besiege the place, and not to mask it and march forward into Portugal. The front which the engineers of the 6th Corps had chosen for attack was that facing the bastion of San Pedro on the south-east front of the town. The first parallel was drawn at a distance of only 500 yards from the walls; it was found very difficult to complete, owing to the shallowness of the[p. 272] earth, and had to be built with gabions and sandbags rather than to be excavated in the rocky subsoil. In many places outcrops of stone came to the surface, and had actually to be blasted away by the sappers, in order to allow of a trench of the shallowest sort being formed. It was clear that the construction of approaches towards the town would present the greatest difficulties, since there was little earth in which to burrow. Between the 17th and the 24th no less than eleven batteries were constructed along the first parallel. They were armed with more than fifty heavy guns, for there was artillery in abundance; in addition to the old siege-train many of the Spanish guns taken in Ciudad Rodrigo had been brought forward. The Portuguese kept up a vigorous but not very destructive fire all the time; but on the 24th they succeeded in preventing the commencement of a second parallel, driving out the workmen before they could cover themselves in the stony ground. At six o’clock on the morning of the 26th August the batteries were all completed and opened fire. Several quarters of the town were in flames before the afternoon, and the guns on the three bastions attacked were unable to hold their own against the converging fire directed on them. But no serious damage had been done to the defences, and the governor was undismayed. At seven o’clock in the evening, however, a fearful disaster occurred—one in its own way unparalleled in magnitude during the whole Peninsular War. The door of the great magazine in the castle had been opened, in order to allow of the sending out of a convoy of powder to the southern ramparts, where the artillery had been hard at work all day. A leaky barrel was handed out, which left a trail of powder behind it along the ground; it was being fixed to the saddle of a pack-ass when a French bomb fell in the courtyard of the castle. In bursting, the bomb chanced to ignite the train; the spark ran along it and exploded another barrel at the door of the magazine, which was still open[317]. This mischance fired the[p. 273] whole store, and in two seconds the castle, the cathedral at its side, and the whole central portion of the town had been blasted out of existence. ‘The earth trembled,’ wrote a French eye-witness, ‘and we saw an immense whirlwind of fire and smoke rise from the middle of the place. It was like the bursting of a volcano—one of the things that I can never forget after twenty-six years. Enormous blocks of stone were hurled into the trenches, where they killed and wounded some of our men. Guns of heavy calibre were lifted from the ramparts and hurled down far outside them. When the smoke cleared off, a great part of Almeida had disappeared, and the rest was a heap of débris[318].’ Five hundred of the garrison perished, including nearly every man of the two hundred artillerymen who were serving the guns on the front of attack. Some inhabitants were killed, but not many, for the majority had taken refuge in the casemates when the bombardment began that morning. It was the unfortunate soldiers who were manning the walls that suffered.
Map of the combat of the Coa

Enlarge  COMBAT OF THE COA.
JULY 24TH, 1810.

Fearing that the French might seize the moment for an escalade, General Cox ran to the ramparts and, assisted by a Portuguese artillery officer, loaded and fired into the trenches some of the few guns on the south front which were not disabled. He turned out the whole garrison, and kept them under arms that night, lying behind the walls in expectation of an assault which never came. The morning light enabled him to realize the full extent of the disaster; the bastions and curtains had suffered little, the shell, so to speak, of the town was still intact, and the casemates had stood firm, but everything within the enceinte was wrecked. Only five houses in the place had kept their roofs: the castle was a deep hole, like the crater of a volcano: the streets were absolutely blocked with ruins, so that there was no going from place to place save along the ramparts.

There were still 4,000 men under arms; but the officer commanding the artillery reported that thirty-nine barrels of powder, and a few hundred rounds in the small expense-magazines on the ramparts, were all that had escaped the explosion. That is to say, there was not powder in the place to keep up a reply for one day to the batteries of the besieger. The infantry had 600,000 cartridges in their regimental stores[p. 274] (150 rounds per man) but that was of no use for the heavy guns. Moreover, more than half the gunners had perished in the disaster of the previous night—only 200 were left to man nearly 100 guns that were still serviceable. It was clear that Almeida was doomed, since it could not defend itself without powder: but there was a chance that Wellington, whose outposts must have heard and seen the explosion, might think it worth while to dash forward and endeavour to save the garrison during the next twenty-four hours. Therefore Cox resolved to protract his resistance as long as was possible, to give his chief the option of fighting if he should so please. But the defence could not be prolonged for more than a day or two at the most.

At nine on the morning of the 27th Masséna sent in his aide de camp Pelet to demand the surrender of the fortress. Cox had him blindfolded, and taken into a casemate for their interview, so that he might not be able to judge of the awful effects of the explosion. The usual haggling followed—the French officer threatened that the place should be escaladed at once, and the garrison put to the sword. The governor replied that his walls were intact, that he could still defend himself, and that the ‘deplorable accident’ had not appreciably diminished his resisting power[319]. But he finally consented to send out an officer to the French camp to negotiate for terms. All this was merely done to gain time, and the semaphore on the western ramparts was signalling desperate messages to Wellington all the morning.

Cox’s attempt to gain time was fruitless, for a reason that he had not foreseen. The garrison was hopelessly demoralized, knew that it must surrender, and did not see why it should expose itself to another day’s bombardment for a lost cause. During the conference in the casemate General d’Alorna and other Portuguese officers on Masséna’s staff came out of the trenches, and boldly presented themselves at the foot of the walls, calling to their compatriots above and beseeching them to accept the good terms offered, and not to risk their lives for Wellington, who would abandon them just as he had abandoned Herrasti at Ciudad Rodrigo. The officers on the ramparts ought to have[p. 275] driven the renegades away, by shots if necessary; but, far from doing so, they entered into long conversation with them and approved their arguments. D’Alorna recognized some old acquaintances among the regulars, and pledged his word to them that an assault was imminent, and that they were doomed if they made any resistance. What was still more unlucky for Cox was that the officer whom he sent out to the French camp to treat, Major Barreiros of the artillery, was one of those who were most convinced that further defence was fruitless; he divulged the hopeless state of the place to the Marshal, and bade him press his attack without fear, for the garrison would not fight. He himself remained at the French head quarters, and did not return to Almeida. Masséna, therefore, sent back a blank refusal of all Cox’s demands and conditions, and ordered the bombardment to recommence at seven in the evening, while approaches were thrown out from the second parallel towards the ramparts. A feeble musketry fire alone replied.

The renewal of the bombardment speedily brought matters inside the place to a head. A deputation of Portuguese officers, headed by Bernardo Da Costa, the second in command, visited Cox and informed him that further resistance was madness, and that if he did not at once hoist the white flag they would open the gates to the enemy. The Governor was forced to yield, and capitulated at eleven o’clock on the night of the 27th. Masséna granted him the terms that the regular troops should be sent as prisoners to France, while the three militia regiments should be allowed to disperse to their homes, on giving their parole not to serve again during the war.

On the morning of the 28th the garrison marched out, still 4,000 strong, its total loss during the siege having been some 600—nearly all destroyed in the explosion. The French had lost fifty-eight killed and 320 wounded during the operations. The capitulation was no sooner ratified than it was violated: instead of dismissing the militia and marching off the regulars towards France, Masséna kept them together, and set the renegades d’Alorna and Pamplona to tempt them to enter the French service. The officers were promised confirmation of their rank, the men were invited to compare the relative advantages of[p. 276] prison and of joining the victorious side and keeping their liberty. The arguments of the traitors seemed to prevail; almost the whole of the regulars and 600 of the militia signified their consent to enlist with the enemy. The rest of the militia were turned loose, but d’Alorna was able to organize a brigade of three battalions to serve the Emperor as the ‘Second Portuguese Legion[320].’ But the intentions of these docile recruits were quite other than Masséna had supposed. They had changed their allegiance merely in order to escape being sent to France, and while left unguarded during the next three days, absconded in bands of 200 or 300 at a time, officers and all, and kept presenting themselves at Silveira’s and Wellington’s outposts, for a week. The French, undeceived too late, disarmed the few men remaining in the camp, who were packed off to France, to rejoin Cox and the half-dozen officers who had loyally refused to accept d’Alorna’s offers[321]. Wellington had been somewhat alarmed when the first news of the adhesion of the garrison to the French cause reached him, fearing that it implied serious disaffection in the whole Portuguese army[322]. He was soon undeceived on this point, as the troops gradually streamed in to his camp[323]. But he was then seized with grave doubts as to whether he could, consistently with military honour, accept the service of these perjured but patriotic people. ‘It was well enough for the private men, but highly disgraceful to the character of the officers[324],’ he observed, and was pondering what should be done, and proposing to cashier the officers, when he received a proclamation from the Regency approving the conduct of the deserters and restoring them to their place in the army. Finally he resolved that, since Masséna had obviously broken the capitulation by his action, it might be held that[p. 277] it was not binding on the prisoners, and ordered the 24th Regiment to be re-formed at its head quarters at Braganza. The militia he dismissed to their homes, on the scruple that the French had let some, though not all of them, go free after the capitulation[325]. There remained the problem of what was to be done with the Portuguese officers who had played a treacherous part on the 27th, especially Barreiros, the negotiator who had betrayed the state of the town to Masséna, and Da Costa, who had headed the mutinous deputation to Cox, which forced him to surrender. Finally, their names were included with those of the officers who had served on Masséna’s Portuguese staff during the campaign, in a great indictment placed before a special commission on traitors (called a Junta de Inconfidencia), which sat at Lisbon during the autumn. All from d’Alorna downwards were declared guilty of high treason, and condemned to death on December 22, 1810, but only two were caught and executed—Jo?o de Mascarenhas, one of d’Alorna’s aides de camp, and Da Costa, the lieutenant-governor of Almeida. The former was captured by the Ordenan?a while carrying Masséna’s dispatches in 1810, and the latter was apprehended in 1812; Mascarenhas died by the garotte, Da Costa was shot. Of the others, some never returned to Portugal, the others were pardoned at various dates between 1816 and 1820[326].

During the siege of Almeida, the British army had been held in a position somewhat less advanced and more concentrated than that which it had occupied in July. Wellington had brought back his head quarters from Alverca to Celorico, where he had the Light Division under his hand. A few miles behind, on the high-road running down the south bank of the Mondego,[p. 278] was the 1st Division, at Villa Cortes. Picton and the 3rd Division had been drawn back from Pinhel to Carapichina, but Cole and the 4th remained firm at Guarda. The Portuguese brigades of Coleman and A. Campbell were at Pinhan?os, that of Pack at Jegua. The whole of the cavalry had come up from the rear to join the brigade that had recently operated under Craufurd’s orders. They now lay in a thick line of six regiments from in front of Guarda, through Alverca and Freixadas to Lamegal. Thus the whole army was concentrated on a short front of fifteen miles, covering the watershed between the Coa and the Mondego, and the bifurcation of the roads which start from Celorico, down the two banks of the last-named river. The French held back, close to Almeida, with a strong advance guard at Pinhel, and occasionally raided the low country towards the Douro, in the direction of Villanova de Fosboa and Castel Rodrigo. About August 19 Wellington moved forward a day’s march, the front of his infantry columns being pushed up to Alverca and Freixadas, on a false rumour that Masséna was leaving the 6th Corps unsupported at Almeida, and had drawn back Junot into the plains of Leon. If this had been the case, Wellington intended to make a push to relieve the besieged fortress. But he soon discovered that the report was baseless, and that the 8th Corps was still on the Azava and the Agueda, wherefore he halted, and was still lying twelve miles in front of Celorico when the noise of the explosion at Almeida, and the cessation of fire on the next day, betrayed the fact that the place had fallen, and that there was no longer any reason for maintaining a forward position. On the night of the 28th, therefore, the whole army was drawn back once more to the strong line between Guarda and Celorico, and arrangements were made for a further retreat, in case the French should follow up the capture of Almeida by an instant and general advance. Masséna seemed at first likely to make this move: on September 2 a brigade of infantry and 1,200 horse drove in the British cavalry outposts to Ma?al de Ch?o only five miles in front of Celorico. Looking upon this as the commencement of the serious invasion of Portugal, Wellington sent back his infantry to Villa Cortes, Pinhan?os, and Moita, far down the high-road on the south of the Mondego, and bade Cole draw in the 4th Division from[p. 279] Guarda to San Martinho, under the north side of the Serra da Estrella. Only cavalry were left at, and in front of, Celorico and Guarda. This retreat shows that Wellington was fully convinced that the French would advance along the high-road to the south of the Mondego, where he intended to stand at bay on the Alva, behind the entrenchments of Ponte de Murcella.

The main point of interest at this moment was the movements of the French 2nd Corps, which still lay in cantonments at Zarza and Coria in front of Hill. Guarda being no longer held in force, it was clear that Hill could not safely join the main army by the road Atalaya-Fund?o-Guarda, if Reynier moved up by the Pass of Perales to Alfayates and Sabugal. Wellington began an anxious daily correspondence with Hill, giving him a new line of march by Sobreira Formosa, Villa d’el Rei and Espinhal, for his junction, but ordering him to be sure that he did not move till Reynier had thoroughly committed himself to the transference of his whole force to the north of the Sierra de Gata. For it would be disastrous if feints should induce the British detaining force to leave Villa Velha and Abrantes uncovered, and Reynier should turn out to have selected them as his objective, and to be meditating an invasion along the Castello Branco line[327]. It was even possible, though not likely, that Masséna might bring up the 6th and 8th Corps to join Reynier, instead of bringing Reynier across the mountains to join them[328]. But every contingency had to be provided against,[p. 280] the unlikely ones as well as the likely. As a corollary to Hill’s march, that of Leith had also to be arranged; he must wait at Thomar till it was certain that the 2nd Corps had moved, but the moment that certainty was obtained, must march for Ponte de Murcella, and join the main army, if the French had gone north, but support Hill on the Castello Branco road if they had taken the other, and less probable, course.

NOTE ON ALMEIDA AND THE BRIDGE OF THE COA

The small circular town of Almeida has never recovered from the disaster of 1810. The population does not fill up the area within the walls: open spaces are frequent, and some of the more important buildings—especially the old palace of the governor—stand in ruins. Others show solid seventeenth- or eighteenth-century masonry on the ground floor, and flimsy modern repairs above, where the upper stories were blown away by the explosion. The cathedral has never been properly rebuilt, and is a mere fragment. The railway passes twelve miles south of Almeida, so that the place has had no chance of recovery, and remains in a state of decay. The walls stand just as they were left after Wellington’s hasty repairs in 1811. The vast bomb-proof shelters repeatedly mentioned in narratives of the siege are still visible, damp but intact. The surrounding country-side is a low, rolling, treeless upland—the edge of the vast plains of Leon. It contrasts very strongly with the hilly and picturesque scenery that is reached when once the Coa has been passed.

From Almeida the ground slopes down sharply to the place of Craufurd’s celebrated skirmish. The town is not visible after the first mile of the descent towards the deep-sunk gorge through which the Coa cuts its way. The high-road is very bad for artillery, being steep, filled with great stones, and in many places shut in by high banks, which tower above it and make it narrow. The sharp turn at the end, where it descends to the river with a sudden twist, must have been specially tiresome to a force with cavalry and guns, compelled to a hasty retreat. All the slopes about the road are cut up into small fields by high walls of undressed stone, without mortar, such as are seen on Cotswold. The bridge is not visible till the traveller approaching from Almeida has got down to the level of the river: it is completely masked by the high fir-clad knoll described in the text, so long as he is descending the slope above. From the point where the road swerves aside, to avoid this knoll, there is a rough goat-track down to the still invisible bridge, but this is not available for guns, horses, or formed infantry, only for men scrambling individually.

[p. 281]The two-arched bridge is seventy yards long; it crosses the Coa diagonally, with a curious twist in the middle, where there is a little monument recording the reparation of the structure by John VI, in the days after the war was over. There is no mention of Craufurd’s fight in the inscription—only a laudation of the King. The bridge crosses the river at a sort of gorge—the place where the rocks on the two sides come nearest. Hence the stream runs under it very fiercely, being constricted to far less than its normal breadth. Up-stream the channel broadens and the passage looks much less formidable, but for some distance on each side of the bridge the river is very rapid, darting between rocks and boulders. The little corner where the few French who passed the bridge found a small angle of dead-ground can be easily identified. It was just to their right after crossing. All the rest of the ground on the west bank could be thoroughly searched by the British guns, which were placed a few hundred yards up the road on the left hand, as well as by the fire of the infantry ensconced among rocks and boulders above the bridge.

Of the French attacking force during the early part of the skirmish, those who were on their left, nearest the river and opposite the 52nd, had far easier ground to cover than those on the right, opposite the 43rd. It is not so high or rough, and less cut up by stone walls. Hence the stress on the 52nd ought to have been the heavier—yet they lost only 22 men to the 129 of the 43rd. The damage to the latter must have been caused partly when the cavalry got in among them, just as the retreat began, partly when they stormed the knoll to cover the retreat of the 52nd.

The scene of the fight is most picturesque on a small scale—one of the prettiest corners in Portugal, all rock, fir-trees, and rushing water.—[Notes made on the spot on April 14, 1906.]
SECTION XX  OPERATIONS IN THE EAST AND SOUTH OF SPAIN DURING THE SPRING AND SUMMER OF 1810 CHAPTER I
SUCHET AND AUGEREAU IN ARAGON, VALENCIA, AND CATALONIA, MARCH-JULY 1810

Though Suchet had successfully pacified the plains of Aragon during the autumn of 1809, and though Augereau in the last month of that year had received the surrender of the much-enduring garrison of Gerona, the position of the French in North-Eastern Spain was still far from satisfactory. It was not yet possible for the 3rd and the 7th Corps to combine their operations. While the broad strip of territory in Western Catalonia reaching from the foot of the Pyrenees to the sea—whose places of strength were Lerida, Tarragona, and Tortosa—still remained intact, Augereau and Suchet could still communicate only by the circuitous route through France: a letter from Saragossa to Barcelona took a fortnight or more to arrive at its destination. It was high time that they should endeavour to get into touch with each other, by cutting through the Spanish line of defence. Both of the corps-commanders had now a comparatively free hand, and could assemble a considerable force for offensive operations. Suchet’s position was the happier: he had no Spanish army opposed to him at the moment. His only opponents were—to the West the bold guerrillero Mina the Younger on the borders of Navarre; to the South Villacampa with the dilapidated remains of his band on the side of the Sierra de Albaracin and Molina; and to the East the governor of Lerida, who kept a flying force under Colonel Perena on foot between the Cinca and the Segre, for the encouragement of the insurgents of Eastern Aragon. None of[p. 283] these three opponents could do any serious mischief to the 3rd Corps, which had risen by the New Year of 1810 to a strength of 24,000 men[329], now that its drafts from France were beginning to arrive. Mina was the most tiresome of the three: he was a young man of untiring energy, and kept the borders of Navarre in a perpetual ferment, till he was finally put down by mere force of numbers. For while Suchet sent a number of columns under General Harispe to hunt him, Lagrange’s division of the newly arrived 8th Corps came down from the side of Pampeluna, and swept the valleys of the Arga and the Aragon from the other quarter. Pursued from one refuge to another by 12,000 men, Mina ended by bidding his followers disperse. He did not appear again as a combatant till the 8th Corps had passed on into Castile in the month of February 1810.

Villacampa and Perena being very weak adversaries, Suchet could now dispose of the greater part of his corps for offensive operations. Two lines of attack were open to him: the more natural and obvious one was to attack Lerida or Tortosa, while Augereau and the 7th Corps moved against them from the other side. This was Suchet’s own intention, and he had received dispatches from Paris which approved of the plan. But another objective was pointed out to him from another quarter. It will be remembered that while King Joseph and Soult were planning the details of their Andalusian expedition, one of the schemes which they discussed was the use of the 3rd Corps as a flanking detachment to cover their attack on Seville[330]: it was to march on Valencia while Mortier marched on Badajoz. The plan was rejected in favour of the direct frontal march against the passes of the Sierra Morena. Nevertheless, when the defiles had been passed, and the King had entered Cordova in triumph, he recurred to his original scheme, and on January 27 Soult sent orders to Suchet directing him to make a dash at Valencia, and assuring him that the demoralization of the Spaniards was so great that he would probably enter the city without meeting with much resistance. Similar orders, as we have already seen,[p. 284] were sent to Ney, who was directed at the same moment to make himself master of Ciudad Rodrigo[331], which Soult and the King imagined to be likely to surrender at the first summons.

Suchet, though doubting (as he says) the wisdom of the plan of campaign imposed upon him, prepared to obey, and concentrated 8,000 men, consisting of Laval’s division and half that of Musnier, at Teruel, on the borders of Valencia, while Habert, with six battalions more, was to move in a separate parallel column from Alca?iz, and to strike down on to the sea-coast of Valencia by way of Morella. On their way to Teruel some of Laval’s columns made a side-stroke at Villacampa, and drove off his band into the mountains of New Castile.

The march on Valencia had already begun, when Suchet received at Teruel, on March 1, the dispatch from the Emperor which announced to him that the kingdom of Aragon had been made an independent ‘military government’ under his charge[332], and that he was for the future to take no orders from Madrid, but to seek all his instructions from Paris. By the same dispatch Suchet was informed that the Emperor approved of the plan for directing the 3rd Corps against Lerida and the rear of Catalonia which he had himself always advocated. But since Habert’s column had already disappeared in the mountains, and could not be recalled, and since his own advanced guard had actually crossed the borders of Valencia, Suchet thought that it was now too late to turn back, and that he must endeavour to carry out Soult’s orders, even though they were now countermanded by the Emperor. Accordingly he marched by Sarrion, on the road which leads from Teruel to Segorbe, and from thence to Murviedro on the Valencian coast, where Habert was to join him.

The force opposed to Suchet was that Valencian army which the governor—or rather the dictator—José Caro had so persistently refused to lend to Blake in the preceding autumn for the relief of Gerona. It was about 12,000 strong at the moment, and as some nine months had elapsed since the disaster of Belchite, where the Valencian troops had fared so badly, the regiments had been recruited up to their old strength, and had been thoroughly reorganized and re-equipped. Nevertheless,[p. 285] Caro did not wish to risk them in the open field, and, when Suchet’s approach was reported to him, ordered the troops to prepare to retreat within the walls of the city of Valencia, which had been so successfully defended against Moncey two years before. He was probably right in his decision: having no great superiority of numbers over the French invading columns, he would have been risking over much if he had offered battle on the frontier, even in an advantageous position. Behind the fortifications of Valencia, which had been improved and enlarged during the last two years, he could at least be certain of making a long and formidable resistance. If the enemy appeared without a great battering-train, and unprepared for a regular siege, the garrison would be absolutely safe. Accordingly, Caro sent out only a single brigade to observe and retard Suchet’s advance: this force, assisted by some armed peasants, tried to hold the defile of Alventosa against the French (March 4), but was beaten out of the position with ease, lost four guns, and retired by Segorbe and Murviedro on to Valencia, without offering further resistance. Suchet, following in the wake of the Spanish detachment, reached Murviedro on March 5, and there met Habert, whose march by Morella and Castellon-de-la-Plana had been absolutely unopposed.

A day later the French appeared in front of the fortifications of Valencia. Having surveyed the outworks, and summoned the place in vain, Suchet found that there was no more to be done. His bolt was shot: the city intended to defend itself: it was full of troops, and the whole population had been armed. Caro had given notice that the defence was to be conducted in the style of Saragossa, and as a foretaste of his intentions court-martialled and hanged several persons who were accused of being traitors[333]. After lying four days in front of Valencia, Suchet marched off again on the night of March 10-11, having[p. 286] convinced himself that he had been sent on a fool’s errand by Soult and King Joseph. For the expedition had only been undertaken on the hypothesis that the enemy was demoralized and ready to surrender—which was clearly not the case. No siege train had been brought, and without heavy artillery Valencia was impregnable. The retreat of the French was hastened by the fact that their communications with Aragon had already been cut off. Villacampa, undismayed by his defeat in February, had returned to the front the moment that the invading columns had passed on to the Valencian coast. He had blockaded the garrison of Teruel, cut off two small columns which were moving in its neighbourhood, and captured four guns and some 300 prisoners. At the same moment, though Suchet was unaware of the fact, Colonel Perena, with a detachment from Lerida, had made a demonstration against Monzon, and when the garrison of Eastern Aragon concentrated to defend it, had fallen on Fraga and burnt the bridge there—the only crossing of the Cinca which was in French hands. Mina, too, warned of the departure of the main body of the 3rd Corps for the South, had reassembled some of his levies, and begun to render the road from Saragossa to Pampeluna once more unsafe.

Suchet, therefore, on withdrawing from Valencia, found plenty of occupation awaiting him in Aragon. Villacampa was once more chased into the wilds of the Sierra de Albaracin: and several columns were detached in pursuit of Mina. This time the young partisan was unfortunate—he was caught between one of Suchet’s detachments and a party sent out by the governor of Navarre, and taken prisoner on March 31, with some scores of his followers. His place, however, was taken ere long by his uncle Espoz y Mina, who rallied the remnant of the guerrilleros of North-Western Aragon, and continued the struggle with an energy as great, and a success far greater, than that of his nephew.

Meanwhile, the months of February and March had been wasted, so far as the 3rd Corps was concerned, and it was not till April that Suchet was able to take in hand the enterprise which he himself had approved, and to which the Emperor had now given his consent—the siege of Lerida. A few weeks after his return to Saragossa he received from Paris two imperial[p. 287] letters denouncing his late campaign as presumptuous, objectless, and altogether deserving of high condemnation[334].

While the Valencian expedition had been in progress Marshal Augereau had been trying his hand at the Catalan problems which Verdier and St. Cyr had found so puzzling. His luck had been bad—and his faults had been many—for of all the commanders-in-chief who successively endeavoured to subjugate the untameable principality he was decidedly the least capable. When Gerona fell, the main body of his army was let loose for operations in the open field. But Verdier’s divisions, on whom the burden of the siege work had fallen, were in much too dilapidated a condition for active service[335]. Leaving them to recover their strength and gather up their convalescents, in cantonments between Figueras and Gerona, Augereau moved southwards in January, at the head of the troops of Souham and Pino, whose two divisions still counted 12,000 bayonets with the eagles, though they left behind them 5,000 sick in the hospitals of Figueras and Perpignan.

The Marshal’s main duty at this moment was to clear the road from Figueras to Barcelona, which the Spanish fortress of Gerona had so effectually blocked during the whole year 1809. All further advances were suspended till this operation should have been completed, by the Emperor’s special orders. Duhesme, indeed, isolated in Barcelona with some 6,000 men, communicating with France only by sea, and surrounded by a discontented population, which was reduced to semi-starvation by the blockade kept up by the British fleet, was in a perilous condition. There had been many who thought that if Blake, in October 1809, had marched against Barcelona instead of trying to throw succours into Gerona, he would have forced Augereau to abandon the siege of the latter place. For Duhesme would have been in such danger, since he was neither strong enough to fight in the open nor to man efficiently the immense circuit of the walls of Barcelona, that Augereau might[p. 288] probably have judged that it was better to save the capital of Catalonia than to continue the interminable blockade of the smaller town that was holding out so obstinately against him. Be this as it may, Augereau set Souham’s and Pino’s columns on the march early in January 1810, after having first executed at their head a sort of battue of the somatenes of the mountains around Gerona, as far as Ripol and Campredon. His progress was a reign of terror: he had issued on December 28th a proclamation stating that all irregulars taken with arms in their hands were to be treated as simple highway robbers, and hung without any form of trial[336]. He was as good as his word, and all the prisoners taken by the flying columns of Souham and Pino were suspended on a line of gallows erected on the high-road between Gerona and Figueras. These atrocities turned the war in Catalonia into a struggle even more ferocious than that of 1809, for the natives, very naturally, retaliated upon every French straggler that they caught, and the Spanish regular officers had great difficulty in saving the lives even of large bodies who had laid down their arms upon formal terms of surrender.

Two roads lead from Gerona and the valley of the Ter to Barcelona—that by Vich and that by Hostalrich. They unite near Granollers, twenty miles outside Barcelona. Augereau marched with the Italian division of Pino by the second road, while he sent Souham by the other. Both met with opposition: the small castle of Hostalrich was still held by the Spaniards—it was the only fortified place in central Catalonia which was now in their hands, and commanded, though it did not actually block, the main road to Barcelona. On arriving before it, the Marshal ordered Mazzuchelli’s Italian brigade to form the siege, trusting that the place would fall in a few days; but finding the resistance more serious than he had expected, he finally continued his march, with the remainder of the Italian division, towards Granollers and Barcelona. He had ordered Duhesme to come out to meet him at the former place, with as many of his troops as he could spare from garrison duty.
Map ofCcatalonia

Enlarge  CATALONIA

[p. 289]Souham meanwhile, on the eastern road, had entered Vich on January 11. He found that it had just been evacuated by the main body of the Spanish Army of Catalonia, whose head quarters had been maintained in that town all through the later months of the siege of Gerona. This force, still numbering about 7,000 men, was no longer under the command of its old general. Blake had resigned at Christmastide, after a lively altercation with the Junta of Catalonia, who laid the blame for the fall of Gerona on his shoulders, while he maintained that they were to blame for not having ordered the general levée en masse of the principality at an earlier date[337]. The command then passed in quick succession to the two senior general officers of the Catalan army, first to the Marquis of Portago, and then, after he had fallen ill, to General Garcia Conde, Governor of Lerida. But these interim commanders-in-chief were replaced in a few weeks by a younger and much more active leader, Henry O’Donnell—the man who had conducted the second convoy for Gerona, and had cut his way out of the place with such splendid address and resolution. He had only just been raised to the rank of Major-General, yet was now entrusted by the Central Junta with the control of the entire army of Catalonia. As he was setting to work to reorganize it, Souham arrived in front of his head quarters. Judging it unwise to offer battle at the head of demoralized troops, O’Donnell evacuated Vich, and fell back to the mountains above it. Souham followed him with an advanced guard as far as the pass called the Col de Suspina, where the Spaniard suddenly turned upon the pursuing force, and hurled it back with loss upon the main body of the division (January 12, 1810). He refused, however, to face Souham next day, and retreated towards Manresa; thereupon the French general also turned back, thinking it profitless to leave the Vich-Barcelona road, and to plunge into the hills in pursuit of an evasive enemy. He ended by making his way across the mountains to join the Marshal.

Meanwhile, Augereau, with Pino’s Italian brigades, reached Granollers, and came into touch with Duhesme’s troops, just in time to find that a disaster had preceded his arrival. The Governor of Barcelona, in obedience to the orders sent him, had[p. 290] marched out on January 16 with three battalions and 250 cuirassiers in order to meet the Marshal. He waited four days at Granollers, and then left the brigade under the charge of Colonel Guétry, and returned in person to Barcelona, recalled by rumours of a threatened attack from the side of Tarragona. On the morning after his departure Guétry’s force, which believed itself in complete security, was suddenly surprised in its camps by a detachment sent out by O’Donnell. That enterprising officer had heard that Augereau was still twenty miles away, and that Guétry had scattered his men in the three villages of Santa Perpetua, Mollet, and Granollers, in order to cover them from the bitter January weather. Accordingly, he resolved to risk an attack on this unwary detachment. Two brigades—about 4,000 men—under the Marquis of Campo Verde, made a forced march across the mountains, and fell upon the villages at dawn. The battalion of the 112th in Santa Perpetua was completely cut to pieces or captured—only two men are said to have escaped. The 7th and the cuirassiers at Mollet fared somewhat better, but were driven back to Barcelona with heavy loss. Part of the third battalion, one of the 5th Italian Line regiment, which was posted at Granollers, escaped destruction by throwing itself into a fortified convent, and held out for two days, till it was saved by the approach of Augereau along the high-road. Altogether, Duhesme’s division was thinned by the loss of 1,000 men on January 21-22: Guétry had been taken prisoner, with some 600 men more and two guns. The Spaniards disappeared the moment that Augereau came in sight, and rejoined O’Donnell in the hills.

Augereau entered Barcelona on the twenty-fourth, and at once asserted his authority by deposing Duhesme from the governorship and sending him home to France. They were old enemies, and the general’s friends regarded his disgrace as a display of spite on the part of his superior[338]. But as all the Spanish narratives describe the eighteen-months’ dictatorship of Duhesme as having been as much distinguished for private[p. 291] rapacity as for public oppression, it is probable that the Marshal’s action was wholly justifiable. The Emperor, however, refused to sanction the prosecution of the general on the charges laid against him, remarking that such proceedings would give too much pleasure to the Catalans, ‘il y avait bien autre chose à faire que de réjouir les Espagnols par cette réaction[339].’

Having concentrated Pino’s and Souham’s troops at Barcelona, Augereau would have proceeded to advance against the Catalans, and lay siege to Tarragona, but for one fact—the magazines of the city were almost empty, and no food could be procured for the army. Indeed, after a very few days it was necessary for the Marshal to retrace his steps, in order to bring up an enormous convoy for the revictualling of the place, which was being collected at Perpignan and Figueras. All that he had done by his march was to open up the road, and to muzzle the fortress of Hostalrich, which was still being blockaded by the Italians. Accordingly, on February 1 his two divisions marched back each by the way that it had originally taken—Souham to Vich, where he halted, Pino to Gerona, where the convoy began presently to gather, escorted thither in detachments by a large body of reinforcements which had just come up from France. For the Emperor had strengthened the Army of Catalonia by a division of troops of the Confederation of the Rhine, under General Rouyer, and by a Neapolitan brigade—some 8,000 men in all. But the long train of carts and mules came in slowly, and March began before Augereau was ready to move.

Meanwhile, his lieutenant Souham had been exposed to a sudden and unexpected peril. O’Donnell had discovered that the division at Vich was completely isolated and did not count much more than 5,000 sabres and bayonets. Having reorganized his own field army at Moya, near Manresa, and brought it up to a strength of 7,000 foot and 500 horse by calling a few troops from Tarragona, he directed the somatenes of Northern Catalonia to muster on the other side of Vich, so as to fall on Souham from the rear. The indefatigable miquelete leaders Rovira and Milans got together between 3,000 and 4,000 men, despite of all their previous losses and defeats. On February 19 these levies thrust in the pickets of the French division on the eastern[p. 292] side, but Souham did not see his danger till, on the following morning, he found O’Donnell’s regular troops pouring down into the plain of Vich in three columns, and challenging him to a battle in the open. Since the day of Valls the Catalan army had never tried such a bold stroke.

The French general was greatly outnumbered—he had but 4,000 infantry and 1,200 horse to oppose to O’Donnell’s 7,500 regulars and the 3,500 miqueletes. The action fell into two separate parts—while Rovira and Milans bickered with two battalions left to guard the town of Vich, Souham fought a pitched battle against the Spanish main body with the eight battalions and two and a half regiments of cavalry[340] which constituted the remainder of his force. It was a fierce and well-contested fight: O’Donnell took the offensive, and his men displayed an unwonted vigour and initiative. Unhappily for this enterprising general his small body of horsemen was utterly unable to restrain or to cope with the superior French cavalry. Twice the battle was turned by the charge of Souham’s squadrons: after the first repulse O’Donnell rallied his beaten right wing, threw in all his reserves, and tried to outflank the shorter French line on both sides. The enemy was losing heavily and showing signs of yielding, when the whole of his cavalry made a second desperate charge on the Spanish right. It was completely successful; O’Donnell’s turning column, composed of the Swiss regiments of Kayser[341] and Traxler, was broken, and the larger part of it captured. Thereupon, the Spanish general, who had displayed undaunted courage throughout the day, and headed several charges in person, thought it time to retire. He fell back on the mountains, leaving behind him 800 killed and wounded, and 1,000 prisoners. The French[p. 293] had suffered at least 600 casualties[342], including Souham himself, desperately wounded in the head, and had been within an ace of destruction: but for their superiority in cavalry, the day was lost.

On March 13, Augereau had at last collected his vast convoy at Gerona—there were more than a thousand waggons laden with flour, besides pack-mules, caissons, carriages, and other vehicles of all sorts. He marched in person to escort it, with the Italians—who were now under Severoli, Pino having gone home on leave,—and the newly arrived German division of Rouyer. Verdier was left behind—as in January—to defend the Ampurdam from the incursions of the miqueletes of Rovira and Milans. Meanwhile, Souham’s division, which had passed into the hands of General Augereau, the Marshal’s brother, since its old chief had been invalided to France, pursued a line of march parallel to that of the main force. Moving from Vich by the Col de Suspina and Manresa, it came down into the valley of the Llobregat, on the same day that Pino’s and Rouyer’s troops reached it by the other route. The Marshal and the main column had made their way past Hostalrich, which was found still unsubdued, and still blockaded by Mazzuchelli’s brigade, which had been left opposite it in January. These troops were ordered to join their division, a mixed detachment under Colonel Devaux being left in their stead to watch the castle. The Marshal then took up his residence in the palace at Barcelona, and had himself proclaimed Governor of Catalonia with great state, in consonance with the imperial decree of February 8, which had taken the principality out of the hands of King Joseph, and made its administrator responsible to Paris alone, and not to Madrid.

Augereau established himself permanently at Barcelona, and proceeded during the next two months to act rather as a viceroy than as a commander-in-chief. The conduct of military operations he handed over to his brother, to the unbounded disgust of the other generals. In what proportions the responsibility[p. 294] for the disasters which followed should be distributed between the two Augereaus it is hard to say. But Napoleon, very naturally and reasonably, placed it on the Marshal’s shoulders, and wrote that ‘Ce n’est point en restant dans les capitales éloignées de l’armée que des généraux en chef peuvent acquérir de la gloire ou mériter mon estime[343].’ The force assembled on the Llobregat was now a very large one, consisting of three divisions, those of Augereau, Severoli, and Rouyer. It numbered nearly 20,000 men, for along with the convoy there had marched a mass of drafts for the old regiments of the 7th Corps, which brought their battalions up to full strength[344].

There were only two rational plans of campaign open to the French: the one was to march on Tarragona with a siege-train, and to complete the conquest of Catalonia by the capture of its greatest fortress. The other was to mask Tarragona, and to strike across the principality westward, in order to get into communication with Suchet and the Army of Aragon, by way of Igualada, Cervera, and Lerida. If the two corps could meet, Northern Catalonia would be completely isolated from Tarragona, Tortosa, and Valencia. It was this latter plan which Augereau had been ordered to carry out by his master. He was directed to march on Lerida, and to join Suchet before that place. By a dispatch of February 19 he had been informed that on March 1 the Army of Aragon would have arrived before Lerida, and would be forming its siege[345]. This prophecy was false: for Suchet, as we have seen, had gone off on his Valencian expedition, and was at Teruel on the appointed day. It was impossible to direct from Paris a combined movement depending on accurate timing for its success. But Augereau should have attempted to carry out the order sent him by his master with proper zeal and dispatch. This he failed to do: his own inclination was to strike a blow at Tarragona, and the movements of his corps show that this was the operation which he had determined to carry out. Instead of marching in person[p. 295] with his main body, on Cervera and Lerida, he directed his brother to take his own and Severoli’s divisions and to move by Villafranca on Reus, a large town twelve miles to the north-west of Tarragona, and suitable as a base of operations against that city (March 29). A battalion and a half was dropped at Villafranca, to keep open the communications between Reus and Barcelona, while a brigade of Rouyer’s newly arrived Germans, under the ever-unlucky Schwartz—the vanquished of Bruch and Esparraguera[346]—was placed as a sort of flank-guard at Manresa. On March 27 a summons was sent in to Tarragona demanding surrender. This was, of course, refused—the town was full of troops, for Henry O’Donnell had just strengthened its garrison by retiring into it himself, with the 6,000 men who represented the remains of his field army.

The Spanish general, contemplating the position of affairs with a wary eye, had convinced himself that he could stop General Augereau’s further movements by striking at his line of communication with Barcelona. This he proceeded to do in the most skilful and successful fashion. Before the enemy closed in upon Tarragona, he sent out a picked force under General Juan Caro, with orders to attack Villafranca and Manresa without a moment’s delay. This daring stroke was completely successful: Caro stormed Villafranca at dawn on March 30, and took or captured the whole of the 800 men posted there. He was wounded, and had to hand over his command to Campo Verde, who, after some preliminary skirmishing lasting for three days, completed the little campaign by driving Schwartz out of Manresa, after a heavy fight, on April 5, in which the German brigade lost 30 officers and 800 men[347]. The somatenes turned out to hunt the routed force as it retired on Barcelona, and inflicted many further losses, so that Schwartz only brought back a third of his brigade to the Marshal.

The touch between the two divisions at Reus and the garrison of Barcelona was thus completely severed. Moreover, Augereau[p. 296] feared lest the next move of the raiding force might be an attack on the isolated force under Colonel Devaux which was blockading Hostalrich. He therefore sent out a brig with one of his aides-de-camp on board, bearing orders to his brother and Severoli to return at once to his head quarters with their troops. By good fortune the messenger reached his destination without being intercepted by English cruisers, and the two divisions started on their march back to Barcelona on April 7. Only two days before, Severoli, more by luck than by skill, had got for a moment into touch with the Army of Aragon. An exploring column of two battalions under Colonel Villatte, which he had sent out westward to Falcet, in the direction of the Ebro, met—entirely by chance—a similar detachment of Musnier’s division of the 3rd Corps, which had advanced to Mora. On interchanging news of their respective armies, Villatte learnt from his colleague that Suchet was at this moment marching on Lerida, where, according to the Emperor’s instructions to Marshal Augereau, he ought to have arrived more than a month before. Villatte brought back the information to Severoli, but the latter could make no use of it while he was under orders to return without delay to Barcelona[348]. He and General Augereau accomplished their retreat in three days, much harassed on the way, not only by the somatenes of the mountains but also by O’Donnell, who followed them with a detachment of the garrison of Tarragona. They took some small revenge on him, however, at Villafranca, where they turned on the pursuers and inflicted a sharp check on their advanced guard, which was pressing in, with more courage than discretion, on a force which outnumbered it by four to one. On April 9 the whole army was encamped outside the walls of Barcelona. Counting the garrison, Augereau had now more than 20,000 men in hand, but, not contented with this concentration, he sent orders back to the Ampurdam, ordering Verdier to bring forward as many troops as possible to Gerona, and from thence to push forward down the high-road as far as Granollers, so as to succour Devaux, if the Spaniards should show any intention of relieving Hostalrich.

The Marshal’s next move lost him the favour of Napoleon,[p. 297] and led to his removal in disgrace to Paris. On April 11 he issued orders to Severoli to march on Hostalrich, and there to take over the conduct of the siege from Devaux, while at the same time he himself moved back to Gerona with his brother’s French division, and an immense train, consisting partly of the empty carts of the convoy which he had brought south in March, partly of confiscated property of all sorts from Barcelona[349]. Augereau’s excuse for this retrograde movement, which abandoned all Central Catalonia to the enemy, was that his army would have exhausted the magazines of Barcelona if he had kept it concentrated for ten days more, and that he had no other way of feeding it, since the activity of the somatenes made the dispatch of foraging detachments utterly impossible. The moral effect of the move was deplorable: after taking in hand an offensive movement against Tarragona, he had allowed himself to be checked by an enemy hopelessly inferior in numbers, had lost over 3,000 men in petty combats, and then had retired to the base from which he had started in January. Three months had been wasted, and nothing had been gained save that the small castle of Hostalrich was now in a desperate condition for want of food, and must fall if not speedily succoured. What rendered the position of Augereau the more shameful was that he had now in front of him only a skeleton enemy. For O’Donnell at this moment was distracted by the advance of Suchet against Lerida, and had been forced to draw off towards the borders of Aragon two of the four divisions into which he had reorganized his little field army. Facing Augereau there was only Campo Verde’s division of regulars—not over 5,000 strong—and the bands of the mountains. It was against such an enemy that the Marshal had concentrated 25,000 men—including Verdier’s force—between Hostalrich and Gerona.

The food-problem, on which those who defend Augereau lay all the stress possible[350], was no doubt a very real one.[p. 298] The feeding of Barcelona, with its garrison and its large civil population, by means of convoys brought from France, was no easy task. But it seems clear that with the large force at his disposition—the 7th Corps was over 50,000 strong[351]—Augereau could have organized convoy-guards sufficiently powerful to defy the Spaniards, without abandoning the offensive position in front of Barcelona, which was all-important to him. He might have set aside 10,000 men for that purpose, and still have kept a strong field army together. Had he done so, O’Donnell could not have dared to march with 8,000 men, the pick of the Catalan army, to relieve Lerida, while his old enemies were massed, awaiting an impossible attack, a hundred miles away.

Meanwhile, the one task which was completed by the 7th Corps during the months of April and May was the reduction of Hostalrich. The little castle was a place of strength, perched high above the abandoned town to which it belonged. It was garrisoned by two battalions, one of Granadan regulars from Reding’s old division, the other of local Catalan levies[352], under Colonel Juliano Estrada, an officer of high spirit and commendable obstinacy. To the first summons made to him in January by Augereau, he had replied that ‘Hostalrich was the child of Gerona, and would know how to emulate the conduct of the mother-city.’ Nor was this high-flown epigram belied by the after-conduct of the garrison. Hostalrich held out from January 16 to May 12 without receiving either a convoy from without or any reinforcements. Twice the local miqueletes attempted to pass succours into the castle, but on each occasion they were driven off, after having barely succeeded in communicating with Estrada. Their convoys never got close enough to enter the gates. At last, on May 12, the provisions of the place were completely exhausted: thereupon Estrada took in hand a scheme which was only tried by one other governor during the whole Peninsular War—the Frenchman Brennier at Almeida in May 1811. He put every able-bodied man of the garrison under arms at midnight, issued[p. 299] silently from the castle, and charged at the besiegers’ lines, with the intention of cutting his way through to Campo Verde’s head quarters in the mountains. He was fortunate enough to pierce the Italian outposts at the first rush. But two whole brigades were presently at his heels, his guides lost their way among cliffs and ravines, and he was overtaken. Turning back with his rearguard to fend off the pursuers, he was wounded and taken prisoner. Ten other officers and some 300 soldiers shared his fate: the rest of the garrison dispersed in the hills, and reached Vich in small parties to the number of 800 men. If only their gallant commander had escaped with them, the exploit would have been an exact parallel to the Almeida sortie of 1811.

The reduction of Hostalrich and of a small fort on the Isles of Las Medas near the mouth of the Ter, were the last achievements of the Army of Catalonia while it was under the command of Augereau. On April 24 the Emperor had resolved to remove him from his post, and had ordered Marshal Macdonald, Duke of Tarentum, to relieve him. In the Moniteur it was merely stated that the elder Marshal had been forced by ill-health to resign his charge. But the real causes of his displacement are plainly stated in Napoleon’s letter to the Minister of War. They were the blow which he had given to the imperial prestige by his retreat to Gerona, and his disobedience in having failed to march on Lerida in aid of Suchet. It must be confessed that the wrath of the Emperor was justifiably roused. Its final manifestation took the shape of a minute directing that when the Moniteur published the news of the successes at Hostalrich and Las Medas, the name of Augereau was to be kept out of the paragraph, and only those of his subordinates mentioned[353].

While the new commander of the 7th Corps was on his way from Italy to Perpignan, and for some time after his arrival on May 22, there was a complete suspension of active operations. None of the French generals in the principality could do more than await orders, and keep the neighbourhood of his cantonments safe from the irrepressible miqueletes. The whole interest[p. 300] of the French operations in North-Western Spain during this period turns on the movements of the Army of Aragon.

On returning from his futile Valencian expedition, Suchet had found awaiting him at Saragossa orders to commence without delay the siege of Lerida, and promising that Augereau would ‘contain’ the Spanish army of Catalonia, and would ultimately open up communication with him by way of Cervera or Momblanch. In obedience to the imperial mandate, the commander of the 3rd Corps collected more than half his troops for the expedition against Lerida. This concentration entailed the abandonment of the rough country of Southern Aragon to Villacampa and his bands; for having determined to leave only Laval’s division behind him to protect the central parts of the province, Suchet had to evacuate the region of Teruel, Albaracin and Montalvan. Laval’s two brigades remained in the valley of the Jiloca, between Saragossa and Daroca, watching the debouches from the mountains. The other two divisions of the Army of Aragon were destined for the siege of Lerida. Musnier, with one column, marching down from Caspe and Alca?iz[354], crossed the Ebro at Flix, and approached Lerida from the south. Habert, with his division, coming from the side of Saragossa, made for the same goal by way of Alcubierre and Monzon. It might seem a dangerous experiment to march the two isolated columns across the Spanish front, for a junction at a point so remote from their respective starting-points. But, for the moment, there was no hostile force of any importance in their neighbourhood. Severoli and Augereau being still at Reus, when Musnier and Habert started on their way, O’Donnell could spare no troops for the relief of Lerida. It was not till they had retired, and the Duke of Castiglione had withdrawn all his forces to Hostalrich and Gerona, that the Captain-General found himself free for an expedition to the West. In front of Musnier, while he was marching on Lerida, there were nothing but trifling detachments sent out for purposes of observation by the Governor of Tortosa. In front of Habert there were only 2,000 men under Colonel Perena, thrown out from Lerida to observe the open[p. 301] country between the Segre and the Cinca. This was the sole field-force which remained from the old Spanish Army of Aragon, with the exception of the two dilapidated regiments that formed the nucleus of Villacampa’s band.

On April 10, Suchet arrived at Monzon with a brigade of infantry, and the six companies of artillery and four of engineers which were destined for the siege of Lerida. On the thirteenth he was before the walls of the place on the west bank of the Segre, while on the next day Habert appeared on the other bank, driving before him Colonel Perena and his battalions. This second French column had passed the Segre at Balaguer, from which it had expelled the Spanish brigade. Perena, having the choice between returning into the mountains or strengthening the garrison of Lerida, had taken the latter alternative. On the same day Musnier came up from the South, and joined the army with the force that had started from Alca?iz and had crossed the Ebro at Flix. Suchet had now concentrated the whole of the 13,000 men[355] whom he destined for the siege.

The town of Lerida, then containing some 18,000 inhabitants, lies in a vast treeless plain on the western bank of the broad and rapid Segre. Its topography is peculiar: out of the dead level of the plain rise two steep and isolated hills. One of these, about 800 yards long by 400 broad, and rising 150 feet above the surrounding flats, is crowned by the citadel of the town; the other, somewhat longer but rather narrower, is no other than the hill about which Caesar and Afranius contended in the old Civil Wars of Rome, when Lerida was still Ilerda. It lies about three-quarters of a mile from the first-named height. In 1810 its culminating summit was covered by a large work called Fort Garden, and its southern and lower end was protected by the two small redoubts called San Fernando and El Pilar. The town occupies the flat ground between the citadel-height and the river. It has no trans-pontine suburb, but only a strong[p. 302] tête-du-pont on the other side of the Segre. The strength of the place lay in the fact that its whole eastern front was protected by the river, its whole western front by the high-lying citadel. The comparatively short southern front was under the guns of Fort Garden, which commanded all the ground over which an enemy could approach this side of the town. There only remained, unprotected by outer works, the northern front, and this was the point which a skilful enemy would select as his objective. Another fact which much favoured the defence was that the besieger was forced to make very long lines of investment, since he had to shut in not only the town, but the whole plateau on which lie Fort Garden and its dependent works. Moreover, he must keep a force beyond the Segre, to block the tête-du-pont, and this force must be a large one, because the east was the quarter from which succours sent from Catalonia must certainly appear. The garrison, on the other hand, was quite adequate to man the works entrusted to it; the entry into the town of Perena’s Aragonese battalions had brought it up to a strength of over 8,000 men. The artillery were the weak point—there were only 350 trained men to man over 100 pieces. The Governor was Major-General Garcia Conde, who owed his promotion to his brilliant achievements at Gerona in the preceding September.

Suchet’s 13,000 men were insufficient for a close and thorough investment of such a large space as that covered by the Lerida-Garden fortifications. He was forced to leave a considerable part of its southern front watched by cavalry posts alone. Of his total force, Musnier, with six battalions and the greater part of the cavalry—about 4,000 men in all, was beyond the river. Three battalions blocked the tête-du-pont, the rest formed a sort of covering force, destined to keep off the approach of enemies from the side of Catalonia. On the hither side of the Segre the three brigades of Habert, Buget, and Vergès were encamped facing the western and north-western fronts of Lerida. They counted only thirteen battalions, being weakened by 1,200 men who had been detached to garrison Monzon and Fraga. The communication between Musnier’s division and the rest of the army was by a flying bridge thrown across the Segre two miles above the town; it was guarded by a redoubt. The artillery[p. 303] park was placed at the village of San Rufo, opposite the north-western angle of the town, from which it is distant about 2,500 yards. It was evident from the first that this would be the point of attack selected by the French engineers.

The army had barely taken up its position when, on April 19, rumours were spread abroad that O’Donnell was on his way to relieve Lerida. They must have been pure guesses, for the Spanish general on that day was still at Tarragona and had made no movement. They were, however, sufficiently persistent to induce Suchet to take off Musnier’s covering corps, strengthened by three other battalions, on a mission of exploration, almost as far as Tarrega, on the Barcelona road. No Spanish force was met, nor could any information be extracted from the inhabitants. The absence of the troops on the left bank of the Segre was soon detected by Garcia Conde, who—to his great regret three days later—sent messengers to inform O’Donnell that the French lines to the east of the city were now almost unoccupied.

The fiery O’Donnell was already on his way when this news reached him. The moment that he was sure that Augereau had left Barcelona and was retreating northward, he had resolved to fly to the relief of Lerida with the two divisions of which he could dispose. On the twentieth he marched from Tarragona by Valls and Momblanch, with 7,000 regular infantry, 400 horse, a single battery, and some 1,500 miqueletes. On the twenty-third he had reached Juneda, twelve miles from Lerida, without having seen a French picket or having been detected himself. He intended to drive off the few battalions blocking the bridge-head, and to open up communication with the besieged town that same day. Unfortunately for him, Suchet and Musnier had returned on the previous night from their expedition to Tarrega, and were now lying at Alcoletge, three miles north of the bridge-head, with seven battalions and 500 cuirassiers.

Pushing briskly forward along the high-road, in a level treeless plateau, destitute of cover of any kind, the leading Spanish division—that of Ibarrola—came into contact about midday with the small force guarding the bridge-head, which was now in charge of Harispe, Suchet’s chief-of-the-staff. To the surprise of the Spaniards, who had expected to see these three battalions and two squadrons of hussars retire in haste, the French showed[p. 304] fight. Harispe was aware that Musnier could come up to his aid within an hour, and was ready for battle. His hussars charged the leading regiment of Ibarrola’s column, and threw it into disorder, while his infantry formed up in support. At this moment the Spanish general received news that Musnier was moving in towards his flank; he therefore retired, to get the support of O’Donnell, who was following him with the second division. But at the ruined village of Margalef, six miles from Lerida, the column of Musnier came up with Ibarrola, and he was so hard pressed that he formed line, with 300 cavalry on his right wing and his three guns on his left. The position was as bad a one as could be found for the Spanish division—a dead flat, with no cover. Musnier, on reaching the front, flung his cavalry, 500 cuirassiers of the 13th regiment, at the Spanish right wing. The horsemen placed there broke, and fled without crossing sabres, and the French charge fell on the flank battalion of the infantry, which was caught while vainly trying to form square. It was ridden down in a moment, and the horsemen then rolled up the whole line, regiment after regiment. A great part of Ibarrola’s corps was captured, and O’Donnell, who came on the field with the division of Pirez just as the disaster took place, could do no more than retire in good order, covering the scattered remnants of his front line. A Swiss battalion, which he told off as his rearguard, was pierced by the cuirassiers and for the most part captured. In this disastrous affair the Spaniards lost 500 killed and wounded and several thousand prisoners[356], as also four flags and the half-battery belonging to Ibarrola’s division. The French, of whom the cavalry alone were seriously engaged, are[p. 305] said by Suchet to have had no more than 23 killed and 82 wounded[357].

It is clear that O’Donnell must take the blame for the ruin that fell upon his little field army. He should not have been caught with his two divisions marching with an interval of four miles between them. Nor ought he to have been ignorant of the return of Musnier’s force, considering that he had 400 cavalry, who should have been exploring the whole country-side for miles around, instead of riding in a mass along with Ibarrola’s infantry. The carelessness shown was unpardonable: relying, apparently, on Garcia Conde’s dispatch—now two days old—concerning the weakness of the French beyond the Segre, the Spanish general was caught moving as if for an unopposed entry into Lerida, instead of in battle order. It may be added that he would have done well to collect more men before advancing against Suchet—8,000 bayonets and sabres were too small a force to tackle the main body of the 3rd Corps, even if they were aided by a sortie from Lerida, as O’Donnell had intended. It would have been well to make some endeavour to get troops from the Valencian army, whose 12,000 men were absolutely idle at the moment. It is true that José Caro and the Valencian Junta were very chary of sending their men outside their own border. But for such a great affair as the relief of Lerida a brigade or two might have been borrowed. There was a considerable Valencian force, at the moment, in the neighbourhood of Alca?iz.

After the combat of Margalef Suchet summoned Lerida for a second time, and offered to allow the Governor to see the prisoners and guns which he had taken from O’Donnell. Garcia Conde very rightly answered that he relied on his own forces alone, and should fight to the end. Accordingly, the regular siege began. The trenches were opened opposite the north front of the town on April 29; several days of heavy rain hindered the completion of the first parallel, but on May 7 the breaching batteries were ready and the bombardment began. The front attacked—the Carmen and Magdalena bastions—was weak: it was not protected by any flanking fires, and had neither a ditch[p. 306] nor a covered way. It was bound to succumb before the very heavy fire directed against it, unless the defence should succeed in beating down the fire of the breaching batteries. The Spaniards did their best, bringing up every gun that could be mounted, and replacing each injured piece as it was disabled. But the end was obvious from the first: the walls were not strong enough to resist the attack.

Meanwhile, Suchet made two successive assaults on a part of the defences very far distant from the main front of attack—the two isolated redoubts which stood on the south end of the extramural plateau, of which Fort Garden formed the main protection. He wished to gain a footing on this high ground, both because he could from thence molest the south front of the town, and because he wished to prevent the Spaniards from using the plateau as a place of refuge after the fall of the city, which he regarded as inevitable. The first attempt to take the works by escalade, on the night of April 23-24, was a disastrous failure: the Pilar was occupied for a moment, but the attack on San Fernando failed, and the dominating fire from it drove the stormers out of the smaller work, after they had held it for a few hours.

The second escalade was more successful: it was carried out on the night of May 12-13, and ended in the storming of both works. Only a small part of their garrison succeeded in escaping into Fort Garden: the besieged lost 300 men, the successful assailants only 120. The greater part of the plateau was now in the hands of the French.

On the next day, May 13, the engineers announced that the two breaches in the north front of the town walls were practicable, and that same evening Lerida was stormed. The breaches were carried with no great difficulty, but the garrison made a stubborn resistance for some time, behind traverses and fortified houses in the rear of them. When these were carried, the city was at Suchet’s mercy; but it was not at the city alone that he was aiming—he wished to master the citadel also. During the last siege of Lerida, that by the Duke of Orleans in 1707, the high-lying castle had held out for many days after the town had been lost. Suchet’s way of securing his end was effective but brutal. On the whole, it was the greatest atrocity perpetrated by any[p. 307] combatant, French, Spanish, or English, during the whole Peninsular War. When his troops had entered the streets, he directed columns towards each gate, and having secured possession of them all, so as to make escape into the open country impossible, bade his troops push the whole non-combatant population of Lerida uphill into the citadel, where the beaten garrison was already taking refuge. ‘The soldiery,’ as he writes, with evident complacency and pride in his ingenuity, ‘were set in a concentric movement to push the inhabitants, along with the garrison, towards the upper streets and the citadel. They were dislodged by musketry fire from street after street, house after house, in order to force them into the castle. That work was still firing, and its discharges augmented the danger and the panic of the civil population, as they were thrust, along with the wreck of the garrison, into the ditch and over the drawbridge. Pressed on by our soldiers, they hastily poured into the castle yard, before the Governor had time to order that they should not be allowed to enter.’ The castle being crammed with some fifteen thousand men, women, and children, Suchet gave orders to bombard it with every available mortar and howitzer. ‘Every shell,’ he writes, ‘that fell into the narrow space containing this multitude, fell on serried masses of non-combatants no less than of soldiery. It had been calculated that the Governor and the most determined officers would be influenced by the presence of these women, children, old folk, and unarmed peasants. As General Suchet had flattered himself would be the case, the scheme had a prompt and decisive effect.’ On the 14th at midday, Garcia Conde, unable to stand the slaughter any longer, hoisted the white flag.

It is difficult to see how the forcing of thousands of non-combatants, by means of musketry fire, on to the front of the enemy’s line of defence, differs in any way from the device, not unknown among African savages and Red Indians[358], of attacking under cover of captured women and children thrust in upon the weapons of their fathers and husbands. The act places that polished writer and able administrator Louis-Gabriel Suchet on the moral level of a king of Dahomey. He acknowledges that the plan was deliberately thought out, and that scores of his[p. 308] victims perished not in the subsequent bombardment, but by being shot down by his own men while the crowd was being collected and hunted forward[359]. Historians have denounced the atrocities committed by the French rank and file at Tarragona or Oporto, by the English rank and file at Badajoz or St. Sebastian, but the cultured general who worked out this most effective plan for the reduction of a hostile citadel has never had his due meed of shame. Napier’s remark that, ‘though a town taken by assault is considered the lawful prey of a licentious soldiery, yet this remnant of barbarism does not warrant the driving of unarmed and helpless people into a situation where they must perish,’ seems a sufficiently mild censure, when all the circumstances are taken into account[360].

The total number of Spanish troops surrendered by Garcia Conde in the Citadel and Fort Garden, or captured by the French during the storm, amounted to over 7,000 men, of whom about 800 were wounded lying in the hospital. It was calculated that 1,200 or 1,500 more had perished during the siege, and that about 500 of the civil population had fallen victims to Suchet’s barbarous device. The French losses during the whole series of operations had been 1,100 killed and wounded. The Spaniards declared that Garcia Conde had betrayed Lerida, and ought never to have surrendered. But the only ground for this accusation was that, after a short captivity, he did homage to King Joseph, and became an Afrancesado. Though he had shown dash and courage at Gerona, it is clear that he lacked the firmness of governors such as Mariano Alvarez, or Andrés Herrasti. His defence of Lerida had not been particularly skilful nor particularly resolute: with over 8,000 men within the walls he ought to have been able to hold out longer against Suchet’s 13,000. The most blameworthy part of his arrangements was his neglect to retrench the breaches, and to form a strong second line of temporary works behind them. Alvarez, under similar conditions, and with a garrison far less strong in comparison to the besieging army, held out for months after his walls had been breached, simply because he treated them only as an outer line of resistance, and was prepared to fight on behind his inner defences.

[p. 309]

After the fall of Lerida, Suchet, having received through France the news that the whole of Augereau’s army was collected in the neighbourhood of Hostalrich and Gerona, made up his mind that he had better attempt nothing ambitious until the 7th Corps was in a position to help him. But there was a small task close to his hand, which was well worth undertaking in a moment of enforced leisure. This was the siege of Mequinenza, the only fortress left in Spanish hands on the eastern side of Aragon. It was a small place, but not without its strategic importance, for not only did it cover the junction of the Segre and the Ebro, but it was the highest point open for navigation on the last-named river. Any one holding Mequinenza can use the Ebro as a high-road, except in times of drought, and this was an advantage of no small importance, since the country from thence to the sea chances to be singularly destitute of roads of any kind. A few months later, Suchet found the place invaluable, as he was able to prepare his battering-train for the siege of Tortosa within its walls, and then to send all the heavy material down-stream with the minimum of trouble. Mequinenza was a small place, consisting of a few hundred houses along the river bank enclosed by a weak and old-fashioned wall, but dominated by a strong castle, which towers 500 feet above the water at the end of a spur of the Sierra de Montenegre. The garrison consisted of about 1,000 men, under a Colonel Carbon.

The very day after Lerida had fallen, Suchet sent a brigade to invest Mequinenza: more troops followed after an interval. It was clear that the taking of the town would offer small difficulty: but the castle was another matter. Its defences were independent of those of the place below, and its site was so lofty and rocky that it could not be battered from any ground accessible by existing roads. Indeed, it could only be approached along the crest of the Sierra, of which it forms the last lofty point. The main interest of the siege of Mequinenza lies in the fact that, in order to reduce the castle, the French engineers had to build a road practicable for heavy guns in zig-zags up the side of the Sierra. They had arrived in front of the place on May 15: by June 1 the road was completed: it was a piece of hard work, as in order to utilize the easiest possible slopes it had been made no less than five miles long. But when the guns had once been[p. 310] got up on to the crest of the mountain, Mequinenza—town and castle alike—was doomed. The town was stormed on June 5; it might have been captured long before, but there was little use in taking possession of it until the attack upon the castle had been begun. Before the storm, Colonel Carbon had wisely ordered all the large river craft in the place, eleven in number, to run down-stream to Tortosa; he was well aware that Suchet wanted to open up the navigation of the Ebro, and was resolved that he should find no vessels ready for him. Two of the craft ran ashore and were captured; the other nine got off clear.

When the three batteries erected on the summit of the Sierra opened on the castle, the walls began to crumble at once. At the end of eight days its front towards the French trenches was a mass of shapeless ruins. Carbon then surrendered, without waiting for an assault, which must undoubtedly have proved successful. There was nothing particularly obstinate, or, on the other hand, particularly discreditable, in the defence. The castle was not a modern fortress; its sole strength had lain in its inaccessible position; and when the French had climbed up on to a level with it, nothing more could be done.

Having mastered Lerida and Mequinenza, and obtained a firm footing in the plain of Western Catalonia, Suchet had now harder work before him. His first necessity was to clear the country behind him of the insurgents, who had swarmed down from the hills to attack the troops left behind in Central Aragon, while the main army had been concentrated before Lerida. Villacampa had half destroyed a column of 350 men at Arandija on the Xalon on May 14. Catalan somatenes had attacked the garrison of the valley of Venasque, on the very frontier of France, on May 16. Valencian bands had besieged the castle of Alca?iz for many days. But all the enemies of Suchet had to fly, as soon as his main army became once more free for field service. No attempt was made to oppose a serious resistance to his movable columns: the insurgents fled to right and left: the most extraordinary proof of their demoralization was that, on June 13, General Montmarie, at the head of one of these columns, found the strong fort of Morella, within the Valencian border, absolutely unoccupied. He seized and garrisoned it, knowing that this place, which commands the[p. 311] mountain-road from Aragon to Valencia, was of immense strategical importance.

When June came round, Suchet had once more mastered all Aragon, and was free for work outside its borders. A march against Valencia, on the one side, or against Tortosa and Tarragona on the other, was equally possible. But at this moment Napoleon was set on proceeding ‘methodically’—in Eastern Spain no less than in Portugal—and the orders issued to the Commander of the 3rd Corps were, to proceed against Tortosa, and cut off Valencia from Catalonia by its capture. The longer and more difficult advance against Valencia itself was relegated to a distant date; there must be no more fiascos like that of February. Accordingly, Suchet was ordered to follow up the capture of Lerida and Mequinenza by the reduction of Tortosa[361]. He was informed at the same time that Macdonald, the new commander of the Army of Catalonia, was ordered to attack Tarragona. In this way, the restless O’Donnell would find his hands full at home, and would not be able to spare time or men for the relief of Tortosa. Only from the Valencian Army, which had always been badly led, and managed with the most narrow particularism by José Caro and his Junta, need Suchet expect any trouble.

But until Macdonald was prepared to lead down his corps to the neighbourhood of Tarragona and the lower Ebro, Suchet felt that his own enterprise must be held back, or at least conducted with caution. And although Macdonald had received his orders in May, on taking over Augereau’s post, it was some time before he was able to execute them. June and July had passed, and August had arrived, before he appeared in the regions where Suchet had been told to expect him, and at last placed himself in communication with the Army of Aragon. This long delay was entirely due to the burden imposed upon him by the necessities of Barcelona, with its large garrison and its vast civil population. The provisions which Augereau had introduced into the city in the early spring were exhausted, and his successor was forced to replace them by escorting thither two new convoys of great size in June and July. So active were the miqueletes that Macdonald found himself obliged to[p. 312] take with him his French and his Italian division as escort on each occasion. For a first-class convoy is a vast affair, stretching out to long miles in a mountain country, and requiring to be strongly guarded at every point of its unwieldy length. The Emperor was bitterly disappointed at Macdonald’s delays: it was hard to convince him that the problem of food-supply in Catalonia was almost insoluble, and that neither Barcelona nor the field army could be permanently fed by seizing the resources of the valley of the Llobregat, or the Campo of Tarragona, and making war support war in the regular style. Catalonia had never fed its whole population even in time of peace, but had largely depended on corn brought up from Aragon or imported by sea. But the British Mediterranean squadron now made the transport of food to Barcelona by water impossible, while, till the 3rd Corps and the 7th Corps should finally meet, it was impossible to supply the latter from the Aragonese base. While neither of the normal ways of procuring a regular supply of provisions was practicable, nothing remained but the weary task of escorting convoys from Perpignan and Figueras to Barcelona. This Macdonald accomplished thrice, in June, July, and August: it was only after the third journey that he left the storeshouses of Barcelona so thoroughly replenished that he was able to think of further offensive operations, and to concert the long-delayed junction with Suchet and the 3rd Corps. The Marshal in his autobiography confesses that he hated the task set him, and found it entirely out of the lines of his experience. He began his career by repealing Augereau’s hanging edicts, and endeavoured to introduce more humane methods of warfare. But his own men were out of hand, and the Spaniards being as fierce as ever, his task was a very hard one.

Meanwhile, Henry O’Donnell was granted three months in which to reorganize the Catalan army, which had suffered so severely at Margalef. His untiring energy enabled him to raise his force by the end of July to 22,000 men, organized in five divisions, with which he formed a double front, facing Suchet on the west and Macdonald on the east. One division under Campo Verde lay northward in the mountains, with head quarters at Cardona, and detachments pushed forward as far as[p. 313] Urgel and Olot: its main task was to harass the French garrison of the Ampurdam, and to threaten Macdonald’s rear every time that he moved forward towards Barcelona. A second division lay facing that city, on the lower Llobregat, with detachments at Montserrat and Manresa, which kept up the communications with Campo Verde and the North. Two more divisions lay westward, in the direction of Falcet and Borja Blanca, watching Suchet, and prepared to oppose any serious attempt on his part to close in upon Tortosa. The fifth division, or reserve, formed a central mass of troops, ready to reinforce either the detachments which watched Suchet or those which watched Macdonald; it lay south of Tarragona, at the Col de Alba. Thus posted O’Donnell waited for further developments, and continued to drill and exercise his new levies, to dismiss inactive and incompetent officers, to collect magazines, and to quarrel with the local Junta. For this active and intelligent, if reckless and high-handed, young officer was on even worse terms with the Catalan authorities than his predecessor, Blake. The main cause of quarrel was that O’Donnell wished to strengthen his regular troops, by drafting into the depleted cadres of Reding’s and Coupigny’s old battalions every recruit that he could catch. He held that the French could only be brought to a final check by disciplined troops. The Junta, on the other hand, believed in guerrilla warfare, and preferred to call out from time to time the miqueletes and somatenes, who drifted back to their homes whenever a crisis was over. Both sides had much to say for themselves: the Catalans could point out that the regular troops had been beaten times out of number, while their own irregulars had achieved many small successes, and done the French much harm. O’Donnell, on the other hand, was quite right in holding that guerrilla operations, much as they might incommode the enemy, would never deal him a fatal blow or finish the war. He dreamed of recruiting his army up to a force of 50,000 men at some happy future date, and of delivering a stroke with superior numbers which should destroy the French hold on Catalonia. Meanwhile, much as they quarrelled, the Irish-Spanish general and the local Junta were both too good haters of France to allow their disputes to prevent a vigorous resistance from[p. 314] being kept up in the principality. O’Donnell carried his point to the extent of persuading the Junta to allow him to form many of the ever-changing tercios of miqueletes into ‘legions,’ which were to be kept permanently embodied[362], and to count as part of the regular army. Hence came the large rise in his muster-rolls.
SECTION XX: CHAPTER II
OPERATIONS IN THE SOUTH OF SPAIN DURING THE SPRING AND SUMMER OF 1810 (MARCH-OCTOBER 1810)

The situation which had been created by King Joseph’s rapid conquest of the open country of Andalusia in January and February 1810, and by his failure to capture Cadiz, was destined to remain unchanged in any of its more important details for a full year. Soult, with the three corps of Victor, Sebastiani, and Mortier, was strong enough to hold the towns and plains, strong enough also to blockade Cadiz and to spare expeditionary forces at intervals for operations outside the limits of his own sphere of command. From time to time he sent the greater part of Mortier’s corps against Estremadura, and the greater part of Sebastiani’s corps against Murcia. But his 70,000 men were not sufficient to provide an army for the permanent conquest of either of these provinces. And every time that 10,000 or 15,000 sabres and bayonets were distracted to one of these raids, the total of troops left behind to watch Cadiz, to guard Seville, and to repress the interminable activity of the guerrilleros of the mountains was found to be dangerously small. Ere long the force that had marched out for external operations had to be called back in haste, to ward off some peril to one or other of the vital points of Andalusia.

Soult himself remained for the greater part of his time at Seville, occupied not only in keeping the movements of his three corps in unison—no easy task, for both Victor and Sebastiani had wills of their own, and even the placid Mortier occasionally murmured—but in superintending the details of civil administration. It was very seldom that he marched out in person at the head of his last reserves, to strengthen some weak point in his line of offence or defence. During the next two years he was quite as much the Viceroy as the Commander-in-Chief in Andalusia. Though the Emperor had refrained from naming that[p. 316] kingdom one of the ‘Military Governments,’ which he had created by his decree of Feb. 15, 1810, yet Soult made himself in fact, if not in name, as independent as the governors of Aragon or Navarre or Catalonia. The bond of common interests and desires which had united him to King Joseph during the winter of 1809-10 was soon broken. The monarch at Madrid soon discovered that his presence was not desired in Andalusia—some good military reason could always be discovered which made it impracticable that he should revisit Seville. Little or no money was remitted to him from the South: rich as was Soult’s sphere of governance, it was always made to appear that the expenses of the sustenance of the army and of the siege of Cadiz were so great that no surplus remained for the central government. When the King murmured, and appealed to Paris, his brother usually supported the Marshal[363]; it was Napoleon’s first maxim that war should maintain war, and he thought it of far more importance that the army of Andalusia should pay for itself, than that the bankrupt exchequer at Madrid should be recruited[364]. As the months rolled on, and Joseph gradually realized the position, his hatred for the plausible Marshal became as bitter as it had been during their earlier quarrel in the summer of 1809. He had good reason to be angry, for Soult undoubtedly sacrificed the interests of the King of Spain to those of the Viceroy of Andalusia. He played a selfish game, though he had always a good military excuse for any particular refusal to fall in with the King’s plans or to obey his orders. In 1810 his conduct may be justified, but in 1811 and 1812 he undoubtedly—as will be shown in chapters to come—ruined what small chance there was of bringing the Peninsular War to a successful termination, by pursuing a policy which made the maintenance of the French authority in Andalusia its chief end, and not the general good of the imperial arms in Spain.

Soult’s conduct at Oporto in the days of his invasion of Portugal must never be forgotten when his doings in Andalusia are discussed. He undoubtedly yearned after supreme power, and though the lesson which he had received after his[p. 317] vain attempt to create himself king of ‘Northern Lusitania’ had not been forgotten, his ambitions were as great as ever. He suppressed his desire for the royal name, but gave himself the reality of the royal power. He practically kept a court, a ministry, and a revenue of his own[365], despite of all the angry complaints of his immediate master at Madrid. Secure in the support of the Emperor, who reckoned him the ‘best military head in Spain,’ he ignored or disobeyed all such communication from Joseph as did not suit his purpose. To a great extent he justified his policy by success: the plain-land of Andalusia was undoubtedly the part of the French holding in Spain where the administration was most successful, and the occupation most thorough. Soult not only built up, but kept together, an Afrancesado party among the local population, which was stronger and more compact than in any other part of the Peninsula. He even succeeded in raising a small permanent force of Spanish auxiliaries, which was decidedly more trustworthy and less given to desertion than the regiments of the same class which King Joseph was perpetually creating in Madrid—only to see them crumble away under his hand. The Army of Andalusia was strengthened by two regiments of Chasseurs à Cheval, which were attached to the 5th Corps[366], and some free companies of infantry[367], which were used for garrison and blockhouse work. But it was far more important that Soult succeeded in enlisting many battalions of a sort of national guard, which he called Escopeteros (fusiliers); with them he kept the peace of the larger towns, such as Seville, Cordova, and Jaen. The very existence of such a force, which King Joseph had vainly attempted to establish in Madrid, was of evil omen for the patriotic cause in Andalusia. On several occasions they fought well against the[p. 318] guerrilleros, when the latter attempted raids dangerously close to the great cities. For the Juramentado was well aware that if the national cause were at last to triumph an evil fate would await him. Having once committed himself to the French side, he was forced to defend his own neck from the gallows.

Soult’s civil government was conducted with a far greater decency than that of Duhesme, Kellermann, and other noted plunderers among the French governors. But it involved, nevertheless, a considerable amount of more or less open spoliation. The Marshal’s own hands were not quite clean: his collection of the works of Murillo and Velasquez, the pride of Paris in after years, represented blackmail on Andalusian church-corporations, when it did not come from undisguised confiscation. Unless he was much maligned by his own compatriots, no less than by the Spaniards, hard cash as well as pictures did not come amiss to him[368]. But his exactions were moderate compared with those of some of his subordinates: though Mortier and Dessolles had good reputations Sebastiani had an infamous one, and Perreymond, Godinot (who shot himself early in 1812 when called to face a commission of inquiry), and certain other generals have very black marks against them. Still the machine of government worked, if not without friction, at least with an efficiency that contrasted favourably with the administration of any other province of Spain save Suchet’s domain of Aragon.

But it was only the valley of the Guadalquivir which lay subdued beneath the feet of Soult. Cadiz and the mountains had yet to be dealt with, and, as the months went on, the difficulties of the French Army of Andalusia became more and more evident. It was only by degrees that the French generals came to comprehend the absolute impregnability of Cadiz, and the advantage that the possession of the island-city and the fleet depending on it gave to the Spaniards. In the first months of the siege Victor[p. 319]’s engineers and artillerists had flattered themselves that something might be done to molest the place, if not to reduce it to surrender, by pushing batteries forward to the extreme front of the ground in their possession all around the harbour. Within the first weeks of his arrival in front of Cadiz, Victor made an attempt to push forward his posts along the high-road which crosses the broad salt-marshes of the Santi Petri. But the bogs and water-channels were found impracticable, and the Spanish works in front of the bridge of Zuazo too strong to be attacked along the narrow causeway. The French drew back to Chiclana, which became the head quarters of the left wing of the blockading force, and where Ruffin’s division was permanently encamped. It was then thought that something might be accomplished further to the north, by working against the Arsenal of La Carraca, at the one end of the Spanish line, or the projecting castle of Puntales at the other. The struggle for the points of vantage from which Puntales could be battered formed the chief point of interest during the early months of the siege. The French, pushing down from the mainland on to the peninsula of the Trocadero, began to erect works on the ground most favourable for attacking the fort of Matagorda, which had once more become the outermost bulwark of Cadiz.

There was a bitter fight over this work, which stands on the tidal flats below the Trocadero, surrounded by mud for one half of the day, and by water for the other. It will be remembered that Matagorda had been blown up at the time of the first arrival of the French before Cadiz. But after a few days of reflection the English and Spanish engineer officers in command of the defence grew uneasy as to the possibilities of mischief which might follow from the seizure of the ruined fort by the enemy. Their fears, as it afterwards turned out, were unnecessary. But they led to the reoccupation of Matagorda on February 22 by a detachment of British artillery, supported by a company of the 94th regiment. The front of the work facing toward the mainland was hastily repaired, and heavy guns brought over the harbour from Cadiz were mounted on it. Moreover, it was arranged that it should be supported by a Spanish ship-of-the-line and some gunboats, as far as the mud banks permitted.

[p. 320]

Victor took the reoccupation of the fort as a challenge, and thought that the Allies must have good reasons for attaching so much importance to it. Accordingly he multiplied his batteries on the Trocadero, till he had got forty guns mounted in a dominating position, with which to overwhelm the garrison in their half-ruinous stronghold. There was a long and fierce artillery contest, but the French had the advantage both in the number of guns and in the concentric fire which they could pour upon the fort. The naval help promised to Matagorda proved of little assistance, partly owing to the impracticability of the mud flats when the tide was out, partly because the gunboats could not endure the fire of the French heavy artillery. On April 22 General Graham, who had arrived at Cadiz and taken command of the British forces over the head of General Stewart, ordered Matagorda to be evacuated. It was high time, for the fort was shot to pieces, and 64 men out of a garrison of 140 had been killed or wounded[369]. The enemy took possession of the ruins, and rebuilt and rearmed the fort; they also re-established the ruined forts of San Luis and San José, on the firm ground facing Matagorda, to which they had not possessed a safe access till the outer work in the mud had been captured. These were the most advanced points toward Cadiz which the French could hold, and here they mounted their heaviest guns, in the hope of demolishing the Castle of Puntales on the other side of the water, and of making the inner harbour useless for shipping. Their purpose was only partly accomplished: the ships, it is true, had to move east or west, into the outer harbour or nearer to the Carraca and the Isla de Leon. But Puntales was never seriously injured, and maintained an intermittent artillery duel with Matagorda across the strait as long as the siege lasted. The occasional bombs that fell beyond Puntales, in the direction of the Cortadura, did not seriously incommode the garrison, and ships could always pass the strait between the two forts at night without appreciable risk. Later on Soult caused mortars of unprecedented dimensions to be cast in the arsenal of Seville, on the designs presented to him by an artillery officer of the name[p. 321] of Villantroys. But even when these had been mounted on Matagorda no great damage was done, one bomb only—as a Spanish popular song recorded—ever touched Cadiz town, and that only killed a street dog.
Spanish Infantry 1810

Enlarge  Spanish Infantry 1810
(showing the new uniform introduced under British influence)

Note: Under the influence of the immense quantity of British materials supplied, the uniform has completely changed since 1808. The cut is assimilated to that of the British army—the narrow-topped shako, and long trousers have been introduced. The coat is dark-blue, the trousers grey-blue, the facings red. Grenadiers have the grenade, light-companies the bugle-horn on their shakos.

After the fall of Matagorda, the next most notable event of the spring in front of Cadiz was a fearful hurricane, lasting from the 6th to the 9th of March, which caused grave losses to the vessels in the outer harbour. A south-wester from the Atlantic drove three Spanish line-of-battle ships, one of which, the Concepcion, was a three-decker of 100 guns, and a Portuguese 74, upon the coast about Puerto Santa Maria and Rota. The French opened upon them with red-hot shot, and destroyed them all, slaying a great part of the unfortunate crews, who had no thought of resistance, and were only trying to escape to land, where they were bound to become prisoners. More than thirty merchant ships, mostly British, were destroyed by the same storm. One was a transport containing a wing of the 4th regiment, which was coming to reinforce the garrison of Cadiz. Some 300 men from this unlucky vessel got ashore and were captured by the French.

A month after the loss of Matagorda the outer harbour of Cadiz again saw some exciting scenes. Moored beside the Spanish fleet were a number of pontoons, old men-of-war from which the masts and rigging had been removed, and which were used as prison-ships. On them there were still kept several thousands of French prisoners, mostly the men captured with Dupont in 1808. It is astonishing that the Regency had not ordered their removal to some more remote spot the moment that Victor’s army appeared in front of Cadiz. Overcrowded, and often kept without sufficient food for days at a time, these unhappy captives were in a deplorable position. The sight of their fellow-countrymen in possession of the opposite coast drove them to desperation, and they were prepared to take any risks for a chance of escape. Having noted, during the hurricane of March 6th-9th, that every vessel which broke loose from its moorings had been cast by the set of the tide upon the coast in the direction of Rota, the prisoners on the Castilla, on which nearly all the officers were confined, waited for the next south-wester. When it came, on the night of the 15th-16th[p. 322] May, they rose upon their small guard of Spanish marines, overpowered them, and then cut the cables of the pontoon, committing themselves to the perils of the sea as well as to the risk of being sunk by the neighbouring men-of-war. But it was supposed that they had got adrift by accident, and they had been carried by the tide almost to the opposite shore before it was realized that an escape was on foot. Two gunboats sent to tow the Castilla back met with resistance, the prisoners firing on them with the muskets taken from their guard, and throwing cold shot down upon the little vessels when their crews tried to board. Just as they were beaten off, the pontoon went ashore. The French garrisons of the neighbouring batteries ran down to help their countrymen to escape; at the same moment other gunboats, Spanish and English, came up, and began firing on the crowd, who strove to swim or scramble ashore. Some were killed, but over 600 got to land. It is surprising that after this incident the Spaniards did not take better care of the remaining pontoons, but ten days later the prisoners on the Argonauta were able to repeat the trick of their comrades. On this occasion the absconding vessel ran ashore upon a mud-bank some hundreds of yards from the shore of the Trocadero. The stranded vessel remained for hours under the fire of the gunboats which pursued it, and a large proportion of the men on board perished, for when the troops on shore brought out boats to save the survivors, many of them were sunk as they plied between the Argonauta and the land. Finally the pontoon was set on fire, and several wounded Frenchmen are said to have been burnt alive. The English seamen who were engaged in this distressing business were heartily disgusted with their share in it[370].

After this the Regency at last ordered the removal of the rest of the French prisoners from Cadiz. The few remaining officers were sent to Majorca, and afterwards to England. Of the men part were dispatched to the Canaries, part to the Balearic Islands. But the islanders protested against the presence of so[p. 323] many French in their midst, raised riots, and killed some of the prisoners. Thereupon the Regency ordered 7,000 of them to be placed upon the desolate rock of Cabrera, where there were no inhabitants and no shelter save one small ruined castle. The wretched captives, without roofs or tents to cover them, and supplied with food only at uncertain intervals and in insufficient quantity, died off like flies. Once, when storms hindered the arrival of the provision ships from Majorca, many scores perished in a day of sheer starvation[371]. The larger half did not survive to see the peace of 1814, and those who did were for the most part mere wrecks of men, invalids for life. Even allowing for the desperate straits of the Spanish government, which could not feed its own armies, the treatment of the Cabrera prisoners was indefensible. They might at least have been exchanged for some of the numerous Spanish garrisons taken in 1810-11; but the Regency would not permit it, though Henry O’Donnell had arranged with Macdonald a regular cartel for prisoners in the neighbouring Catalonia. This is one of the most miserable corners of the history of the Peninsular War.

But to return to Andalusia. By the month of May the Regency at Cadiz had recovered a certain confidence, in view of the utter inefficacy of Victor’s attempt to molest their city. From that month began a systematic attempt to organize into a single system all the forces that could be turned to account against Soult. There were now in the Isla some 18,000 Spanish troops, as well as 8,000 British and Portuguese. This was a larger garrison than was needed, now that the defences had been put in order; and it was possible to detach small expeditionary corps to east and west, to stir up trouble in the coast-land of Andalusia, and serve as the nuclei round which the insurgents of the mountains might gather. For the insurrection in the remoter corners of the kingdom of Granada had never died down, despite of all the efforts of Sebastiani to quell it. The Regency had now determined that an effort[p. 324] should be made to extend it westward—the Sierra de Ronda being quite as well suited for irregular operations as the Alpujarras. At the other end of the line, too, there were opportunities in the Condado de Niebla and the lands by the mouth of the Guadiana, which the French had hardly touched: trifling detachments of the 5th Corps at Moguer and Niebla observed rather than occupied that region. By means of the large fleet always moored in Cadiz harbour, it was possible to transfer troops to any point of the coast, for the French could not guard every creek and fishing-village, and if an expedition failed it had a fair chance of escaping by sea. Moreover any force thrown ashore in the south had the option of retiring into Gibraltar if hard pressed, just as any force sent to the west might retire on Portugal.

In addition to the insurgents and the garrison of Cadiz there were two regular armies whose energies might be turned against Soult. The relics of Areizaga’s unfortunate host, which had fled into the kingdom of Murcia, and had been rallied by Blake, were now 12,000 strong, and since Suchet’s expedition against Valencia had failed, and there was no danger from the north, this force could be employed against Sebastiani and the French corps in the kingdom of Granada. It was in a deplorable condition, but was yet strong enough to render assistance to the insurgents of the Alpujarras, by demonstrating against Granada, and so forcing Sebastiani to keep his troops massed for a regular campaign. Whenever the French general was threatened from the east, he had to abandon his smaller posts, and to desist from hunting the guerrilleros, who thus obtained a free hand.

The Regency could also count to a certain extent upon aid from La Romana and the Army of Estremadura. The Marquis—it will be remembered—was now confronted in his own province by Reynier and the 2nd Corps[372], but he had thrust his flanking division, under Ballasteros, into the mountains of North-Western Andalusia, where it had been contending with Mortier’s corps in the direction of Ara?ena and Zalamea, as has already been recounted[373]. This outlying division was in[p. 325] communication with Cadiz, via Ayamonte and the lower Guadiana, and could always compel Soult to detach troops from Seville by descending into the plains. La Romana himself could, and occasionally did, provide further occupation for the 5th Corps by moving other troops southward, on the Seville high-road, when he was not too much engrossed by Reynier’s demonstrations in his front.

Thus it was possible to harass the French troops in Andalusia on all sides. With the object of securing some sort of unity for their operations, the Regency made Blake Commander-in-Chief of the forces in Cadiz as well as of those in Murcia, declaring them parts of a single ‘Army of the Centre.’ Albuquerque’s separate charge had come to an end when, after many quarrels with the Cadiz Junta, he resigned the post of governor, and accepted that of Ambassador to the Court of St. James’s at the end of March. He died not long after his arrival in London, engaged to the last in a hot warfare of pamphlets and manifestos with the Junta, whose monstrous insinuations against his probity and patriotism are said to have driven him into the brain-fever which terminated his life. He was a man of unsullied honour and high personal courage, but not a lucky general, though his last military action, the direction of the Army of Estremadura on Cadiz, was a sound and meritorious piece of strategy. He and La Romana were the only Spanish officers with whom Wellington was able to work in concert without perpetual friction, but the British Commander-in-Chief had a greater respect for his allies’ hearts than for their heads as may be gathered from constant references in the Wellington Dispatches, as well as from the confidential conversations of the Duke’s later years[374].

Blake arrived in Cadiz on April 22, having turned over the temporary command of the Murcian army to General Freire, the ever-unlucky cavalry commander who had served under Venegas and Areizaga in the campaigns of Almonacid and Oca?a. He set himself to reorganize the various Estremaduran and other troops in Cadiz into one division of horse and three divisions of foot, which he numbered Vanguard, 2nd, and 4th of the Army[p. 326] of the Centre. The Murcian forces were distributed into the 1st, 3rd, and 5th infantry divisions of the same army, and two small cavalry divisions. This reorganization of the regular troops was followed by systematic attempts to foster the insurrection to right and left of Seville. General Copons was sent to Ayamonte, at the mouth of the Guadiana, with 700 men, round whom he collected a miscellaneous assemblage of peasantry, which often descended from the hills to worry the French garrisons of Moguer and Niebla. When chased by stronger forces detached from Mortier’s corps, he would retire into Portugal. When unmolested he joined hands with Ballasteros and the flanking division of the army of La Romana, or executed raids of his own in the central plain of the kingdom of Seville. Often chased, and sometimes dispersed, his bands were never completely crushed, and kept Western Andalusia, or ‘Spanish Algarve,’ as it was called in the old days when the boundaries of Castile and Portugal had only just been fixed, in a state of constant ferment.

The diversion which was prepared on the other flank by Blake and the Regency was far more important. Their intention was to wrest from the French the whole district of the Sierra de Ronda, the mountain region between Gibraltar and Malaga, and so to thrust in a wedge between Victor and Sebastiani. There was already the nucleus of an insurrection in this quarter; soon after King Joseph’s triumphal progress from Xeres by Ronda and Malaga to Granada, the first small bands had appeared. They were headed by local chiefs, such as Becerra, Ruiz, and Ortiz—better known as El Pastor—whose original followers were a party of the smugglers who, in times of peace and war alike, had been wont to ply a contraband trade with Gibraltar. In March and April they were not strong enough to do more than molest the convoys passing from Malaga and Seville to the French garrison of Ronda. But finding the enemy in their neighbourhood weak and helpless—the bulk of the 1st Corps was before Cadiz, and that of the 5th Corps was still watching La Romana on the roads north of Seville—they multiplied in numbers and extended their raids far afield. They asked for aid both from the British Governor of Gibraltar and from the Regency at Cadiz, promising that, if they were backed by regular[p. 327] troops, they would easily expel the French and master the whole country-side. Already their activity had produced favourable results, for Soult sent down from Seville Girard’s division of the 5th Corps, a detachment which left Mortier too weak for any serious operations on the side of Estremadura, and Sebastiani drew back from an expedition against Murcia, which might otherwise have proved most prejudicial to the Spanish cause.

This raid deserves a word of notice: just after Blake had left Murcia for Cadiz, Sebastiani (who had for the moment got the better of the insurgents in the Alpujarras) assembled at Baza, in the eastern extremity of the kingdom of Granada, the greater part of the 4th Corps, and marched with 7,000 men on Lorca. Freire, distrusting his troops, refused to fight, threw 4,000 men into the impregnable harbour-fortress of Cartagena, and retired with the rest of his army to Alicante, within the borders of Valencia. Thus, the rich city of Murcia, along with the whole of the rest of its province, which had never seen the French before, was exposed undefended to Sebastiani. He entered it on April 23, and commenced by fining the corporation 50,000 dollars for not having received him with a royal salute and the ringing of the bells of their churches. The rest of his behaviour was in keeping: he entered the cathedral while mass was in progress, and interrupted the service to seize the plate and jewels. He confiscated the money and other valuables in all the monasteries, hospitals, and banks. He permitted his officers to blackmail many rich inhabitants, and his rank and file to plunder houses and shops. Two days after his entry he retraced his footsteps, and retreated hastily towards Granada, leaving a ruined city behind him[375]. The cause of his sudden departure was the news that the insurgents of the Alpujarras, whom he had vainly imagined that he had crushed, were beleaguering all his small garrisons, and that Malaga itself had been seized by a large band of the Serranos, and held for a short space, though General Perreymond had afterwards succeeded in driving them out. But the whole of the Alhama and Ronda Sierras were up in arms, no less than the more eastern hills where the rising had begun. It would have been absurd for Sebastiani to proceed any further[p. 328] with the offensive campaign in Murcia, when Southern Andalusia was being lost behind his back.

Throughout the month of May Girard and Sebastiani, with some small assistance from Dessolles, who spared a few battalions from the kingdom of Cordova, were actively engaged in endeavouring to repress the mountaineers. The larger bands were dispersed, not without severe fighting—Girard’s men had hot work at Albondonates on May 1, and at Grazalema on May 3[376]. But just as the main roads had been reopened, and the blockade of the French garrison of Ronda raised, the whole situation was changed by the landing at Algeciras of General Lacy, with a division of 3,000 regulars sent from Cadiz by the Regency (June 19). His arrival raised the spirits of the insurgents, and they thronged in thousands to his aid, when he announced his intention of marching against Ronda. Lacy, however, was both irresolute and high-handed—as he afterwards showed on a larger stage when he became Captain-General of Catalonia. On arriving before Ronda he judged the rocky stronghold too formidable for him to meddle with, and turned aside to Grazalema, to the disgust of his followers. He then fell into a quarrel with the Serranos, dismissed many of them—smugglers and others—from his camp, as unworthy to serve alongside of regular soldiers, and even imprisoned some of the more turbulent chiefs. At this moment Girard from the north and Sebastiani from the east began to close in upon him. Uneasy at their approach, Lacy fell back towards the coast, and after some insignificant skirmishes re-embarked his force at Estepona and Marbella, from whence he sailed round to Gibraltar and landed at the Lines of San Roque, under the walls of that fortress (July 12)[377]. Almost the only positive gain produced by his expedition had been the occupation of Marbella, where he left a garrison which maintained itself for a considerable time. It was no doubt something to have detained Girard and Sebastiani in the remote mountain[p. 329] of the south for a full month, when they were much needed by Soult in other directions. Yet the evil results of Lacy’s timid man?uvres and hasty flight upon the morale of the insurgents might have been sufficiently great to counterbalance these small advantages, if the Serranos had been less tough and resolute. It is surprising to find that they did not lose courage, but kept the rising afoot with undiminished energy, being apparently confirmed in their self-confidence by the poor show made by the regular army, rather than disheartened at the ineffective succour sent them from Cadiz. Despite of all the efforts of Soult’s flying columns, they could not be entirely dispersed, though they were hunted a hundred times from valley to valley. The power of the viceroy of Andalusia stopped short at the foot-hills, though his dragoons kept the plains in subjection. Every time that Ronda and the other isolated garrisons in the mountains had to be revictualled, the convoy had to fight its way to its destination through swarms of ‘sniping’ insurgents[378].

The Regency had not yet done with Lacy and his expeditionary force. After they had lain for some time under the walls of Gibraltar, they were re-embarked and taken back to Cadiz, from where a short time after they were dispatched for a raid in the Condado de Niebla. In this region, where Copons was already in arms, the French forces, under Remond and the Duke of Aremberg, were so weak that the Junta believed that Lacy’s division would easily clear the whole country-side of the enemy. Its liberation would be most valuable, because Cadiz was wont to draw both corn and cattle from the lands between the Rio Tinto and Guadiana, and had felt bitterly the want of its accustomed supplies since the war had been carried thither.

Lacy landed in the Bay of Huelva on August 23 with nearly 3,000 men. He had the good fortune to meet and to overcome in succession two small French columns which marched against him from Moguer and from San Juan del Puerto. Thereupon the Duke of Aremberg—whose whole force in this region was less than 1,500 men (two battalions of the 103rd of the line and the 27th Chasseurs)—evacuated Niebla and fell back on Seville.[p. 330] Copons, who had been told to join Lacy but had failed to receive his instructions in time, pursued a separate French column under General Remond for some distance, but was soon stopped by the news that a large force was moving against him, to repair this check to the French arms. Lacy, meanwhile, to the surprise and disgust of the inhabitants of the Condado, re-embarked on August 29 and went back to Cadiz, professing to regard the purpose of his expedition as completed. He had this much justification, that the news of his raid had induced Soult to send out against him, at a most critical moment, the main body of Gazan’s division, which marched to Niebla, vainly sought the expeditionary force, and returned to its base after wasting a fortnight. But a larger garrison was now left in Western Andalusia, Copons was hunted more vigorously than before, and cruel reprisals were made on the inhabitants of Moguer and Huelva, who had aided Lacy.

Feeble as it had been, Lacy’s raid on the Condado had staved off a serious danger to the Spanish Army of Estremadura, by forcing Soult to detach Gazan against him, at a moment when he was concentrating the 5th Corps for a blow at La Romana, and was already engaged in active operations against the Marquis. A complete change had taken place in the situation in Estremadura at the end of July, when Reynier, acting under orders from Masséna[379], had marched northward from his old base at Merida and Medellin, and crossed the Tagus at the ferry of Alconetar above the broken bridge of Alcantara[380] (July 16). This removal of the whole 2nd Corps to the north, followed (as we have already seen) by the corresponding transference of Hill’s British force from Portalegre to the neighbourhood of Castello Branco, had left La Romana at Badajoz with no enemy in front of him, and had caused a complete rupture of communications between the French Army of Andalusia and the Army of Portugal, who could for the future only hear of each other by the circuitous route through Madrid, since that by Almaraz was closed.

[p. 331]

Soult had now thrown upon his hands, to his immense disgust, the task of containing the whole of La Romana’s force, which Reynier had been keeping in check from March till July. Accordingly he called back from the Sierra de Ronda the division of Girard, wishing to reunite the whole 5th Corps for the protection of the northern approaches to Seville. He was only just in time, for La Romana had seen his opportunity, and had resolved to concentrate his army for a demonstration against Andalusia, which seemed to offer great temptations while nothing but the solitary division of Gazan stood between him and Seville, and that division, moreover, was weakened by the detachments under Remond and Aremberg which lay in the Condado de Niebla. Accordingly the Marquis, leaving Charles O’Donnell to watch Reynier on the Tagus, and another division to guard Badajoz, marched with his cavalry and the infantry of La Carrera[381] and Ballasteros to invade Andalusia. He also told Copons to come up to reinforce him with his levies from the lower Guadiana. Even without the help of the latter, who never succeeded in reaching him, he had 10,000 foot and 1,000 horse. But La Romana was always unlucky when he fought: just as he started, Girard had returned from Ronda to Seville. On hearing that the Army of Estremadura was on the move, Soult pushed the newly returned division, strengthened by part of Gazan’s regiments and a brigade of cavalry, out towards the passes of the Morena. On August 11, Girard, with about 7,000 bayonets and 1,200 sabres, encountered La Romana at Villagarcia, just outside the town of Llerena. The Spaniards were eager to fight, believing that they had only to deal with some fraction of Gazan’s division; the news of Girard’s return from Ronda had not yet reached them. They got involved in a severe combat, were beaten, and were forced back to Zafra and Almendralejo, with a loss of 600 men—triple that of the French.

Soult then strengthened Girard’s column, placed Mortier in command, and bade him push for Badajoz. But just as the Duke of Treviso was preparing to advance, the news of Lacy’s disembarkation at Moguer arrived. There were hardly any troops left in Seville, wherefore Soult hastily recalled from[p. 332] Mortier such of Gazan’s regiments as were with him, and nearly all the cavalry, and sent them off against Lacy. Girard’s division retired from Zafra and took up a defensive position in the passes covering Seville. Thus a dangerous crisis was avoided, for if the whole 5th Corps had marched on Badajoz in August, and had driven back La Romana into Portugal, Wellington’s flank in the Alemtejo would have been left exposed. There was no longer a British division south of the Tagus to support the Spanish Army of Estremadura, since Hill had transferred himself to Castello Branco in order to ‘contain’ Reynier. Of regular troops, indeed, Wellington had nothing left on the Alemtejo frontier save Madden’s brigade of Portuguese horse, and the two infantry regiments of the same nation, who formed part of the garrison of Elvas. Hence he was much troubled at La Romana’s tendency to take the offensive against Seville, and repeatedly begged him to content himself with defensive operations, and not to attract the notice of Soult. For the Duke of Dalmatia, if left alone, had enough to occupy his attention in Andalusia, yet, if provoked, might abandon some outlying part of his viceroyalty, in order to concentrate a force which might crush the Estremaduran army, and then execute that diversion against Portugal south of the Tagus which Wellington so much dreaded[382].

Yet despite the warning that he had received at the combat of Villagarcia, and, despite of his ally’s entreaties, La Romana renewed in September the project that had cost him so dear in August. Learning that the passes in front of Seville were once more weakly held by the French, he began to move his army southward in detachments, till he had gathered a heavy force at Guadalcanal and Monasterio. Attributing his misfortunes in the last month to the weakness of his cavalry, he brought down with him Madden’s Portuguese horsemen, a weak brigade of 800 men[383], which Wellington had put at his disposition, not foreseeing[p. 333] that its existence would add to the inclination which the Marquis felt for offensive demonstrations. The inevitable result followed. Disquieted by the activity of the Estremaduran army—its raiding parties had already pressed as far as Santa Olalla on the Seville road, and Constantina on the Cordova road—Soult ordered Mortier to concentrate the main body of the 5th Corps at Ronquillo, and to attack the enemy. La Romana gave back at once, evacuating the passes, but his rearguard was overtaken at Fuente Cantos, behind Monasterio, by the French horse (Sept. 15). His cavalry, under La Carrera[384], turned to bay to cover the retreat, but was charged and scattered with heavy loss by Briche’s Chasseurs, who captured the battery that accompanied it, and enveloped a large mass of the beaten horsemen, who would have been forced to surrender if Madden’s Portuguese, charging at the right moment, and with great vigour, had not checked the French advance, and given time for the routed brigades to save themselves in the hills. Madden, though pursued by the French reserves, made a steady and successful retreat, with small loss. The Spaniards, however, left behind them six guns and 500 killed and wounded, while the French loss had not exceeded 100.

Mortier then pursued La Romana to Zafra, and pushed his advanced cavalry as far as Fuente del Maestre, only thirty miles from Badajoz. Thus the situation which Wellington most dreaded had come into existence once again: a considerable French army was moving into central Estremadura, and threatening the Alemtejo frontier south of the Tagus, at a moment when every man of the Anglo-Portuguese field army was fully employed in Beira by the advance of Masséna. But again, as in August, Mortier did not push his advantage, though La Romana actually retired behind the Tagus to Montijo, after raising the garrison of Badajoz to its full strength, and left the Duke of Treviso the opportunity of laying siege either to that city, to Olivenza, or even to Elvas, if he should so please. But the governing fact in all the operations of Soult and his lieutenants at this period was, as we have already pointed out, that if any great concentration of the French for offensive purposes took place, it was only made[p. 334] by withdrawing the garrison troops from some one of the many disturbed regions of Andalusia. When the whole 5th Corps was united, and had advanced to Zafra, Western Andalusia was almost stripped of troops. Indeed, at Seville itself, Soult had nothing but his new Spanish levies, and the convalescents from his central hospital, together with some detachments escorting convoys which happened to be passing through the city, and had been detained in order to add a few hundred bayonets to its garrison. When, therefore, Copons began to make himself felt once more in the Condado de Niebla, and a second raiding expedition from Cadiz landed at Huelva, Soult felt very uncomfortable.

His perturbation of mind was increased by news from the East: Sebastiani at this moment had been molested by demonstrations of the Spanish Army of Murcia against his flank. Blake had returned in August from Cadiz to inspect the section of his forces which he had left behind under Freire, and which he had not seen since April. He had pushed reconnaissances to Huescar in the kingdom of Granada, had sent supplies to aid the insurgents of the Alpujarras, and was beginning to stir up a new rising on the side of Jaen. This provoked Sebastiani to concentrate the larger part of the 4th Corps, and to march against him with 8,000 men[385]. Blake gave back before his enemy as far as the neighbourhood of Murcia, where he had prepared a fortified position by inundating the Huerta, or suburban plain, which is watered by many canals drawn from the river Segura, and by stockading all the villages. Fourteen thousand regulars, with a powerful artillery, held the approaches, while a mass of armed peasantry hung around Sebastiani’s flanks. The French, however, only advanced as far as Lebrilla, twelve miles from Murcia, and then halted (Aug. 28). Sebastiani, after reconnoitring Blake’s line, thought it too powerful to be meddled with, and retired two days later towards his base, much harassed by the peasantry on his way. But during the three weeks that it took for the French general to concentrate his field-force, to march on Murcia, and to return, all had gone to wrack and ruin behind[p. 335] him. The insurgents of the Alpujarras had captured the important seaport towns of Almunecar and Motril, and had garrisoned their castles with the aid of English guns sent from Gibraltar. The people of the Sierra de Alhama had cut the roads between Malaga and Granada, and 4,000 mountaineers had attacked Granada itself; they were defeated outside its gates by the garrison on Sept. 4, but were still hanging about its vicinity.

The news of all these troubles had reached Soult while Sebastiani was quite out of touch, lost to sight in the kingdom of Murcia. They undoubtedly had their part in inducing the Marshal to recall Mortier and the 5th Corps from Estremadura. He once more divided its two divisions, drawing back Gazan to Seville to form his central reserve, while Girard watched the passes as before. Meanwhile Copons had already been beaten in the Condado by the column of General Remond (Sept. 15), and Sebastiani on his return cleared the neighbourhood of Granada and Malaga of insurgents, and drove the untameable bands of the Alpujarras to take refuge in their mountains. Motril and Almunecar were both recovered. Thus the storm passed, as soon as the two French expeditionary forces under Mortier and Sebastiani returned once more to their usual garrison-posts.

Only two more incidents remain to be chronicled in the Andalusian campaign of 1810. Campbell, the governor of Gibraltar, had resolved—somewhat too late—to lend a small detachment to aid the Granadan insurgents. The plan which he concerted with the Spanish governor of Ceuta was that Lord Blayney with two British battalions from the Gibraltar garrison—the 82nd and 89th [erratum: “Lord Blayney’s force had only a half-battalion, not a whole battalion of the 89th, but contained 4 companies of foreign chasseurs”], and a Spanish regiment (Imperial de Toledo) from Ceuta, 2,200 men in all, should be thrown on shore at Fuengirola, twenty miles on the nearer side of Malaga, where there was a small French garrison and a dép?t of stores, which was serving for a brigade then engaged in the siege of Marbella, the town which had been garrisoned by Lacy in June[386], and which was still holding out gallantly in October.

It was calculated that, on hearing of a descent at Fuengirola, Sebastiani would come with the larger part of the garrison[p. 336] of Malaga to relieve the fort. But the moment that he was known to be nearing the expeditionary force, Lord Blayney was to re-embark and to make a dash at Malaga itself, which he could reach more swiftly by water than Sebastiani by land. Secret partisans within the city were ready to take arms, and the peasantry of the Sierra de Alhama were also enlisted in the enterprise. The scheme seems liable to many criticisms—the whole was at the mercy of the winds and waves of stormy October: what would happen if the weather was too rough to allow of re-embarkation, or of easy landing at Malaga? And if Malaga were captured for the moment, for how long could 2,000 regulars, backed by a mass of undisciplined insurgents, hold it against the whole of Sebastiani’s corps, which would be hurled upon it at short notice? The expedition, however, was not actually wrecked on either of these dangers, but ruined by the folly of its chief. Lord Blayney landed successfully on October 13, and laid siege to Fuengirola, which was held by 150 Poles under a Captain Milokosiewitz. Instead of making the attack a mere demonstration, he brought some 12-pounders ashore, and set to work to batter the castle in all seriousness. Finding its walls commencing to crumble, he held on for two days, though, if he had reflected, he must have remembered that the garrison of Malaga might be with him at any moment. He was busily preparing for an assault, when Sebastiani suddenly fell upon him with 3,000 men from the rear. Apparently the English commander had neglected to keep up any watch on the side of the inland, and the peasantry had failed to send any intelligence of the fact that the French were on the move. The besiegers, taken entirely by surprise, and distracted also by a sortie of the little garrison, were rolled down to the sea-shore in confusion. Lord Blayney—a short-sighted man—rode in among some French whom he mistook for Spaniards, and was made prisoner in the most ignominious fashion. The Spanish regiment got off with little loss: it had kept its ranks, and forced its way to the boats after beating off an attack. The 82nd was partly on shipboard at the moment of the combat, and the companies which were on shore saved themselves by a steady rearguard action. But the battalion of the 89th was half destroyed, losing over 200 prisoners besides some forty[p. 337] killed. The utter incapacity of the British commander was best shown by the fact that if he had but carried out the plan on which he was acting, he would certainly have captured Malaga—for Sebastiani had left only 300 men in the city when he marched on Fuengirola, and, if the expeditionary force had re-embarked twenty-four hours before the disaster, it would have found the place practically undefended, and Sebastiani a long day’s march away, and incapable of returning in time to save it[387].

The very last military event of the year 1810 on the Andalusian side was a disaster far worse than that of Lord Blayney—suffered by a general whose almost unbroken series of defeats from Medina de Rio Seco down to Belchite ought to have taught him by this time the advantages of caution, and the doubtful policy of risking a demoralized army in a fight upon open ground. When Sebastiani retired from the kingdom of Murcia in the first days of September, Blake had brought back his army to its old positions on the frontier of that realm. Seven weeks later, finding the French line in front of him very weak, he resolved to try a demonstration in force, or perhaps even a serious stroke against the force of the enemy in Granada. On November 2 he crossed the Murcian border, with 8,000 foot and 1,000 horse, and occupied Cullar.

On the next day he was at the gates of Baza, where there were four battalions of the French force which covered Granada[388]. But on the next morning General Milhaud rode up with a powerful body of horsemen, the greater part of his own division of Dragoons and the Polish Lancers from Sebastiani’s corps-cavalry, some 1,300 men in all. Though he had only 2,000 infantry to back him, Milhaud determined to fight at once. Blake’s army invited an attack; it was advancing down the high-road with the cavalry deployed in front, one division of infantry supporting it, while a second division was some miles[p. 338] to the rear, on the hills which separate the plain of Baza from the upland of the Sierra de Oria. A rearguard of 2,000 men was still at Cullar, ten miles from the scene of action. The situation much resembled that of Suchet’s combat of Margalef, and led to the same results. For Milhaud’s squadrons, charging fiercely along and on each side of the road, completely routed Blake’s cavalry, and drove it back on to the leading infantry division, which broke, and was badly cut up before its remnants could take shelter with the other division in reserve on the hill behind. Blake gave the order for an instant retreat, and Milhaud could not follow far among the rocks and defiles. But he had captured a battery of artillery and a thousand prisoners, and killed or wounded some 500 men more, in the few minutes during which the engagement lasted. The French cavalry lost no more than 200 men. The infantry had hardly fired a shot. Blake, not being pursued, retired only as far as the Venta de Bahul on the other side of Cullar, and remained on the Murcian border, cured for a time of his mania for taking the offensive at the head of a demoralized army.

Thus ended the inconclusive campaign of 1810 in Andalusia—the French on the last day of the year held almost precisely the same limits of territory that they had occupied on the 1st of March. They had beaten the enemy in four or five considerable actions, yet had gained nothing thereby. They were beginning to understand that Cadiz was impregnable, and that the complete subjection of the mountains of the South and East was a far more serious task than had been at first supposed. Things indeed had come to a deadlock, and Soult kept reporting to his master that another 25,000 men would be required to enable him to complete his task. Almost as many battalions belonging to the 1st, 4th, and 5th Corps as would have made up that force had been sent by the Emperor into Spain. They were intended to join their regiments in the end, but meanwhile they had been distracted into the 8th and 9th Corps, and were marching in the direction of Portugal, when Soult wished to see them on the Guadalquivir[389]. Very little of the mass of reinforcements which[p. 339] had been poured into the Peninsula in the spring of 1810 had come his way. While the whole battalions had been sent away with Junot or Drouet, the drafts in smaller units had been largely intercepted by the generals along the line of communication. There were 4,000 of such recruits detained in New Castile alone, and formed into ‘provisional battalions’ to garrison Madrid and its neighbourhood. King Joseph must not be blamed too much for thus stopping them on their way: he had been left with an utterly inadequate force, when the Emperor turned off everything on to the direction of Portugal. During the summer and autumn of 1810 there were with him only two French infantry regiments[390], the same number of light cavalry regiments[391], Lahoussaye’s weak division of dragoons[392], and the German division of the 4th Corps less than 4,000 strong, over and above his own guard and untrustworthy ‘juramentado’ battalions[393]. The royal troops numbered about 7,000 men, the other units, including Soult’s detained drafts, about 12,000: with them Joseph had to garrison Madrid, Avila, Segovia, Toledo, and Almaraz, and hold down all New Castile and La Mancha—which last province was described at the time as ‘populated solely by beggars and brigands’. He had the duty of maintaining the sole and very circuitous line of communication between Soult and Masséna, which, after Reynier went north in July, had to be worked via Almaraz. He was frequently annoyed not only by the Empecinado and other guerrilleros, but by Villacampa, who descended from higher Aragon into the Cuenca region, and by Blake’s cavalry, which often raided La Mancha. But his great[p. 340] fear was lest La Romana or Wellington should send troops up the vast gap left between Reynier at Zarza and Coria and Mortier in the Sierra Morena; there was nothing but Lahoussaye’s dragoons and two infantry battalions in the whole district about Almaraz and Talavera, where such a blow would have fallen. It was small wonder that he felt uncomfortable.

But military sources of disquietude formed only the smaller half of King Joseph’s troubles at this date. His political vexations, which engrossed a much larger portion of his time and energy, must be dealt with elsewhere. They will be relegated to the same chapter which treats of the new development of Spanish politics consequent on the long-delayed meeting of the Cortes in the winter of 1810-11.
SECTION XXI  BUSSACO AND TORRES VEDRAS (SEPTEMBER–DECEMBER 1810) CHAPTER I
MASSéNA’S ADVANCE TO BUSSACO (SEPTEMBER 1810)

After the fall of Almeida Masséna waited much longer than Wellington had anticipated. The reasons for his delay were the usual ones that were always forthcoming when a French army had to advance in the Peninsula—want of transport and penury of supplies. The Marshal had just discovered that the country-side in front of him had already been depopulated by Wellington’s orders, and that the only inhabitants that were to be met would be the armed Ordenan?a, who were already shooting at his vedettes and attacking his foraging parties. He was inclined to treat them as brigands; his Provost-marshal, Colonel Pavetti, having been surprised and captured along with five gendarmes of his escort by the villagers of Nava d’Avel on September 5, he caused the place to be burned, shot the one or two male inhabitants who could be caught, and issued a proclamation stating that no quarter would be given to combatants without uniforms. This provoked two stiff letters from Wellington[394], who wrote to say that the Ordenan?a were an integral part of the Portuguese military forces, and that, if they wore no uniforms, the Marshal should remember that many of the revolutionary bands which he had commanded in the old war of 1792-7 were no better equipped: ‘vous devez vous souvenir que vous-même vous avez augmenté la gloire de l’armée Fran?aise en commandant des soldats qui n’avaient pas d’uniforme.’ If Ordenan?a were shot as ‘brigands and highway robbers’ in obedience to the proclamation of September 7, it[p. 342] was certain that French stragglers and foragers would be knocked on the head, and not taken prisoners, by the enraged peasantry. At present the number of them sent in to the British head quarters by the Portuguese irregulars proved that the laws of war were being observed. Masséna replied that Pavetti had been ambushed by men who hid their arms, and ran in upon him and his escort while he was peaceably asking his way. His letter then went off at a tangent, to discuss high politics, and to declare that he was not the enemy of the Portuguese but of the perfidious British government, &c., &c. Finally he complained that the Arganil and Trancoso militia, whom he had sent home after the fall of Almeida, had taken up arms again; if caught, ‘leur sort sera funeste’[395]. The last statement Wellington denied; he said that the capitulation had been annulled by the French themselves, when they debauched the 24th regiment, and detained 600 of the militia to form a battalion of pioneers, but stated that as a matter of fact the militia battalions had not been re-embodied. The French continued to shoot the Ordenan?a, and the Ordenan?a soon began to reply by torturing as well as hanging French stragglers; Wellington forbade but could not prevent retaliation.

In his dispatch to Berthier of September 8[396], Masséna explains that the depopulation of the district in front of him, and the fact that the Ordenan?a had taken arms throughout the country-side, have compelled him to make an enormous provision of food for his army. Since the land has been swept bare, he must collect fifteen or twenty days’ rations for the 6th and 8th Corps. ‘Each day demonstrates the necessity of this more clearly, but each day makes it more evident that we are not obtaining as much as our activity deserves. The small amount of transport available, and the destruction by the Spanish brigands of several convoys of corn which were coming up from the province of Valladolid, have occasioned delay in the accumulation of the stores. An additional vexation is that while it was reported that we had captured 300,000 rations of biscuit in Almeida, there turn out really to be only 120,000 rations.’ But it was[p. 343] the loss of draught-beasts that was the most serious trouble; to his great regret Masséna had to cut down the artillery of each division from twelve to eight guns, for want of horses, with a similar reduction of the caissons. Every animal that could be procured was given over to the train, yet it could not carry even the fifteen days’ food which the Marshal considered the minimum that he could afford to take with him. There was also a deficiency in cartridges for the infantry, for whom 1,200,000 rounds were only procured by setting the artificers of the train to make up as many as was possible from the powder captured at Ciudad Rodrigo. Finally Masséna explains that the losses in the two late sieges, the necessity for garrisoning Almeida and Rodrigo, and the effects of a sickly summer, have reduced the two corps and the reserve cavalry under his hand to 42,000 or 45,000 men, so that he must incorporate Reynier with his main army, in order to get a sufficient force concentrated for the invasion. When this has been done, he will have no force to leave behind to guard his communications, and Kellermann and Serras are too much occupied to spare a man for that purpose. The Spaniards will press in between the army and Salamanca the moment that the troops have entered the Portuguese mountains. He will advance, therefore, on September 15, but only with grave apprehension for his rear, and he begs that at all costs a division of the 9th Corps should be brought up to Salamanca. He had been promised long ago that this should be done, but no signs of Drouet’s arrival were yet visible.

Reynier accordingly was called up, at last, to join the main army; he left Zarza and Penamacor on the 10th of September, crossed the Pass of Perales, and on the 12th was at Alfayates, with cavalry in front at Sabugal. Hill, always vigilant, perceived Reynier’s movement as soon as it had taken place. On the 12th his corps quitted Sarzedas, leaving nothing behind in the Castello Branco country save Lecor’s Portuguese at Fund?o, who were ordered to follow, unless Reynier should send back any detachments to the south side of the Sierra de Gata. Leith started from the banks of the Zezere three days later, and on the 20th the two divisions were drawing near to Wellington’s rear in the valley of the Mondego, Hill being at Espinhal that day, and Leith (who had less distance to cover) a march further[p. 344] to the front, at Foz d’Aronce. Wellington’s concentration on the Alva must obviously be completed before the French could strike.

On September 15, 1810, Ney and Junot broke up from the encampments in front of Almeida, while Reynier drew in close to the main body by marching up from Sabugal towards Guarda. It was clear that the attack of the French was to be delivered along the line of the Mondego, but whether by its southern or its northern bank Wellington could not yet be sure, though he was under the impression that the former would be the chosen route, since the chaussée from Almeida by Celorico and Ponte de Murcella is good for a Portuguese road, while the mountain track by Trancoso and Vizeu is abominable. Yet one of the three columns of the French pointed from the first towards the north bank: while Ney took his way by Freixadas and Alverca towards Celorico, Junot was reported to have turned off from the main road at Valverde, and to be marching by Pinhel westward or north-westward. What Reynier would do after reaching Guarda remained yet to be seen.

The total force which Masséna had drawn together for the invasion was 65,000[397] officers and men. He had left behind a regiment of dragoons and four battalions of infantry to take care of Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo. In the latter place he had also deposited his siege-train, with the considerable body of artillerymen belonging to it. Brennier and Cacault commanded at the two places respectively. They had between them some 3,500 men, a force which perceptibly diminished the army of invasion, yet was insufficient to do more than to hold the two fortresses. Gardanne, with five squadrons of dragoons, was to maintain touch between them. Not a man would be available from the garrisons for service against Spanish or Portuguese insurgents—indeed both Almeida and Rodrigo were practically under blockade from the moment that the main army went forward, and were destined to learn nothing of its[p. 345] doings for many days. Wellington’s cordon of Ordenan?a proved perfectly efficient[398].

On the evening of the 15th the 2nd Corps had reached Guarda, from which it drove out a picket of the 16th Light Dragoons, who retired towards the Mondego. The 6th Corps bivouacked at Freixadas, having pushed back from it two squadrons of the 14th Light Dragoons and the German Hussars. The 8th Corps, which had to come up from the Azava, passed Almeida and slept beyond the Coa. In its rear was Montbrun’s reserve cavalry division, and behind this again the reserve artillery of the whole army. This column, therefore, was by far the longest and (owing to the amount of guns and caissons) the most unwieldy of the three masses in which the French were marching.

On the 16th Wellington hoped to see Masséna’s designs unmasked. But it proved a day of continued doubt: Reynier left Heudelet’s division at Guarda, and moved on with Merle’s and the cavalry to Celorico. Here he met Ney, who had marched from Freixadas to Celorico, and had pushed his light cavalry through it in advance. One body of horsemen took a hill road high up the side of the Serra da Estrella, and reached Linhares, another followed the great chaussée as far as Carapichina, and detached a squadron or two from that point to seize the bridge of Fornos d’Algodres, over which passes the bad side-road from Celorico to Vizeu. Was the enemy about to turn aside on this path, or to pursue the more probable policy of continuing along the chaussée to Ponte de Murcella? Nothing could yet be deduced from Junot’s movements: his heavy column only reached Pinhel that day: from thence he might either come down to Celorico (the most probable course), or make a move towards Oporto, by the high-road Pinhel-Marialva-St. Jo?o da Pesqueira, or (what seemed least likely) follow the very bad mountain-road from Pinhel by Povoa d’el Rei to Trancoso and Vizeu. Meanwhile Wellington ordered[p. 346] the continuation of the retreat of his army towards Ponte de Murcella and the position behind the Alva. The 1st, 3rd, and 4th Divisions retired at their leisure along the great chaussée, by Sarago?a and Chamusca: the Light Division moved parallel to them by the mountain-road Gouvea-San Martinho-San Rom?o. The appearance of Ney’s cavalry at Linhares on this track made the Commander-in-Chief anxious to have it watched, since it was possible that the 6th Corps might use it. The cavalry, keeping the rear well guarded, lay this day at Pinhan?os on the chaussée and San Martinho on the hill-road. Head quarters were at Cea, on the latter line. The only troops now left north of the Mondego, on the route which Junot might possibly follow from Pinhel, were a few cavalry-pickets, wherefore the Commander-in-Chief, conceiving it just possible that the 8th Corps might be intending to make a dash at Oporto, while the other two kept him in check, sent urgent letters to Trant, the officer in charge of the militia of Northern Beira, and to Baccelar, who lay at Oporto with the militia of the Entre-Douro-e-Minho, to take precautions against this movement. Trant, from Moimento de Beira, was to feel for Junot’s front and flank: Baccelar was to send out some picked battalions, under J. Wilson, to the line of the Vouga, and to get into touch with Trant on his left.

On the 17th Masséna’s intentions at last became clear to his adversary. The cavalry of the 6th Corps crossed the bridge of Fornos, which it had seized on the previous night, and the leading division of infantry followed it to Juncaes, on the Mondego bank: nothing came along the chaussée, all the French columns turning off it at Carapichina, and pursuing the cross-road. Ney’s rear was still at Celorico, to which place the whole of the 2nd Corps also came up that day. In the evening the head of the cavalry of the 6th Corps was near Mangualde, many miles along the road north of the Mondego. It seemed probable therefore, that a transference of the whole French army to the right bank, over the bridge of Fornos, was about to take place. This became almost certain when the simultaneous news arrived that Junot had marched that day from Pinhel not towards Celorico, nor on the Oporto road (that by Marialva and St. Jo?o da Pesqueira), but by the abominable cross-road by Povoa d’el[p. 347] Rei to Trancoso. The 8th and 6th Corps therefore were showing a tendency to converge on Vizeu. If so, they must be aiming at reaching Coimbra without touching Wellington’s chosen position of Ponte de Murcella, where he had hoped to fight. This deduction once made, the British commander had to recast his plans. ‘The 2nd and 6th Corps came to Celorico yesterday,’ he wrote to Leith that evening, ‘and a part of them crossed the Mondego at Fornos. More have crossed this day, while no part of the enemy’s army has moved this way [i. e. along the great chaussée south of the river]. It is generally understood that their whole army is between the Douro and the Mondego, and that they are about to move on Coimbra. I shall have troops in Coimbra to-morrow[399].’ All the divisions were ordered back at once, so as to be ready on the Lower Mondego to resist the French, when they should appear from the direction of Vizeu. Only cavalry were left at Sampayo and Gouvea, to watch the passage of the Mondego by the French army, and to make certain that its rear (i. e. Reynier’s corps) might not be about to use the main chaussée, a move which was even yet possible.

Masséna’s resolve to use the route by the north bank of the Mondego surprised all British and some French observers at the time, and has been censured by most historical critics. He left a good for a bad road: he imposed two extra marches on his army at a moment when it was short of provisions. He gave Wellington ample time to call up Hill and Leith, and to select a new position for battle to replace that of Ponte de Murcella. The Bussaco hillsides, where the clash was to come, were as formidable as those behind the Alva. But these considerations were less obvious to Masséna in 1810 than they appear to the critic of 1907. It must first be remembered that his maps were abominable: the actual case of plans used by the staff of the Army of Portugal is preserved[400]: it is that issued by Lopez in 1778, which in the remoter parts of Portugal[p. 348] not only offers a mere travesty of the natural features, but actually marks as existing roads that never had been made, and omits others that were actually available. It shows, moreover, no distinction between chaussées, country roads, and mere mule tracts. Places of considerable importance are misplaced by several miles, e. g. Almeida is placed on the Coa instead of two miles from it: Vizeu is much too far north, as is also Bussaco. As far as this map goes, the physical difficulties in the way of an advance north of the Mondego look no greater than those on the southern bank. But, it may be said, Masséna should have supplemented the use of the map by collecting oral information, and by sending reconnaissances in every direction. He did so, so far as was in his power. But exploration far afield was only possible with large bodies of men, since the Ordenan?a blocked every road to the isolated staff-officer, and the only oral information which was forthcoming was defective. Masséna asked for it from Alorna, Pamplona, and the other Portuguese officers on his staff—there were no less than eighteen of them in all. They were absolutely ignorant of their own country,—a normal thing in the military men of the old Portuguese army. Even Pamplona, whose estates lay in the neighbourhood of Coimbra, gave hopelessly erroneous information about the routes leading into that town. But, from natural amour propre they avoided confessing their ignorance, and, when taken into council by Masséna, gave him copious but wholly misleading details. They assured him that the roads Pinhel-Trancoso-Vizeu and Fornos-Mangualde-Vizeu were no worse than other lines of communication, and that the great chaussée by Sampayo and Ponte de Murcella was crossed by so many torrents and climbed so many slopes that it was not preferable to the routes north of the river. The news that a formidable position behind the Alva had been entrenched had reached the French head quarters; hence Masséna had fair reasons for taking the route that he selected, so far as strategy went. It undoubtedly enabled him to turn the line of the Alva. Moreover, on it lay a large town—Vizeu—from which it was hoped that much food would be procured, for the invaders were still ignorant of the thoroughness with which Wellington’s plans for devastating the country before them had been carried out. Even[p. 349] after Celorico and Guarda had been found empty of inhabitants, they hardly believed that such a large place as Vizeu, a town of 9,000 souls, would be deserted.

Masséna’s mistake became evident to his soldiers on the first day on which he ordered his columns to quit the main-roads and take to the by-paths. The infantry could still get forward, but the artillery and waggon-train began to drag behind, to lose horses, and to see vehicle after vehicle broken, disabled, or abandoned. On the 18th the infantry of the 6th Corps got as far as Mangualde on the north bank of the Mondego, but the artillery was so much delayed in the defile after passing Juncaes that it could not catch up the rear of the marching troops, and had to be parked at night not many miles beyond the bridge of Fornos. The 2nd Corps on reaching this spot found the road blocked, and bivouacked with one division beyond the Mondego, and one still in the rear of the bridge. But the troubles of this column were nothing to those of the 8th Corps on the miserable road from Pinhel to Vizeu. The journal of the commandant of the artillery of Junot’s first division, Colonel No?l, may be quoted as giving a fair description of the marches of the 17th and 18th September:—

‘After passing the little town of Trancoso, with its battlemented wall, all the country-side is mountain and rock. There is no road, only a stony narrow dangerous track, which the artillery had all the pains in the world to follow without meeting accidents. It is all steep ups and downs. I had to march with a party of gunners ahead of me, with picks and crowbars to enlarge the track. As each arm only looked out for itself, the artillery soon got left to the rear, and deserted by the infantry and cavalry. We only arrived at our halting-places late at night, utterly done up. The guns were almost always abandoned to themselves; we did not know what road to follow, having no one to give us information but a few infantry stragglers, who had themselves lost their way. At noon on the 18th I halted with my two batteries after two hours of incessant uphill, to find myself at the crest of a mountain, with a precipitous descent before me, and beyond that another ascent winding upwards, as far as the eye could reach. We were so exhausted that it was useless to go[p. 350] further that day, but on the 19th, with a party of gunners always working in front to enlarge the road, we moved over hill and vale, completely out of touch with the army. I had to ride out with four mounted men to hunt for any trace of it. At last, in a deserted village, we found an old peasant who pointed out the road to Vizeu. But it was only on the 20th that we got there.’ No?l’s batteries, it may be remarked, were moving all the time between the infantry, which was ahead, and the Grand Park which was behind them, with Montbrun’s cavalry bringing up the rear. Yet they were absolutely lost and had to shift for themselves without orders or escort[401].

The Park fared even worse; when nearing Sotojal, on the 20th, it was unexpectedly beset by Colonel Trant, who had come down from Moimenta with a brigade of his militia and two squadrons of Portuguese regular cavalry. The Park was escorted by one company of grenadiers, who marched at its head, and a battalion of the Irish Legion, who were far to the rear, while Montbrun’s immense cavalry column was quite out of sight. Trant had a great opportunity, for the long file of vehicles and guns, caught in a narrow road, was almost helpless. But he failed to do all that was in his power; his cavalry charged the company at the head of the column and was repulsed. He then filed his battalions along the hillside, opened fire on the horses and men of the train, and, descending into their midst, captured and destroyed some caissons and took some eighty prisoners. But when the escort-battalion came hurrying up from the rear, his levies were stricken with panic and hastily retired, though they were strong enough to have held off the five hundred Irish, and to have smashed or rolled over the precipices the greater part of the guns and waggons. Montbrun’s cavalry did not get up till all was over, and would have been perfectly useless on the precipitous road, even if they had arrived earlier. If Trant’s foray had been properly carried out, Masséna might have lost his reserve artillery and most of his provisions—a disaster which might have forced him to turn back to Almeida. He deserved such a punishment for having marched his all-important[p. 351] train on the extreme flank of his army, with an insufficient escort[402].

Though Junot’s infantry divisions reached the deserted walls of Vizeu on Sept. 19th and there met the corps of Ney, the divisional artillery did not arrive till next day, while the reserve artillery, the trains and the heavy cavalry were struggling in upon the 21st and 22nd by detachments. For Montbrun had halted the great convoy after Trant’s attack, and parked it, fearing that the Portuguese might come back in greater numbers and give more trouble. When he started it again, on the 21st, he took care to give it better marching arrangements, and to attach cavalry escorts to each section. But this caused much delay, and meanwhile the 8th Corps waited at Vizeu ‘marking time’ and unable to move. Even the 6th Corps remained there two days, waiting while its gun-carriages and cannons were being repaired; for the Fornos-Vizeu road, though infinitely less rough than that which the 8th Corps and the park had followed, was still bad enough to shake many vehicles to pieces. The Intendant-General reported that nineteen caissons carrying 2,900 rations of biscuit belonging to the 6th Corps broke down and had to be burnt; the food was distributed among the regiments as they passed, with much consequent waste[403]. All that Ney could do between the 18th of September, when he reached Vizeu, and the 21st, was to push forward an advanced guard to Tondella, fifteen miles down the Vizeu-Coimbra road, with an infantry division in support at Fail. Meanwhile the 2nd Corps, following in the wake of the 6th, had also made its way to Vizeu. The bulk of Reynier’s force took the Fornos-Mangualde-Lagiosa route, as Ney’s had done. But an advanced guard of all arms descended the great chaussée south of the river as far as Taboa, driving in the pickets of the English cavalry, and then crossed the Mondego at the bridge of Taboa, and fell into the rear of the rest of the corps beyond Mangualde. This apparently was intended to keep Wellington uncertain, as long as possible, as to whether part[p. 352] of the French army was not intending, after all, to follow the chaussée and present itself before the position on the Alva[404]. But it was executed by so small a force that the British general was not for an hour deceived[405]. He was at this moment in a cheerful frame of mind; Masséna had made a mistake in choosing his route, and was merely wasting time when time was most precious. ‘There are certainly many bad roads in Portugal,’ he wrote, ‘but the enemy has taken decidedly the worst in the whole kingdom’[406]; and again, ‘I imagine that Marshal Masséna has been misinformed, and has experienced more difficulty in making his movement than he expected. He has certainly selected one of the worst roads in Portugal for his march[407].’ Owing to the necessary delays of the enemy Wellington was now in a position as strong as that on the Alva; his head quarters were at the convent of Bussaco, his divisions, including Leith and Hill, so placed that they could be concentrated on the Serra de Alcoba, right across the Vizeu-Coimbra road, long before the French could descend from Vizeu. ‘We have an excellent position here, in which I am strongly tempted to give battle[408],’ he wrote on the evening of the 21st, foreseeing six days ahead the probability of the engagement which was to make Bussaco famous. There was a road by which his position might be turned, but it was doubtful whether the enemy would discover it, and ‘I do not yet give up hopes of discovering a remedy for that misfortune[409].’
Map of the Mondego Valley

Enlarge  THE MONDEGO VALLEY

Masséna, meanwhile, was chafing at his self-imposed delays, and writing querulous letters from Vizeu to Berthier. ‘The grand park and the baggage,’ he wrote on the 22nd, ‘are still in the rear, and will only get up to-morrow. It is impossible to find worse roads than these; they bristle with rocks; the guns and train have suffered severely, and I must wait for them. I must leave them two days at Vizeu when they come in, to rest[p. 353] themselves, while I resume my march on Coimbra, where (as I am informed) I shall find the Anglo-Portuguese concentrated. Sir, all our marches are across a desert; not a soul to be seen anywhere; everything is abandoned. The English push their barbarity to the point of shooting the wretched inhabitant who tries to remain in his village; the women, the children, the aged, have all decamped. We cannot find a guide anywhere. The soldiers discover a few potatoes and other vegetables; they are satisfied, and burn for the moment when they shall meet the enemy.’ The plan of devastation was already beginning to work; Masséna had exhausted seven of the thirteen days’ provisions which his army carried, and it was not with the potatoes gleaned in the fields of Vizeu, or the ripe grapes of its vineyards, that he could refill the empty store-waggons. He must push on for Coimbra as fast as possible; this, no doubt, was why he made up his mind to march on that place, not by descending from Vizeu to Aveiro and entering the coast plain, but by taking the direct road by Santa Comba Dao, Mortagoa, and Bussaco. Even Lopez’s faulty map shows the ridge of Bussaco as a serious physical feature, but the Marshal does not seem to have reflected for a moment that Wellington might choose to defend it. The orders drawn up on September 24th for the march on Coimbra presuppose an unobstructed progress[410]. Having met no active resistance as yet from the Anglo-Portuguese army, Masséna wrongly took it for granted that he might count on the prolongation of this good fortune.

Before moving on from Vizeu the organization of the French army was slightly modified. Junot’s corps contained a number of fourth battalions, belonging to regiments whose three senior battalions were serving in the 2nd Corps. The two corps had never met till both lay at Vizeu. Masséna then ordered the fourth battalions of the 36th, 47th, 70th of the Line, and the 2nd and 4th Léger to join their regiments in Reynier’s corps; this reduced the 8th Corps by 2,850 men; in return, however, Reynier was ordered to make over to Junot two regiments of old troops, the 15th and 86th of the line (each of three battalions)[p. 354] making in all 2,251 bayonets. Thus the two corps were somewhat equalized in quality, the 2nd receiving five battalions of recruits, while the 8th (in which there were too few veterans) got in return six battalions which had served in Spain since the commencement of the war. The net result was to make the 2nd Corps a little stronger (17,024 men) and the 8th Corps a little weaker (15,904 men)[411].

On September 21st the advance of the Army of Portugal was recommenced, though the train and heavy baggage was not yet prepared to start, and some of its rear detachments had not even reached Vizeu. But on that day the advanced guard of the 6th Corps advanced from Tondella, and found in front of it some light cavalry and two Portuguese regiments—the first hostile troops that the French had seen since the campaign began. The whole of the 2nd and 6th Corps followed behind, and bivouacked that night at Casal-de-Maria, Tondella, Sabugo?a and other villages on the steep downward road from Vizeu to Coimbra. The 8th Corps still remained at Vizeu, guarding the belated reserve artillery and train. On the 22nd the 2nd Corps, passing the 6th, which had hitherto taken the lead, crossed the Criz and drove in the British outposts, who retired on Mortagoa. But Ney and the 6th Corps remained stationary, and the 8th did not even yet make a start. These delays seem extraordinary, but Masséna was still paying for his evil choice of roads; the infantry had to wait for the guns, and the guns could only creep forward as the sappers enlarged and improved the roads for them.

Wellington, meanwhile, was recasting his dispositions at his leisure. When Masséna’s march on Vizeu had become certain, the British Commander-in-Chief thought at first that the enemy would take the good chaussée Vizeu-Aveiro, so as to descend into the coast-plain and attack Coimbra from the easiest side. He therefore, on the 18th moved the 1st Division back from Ponte de Murcella to Coimbra, where it was joined by a new brigade from Lisbon, composed of the 1st battalions of the 7th and[p. 355] 79th, newly landed. A. Campbell’s and Coleman’s Portuguese also moved to the same point. The 3rd and 4th Divisions remained at Ponte de Murcella in the entrenched position, with the Light Division and Pack’s Portuguese in front of them at Venda do Porco and Sampayo.

But on the 20th, when Ney’s advanced guard began to come out from Vizeu on the Santa Comba Dao road, not on the Aveiro road, Wellington discovered that it was on the mountain of Bussaco, and not on the plain in front of Coimbra, that he would next meet the enemy. Accordingly Pack’s Portuguese and the Light Division forded the Mondego below Sampayo, as did the light cavalry, and a detaining force was thus thrown across the Vizeu-Coimbra road. The Portuguese brigade took post behind the Criz torrent, Craufurd’s men a little to the rear at Mortagoa. At the same time the 1st Division and the troops attached to it moved out from Coimbra to Mealhada on the Aveiro road, a point from which they could easily be called up to the Bussaco position, if no French columns were discovered coming down the Aveiro road, as now seemed probable. This day, Leith’s division, to Wellington’s intense satisfaction, arrived at San Miguel de Payares behind the Alva, and so joined the main body. Hill was reported to be a day’s march only to the rear, at Foz d’Aronce. Thus the whole of the Anglo-Portuguese regular forces between Douro and Tagus were neatly concentrated. At the same time Trant was told to bring the militia of Northern Beira down the Oporto-Coimbra road to Agueda and Sard?o, and Baccelar was directed to support him with Wilson’s militia brigade, in case Masséna should have some subsidiary operation against Oporto in his mind.

On the 24th the first skirmish of the campaign took place; the 2nd Corps, advancing into the plain in front of Mortagoa, found Pack’s Portuguese facing them on the right, and Craufurd’s division on the left, with a screen of cavalry in front. They pushed in the horsemen upon the infantry, but halted when artillery opened upon them, and made no further advance. On this day the belated 8th Corps, with the reserve cavalry, at last started from Vizeu. Next morning Reynier pressed on in force with two heavy columns each formed by a division, and Craufurd was ordered by Wellington to retire, which he did with some[p. 356] reluctance by alternate échelons of brigades[412]. The 95th and 43rd had some sharp skirmishing with the French van, and made a stand by the village of Moura under the Bussaco heights, before retiring up the high-road, and taking position upon the crest of the great ridge[413], which they did at six o’clock in the evening.

While the advanced guards of Reynier and Ney were driving in Craufurd and Pack, the Anglo-Portuguese army was assembling on Wellington’s chosen fighting-ground. Picton and Cole, with the 3rd and 4th Divisions, had already taken up their quarters on the Bussaco ridge on the 21st, the first across the road from San Antonio de Cantaro to Palheiros, the second across the chaussée, behind the spot to which the troops of Pack and Craufurd were retiring. Leith, who had been brought over the Mondego by the fords of Pe?a Cova on the 23rd, moved up on to the southern tract of the Bussaco heights on the 24th. Hill, who reached the line of the Alva on the 22nd, followed in Leith’s wake, and on the 25th was at Pe?a Cova waiting for orders to cross. The 1st Division with Campbell’s and Coleman’s Portuguese alone were still absent, though not far off. They had started from Mealhada, when it became clear that no French force was coming by the Aveiro-Coimbra road, but on the night of the 25th were still some eight miles away, and did not get into position between Cole and Picton till between nine and ten o’clock on the morning of the 26th.

Nevertheless, nearly 40,000 men, composed of the Light, 3rd, 4th, 5th Divisions and their Portuguese auxiliaries, and of Hill on their flank, only four miles away, were concentrated on the night of the 25th, when Reynier’s vanguard deployed in front of the heights. Before ten o’clock on the following morning Spencer had arrived, and Hill was over the fords and encamped along the rear slopes of the heights. There seems to be no truth whatever in the allegation that the British army was in a[p. 357] somewhat dangerous position on the evening of the 25th, for the French had only their vanguard up, and there were less than two hours of daylight left when Craufurd retired from Moura, and Reynier and Ney obtained their first view of the British position. Before the enemy could have collected in strength sufficient for an attack, night would have set in.

NOTE ON THE SITUATION ON SEPT. 25

Napier wholly misrepresents the state of affairs in vol. iii. pp. 22-3. He writes as follows: ‘Before 3 o’clock 40,000 French infantry were embattled on the two points (the chaussée and the San Antonio de Cantaro road), their guns trying the range above, while the skirmishing clatter of musketry arose from the dark wooded chasms below. Ney, whose military glance was sure, instantly perceived that the mountain, a crested not a table one, could hide no great reserves, that it was only half occupied, and that the allies were moving with the disorder usual on the taking of unknown ground. He wished therefore to attack, but Masséna was ten miles to the rear, the officer sent to him waited two hours for an audience, and then returned with orders to attend the Prince’s arrival. Thus a great opportunity was lost, for Spencer was not up, Leith’s troops were only passing the Mondego, and Hill was still behind the Alva. Scarcely 25,000 men were in line, and with great intervals.’

Almost every statement here is incorrect.

(1) The French did not reach the ground in front of the heights till 5 o’clock: they were not up at 3 p.m. [D’Urban’s Diary: ‘At noon, the heads of the French infantry columns having reached the lower falls leading from the Mortagoa Valley, he pushed forward his cavalry and began to skirmish with our pickets. It not being Lord Wellington’s intention to dispute this ground, but rather to entice Masséna to follow and attack him in his position of Bo?aco, the Light Division was gradually withdrawn, the 95th and 43rd covering the retreat and Ross’s artillery playing upon the enemy’s advance from hill to hill, till at 5 o’clock they were halted by the fire of the 43rd before the village of Sula. At about 6 the firing ceased, and our advance (heretofore at Moura and Sula) took up their ground (as well as General Cole’s division) upon the heights of Bo?aco.’] This diary, written that same night, cannot be wrong as to the dating of the hours. D’Urban was riding with Beresford at Wellington’s side. Napier was writing from memory twenty years after.

(2) Ney did not ‘perceive the mountain only half occupied, and wish to attack,’ on the evening of the 25th. His reconnaissance was made on the morning of the 26th, and it was then that he expressed his wish to attack, when Wellington had every man in line. This is conclusively proved by the following note of Ney to Reynier, dated at 10.30 on the morning of the 26th, from his advanced posts, which lies in the French archives:—

[p. 358]‘Je re?ois à l’instant, mon cher général, votre lettre de ce jour. Je pense qu’une grande partie de l’armée anglo-portugaise a passé la nuit sur la crête des montagnes qui dominent la vallée de Moura. Depuis ce matin l’ennemi marche par sa gauche, et semble diriger ses colonnes principales sur la route d’Oporto. Cependant il tient encore assez de monde à la droite du parc, qui couvre le couvent de Minimes appelé Sako, et montre une douzaine de pièces d’artillerie. Le chemin de Coimbre passe tout près de ce couvent. Si j’avais le commandement j’attaquerais sans hésiter un seul instant. Mais je crois que vous ne pouvez rien compromettre en vous échellonant sur la droite de l’ennemi, et en poussant ses avant-postes le plus possible: car c’est véritablement par ce point qu’il faudrait le forcer à faire sa retraite.’ What Ney had seen, and wrongly took for a general movement of the English army towards its left, was Cole taking ground to the left on the arrival of Spencer, who came up between 8 and 10 that morning, just before Ney was scribbling this hasty note to Reynier.

(3) The stretch of mountain opposite Ney and Reynier was not ‘crested’ but ‘table’—so much so that Wellington took two squadrons of cavalry up to it, for use in the battle. The British general never took up a position where he had no space to hide his reserves.

(4) The time when Ney sent an officer to Masséna to ask leave to attack was the morning of the 26th, not the evening of the 25th. How could Ney have hoped to get the permission to fight and carry it out, when the time when he reached Moura was 5 o’clock, and dusk falls at 6.30? The messenger had twenty miles to ride, to Mortagoa and back. See Fririon’s note in his ‘Aper?u sur la Campagne de Portugal’ in Victoires et Conquêtes, xxi. 320.

(5) Leith’s troops, so far from being ‘only passing the Mondego’ on the afternoon of the 25th, had passed it on the 23rd [Journal of Leith Hay, aide-de-camp of Leith, i. 228]. On the night of the 22nd-23rd Wellington wrote to Hill, ‘Leith’s, Picton’s, and Cole’s divisions are now on the Serra de Busaco’ [Dispatches, vi. 462]. Hill was not ‘behind the Alva,’ but massed at the fords of Pe?a Cova, only four miles from the battlefield. He crossed at dawn on the 26th, but could have been in action within two hours of the first shot, if the attack had been made on the 25th.

(6) Wellington, including Hill’s division, had therefore 40,000 men, not 25,000. But the latter number would have sufficed, for Ney and Reynier had only their advanced guards up, and in the hour and a half before dusk could not have brought up their whole corps by the bad and narrow roads from behind. The Diary of the 6th Corps mentions that only the vanguard division (Loison) bivouacked in front of the heights. The rearguard was as far back as Barril that night.

(7) The exact moment of the arrival of the British 1st Division may be gauged from the fact that it passed Luzo, the village behind Bussaco, at 8 a.m. on the 26th—Diary of Stothert (3rd Foot Guards), p. 188. There is only two miles from Luzo to the position taken up by the 1st Division.
SECTION XXI: CHAPTER II
THE BATTLE OF BUSSACO (SEPTEMBER 27, 1810)

It remains that we should describe the ground which Wellington had chosen on the 21st, and on which he fought with such splendid success upon the 27th. The ridge which takes its name from the convent of Bussaco is one of the best-marked positions in the whole Iberian Peninsula. A single continuous line of heights covered with heather and furze, with the dull-red and dull-grey granite cropping up here and there through the soil, extends from the Mondego on the right—where it ends precipitously—to the main chain of the Serra de Alcoba on the left. The ridge is very irregular in its altitude: the two loftiest sections are one at a distance of two miles from the Mondego, and the other to the immediate right of the convent enclosure, where the original obelisk commemorating the battle was set up[414]. Between these two culminating summits the ridge sinks down, and is at its lowest where the country-road from San Antonio de Cantaro to Palheiros passes over it. There are three other points where it is crossed by lines of communication; two lie far to the east, not far from the Mondego, where bad paths from San Paulo to Palmazes and from Carvalhal to Casal exist. The third and most important is in its left centre, where (close to the convent) the chaussée from Celorico to Coimbra, the main artery of the local road-system, passes the watershed. It does so at a place which is by no means the least lofty point of the ridge; but the line was obvious to the road-making engineer, because a spur (the only one of any importance in the heights) here runs gradually down from the Serra into the lower ground.[p. 360] To lead the chaussée up the side of this spur, past the village of Moura, and so to the crest of the ridge on gentle slopes, was clearly better than to make it charge the main range, even at a less lofty point. The convent lies just to the right of the spot where the chaussée passes the sky-line, a few hundred yards off the road. It was a simple, low quadrangle, with a small chapel in its midst, standing in a fine wood of pine and oak, surrounded by a ten-foot wall. The wood is sprinkled with hermitages, picturesque little buildings hewn in the rock, where those of the monks who chose practised the anchorite’s life. The outer wall of the wood and the tops of its trees are just visible on the sky-line of the main ridge: the convent is not, being well down the reverse-slope. The point where the convent wood tops the heights is the only section of them where trees are seen on the summit: the rest of the line is bare heath, with occasional outbreaks of rock, falling in slopes of greater or lesser steepness towards the broken wooded foot-hills, where the French lay. On part of the left-centre there is ground which it is no exaggeration to describe as precipitous, to the front of the highest piece of the ridge, below the old obelisk. The effect of the whole line of heights is not dissimilar to, though on a smaller scale than, the Malvern Hills. The highest point on the Serra is about 1,200 feet above sea-level—but much less, of course, above the upland below.

The position of Bussaco is fully nine miles long[415] from end to end, from the steep hill above the Mondego to Cole’s western flank: this was a vast front for an army of 50,000 men to cover, according to the ideas of 1810. There were absolute gaps in the line at more than one place, especially above Carvalho, where about a mile separated Leith’s left from his central brigade. The defence of such a position could only be risked because of two facts: one was that every movement of the enemy on the lower ground before the ridge could be accurately made out from above: he could not concentrate in front of any section of the heights without being seen. His only chance of doing so would have been to take advantage of the night; but even if he had drawn up for the attack before dawn—a thing almost impossible[p. 361] in the broken, ravine-cut, wooded bottoms—he could not have moved till full daylight, because the face of the position presents so many irregularities, such as small gullies and miniature precipices, that columns climbing in the dark must undoubtedly have got lost and broken up on the wild hillside. Moreover, there was a thick cordon of British pickets pushed forward almost to the foot of the ridge, which would have given warning by their fire and their preliminary resistance, if any advance had been attempted in the grey dawn.

The second advantage of the Bussaco position is that on its left-centre and right-centre the ridge has a broad flat top, some 300 or 400 yards across, on which all arms can move laterally with ease to support any threatened point. It is so broad that Wellington even ventured to bring up a few squadrons of dragoons to the summit, rightly arguing that a cavalry charge would be of all things the most unexpected reception that an enemy who had breasted such a hillside could meet at the end of his climb. As a matter of fact, however, this section of the heights was never attacked by the French. The right of the position is not flat-topped like the centre, but has a narrow saddle-back, breaking into outcrops of rock at intervals: but though here prompt motion from right to left, or left to right, is not possible on the crest, there is a rough country-path, good for infantry and available even for guns, a few hundred yards down the reverse side of the slope. Along this troops could be moved with ease, entirely out of sight of the enemy. It proved useful for Leith’s division during the battle. Wellington calculated, therefore, with perfect correctness, that he could count on getting an adequate force of defenders to any portion of his long line before the enemy could establish himself on the summit. The extreme left, where Cole’s division lay, was the hardest part of his line to reinforce, for want of good lateral communication: it was also a good deal lower than Craufurd’s post; here, therefore, Wellington had placed the main mass of his reserves; the German Legion, and two Portuguese brigades were lying on his left-centre very close to the 4th Division, so that they would be available at short notice, though they would have a stiff climb if the French chose that section of the position as their objective, and it had to be strengthened in haste.

[p. 362]The distribution of the army remains to be described. On the extreme right, on the height of Nossa Senhora do Monte, just overhanging the Mondego, was a battalion of the Lusitanian Legion, with two guns. Next to them, on very high ground, lay Hill’s division, three British and two Portuguese brigades[416], with a battery on each flank. Then came a slight dip in the ridge, where the road from San Paulo to Palmazes crosses it: athwart this path lay Leith’s newly constituted 5th Division, consisting of three British and seven Portuguese battalions. The British brigade lay on the right, then came (after a long interval) two battalions of the Lusitanian Legion, the only troops guarding two miles of very rough ground. On Leith’s extreme left, towards Picton’s right, was Spry’s Portuguese brigade, and three unattached battalions (8th Line and Thomar militia). Beyond the 8th regiment, where the watershed sinks again, and is crossed by the road from San Antonio de Cantaro to Palheiros, Picton’s line began. On his right, across the road, was Arentschildt’s Portuguese battery, supported by the 74th British regiment, and Champlemond’s Portuguese brigade of three battalions. The 45th and 88th, the two remaining battalions of the brigade of Mackinnon, were placed to the left of the road, the former on the first spur to the north of it, the latter nearly a mile to the left. Lightburne’s brigade, and Thompson’s British battery were a short distance beyond the 88th. North of Picton’s position the ridge rises suddenly again to its loftiest section; along this almost impregnable ground, with its precipitous front, were ranged the three British brigades of Spencer’s 1st Division—the Guards on the right, Blantyre’s on the left, Pakenham’s in the centre, 5,000 bayonets dominating the whole country-side and the rest of the position. North of them again, where the ridge falls sharply along the back wall of the convent wood, was Pack’s Portuguese brigade, reaching almost to the high-road. Along the curve of the high-road itself, in column, was Coleman’s Portuguese brigade, and beside it A. Campbell’s Portuguese, with[p. 363] the German Legion beyond them on the Monte Novo ridge. Coleman, Campbell, and the Germans were the main reserve of the army, and were in second line, for, far to the front of them, on a lower slope, along a curve of the chaussée, lay Craufurd and the Light Division, looking down on the village of Sula almost at the bottom of the heights. Between Craufurd and his next neighbour to the right, Pack, was a curious feature of the field, a long narrow ravine, with steep grassy sides, terraced in some places into vineyards[417]. This cleft, between Sula on the left and Moura on the right, cuts deep up into the hillside, its head almost reaching the crest of the watershed below the convent. In order to circumvent this precipitous gully, the chaussée, after passing through the village of Moura, takes a semicircular curve to the right, and goes round the head of the cleft. For half a mile or more it overhangs the steep declivities on its right, while on its left at this point it is dominated by a pine wood on the upper slopes, so that it forms more or less of a defile. The gully is so narrow here that guns on Craufurd’s position had an easy range on the road, and enfiladed it most effectively. The battery attached to the Light Division—that of Ross—had been placed in a sort of natural redoubt, formed by a semicircle of boulders with gaps between; some of the guns bore on the village of Sula, on the lower slope below, others across the ravine, to the high-road. They were almost invisible, among the great stones, to an enemy coming up the hill or along the chaussée. Craufurd had got a battalion of his Ca?adores (No. 3) in the village, low down the slope, with his other Portuguese battalion and the 95th Rifles strung out on the hillside above, to support the troops below them. His two strong Line battalions, the 43rd and 52nd, were lying far above, in the road, at the point where it has passed the head of the gully in its curve, with a little fir wood behind them and[p. 364] a small windmill in their front. The road being cut through the hillside here, they were screened as they stood, but had only to advance a few feet to reach the sky line, and to command the slope stretching upwards from the village of Sula.

To the left rear of Craufurd’s position, and forming the north-western section of the English line lay Cole’s 4th Division, reaching almost to the villages of Paradas and Algeriz. Its Portuguese brigade (11th and 23rd regiments) was thrown forward on the left under Collins, its two English brigades were at the head of the slope. The ground was not high, but the slope was very steep, and as a matter of fact was never even threatened, much less attacked.

Sixty guns were distributed along the line of the Serra. Ross’s horse artillery troop were with Craufurd, Bull’s with Cole; of the field-batteries Lawson’s was with Pack, Thompson’s with Lightburne, Rettberg’s [K.G.L.] with Spencer, Cleeves’ [K.G.L.] with Coleman. There were also four Portuguese field-batteries; Arentschildt’s was on the high-road with Picton, Dickson’s two batteries with Hill, Passos’s with Coleman, alongside of Cleeves’ German guns. Counting their artillerymen, and the two squadrons of the 4th Dragoons on the summit of the plateau, Wellington had 52,000 men on the field. Of the rest of his disposable army, the Portuguese cavalry brigade (regiments 1, 4, 7, 8; 1,400 sabres under Fane) and one British regiment (13th Light Dragoons) were beyond the Mondego, far to the south-east, watching the open country across the Alva as far as Foz Dao and Sobral. Their head quarters were at Foz de Alva. To defend the Ponte de Murcella position against any possible flanking force the French might have detached, Wellington had left Le Cor’s Portuguese, two regular regiments (Nos. 12 and 13) and three battalions of the Beira militia. All these troops were ten or twelve miles from the nearest point at which a shot was fired, in a different valley, and were alike unseeing and unseen. In a similar fashion, far out to the west, on the other side of the watershed, in the low ground by Mealhada, was the English cavalry, with the exception of the one regiment at Foz de Alva and two squadrons on the Convent ridge.

Reynier’s corps, pushing the English rearguard before it,[p. 365] had arrived in front of the Bussaco position on the afternoon of September 25th. When Ney’s corps came up at dusk Reynier edged away to the left, and established himself on the low hills above the hamlet of San Antonio de Cantaro, leaving the ground about the high-road to the 6th Corps. The 8th and Montbrun’s cavalry were still some way behind, beyond Barril. Masséna, for reasons which it is hard to divine, had not come to the front, though he must have heard the guns firing all through the afternoon, and had been informed by Reynier that the English were standing at bay on the Bussaco ridge. He came no further to the front than Mortagoa on the 25th. Ney on the morn of the next day was busy reconnoitring the position; he sent forward tirailleurs to push in Craufurd’s outposts, and ventured as far to the front as was possible. So well hidden was Wellington’s line that the Marshal formed an entirely erroneous conception of what was before him. At 10.30 in the morning he wrote to Reynier to say that the whole English army seemed to be moving to its left, apparently on the road towards Oporto, but that it had still a rearguard, with a dozen guns, in position to the right of the park which covers the convent. Apparently Cole’s division, taking ground to its left on Spencer’s arrival, and Craufurd on the chaussée was all that he had made out. He had not discovered Leith and the 5th Division, and could not, of course, know that Spencer was at this moment arriving at the convent, and that Hill was across the Mondego at Pe?a Cova.

The Marshal added that if he had been in chief command he should have attacked whatever was in front of him without a moment’s hesitation[418]. But things being as they were, he thought that Reynier would risk nothing by pushing forward on the English right, and thrusting back Wellington’s outposts, for it was desirable to make him retreat towards his left. It is clear that Ney, if he had possessed a free hand, would have brought on a battle, when he was only intending to drive in a rearguard. For by 10.30 on the 26th Wellington had every man upon the field whom he intended to use in the fight, and would have welcomed an assault. Of the French, on the other hand, Junot’s 8th Corps and the cavalry and[p. 366] artillery were still far away to the rear. They only came up in rear of Ney on the night of the 26th-27th.

Masséna, on receiving Ney’s report, rode up to the front at about two o’clock on the 26th—a late hour, but he is said to have been employed in private matters at Mortagoa[419]. When he had at last appeared, he pushed forward as near to the foot of the British position as was safe, and reconnoitred it with care. In the evening he drew up orders for attacking the Bussaco heights at their most accessible points—along the chaussée that leads from Moura up to the convent, and along the country-road from San Antonio de Cantaro to Palheiros.

The Prince of Essling had no hesitation whatever about risking a battle. He had never seen the English before, and held concerning them the same views as the other French officers who had no experience of Wellington’s army. Some confused generalization from the misfortunes of the Duke of York’s troops in 1794-5 and 1799 determined the action of all the marshals till they had made personal acquaintance with the new enemy. The English were to be dealt with by drastic frontal attacks pushed home with real vigour. It is curious, as Napoleon remarked soon after[420], that Reynier, who had been badly beaten by the English at Alexandria and Maida, had learnt no more than the others, and committed exactly the same errors as his colleagues. He, who had experience of his adversaries, and Ney, who had not, adopted precisely the same tactics. These, indeed, were indicated to them by Masséna’s order to attack in columns, each at least a division strong, preceded by a swarm of tirailleurs. There was no question of a general advance all along the line; the two Corps-Commanders were directed to choose each his point, and to break through the British army at it, by force of mass and impact. Only two sections of Wellington’s nine-mile position were to be touched, there being a long gap between the objectives assigned to Ney and to Reynier. But by throwing 13,000 or 14,000 men in close order at each of the two short fronts selected, Masséna thought that he could penetrate the thin line of the defenders.

[p. 367]

As none of the historians of the battle have thought it worth while to give the Marshal’s orders in detail, and many writers have misconceived or mis-stated them, it is necessary to state them[421]. The attacks of the 2nd and 6th Corps were not to be simultaneous; Reynier, having the easier ground before him, was told to move first. He was to select the most accessible stretch of the hillside in his front, and to climb it, with his whole corps in one or two columns, preceded by a skirmishing line. Having gained the crest, and pierced the British line, he was to re-form his men, and then drop down the reverse slope of the heights on to the Coimbra road, along which he was to press in the direction of the convent of Bussaco, toward the rear of Wellington’s centre.

Ney was directed not to move till he should have learnt that Reynier had crowned the heights; but when he should see the 2nd Corps on the crest, was to send forward two columns of a division each against the British left-centre. One division was to follow the chaussée, the other to mount the rough path up the spur on which the village of Sula stands. Both columns, like those of the 2nd Corps, were to be preceded by a thick line of skirmishers. They were to halt and re-form when the crest of the English position should be carried, and then to adapt their movements to suit those of Reynier’s corps.

Junot was to assemble his two infantry divisions behind Moura, and to have them ready to reinforce either Ney or Reynier as might be needed. His artillery was to be placed on the knolls on each side of the chaussée, so as to be able to hold back the allied army if, after repulsing Ney, it should attempt a forward movement. Montbrun’s cavalry and the reserve artillery were to be placed on either side of the chaussée behind Junot’s centre[422].

The horsemen were obviously useless, save that in the event of Wellington being defeated they could be sent forward in pursuit. Nor were the guns much more serviceable: they could sweep the lower parts of the slopes of Bussaco, but could not reach its crest with their fire. Indeed, the only French artillery used[p. 368] successfully on the next day were two batteries which Ney’s columns of attack took with them along the chaussée, as far as the elbow of road in front of Moura. These were in effective range of Craufurd’s and Pack’s troops, since the latter were on a level with them, and not on the highest crest of the British position. Reynier’s guns could just reach the summit of the pass of San Antonio de Cantaro, but not so as to play upon it with any good result.

It is said that Junot and Reynier were in favour of trying the frontal attack which Masséna had dictated, as was also Laszowski, the Polish general who commanded the engineers of the army. Fririon, the chief of the staff, and Eblé, commanding the artillery, spoke against the policy of ‘taking the bull by the horns.’ Masséna, according to Fririon, turned on the doubters with the words ‘You come from the old Army of the Rhine, you like man?uvring; but it is the first time that Wellington seems ready to give battle, and I want to profit by the opportunity[423].’ Ney, too, as we read with some surprise, is said to have given the opinion that it would have been feasible to assault the heights yesterday, but that now, when Wellington had been given time to bring up his reserves and settle his army down into the most advantageous position, the policy of taking the offensive had become doubtful. He therefore advised that the army should turn aside and make a stroke at Oporto, which would be found unprotected save by militia. Masséna, according to his official biographer, announced ‘that the Emperor had ordered him to march on Lisbon, not on Oporto. This was entirely correct: the capture of Lisbon would end the whole war, that of Oporto would prolong it, and bring no decisive result. Moreover, it was quite uncertain whether Wellington would not be able to prevent such a move. He has troops échelloned as far as the Vouga, and he could get to Oporto in three marches, because he possesses the Oporto-Coimbra chaussée, while the French army, moving by worse roads, would require five marches to reach it.’ It is suggested that Ney’s policy was[p. 369] really to goad his superior into making the frontal attack at Bussaco, by feigning to believe it dangerous and to counsel its abandonment. For he thought that Masséna would do precisely the opposite of what he was advised, out of his personal dislike for himself, and general distaste for having counsel thrust upon him. If this was so, the Duke of Elchingen carried his point—to the entire discomfiture both of himself and his commander-in-chief[424].
Map of the battle of Bussaco

Enlarge  BATTLE OF BUSSACO. Sep. 27th, 1810.
Position of the Troops at the commencement of the French Attack

On the 26th, after Masséna had retired to his head quarters at Mortagoa, there was a little skirmishing on the English right-centre, where Reynier’s advanced guard drove the light company of the 88th off some knolls at the foot of the heights, opposite San Antonio de Cantaro. Much about the same time there was some bickering on Ney’s front: the pickets of Pack’s 4th Ca?adores and Craufurd’s 95th were attacked, but held their ground. The contest was never very serious and the fire died down at dusk. That evening the British army slept in order of battle, ‘each man with his firelock in his grasp at his post. There were no fires, and the death-like stillness that reigned throughout the line was only interrupted by the occasional challenge of an advanced sentry, or a random shot fired at some imaginary foe.’ Below and in front, all the low hills behind Moura and San Antonio were bright with the bivouac fires of the French, of which three great masses could be distinguished, marking the position of the 2nd, 6th, and 8th Corps[425].

The dawn of the 27th was somewhat misty, but as soon as the light was strong enough Reynier commenced his attack. He had chosen for his objective, as was natural, the lowest point of the ridge opposite him, the dip where the country-road from San Antonio de Cantaro crosses the Serra. His two divisions, according to order, were drawn up in two heavy columns preceded by a dense swarm of tirailleurs. Heudelet’s division on the left was across the high-road, with the 31st Léger in front, then the two regiments of Foy’s brigade, the 70th and 17th Léger, with the 47th in reserve. The whole made 15 battalions,[p. 370] or 8,000 men. Merle’s division had the right, and was to attack north of the road: of its eleven battalions, making 6,500 men, the 36th of the Line led, the 2nd Léger followed, the 4th Léger brought up the rear. All the battalions were in serried column with a front of one company only, and in each regiment the three, or four, battalions were originally drawn up one behind the other. But the involuntary swerving of the attack soon turned the two divisions into an irregular échelon of battalion-columns, the right in every case leading. And the roughness of the hillside soon broke the ordered ranks of each column into a great clump of men, so that to the British defenders of the ridge the assault seemed to be delivered by a string of small crowds crossing the hillside diagonally. It is curious that Reynier placed no troops to his left of the road; a study of his orders (as of those of Masséna[426]) leads to a suspicion that they had failed to discover Leith’s division, and still more Hill’s, and imagined that the road was on the extreme right, not in the right-centre, of the British position. Otherwise Reynier would have taken some precaution to guard himself from a flank attack from Leith, to which he was deliberately exposing his left column.

There were, as has already been pointed out, several gaps in the nine-mile British line. One was between the 8th regiment of Portuguese, on Leith’s extreme left, and the rest of the 5th Division. Another was between Picton’s troops at the pass of San Antonio and his left wing—the 88th and Lightburne’s brigade. Between the 45th and the 88th there was three-quarters of a mile of unoccupied ground. The first gap led to no danger, the second caused for a moment a serious crisis. Such was indeed almost bound to occur when a line so long was held by such a small army. But this morning there arose the special danger that fog hid the first movements of the enemy from the eye, if not from the ear.

Merle’s division seems to have been the first of Reynier’s two columns to move: at dawn, with the mist lying thick on the hillside, it began to move up the steep slope some three-quarters[p. 371] of a mile to the right of the San Antonio-Palheiros road. Here its tirailleurs came in contact with the light companies of the 74th, 88th, and 45th regiments, which were strung out along the front, and soon began to push this thin line up hill. For some reason undetermined—a trick of the mist, or a bend of the hillside—the three French regiments all headed somewhat to their left, so as to pass across the front of the 88th, and to direct their advance precisely to the unoccupied piece of crest between that regiment and the troops placed immediately above the pass of San Antonio. Their progress was slow: the tirailleurs left far behind them the eleven battalion-columns, which were trampling through the dense matted heather which here covers the hillside. Hearing the bicker of the skirmishing far to his left, Picton took the alarm, and though he could see nothing in the fog, detached first a wing of the 45th under Major Gwynne, and then the two battalions of the 8th Portuguese, to fill the unoccupied space which intervened between him and the 88th. If he had suspected the strength of the column that was aiming at it he would have sent more. But he was already distracted by the frontal attack of Heudelet’s vanguard along the high-road. A column of four battalions—the 31st Léger—was pushing up the road, and driving in the skirmishers of Champlemond’s Portuguese brigade. Just at this moment the mist began to lift, and Arentschildt’s guns opened on the broad mass, and began to plough long lanes through it. It still advanced, but was soon brought to a standstill by the fire of the British 74th and Portuguese 21st, which were drawn up in line to right and left, a little below the guns. The 31st Léger tried to deploy, but with small success, each section being swept away by the converging fire of the Anglo-Portuguese musketry, as it strove to file out of the disordered mass. Nevertheless, the French regiment gallantly held its ground for some time, shifting gradually towards its right to avoid the fire of the guns, and gaining a little of the hillside in that direction with its first battalion, while the other three were tending to edge away from the road, and to break up into a shapeless crowd[427].

[p. 372]

Picton soon saw that there was no danger here, handed over the command at the Pass of San Antonio to Mackinnon, and started off towards his left, where the firing was growing heavier every minute, and the vast column of Merle’s division, climbing the hillside diagonally, had become visible through the mist.

It was fortunate that the attack of Merle was made very slow by the steepness of the hillside and the heather that clung about the soldiers’ stumbling feet. For the leading regiment reached the crest before there were any British troops yet established on the point at which it aimed. It was lurching over the sky-line on to the little plateau above, just as the defenders arrived—the 88th descending from the British left, the wing of the 45th and the two battalions of the 8th Portuguese coming along the hill-road from the right. If the French had been granted ten minutes to rest from the fatigue of their long climb, and to recover their order, they might have broken the British line. But Wallace, the commander of the 88th, was one of Wellington’s best colonels, the very man for the emergency. Seeing that the French must be charged at once, ere they had time to make a front, he threw out three of his companies as skirmishers to cover his flanks, called to the wing of the 45th to fall in on his right, and charged diagonally across the little plateau on to the flank of the great disordered mass before him. At the same moment the 8th Portuguese, a little further along the hilltop, deployed and opened a rolling fire against the front of the enemy, while Wellington himself, who had been called down from his post of observation on the Convent height by the noise of the fighting, came up with two of Thompson’s guns, and turned their fire upon the flank and rear of the climbing mass, which was still surging up the hillside. Apparently at the same instant the light companies of the 45th and 88th, which had been engaged in the earlier skirmishing with the French tirailleurs, and had been driven far away to their right, were rallied by Picton in person, and brought up along the plateau, to the right of the 8th Portuguese. They drew up only sixty yards from the flank of the leading French regiment, and opened a rolling fire upon it.

At any other juncture and on any other ground, four battalions would have been helpless against eleven. But Wal[p. 373]lace had caught the psychological moment: the French 36th, dead beat from its climb, and in hopeless disorder, was violently charged in flank by the Connaught Rangers and the wing of the 45th, while it was just gathering itself up to run in upon the Portuguese battalions that lay in its front. The French had no time to realize their position, or to mark the smallness of the force opposed to them, when the blow fell. The four battalions of the 36th were rolled down hill and to their left by the blasting fire of Wallace’s little force, followed by a desperate bayonet charge. They were thrust sideways against the 2nd Léger, which was just reaching the sky-line on their left, and was beginning to struggle in among some rocks which here crown the crest of the heights. Then the whole mass gave way, trampled down the 4th Léger in their rear, and rushed down the slope. ‘All was confusion and uproar, smoke, fire, and bullets, French officers and soldiers, drummers and drums, knocked down in every direction; British, French, and Portuguese mixed together; while in the midst of all was to be seen Wallace fighting like his ancestor of old, and still calling to his soldiers to “press forward.” He never slackened his fire while a Frenchman was within his reach, and followed them down to the edge of the hill, where he formed his men in line waiting for any order that he might receive, or any fresh body that might attack him[428].’ This was certainly one of the most timely and gallant strokes made by a regimental commander during the war, and the glory was all Wallace’s own, as Picton very handsomely owned. ‘The Colonel of the 88th and Major Gwynne of the 45th are entitled to the whole of the credit,’ he wrote to Wellington, ‘and I can claim no merit whatever in the executive part of that brilliant exploit, which your Lordship has so highly and so justly extolled[429].’

The victorious British troops followed the enemy far down the hillside, till they came under the fire of Reynier’s artillery,[p. 374] and were warned to retire to their former position. They thus missed the last episode of Reynier’s attack, which occurred along the hillside just to the left of the point at which their collision with Merle’s battalions had taken place. The Commander of the 2nd Corps, seeing his right column rolling down the slope, while the 31st was melting away, and gradually giving ground under the fire of the Anglo-Portuguese troops at the Pass of San Antonio, hurried to Foy’s brigade and started it up the hill to the right of the 31st. Foy had been told to support that regiment, but had taken Reynier’s orders to mean that he was to follow up its advance when it began to make headway. His Corps-Commander cantered up to him shouting angrily, ‘Why don’t you start on the climb? You could get the troops forward if you choose, but you don’t choose.’ Whereupon Foy rode to the leading regiment of his brigade, the 17th Léger, put himself at its head, and began to ascend the heights, his other regiment, the 70th, following in échelon on his left rear. At this moment Merle’s division was still visible, falling back in great disorder some way to the right, and pursued by Wallace—a discouraging sight for the seven battalions that were about to repeat its experiment. Foy chose as his objective the first and lowest hilltop to the French right of the pass of San Antonio, and took his string of columns, the right always leading, up towards it at such pace as was possible over the long heather, and among the occasional patches of stones. The troops which were in front of them here were those sections of Picton’s division which were neither far away on the English left with Wallace and Lightburne, nor actively engaged on the road against the 31st Léger, viz. the right wing of the British 45th under Colonel Meade, and the Portuguese 8th of the Line which had just been aiding in the repulse of Merle. These were soon afterwards joined by one battalion of the 9th Portuguese from Champlemond’s brigade, and the unattached battalion of Thomar militia, which Picton sent up the hill. Yet this was still far too small a force to resist Foy’s seven battalions, unless speedily supported.

But support in sufficient quantity was forthcoming. General Leith had received orders from Wellington to close in to Picton’s right if he saw no hostile troops in his own front. As it was[p. 375] clear that Reynier had kept no reserves or flanking detachments to the south of the high-road, it was possible for the 5th Division to move at once[430]. While the fog was still hanging thickly along the crests of the Serra, Leith ordered a general move of his brigades to the left, while Hill detached troops from the southern end of the position to occupy the heights which the 5th Division was evacuating. This general move to the left was carried out along the rough but serviceable country-road which passes along the rear of the plateau, out of sight of the French. At the moment when Foy’s attack was beginning, Leith had just reached the Pass of San Antonio, with Spry’s Portuguese brigade at the head of his column, then the two battalions of the Lusitanian legion, and lastly, Barnes’s British brigade. One of Dickson’s Portuguese batteries was also with him. He dropped the guns at the pass to aid Arentschildt’s battery, whose fire was beginning to slacken from want of ammunition, and left Spry in their rear and the Legionary battalions on the country-road hard by, while he brought up Barnes’s brigade to the front, and reported his arrival to Picton. The latter said, it appears, that he was strong enough at the Pass, but would be obliged if Leith would attend to the attack which was being made at this moment on the height to its immediate left[431]. This movement of Foy’s was now becoming[p. 376] dangerous: forcing his way to the summit under a destructive fire, he had met on the edge of the plateau the three Portuguese battalions and the wing of the British 45th, and had driven them back—the Thomar militia broke and fled down the rear declivity of the heights, and the 8th Portuguese, though they did not fly, gave way and fell back in disorder. Just at this moment Leith, with Barnes’s three battalions, came up along the communication-road at the back of the plateau. ‘A heavy fire of musketry,’ writes Leith, ‘was being kept up upon the heights, the smoke of which prevented a clear view of the state of things. But when the rock forming the high part of the Serra became visible, the enemy appeared to be in full possession of it, and a French officer was in the act of cheering, with his hat off, while a continued fire was being kept up from thence, and along the whole face of the slope of the Serra, in a diagonal direction towards its bottom, by the enemy ascending rapidly in successive columns, formed for an attack upon a mass of men belonging to the left battalion of the 8th and the 9th Portuguese, who, having been severely pressed, had given way, and were rapidly retiring in complete confusion and disorder. The enemy had dispersed or driven off everything opposed to him—was in possession of the rocky eminence of the Serra.’ A few of his tirailleurs were even on the upper edge of the rear slope.

Leith, realizing that there was still time to save the position—for only the head of the French column had crowned the rocky knoll,—deployed his leading battalion, the 9th, across the summit of the plateau, while sending on his second, the 38th, to get between the enemy and the reverse slope of the position. This last move turned out to be fruitless, for the rear face of the knoll is so steep and so thickly covered with large boulders[432],[p. 377] that the 38th was unable to climb it, and came back to fall in on the right of the 9th. But before it could get back, the senior regiment had done its work. Leith had led it diagonally across the plateau, so as to place it along the flank of the leading battalions of Foy’s column, of which the first was now ensconced on the summit of the heights, while the others were struggling up to join it. The 9th opened with a volley at 100 yards, and then advanced firing, receiving hardly any return from the enemy, who seemed entirely disconcerted by the appearance of a new force parallel with its flank. At twenty yards from the French, the 9th lowered its bayonets and prepared to charge, Leith riding at its head waving his plumed hat. Then the enemy gave way. ‘My heroic column,’ writes Foy, ‘much diminished during the ascent, reached the summit of the plateau, which was covered with hostile troops. Those on our left made a flank movement and smashed us up by their battalion volleys; meanwhile those on our front, covered by some rocks, were murdering us with impunity. The head of my column fell back to its right, despite my efforts; I could not get them to deploy, disorder set in, and the 17th and 70th raced down-hill in headlong flight. The enemy pursued us half-way to the foot of the heights, till he pulled up on coming under effective fire from our artillery[433].’

The battle was now over on this side: Reynier had in reserve only one regiment, the 47th of the Line. His other twenty-two battalions had all been beaten to pieces; they had lost over 2,000 men, including more than half their superior officers: Merle commanding the 1st Division was wounded, his junior brigadier Graindorge was killed; Foy, commanding the first brigade of the other division, was wounded. Of the six colonels who had gone up the heights, those of the 31st Léger, 2nd Léger, 4th Léger, and 70th had been hit: of the twenty-three battalion commanders four were killed, seven wounded. Of 421 officers in all who went into action, 118—more than one in four—had been disabled. Of the 2,023 casualties, 350 men and fifteen officers were prisoners in the hands of the British. And these losses[p. 378] had been suffered without inflicting any corresponding loss upon the defenders of the position: Picton’s division had 427 killed and wounded; Leith’s 160. The only regiments appreciably diminished were the 45th, 88th, and Portuguese 8th—with 150, 134, and 113 casualties respectively. The only superior officers hit were the Portuguese brigadier Champlemond, and a major each in the 45th and 88th. Of the 3rd and 5th Divisions only six British and five Portuguese battalions had been engaged[434]—the superiority of force against them had been about two to one. Yet Reynier complained in his dispatch to Masséna of being crushed by ‘a triple superiority of numbers’! As a matter of fact, it was the position that beat him, not the imagined numbers of the allies. Wellington could risk much in taking up a long line, when he had a good road of communication along its rear, to shift troops from point to point, and when he could descry every movement of the enemy half an hour before it began to take effect.

The other half of the battle of Bussaco was an even shorter business than Reynier’s struggle with Picton and Leith, but no less bloody and decisive. Ney exactly obeyed Masséna’s orders to attack, with two divisions, the ground on each side of the Coimbra chaussée, when he should see the 2nd Corps lodged on the crest beside the pass of San Antonio de Cantaro. The many reproaches heaped upon him, by critics who have not read his orders, for attacking too late, and not at the same moment as Reynier, are groundless: he was told to go forward only when his colleague ‘sera ma?tre des hauteurs.’ He moved precisely when the dispersing mists showed Merle’s great column massed on the edge of the plateau. Of his three divisions he had, again in exact obedience to orders, placed Loison on the right, Marchand on the left, while Mermet was in reserve, behind Moura. The two fighting divisions were completely separated by the[p. 379] deep and steep ravine of which we have had occasion to speak. The ground in front of them was very different: Marchand had to advance, by rather gentle slopes, along the chaussée, which curves up towards the convent of Bussaco. Loison had to go up a hillside of a very different sort, whose lower stretch, as far as the village of Sula, is gentle, and much cut up by woods and orchards, but whose upper half, beyond Sula, is extremely steep and absolutely destitute of cover. There was no road here, only a rough mule-track.

Loison started a few minutes before Marchand: he had his two brigades side by side, Simon’s (six battalions) on the right, Ferey’s (also six battalions) on the left. Both started from the low ground in front of Sula, each with a strong chain of tirailleurs covering an advance in serried battalion columns; the 26th regiment was the leading regiment in Simon’s, the 66th in Ferey’s brigade. On leaving the bottom, and advancing among the trees on the lower slope, both brigades found their tirailleurs at once checked by a very strong skirmishing line. Pack had spread out the whole of the 4th Ca?adores on the hillside in front of his line battalions. Craufurd had thrown out the 95th—more than 700 rifles—and the 3rd Ca?adores—600 rifles more—into the enclosures in front of Sula. The 43rd and 52nd, with the 1st Ca?adores, were lying down in the hollow road at the head of the steep slope above that village, completely concealed from sight. Of formed troops, Loison could only see the 1st Division far above him on the left on the highest plateau of the Serra, and Cole far away to his right on the lower hillsides towards Paradas. In order to press in the obstinate light troops in front of him, Loison was compelled to push forward whole battalions from his fighting-line: by a strenuous use of these, the Ca?adores and Rifles were evicted first from the lower slopes, then from the village of Sula. But when the latter had been captured, the French found themselves under a heavy fire of artillery: Ross’s guns on the knoll above, between their embrasures of rock, being carefully trained upon the exits of the village, while Cleeves’ German battery joined in from its position at the head of the ravine, and took Ferey in flank. It was impossible to halt in Sula, and Loison ordered his brigadiers to push forward the attack once more, taking Ross’s guns and[p. 380] the windmill near them as their objective. The slope was now much steeper, the British and Portuguese skirmishers had rallied once more above Sula, and Craufurd had sent down the 1st Ca?adores to feed the fighting-line. It was only with a severe effort, and with much loss, that the French battalions won their way up the culminating slope. Simon’s front regiment, the 26th of the Line, stuck to the mule-path up the hill from Sula, in one dense and deep column, with the front of a company only, and a depth of three battalions. Ferey’s brigade, having no track to follow, seems to have moved in a somewhat less vicious formation along the slope further to the left, bordering on the northern edge of the funnel-like ravine which formed the boundary of Craufurd’s position. Both were in a very disordered condition, owing to the fierce conflict which they had waged with the screen of Rifles and Ca?adores all up the hillside.

Lying in the hollow road parallel with the head of the ravine were the two Line regiments of the Light Division, the 43rd on the right, the 52nd on the left. They were very strong battalions, despite their losses at the Coa, the one having 800 the other 950 bayonets. In front of them, on the sky-line by the little windmill, to the right of Ross’s guns, Craufurd had been standing all through the earlier stages of the engagement, watching the gradual progress of the French up the hillside. He waited patiently till the enemy’s two columns, a few hundred yards apart, had reached the last steep of the hillside below him. His recoiling skirmishers were at last thrust in upon him—they passed, some to the flanks, some through the intervals between the battalions and the guns, and the front was clear.
Map of Ney’s attack at Bussaco

Enlarge  NEY’S ATTACK at BUSSACO.
Map of Reynier’s attack at Bussaco

Enlarge  REYNIER’S ATTACK at BUSSACO.

Then came the opportunity: the French, pulling themselves together, were preparing to rush up the last twenty yards of the ascent and to run in upon the guns, when Craufurd waved his hat to the battalions lying in the road behind him, the appointed signal for action, and (it is said) called to the men behind him ‘Now 52nd, revenge the death of Sir John Moore.’ The crest was at once covered by the long red line, and the fronts of the French brigades received such a volley at ten paces as has been seldom endured by any troops in war. The whole of the heads of their columns crumbled away in a mass of dead and[p. 381] dying. The centre and rear stood appalled for one moment; then Major Arbuthnot wheeled in three companies of the 52nd upon the right flank of Simon’s leading regiment, while Lloyd of the 43rd did the same upon the extreme left, so as to produce a semicircle of fire[435]. It was impossible to stand under it, and the French broke and went hurtling down the hill, the wrecks of the front battalions carrying the rear ones away with them. So steep was the slope on their left that some are said to have lost their footing and to have rolled down to the bottom of the ravine before they could stop. The Light Division followed as far as Sula, and beyond, not stopping till Loison’s people had taken refuge in the wooded ground beyond that village, and the French guns by Moura had begun to play upon their pursuers. The rush had carried away the whole of the enemy, save one battalion upon Ferey’s extreme left, which had moved so far down in the slope of the ravine that it had become separated from the rest. This solitary column, pressing forward, came to the sky-line not in front of Craufurd, but at the very head of the ravine, below Cleeves’ battery. Here it was dealt with by the leading unit of Coleman’s Portuguese brigade, which was standing in line near the chaussée. The 1st battalion of the 19th regiment, under Major McBean, charged it and rolled it back into the cleft, down whose bottom it hastily recoiled, and joined the rest of the flying division.

[p. 382]

This made an end of Loison’s two brigades as a serious attacking force. They reeled back to their original position, under cover of the 25th Léger, which Mermet sent out to relieve them. But later in the day they pushed some skirmishers up the hill again, and bickered with Craufurd’s outposts. Wellington, seeing that the Light Division was fatigued, sent the light companies of L?we’s German brigade and A. Campbell’s 6th Ca?adores, from the reserves, to take up the skirmishing. It stood still about Sula, but the French got a few men into the village, whom Craufurd had to evict with a company of the 43rd.

Loison lost, out of 6,500 men used in the attack, twenty-one officers killed and forty-seven wounded, with some 1,200 men. His senior brigadier, Simon, was wounded in the face, and taken prisoner by a private of the 52nd. The loss of the Light Division was marvellously small—the 3rd Ca?adores and the 95th, who had fought through the long skirmish up the hill, had seventy-eight and forty-one casualties respectively, but the 43rd and 52nd had the astounding record of only three men killed, and two officers and eighteen men wounded. McBean’s Portuguese battalion lost one officer and twenty-five men: the German light companies had nearly fifty casualties, but this was later in the day. Altogether, Loison’s attack was repelled with a loss of only 200 men to the allies.

It only remains to tell of one more section of the Battle of Bussaco; it was entirely independent of the rest. When Ney started Loison to his right of the deep ravine, he had sent forward Marchand’s division to his left of it, along the great chaussée. On turning the sweep of the road beyond Moura, the leading brigade of this column (6th Léger and 69th Line, five battalions) came under a terrible artillery fire from the three batteries which Wellington had placed at the head of the ravine, those of Cleeves, Parros, and Lawson. They, nevertheless, pushed along the road till they came level with a small pine wood on their left, which was full of the skirmishers of Pack’s Portuguese[p. 383] brigade—the whole of the 4th Ca?adores had been sent down into it from the height above. The flanking fire of these light troops was so galling that the French brigade—apparently without orders and by an instinctive movement—swerved to its left, and went up the hillside to turn the Ca?adores out of their cover. After a sharp bickering they did so, and then emerging from the wood on to the smooth slope of the height below the convent wall, got into a desperate musketry duel with Pack’s four Line-battalions, who stood in front of them. They were now in disorder, and their brigadier, Maucune, had been wounded. But they made several attempts to storm the hillside, which were all beaten back by the Portuguese musketry and the fire of Lawson’s artillery on the right. The second brigade of Marchand (that of Marcognet) pushed as far along the road as the preceding brigade had gone, but stopped when it came under the fire of Cleeves’ and Parros’s guns, to which that of Ross’s (from across the ravine) was also added, when Loison’s attack had been beaten off. Seeing that Marchand was making no headway, that Loison had been routed, and that Reynier’s corps was out of action, Ney called back his column, which fell back behind Moura. Maucune’s brigade had suffered severely—it had lost its brigadier, the colonel of the 6th Léger, and thirty-three other officers with some 850 men. The rear brigade (Marcognet’s) had suffered less—its casualty list, however, was fully 300 killed and wounded. There had been a little skirmishing meanwhile opposite Wellington’s centre, for during the main attack Ney had sent forward some voltigeur companies from his reserves to occupy the line of skirmishers at the foot of the heights, which Spencer’s 1st Division had thrown out. These two thin screens of light troops paired off against each other, and contended all the morning with some loss, but no appreciable advantage on either side[436].

[p. 384]

Masséna still had it in his power to attack again, for Mermet’s division of the 6th Corps, and the whole of Junot’s 13,000 infantry had not yet advanced and had hardly lost a man. But the result of Ney’s and Reynier’s efforts had been so disheartening that the Marshal refused to waste more lives on what was clearly a hopeless enterprise. He could now see Wellington’s army concentrated on the two points that had been attacked. Hill’s heavy column of 10,000 men had now lined the heights on Leith’s right: Cole had edged the 4th Division close in to Craufurd’s left, and Coleman and the Germans were visible in the rear. If Masséna had still 20,000 fresh infantry, the English general had 33,000 who had not yet come up into the fighting-line. It was useless to persist. Accordingly, the skirmishing along Ney’s front was allowed to die down in the afternoon, and the French divisions retired to their camps.

The total loss of Wellington’s army had been 1,252 officers and men, of whom 200 were killed, 1,001 wounded, and fifty-one missing. No officer over the rank of a major had been killed: and the only senior officers wounded were the Portuguese brigadier Champlemond and Colonel Barclay of the 52nd. Of the casualties, 626 were in the ranks of the British, 626 in those of the Portuguese regiments—a strange coincidence in the losses of the two allied armies. The Portuguese line, indeed, had done their fair half of the fighting, as the return showed—in no instance with discredit, in some with high merit. If the 8th and 9th Portuguese had broken before Foy’s attack, it was under severe stress, and when attacked by superior numbers. On the other hand, Pack’s brigade, Coleman’s 19th, and the Ca?adores of the Light Division won the highest praises from their commanders, and had taken a most distinguished part in the victory. Wellington now knew exactly how far they could be trusted, and could estimate at last the real fighting value of his army—at least, for a defensive battle in chosen and favourable ground. It would be another matter to calculate how far the allied host was capable of taking the offensive.

The total loss of the French, as shown by the return—which[p. 385] was not quite complete—presented to Masséna on October 1, was 4,498, of whom 522 were killed, 3,612 wounded, and 364 missing (i.e. prisoners). After his usual fashion he represented it to the Emperor as being ‘about 3,000[437].’ One general (Graindorge), two colonels, and fifty-two other officers had been killed, four generals (Maucune, Foy, Merle, Simon) were wounded—the last was also a prisoner; five colonels and 189 other officers were wounded. The 2nd Corps in all had lost at least 2,043 officers and men, the 6th Corps at least 2,455[438]. It may be remembered that of all the battles in the Peninsular War this was the one in which the proportion of officers to men hit on the French side was highest, one to sixteen—the average being one to twenty-two in ordinary engagements. The excessive proportion of casualties in the commissioned ranks bears witness to a desperate attempt to lead on the men to an impossible task, in which the officers sacrificed themselves in the most splendid style.

Masséna must not be too much blamed for his experiment. He had still to ascertain the fighting value of Wellington’s army—and estimated it too low, because of the extreme prudence which his adversary had hitherto displayed. He was handicapped by the impossibility of using his artillery effectively, and the position in front of him was strong—even stronger than he guessed, because of the road of communication along the rear of the plateau—but not too strong to be forced, if the defenders did not fight well. Moreover, it was immensely long—nine miles from end to end, so that two blows delivered with a corps[p. 386] each in the centre might have pierced the line before the enemy’s distant reserves could get up. Favoured by the fog—as we have seen—Reynier actually won the heights for a moment, though Ney never got near the crest. The mistake lay not so much in making the trial as in under-rating the warlike efficiency of the enemy. Strokes like Wallace’s charge with the 45th and 88th, or Craufurd’s masterly advance with the 43rd and 52nd, are beyond the common experiences of war. Masséna put forty-five battalions[439] into his fighting-line—they were repulsed by twenty-four, for that was the number of Anglo-Portuguese battalions which engaged more than their light-companies[440]. This could not have been foreseen. But the lesson was learnt. Before the lines of Torres Vedras, a fortnight later, Masséna refused to take any more risks of the kind, and the campaign assumed a very different character, because the invader had learnt to respect his enemy.

(1) NOTE ON THE TOPOGRAPHY OF BUSSACO

I spent two days in April 1904 and two days in April 1906 in going very carefully over the field—save that of its nine-mile length I did not investigate closely either Cole’s position on the extreme north, or Hill’s on the extreme south, no fighting having come near either of them. The ground is so minutely described in the preceding chapter that only a few additional points require notice.

(1) The ravine which lay between Pack and Craufurd, and between Marchand and Loison, is a feature which no map can properly express, and which no one who has not gone very carefully over the hillside can fully picture to himself. It produces an absolute want of continuity between the two fights which went on to its right and left.

(2) The Mondego is not visible from any point of the line of heights till Hill’s position is reached. It is sunk far below the level of the upland.

(3) The San Antonio-Palheiros road is a mere country track, barely[p. 387] deserving the name of road, though practicable for artillery and vehicles. The chaussée Moura-Bussaco is a high-road of the first class, admirably engineered. The paths across the Serra at Hill’s end of it are wretched mule-tracks, not suitable for wheeled traffic. So is the track from Sula up the slope to Craufurd’s standing-place.

(4) The view from the summit of the Serra is very extensive, embracing on the one side all the slopes of the Estrella as far as Guarda, and on the other the whole coast-plain of Coimbra as far as the sea. But in each direction there is so much wood and hill that many roads and villages are masked. The French army, both in advance and retreat, was only intermittently visible. But enough could be made out to determine its general movements with fair precision. When it reached the foot-hills before the Serra every detail of its disposition could be followed by an observer on any part of the crest, save that below Sula woods in the bottom hide the starting-point of Loison’s division.

(5) In the chapel by the side of the chaussée, just behind the sky-line of the English position, the traveller will find a little museum, including a very fine topographical map, with the position of the allied troops, and more especially of the Portuguese regiments, well marked. There are a few errors in the placing of the British battalions, but nothing of consequence. The French army is only vaguely indicated. But the map is a credit to the Portuguese engineer officers who compiled it.

(6) As I have observed in the next chapter, the ground to the north, along the Serras de Alcoba and de Caramula, is not so uniformly lofty, or so forbidding in its aspect, as to cause the observer to doubt whether there can be any pass across the watershed in that direction. Indeed, the first idea that strikes the mind on reaching the summit of the Serra, and casting a glance round the wide landscape, is that it is surprising that any officer in the French army can have believed that the Caramula was absolutely impracticable. Moreover it is far less easily defensible than the Bussaco ridge, because it is much more broken and full of cover. The beauty of the Bussaco position is that, save on the Moura-Sula spurs, it is entirely bare of cover on the side facing eastward. The smooth, steep slope, with its furze and heather and its occasional outcrops of rock, makes a splendid glacis. The reverse space would be a far worse position to defend, against an enemy coming from Coimbra and the coast-plain, because it is thickly interspersed with woods.

(7) With the possible exception of some of the Pyrenean fighting-grounds, Bussaco gives the most beautiful landscape of any of the British battlefields of the Peninsula. Albuera is tame, Talavera is only picturesque at its northern end, Salamanca is rolling ground with uninteresting ploughed fields, save where the two Arapiles crop up in their isolated ruggedness. Fuentes d’O?oro is a pretty hillside, such as one may see in any English county, with meadow below and rough pasture above. Vimiero is dappled ground, with many trees but no commanding feature. But the loftiness, the open breezy air, the far-reaching view over plain, wood,[p. 388] mountain, and distant sea, from the summit of the Bussaco Serra is unique in its beauty. It is small wonder that the modern Portuguese have turned it into a health-resort, or that the British colony at Oporto have fixed on the culminating plateau as the best golf-course in the Peninsula.

(2) NOTE ON THE CRISIS OF THE BATTLE OF BUSSACO

While there is no point of dispute concerning that part of the Battle of Bussaco in which Craufurd, Pack, and Coleman were engaged against the 6th Corps, there was bitter controversy on the exact details of the repulse of Reynier’s corps by Picton and Leith. Picton, and following him his subordinates of the 3rd Division, thought that Leith’s part in the action was insignificant, that he merely repulsed a minor attack after the main struggle was over. Leith and his officers considered that they gave the decisive blow, that Picton’s line would have been broken and the battle perhaps lost, if Barnes’s brigade had not arrived at the critical moment and saved the situation. All that Picton would allow was that Leith ‘aided the wing of the 45th and the 8th Portuguese in repulsing the enemy’s last attempt.’ Grattan, who wrote an admirable narrative of the defeat of Merle’s division by the 88th and the neighbouring troops, denied that the 3rd Division was ever pressed, says that he never saw Leith’s men till the action was over, and points out that Barnes’s brigade, out of 1,800 bayonets, lost but 47 men altogether, while the 45th regiment alone lost thrice, and the 88th more than twice, as many killed and wounded out of their scanty numbers (150 and 134 out of 560 and 679 respectively). Other 3rd Division officers suggest (see the letters in the Appendix to Napier’s sixth volume) that Leith fought only with a belated body of French skirmishers, or with men who had been cut off from the main attacking column by the successful advance of Wallace. On the other hand Leith (see his letter in Wellington, Supplementary Dispatches, vol. vi, p. 678) speaks of coming on the ground to find a large French column crossing the Serra, and the Portuguese 8th and 9th broken, and about to recoil down the rear slope. His aide-de-camp, Leith-Hay, and Cameron of the 9th bear him out.

Napier has failed to make the situation clear, from not seeing that there were two completely separate attacks of the French, divided by an appreciable interval. He thinks that Foy was on the Serra as soon as Merle, and calls his column (iii. p. 25) ‘the French battalions which had first gained the crest,’ while as a matter of fact they had only started after Wallace’s repulse of Merle was long over.

The real situation is made clear when Reynier’s and Heudelet’s dispatches in the French Archives and Foy’s diary are studied. From these it is clear that there were two occasions on which the French got to the[p. 389] top of the Serra, the first during Merle’s attack, the second during Foy’s. I have quoted Foy’s narrative on p. 377 above; but it may be well to give also his note showing the starting-time of his column. ‘La première division (Merle) a gravi la montagne en se jettant à droite. Mais à peine les têtes arrivaient sur le plateau, qu’attaquées tout à coup par des troupes immensement supérieures en nombre, fra?ches et vigoureuses, elles ont été culbutées en bas de la montagne dans le plus grand désordre. Ma brigade s’était portée au pied de la montagne, devant soutenir le 31e Léger. Au moment de l’échec de la 1re division j’ai fait halte un moment pour ne pas être entra?né par les fuyards.’ It was only at this instant, when the fugitives from Merle’s attack were pouring past him, that he got his orders from Reynier to attack, and started to climb the slope. There must, therefore, have been an interval of more than half an hour—possibly of an hour—between the moment when Wallace thrust Merle off the plateau, and that at which Foy crowned it, only to be attacked and beaten by the newly arrived Leith. For it took a very long time for the French 17th and 70th to climb the slope, and they only reached the top with difficulty, the skirmishers of the 8th and 9th Portuguese and of Meade’s wing of the 45th having fought hard to keep them back.

Reynier’s dispatch is equally clear as to his corps having made two separate attacks. He adds that some of Sarrut’s men were rallied in time to support Foy, a statement for which I find no corroboration elsewhere.

Napier then has failed to grasp the situation, when he makes the French crown the crest above the pass of San Antonio and the crest opposite Wallace, 900 yards further north, at the same moment. And the statement that Leith’s charge was directed against the other flank of the same mass that was beaten by the 88th and 45th is altogether erroneous.

Leith’s narrative of the business, in short, fits in with the French story, and must be considered correct. Picton cannot be acquitted of deliberate belittling of the part taken by his colleague in the action. Foy’s attack, though made by only seven battalions, while Merle had eleven, was the more dangerous of the two, and was defeated by Leith alone, after the small fraction of Picton’s force in front of it had been broken and thrust back.
SECTION XXI: CHAPTER III
WELLINGTON’S RETREAT TO THE LINES OF TORRES VEDRAS (OCTOBER 1810)

The dawn of September 28 brought small comfort to Masséna. His desperate attacks of the preceding day had been repulsed with such ease and such heavy loss, that neither he nor any of his subordinates dreamed of renewing the attempt to force the line of the Serra. Only three courses were open to him—to retreat on Almeida, giving up the campaign as one too ambitious for the strength of his army, or to change his objective and strike backwards at Oporto,—if Lisbon were beyond his grasp,—or to endeavour to move Wellington out of his position by turning his flank, since a frontal attack had proved disastrous. The first course was advocated by more than one adviser, but presented no attractions to the Marshal: he was both obstinate and angry, and did not dream for a moment of spoiling his military reputation by retreating tamely after a lost battle. The blow at Oporto was equally unattractive: he had been told to drive the English out of Portugal, and to capture Lisbon, not to make a mere lodgement on the Douro. Moreover, as he had remarked to Ney before the battle, if he marched on Oporto by the bad road via Vizeu, he might find the British army once more in his front, when he drew nearer to the city, since the Coimbra-Oporto chaussée is both shorter and better than the by-roads which he would have to follow. There remained the third possibility—that of turning Wellington out of the Bussaco position by flanking operations. The country-side did not look very promising, but the attempt must be made.

Early on the 28th the French cavalry was sent out in both directions to explore the whole neighbourhood—a task which Masséna should have prescribed to it on the 25th and 26th,[p. 391] instead of keeping it massed in his rear. The reconnaissances sent southward by Reynier’s light cavalry brought no encouraging report: if the French army crossed the Mondego, it would only run against Wellington’s carefully prepared position behind the Alva. Fane’s cavalry were out in this direction, and would give ample time of warning to allow the allied army to pass the fords of Pe?a Cova and man the long series of earthworks. Only a repetition of the Bussaco disaster could follow from an attempt to take the offensive on this side. From the north, however, Montbrun, who had ridden out with some of Sainte-Croix’s dragoons, brought far more cheering news. This indeed was the flank where, on the first principles of topography, some hope of success might have been looked for. To any one standing either on the Bussaco heights or on the lower ridge in front of them, and casting an eye over the dappled and uneven country-side to the north, it seems incredible that there should be no route whatever across the Serra de Caramula. Both the seacoast-plain of Beira and the valley of the Oerins, the little river which drains the plain of Mortagoa, were thickly populated. Was it likely that there would be no means of getting from the one to the other save by the chaussée through Bussaco, or the circuitous road far to the north, from Vizeu to Aveiro via Feramena and Bemfeita? The maps, it is true, showed no other route: but every day that he remained in Portugal was proving more clearly to the Marshal that his maps, Lopez and the rest, were hopelessly inaccurate. The Serra de Caramula, though rugged, is not one continuous line of precipices, nor is it of any great altitude. On first principles it was probable that there might be one or more passages in this stretch of thirty miles, though it was conceivable that there might be no road over which artillery could travel[441].

There was, therefore, nothing astonishing in the fact that Montbrun discovered that such a track existed, nine miles north of Bussaco, running from Mortagoa, by Aveleira and Boialvo, to Sard?o in the valley of the Agueda, one of the affluents of[p. 392] the Vouga. There was nothing particularly startling in the discovery, nor did it imply any special perspicacity in the discoverers, as many of the French narratives seek to imply. A peasant captured in one of the deserted villages high up the Oerins, and cross-questioned by Masséna’s Portuguese aide-de-camp Mascarenhas, who accompanied Sainte-Croix on his reconnaissance, revealed the fact that this country-road existed. He even, it is said, expressed to his compatriot his surprise that the French had not taken it when first they arrived at Mortagoa, since it was unguarded, while the whole allied army was lying across the Bussaco chaussée. It was, he said, habitually used by the ox-waggons of the peasantry: it was not a good road, but was a perfectly practicable one.

With this all-important news Montbrun and Sainte-Croix returned to Masséna about midday. The Marshal at once resolved to make an attempt to utilize the Boialvo road. There was some danger in doing so, since it was possible that Wellington might wait till the greater part of the French army had retired from his front, and then descend upon the rearguard and overwhelm it. Or, on the other hand, he might have made preparations to hold the further end of the pass, so that when the vanguard of the invaders was nearing Boialvo or Sard?o they might find 20,000 men, withdrawn from the Bussaco position in haste, lying across their path at some dangerous turn of the road. Indeed, we may confidently assert that if in 1810 the British general had possessed the army that he owned in 1813, Masséna would have had the same unpleasant experience that befell Soult at Sorauren, when he attempted a precisely similar man?uvre—a flank march round the allied army on the day after a lost battle.

But Masséna was prepared to take risks, and the risk which he was now accepting was a considerably less perilous one than that which he had incurred when he chose to make a frontal attack on the Bussaco position on the preceding day. For though flank marches across an enemy’s front are justly deprecated by every military authority, this was one executed at a distance of nine or ten miles from the British line, and not in a level country, on to which Wellington might easily descend from his fastness, but in a broken wooded upland, full of ridges[p. 393] on which the French might have formed up to fight if assailed. If this fact did not remove the danger, it at any rate made it infinitely less. If one of the two possible contretemps should happen—if Wellington should come down with a sudden rush upon the rearguard—that force would have to fight a defensive action on the ridges below Bussaco, till the main body could turn back to help it. In that case there would follow a pitched battle upon rolling and uneven ground, which did not favour one side more than the other; and this, at any rate, would be a more favourable situation for the French than that in which they had fought on Sept. 27. If, on the other hand, Wellington should send a strong detachment to hold the western debouch of the Boialvo road, nothing would be lost—if nothing would be gained. It was improbable that there would be any position in that quarter quite so strong as the tremendous slope of the Serra de Bussaco. The result of an attempt to force the defile might be successful.

At any rate Masséna thought the experiment worthy of a trial. Accordingly, on the afternoon of the 28th, ostentatious demonstrations were made against the front of the Bussaco position, which led to a good deal of objectless skirmishing[442]. Wellington was not for a moment deceived. Indeed, the idea that another assault was impending was negatived by the fact that both Reynier’s and Ney’s men were seen to be throwing up abattis and digging trenches on the flanks of the two roads on which they lay. These could only be meant for defensive use, and presumably must be intended to help the French rearguard to hold the ridges, if the Anglo-Portuguese army should descend upon them. Late in the afternoon officers furnished with good telescopes, and stationed on the highest point of the Bussaco Serra, reported that they could detect columns in movement from the French rear in the direction of the north-west. These were Sainte-Croix’s cavalry and the baggage-trains of Ney and Junot making their way to the rear, in order to get into the Mortagoa-Boialvo road. At six o’clock, dusk having still not come on, it was reported that Ney’s infantry reserves were certainly moving in the same direction. Only Loison’s division was still immovable on its old position opposite Sula. At[p. 394] nightfall, therefore, the movement of the French was well ascertained. It might mean merely a general retreat on Mortagoa and an abandonment of the campaign[443], but this was most unlikely. Far more probable was some march to turn the allied flank by the passes of the Serra de Caramula. Wellington himself had no doubt whatever that this was the enemy’s intention. As the dusk fell he stood for some time on the summit of the Serra, watching the French columns receding in the distance. He then rode back to his head quarters at the convent of Bussaco, and dictated without delay a series of orders which set his whole army in retreat for Coimbra and Lisbon. Before daylight the position was deserted, only a rearguard being left on it. He does not seem to have thought for a moment of attacking, on the following morning, the 2nd Corps and Loison’s division, which had been left in his front, nor of directing his right wing to march on Sard?o, which it could have reached long before the French arrived there. Each of these courses was so obvious that critics have lavished blame upon him for not adopting the one or the other[444].

The explanation of his conduct is neither that he failed to see the two alternatives which were in his power, nor that he showed (as several French writers maintain) an excessive timidity. Still less is it possible to urge, as some have done, that he was ruined by his own neglect to occupy the Boialvo road. He knew of that pass, had taken it into consideration, and in one of his dispatches speaks vaguely of a means which he was hoping to discover to render it useless to the enemy[445]. This remedy cannot mean, as some have supposed, the moving thither of Trant’s corps of Portuguese militia. It is true that Wellington had ordered this force to occupy Sard?o some days before. But it was neither large enough, nor composed of troops solid enough, to resist, even in a strong position, the attack of a single French brigade. Some other device must have been meant, though we[p. 395] cannot determine what it may have been. The true key to Wellington’s action is to remember the immense pains that he had taken in building the Lines of Torres Vedras, and the elaborate arrangements that had been made during the last few weeks to complete the system for devastating Portugal in front of the enemy. It was by these means, and not by fights in the open, that he had from the first designed to defeat the invader. Bussaco had been an ‘uncovenanted mercy’: if Masséna chose to run his head against that stone wall, it was worth while to man it, and to permit him to break himself against its granite boulders. But such an operation as descending into the plain to attack the 2nd Corps on the 29th, or offering battle in front of Sard?o on that same day, was not within the scope of Wellington’s intentions. If he had wished to engage in that sort of fighting, he had already had ample opportunities to attack sections of the French army during the last two months. But to get engaged with one corps in a rolling upland, and then to have the other two converging on him while the fight was in progress, he had never intended—nor would he do so now. He gave his orders for the retreat of the army on Coimbra actually before the French had possession of their own end of the Boialvo pass, and at a moment when a single night march would have sufficed to place Cole, Craufurd, and Spencer across the western end of it, with ample time to choose a position before the enemy could arrive in front. He explains his refusal to do so in his ‘Memorandum of Operations in 1810’ in the following terms: ‘It would have been impossible to detach a corps from the army to occupy the Serra de Caramula after the action of the 27th. That corps might have been hard pressed and obliged to retreat, in which case it must have retreated upon Sard?o and the north of Portugal. It could not have rejoined the army, and its services would have been wanting in the fortified position in front of Lisbon. It was therefore determined to rely upon Colonel Trant alone to occupy the Serra de Caramula, as his line of operations and retreat was to the northward. Nothing could have been done, except by detaching a large corps, to prevent the French from throwing a large force across the Caramula. When, therefore, they took that road, there was nothing for it but to withdraw from Bussaco. And, after quitting[p. 396] Bussaco, there was no position that we could take up with advantage, in which we could be certain that we could prevent the enemy from getting to Lisbon before us, till we reached the fortified positions in front of that place[446].’ As to the other possibility, that of attacking the French rearguard below Bussaco instead of endeavouring to stop its vanguard at Sard?o, Wellington only observes that ‘they had at least 12,000 or 14,000 more men than we had, and good as our position was, theirs was equally good.’ If he had fallen upon Reynier, the latter (he thought) could have detained him long enough to allow Ney and Junot to return, and so he would have found himself committed to an offensive action against superior numbers on unfavourable ground.

These arguments are unanswerable when we consider Wellington’s position. He might have succeeded in checking Masséna at Boialvo or Sard?o; but, if he did not, ruin would ensue, since he might be cut off from the detached corps, and then would not have men enough to hold the Lines of Torres Vedras. He might have crushed Reynier before he was succoured, but if he failed to do so, and became involved in a general action, a disastrous defeat was possible. In short, considering what failure would mean—the loss of Lisbon, the re-embarkation of the army, probably the end of the Peninsular War—he rightly hesitated to take any risk whatever. At the same time, we may suspect that if the allied army of 1810 had been the army of 1813, Wellington might very possibly have played a more enterprising game. But the Portuguese still formed the larger half of his force, and though he had ascertained by their behaviour on the 27th that they were now capable of fighting steadily in a defensive action on favourable ground, it was nevertheless very doubtful whether he could dare to risk them in a battle fought under different conditions. One cheering example of the courage and discipline of these newly organized regiments did not justify him in taking it for granted that they could be trusted under all possible conditions, as if they were veteran British troops.

On the dawn of Sept. 29, therefore, the two armies were marching away from each other. On the Bussaco position there remained only Craufurd’s Light Division, strengthened by[p. 397] Anson’s cavalry brigade, which was brought up behind the Serra, to form the mounted section of the force which was for the next ten days to act as the rearguard of the allied army. Opposite them only Reynier remained, and he had drawn far back on to the Mortagoa road, where he stood in a defensive position in the morning, but retired, brigade after brigade, in the afternoon. The main body of Wellington’s army was retiring in two columns: Hill, and Hamilton’s Portuguese division crossed the fords of Pe?a Cova and marched for Espinhal and Thomar. The force which had been left far out on the right behind the Alva—Fane’s cavalry and Lecor’s Portuguese militia—joined Hill and accompanied him to Lisbon. This column was absolutely unmolested by the enemy during the whole twelve days of the retreat to the Lines. The French did not so much as follow it with a cavalry patrol. The other and larger column, formed of Spencer, Cole, Leith, and Picton, with Pack’s, Coleman’s, and Alex. Campbell’s Portuguese, marched for Mealhada and Coimbra. Craufurd and Anson started twelve hours later to bring up the rear. During the hours while the Light Division was waiting its orders to start, some of its officers explored the evacuated French position, and found parked in an enclosure 400 desperately wounded soldiers, whom Masséna had abandoned to the mercy of the Portuguese peasantry. He had used up all available carts and mules to carry his wounded, but had been forced to leave the worst cases behind. They were picked up and moved into the convent of Bussaco[447]; on what became of them afterwards it is well not to speculate. No friendly column came that way again[448], and the Ordenan?a were daily growing more exasperated at the conduct of the invading army. The French were not only carrying out in an intermittent fashion Masséna’s edict of Sept. 4, directing that all men with arms but without uniforms were to be shot at sight, but burning every village that they passed, and murdering nearly[p. 398] every peasant that they could hunt down, whether he was bearing arms or no[449].

Meanwhile, on the 29th and 30th of September, the French army was executing its flank march, practically unopposed, though not unobserved. Sainte-Croix’s division of dragoons was at the head of the line of march: then came the infantry of the 8th Corps, which had been put in the vanguard because it had not suffered at Bussaco. Next came the reserve cavalry of Montbrun, followed by the Grand Park and the massed baggage of the 6th and 8th Corps, mixed with a convoy of over 3,000 wounded. Ney’s troops brought up the rear of the main column. Reynier was a day’s march to the rear; having spent the 29th opposite the Bussaco heights, he only reached Mortagoa that evening. Sainte-Croix’s cavalry on this same day had passed the watershed and reached Avellans de Cima, where they met a patrol of De Grey’s dragoons, who had sent parties out in all directions, from their head quarters at Mealhada in the coast-plain. From this time onward the French advanced guard was watched by the four regiments of Slade and De Grey, who were directed to hold back its exploring cavalry, and not to permit it to reach Coimbra an hour sooner than could be helped. There was also a clash on the afternoon of the 30th between part of Sainte-Croix’s dragoons and the Portuguese militia of Trant in front of Sard?o. Trant had been ordered to be at that place[p. 399] on September 27: he only arrived there on the afternoon of the 28th, not by his own fault, but because his superior officer Baccelar, commanding the whole militia of the North, had ordered him to move from Lamego to Sard?o by the circuitous road along the Douro, and then from Feira southward, instead of taking the straight road across, the mountains north of Vizeu, where he might possibly have been stopped by some outlying French detachment. Trant had at the moment only a squadron of dragoons and four militia regiments with him (Porto, Penafiel, Coimbra, and a battalion of light companies), and these, from hard marching, and from desertion, were in all less than 3,000 strong. Knowing that he was expected to hold the debouch of the Boialvo road against anything short of a strong force, Trant made an attempt to stand his ground. But his vanguard bolted at the first shot fired, and with the rest he had to make a hurried retreat beyond the Vouga, leaving the road free to the French[450]. Sainte-Croix had already pushed in[p. 400] between him and the British cavalry, who now began to make a slow retreat towards Mealhada. At that place, early on the 30th, Slade and De Grey were joined by Anson’s eight squadrons, who had come in at the tail of Craufurd’s division after the rearguard evacuated the Bussaco position. On this day the main column of the British infantry marched through Coimbra, leaving the Light Division alone in the city. Wellington’s head quarters that night were at Condeixa six miles south of the Mondego. The three cavalry brigades retired, bickering with the French advanced guard all day, as far as Fornos, eight miles north of Coimbra. Masséna’s infantry, after emerging from the Boialvo pass, were now pushing south, and bivouacked on the night of the 30th, Ney and Junot’s corps at Mealhada, Reynier’s at Barreiro, ten miles behind the others. The biscuit which the French army had taken with it from Almeida was now almost exhausted, and it was a great relief to the troops to find, in the deserted villages of the plain of Coimbra, considerable quantities of maize and rice, with which they could eke out or replace the carefully hoarded rations.

Meanwhile the city of Coimbra was full of distressing scenes. Though Wellington had ordered the whole population of Western Beira to leave their abodes as soon as the French reached Vizeu, yet only the richest of the inhabitants of Coimbra had departed. The bulk had still held to their houses, and the news of the victory of Bussaco had encouraged them to hope that no evacuation would be necessary. The Portuguese govern[p. 401]ment, though it had consented to carry out Wellington’s scheme of devastation, and had duly published proclamations commanding its execution, had taken no great pains to secure obedience to it. The sacrifice, indeed, that was demanded of the citizens of a wealthy town such as Coimbra was a very great one—far more bitter than that imposed on the peasantry, who were told at the same moment to evacuate their flimsy cottages. It was bitterly resented, and, despite of the proclamation, four-fifths of the 40,000 inhabitants of Coimbra were still in their houses when, on the night of the 28th-29th, arrived Wellington’s dispatch stating that he was abandoning Bussaco, that the French would be in the city by the 30th or on the 1st of October, and that force would be used, if necessary, to expel people who still clung to their dwellings. During the next two days the whole of the population of Coimbra was streaming out of the place by the roads to the south, or dropping down the Mondego in boats, to ship themselves for Lisbon at the little port of Figueira. Even on the 1st of October, the day when the French were reputed to be facing Fornos, only eight miles away, all had not yet departed. Many of the poor, the infirm, and the reckless remained behind to the last possible moment, and only started when the distant cannonade on the northern side showed that the British outposts were being driven in. Twenty miles of road were covered by the dense column of fugitives, headed by those who had started on the 29th and brought up behind by those who had waited till the last moment. There was a great want of wheeled conveyances: the richer folks had gone off with most of them, and others had been requisitioned for the allied wounded. Hence, many could take off nothing but what they could carry on their persons. An eye-witness writes that he saw the whole chaussée covered with respectable families walking on foot with bundles on their heads, while in the abandoned houses he noticed food of all sorts, table-linen, shirts, and all manner of other property, which was left behind in disorder because it was too heavy to be carried[451]. Another tells how ‘the old and the infirm, no less than the young and robust, carrying with them all their more valuable effects, covered the fields as well as the road in every direction, and from time to[p. 402] time the weary fugitives, unable to carry further the heavier articles that they had endeavoured to save, dropped them by the wayside and struggled onward, bereft of the remnant of their little property[452].’ Fortunately the weather for the first eight days after the evacuation of Coimbra was warm and dry, so that the unhappy multitude had almost reached Lisbon before they began to suffer any inconvenience from the October rains.

While this exodus was going on, Craufurd’s Light Division stood under arms on the northern side of the city, while the six regiments of British horse, in the extreme rearguard, were bickering with Masséna’s squadrons in the plain toward Fornos. On this day the Marshal had strengthened his van with almost the whole of his cavalry, having added to Sainte-Croix’s division, which had hitherto formed the advance, most of Montbrun’s reserve of dragoons, and Lamotte’s light brigade from the 6th Corps. This body of thirty-four squadrons was altogether too strong for Stapleton Cotton’s three brigades, who had to give way whenever they were seriously pressed. Two miles outside Coimbra the British horse was divided into two columns: De Grey’s heavy dragoons crossed the Mondego at a ford opposite Pereira, Slade and Anson’s light dragoons and hussars by another at Alciada, nearer to the city. At the same moment the Light Division, when the enemy’s horse came in sight, retired through Coimbra, crossed the bridge, and pressed up the ascent towards Condeixa, thrusting before them the rearguard of belated fugitives who had only made up their minds to depart at the last possible moment. It is said that the block in front of them was so great that Craufurd’s regiments would have been in a situation of some danger, if they had been closely followed by French infantry, and forced to turn back to defend themselves. But nothing more than a troop of dragoons watched their passage of the bridge and their retreat to Condeixa, and not a shot had to be fired.

It was otherwise with the cavalry column composed of Slade’s and Anson’s brigades: they were closely followed by the bulk of the French cavalry, and had to turn at the ford to hold back their eager pursuers. Two squadrons of the German Hussars[p. 403] and one of the 16th Light Dragoons charged in succession to check the French vanguard, while a fire was kept up by a line of dismounted skirmishers all along the river bank. The hussars lost four men killed, and two officers and thirteen men wounded, besides six prisoners; the 16th, two wounded and one missing in this skirmish. It could have been avoided, according to critics on the spot, if the brigade had retreated a little faster in the previous stage of its movement. But Stapleton Cotton, forgetting the dangers of crossing such a defile as a narrow ford, had been rather too leisurely in covering the last three miles, considering that the French were so close behind him[453]. The enemy’s loss was insignificant[454].

That night the British rearguard lay at Soure and Condeixa, while head quarters and the rear of the main army were at Redinha. The French did not cross the Mondego with more than a few cavalry patrols, and made no attempt to incommode the retreating column. Indeed they were otherwise employed. The entry of an army into a deserted town is always accompanied by disorders: that of the army of Masséna into Coimbra was an exaggerated example of the rule—and for good reasons. The men had been living on bare rations for a month, and suddenly they found themselves in a town of 40,000 souls, where every door was open, every larder garnished, and every cellar full. The very quays were littered with sacks of flour torn open, and puncheons of rum stove in, for Wellington’s commissariat officers had been to the last moment engaged in breaking up and casting into the river the remains of the magazine which had been feeding the army at Bussaco. The houses on every side were full of valuable goods, for most of the inhabitants had only been able to carry off their money and plate, and had left all else behind them. The first division of the 8th Corps, the earliest French troops to enter the place, consisted almost entirely of newly-formed fourth battalions, composed of conscripts, and ill disciplined. They broke their ranks and fell[p. 404] to plunder, only half-restrained by their officers, many of whom joined in the sport. A late comer from the artillery says that he saw one officer breaking open a door with a pickaxe, and another placing a sentry at the door of a shop which he wished to reserve for his own personal pillage[455]. There was wide-spread drunkenness, some arson, and an enormous amount of mischievous and wanton waste. It was afterwards said that Junot’s corps destroyed in twelve hours an amount of food that would have sufficed to supply the whole army for three weeks. It is at any rate certain that Coimbra was full of provisions when the French arrived, and that, when order was tardily restored, only a few days’ consumption could be scraped together to fill the empty waggons before the host marched on. Masséna raged against Junot for not having kept his men in hand, yet, if Portuguese narratives are to be trusted, he set as bad an example as any disorderly conscript, since he requisitioned for himself out of the University buildings all the telescopes and mathematical instruments, and distributed them among his staff[456]. The pillage was as wanton and objectless as it was thorough; the tombs of the kings in the church of Santa Cruz were broken open, the University Museum and laboratories wrecked, and all the churches wantonly damaged and desecrated. There was no attempt to restore order, or to utilize the captured property for the general good of the army, till the 6th Corps marched in on the next day. Even these later comers, however, could not be restrained from joining in the plunder. The mob of soldiers threatened to shoot the commissary-generals Lambert and Laneuville, when they began to put guards over the nearly-emptied storehouses.

The state of his army on the 1st and 2nd October sufficiently explains the conduct of Masséna in refraining from the pursuit[p. 405] of Wellington’s rearguard. But he was also somewhat puzzled to determine the policy which he must now adopt. Down to the last moment he had thought that Wellington would have fought at Fornos, or some other such position, to defend Coimbra. And even when Coimbra was evacuated, he had imagined that he might find the enemy drawn up to dispute the passage of the Mondego. But it was now clear that Wellington was in full retreat for Lisbon. Since the Marshal was still ignorant of the existence of the lines of Torres Vedras, which was only revealed to him four days later, he was somewhat uncertain how to interpret the conduct of his adversary. After the vigorous stand that Wellington had made at Bussaco, it seemed dangerous to argue that he must now be in headlong flight for his ships, and about to evacuate Portugal. Yet the rapidity of his retreat seemed to argue some such purpose. Ought he, therefore, to be pursued without a moment’s delay, in order that his embarkation might be made difficult? This course, it is said, was advocated by Reynier, Montbrun, Fririon, and the Portuguese renegade d’Alorna. On the other hand, Ney and Junot both advised a stay at Coimbra, to rest the army, collect provisions, and, what was most important of all, to reopen communications with Almeida, Ciudad Rodrigo, and the 9th Corps, which was now due on the Spanish frontier. They pointed to the diminished strength of the army, which, having lost 4,600 men at Bussaco, and 4,000 more by the hard marching and poor feeding of the last month, was now reduced to some 57,000 men. The fighting-power of Wellington was formidable, as he had shown at Bussaco, where many of the French officers persisted in believing that he had shown numbers superior to their own—in which they erred. A hasty advance, it was urged, might bring the invaders in face of a second Bussaco, where there was no chance of a turning movement. Would the commander-in-chief wish to accept another battle of the same sort? It would be better to establish a new base at Coimbra, to bring up the 9th Corps from the rear, and only to move on when the army was thoroughly reorganized. Meanwhile a detachment might demonstrate against Oporto, to distract Wellington’s attention[457]. This was[p. 406] the policy that Napoleon, two months after, declared that Masséna should have adopted. ‘Why,’ he asked, ‘did the Prince of Essling, after his failure at Bussaco, pursue the march on Lisbon, instead of taking up a position on the Mondego, and restoring his communications with Almeida? I had not burdened him with orders or instructions, and he could see that the English were not easy to beat.’ Masséna’s advocate, Foy, replied that ‘if the Army of Portugal had been halted on the Mondego, your Majesty would have said to the Prince, Why did you not march on? The English would have re-embarked, if they had been pressed.’ To which Napoleon, with a broad smile, answered, ‘Very true; I probably should have said so[458].’

The problem presented to the Marshal, indeed, was not an easy one. If he remained at Coimbra, his enemies would delate him to the Emperor for timidity; if he advanced, he might find that he had undertaken a task too great for his strength. The personal equation settled the difficulty: Masséna was obstinate and enterprising to the verge of temerity. He resolved to go on, at the earliest possible moment, in the hope of forcing Wellington to a battle on ground less favourable than Bussaco, or of compelling him to embark without any general engagement at all. Two days only were spent at Coimbra. On October 3, Montbrun’s cavalry, after making a reconnaissance as far as the sea and the port of Figueira, crossed the Mondego to Villa Nova de Ancos, while the 8th Corps, headed by Sainte-Croix’s dragoons, occupied Condeixa: one division of Ney’s corps followed them. The rest of the 6th Corps and Reynier made ready to resume their advance.

A minor problem remained to be resolved. Should a large garrison be left in Coimbra, and a new base for the army established there? The Marshal had shot into the convent of Santa Clara 3,000 Bussaco wounded, and 1,000 sick men. There was an accumulation of waggons of the corps-trains and the[p. 407] Grand Park, which could push on no further, for want of draught beasts, and all manner of other impedimenta. If the army went on at full speed, in the hope of overtaking the English, all this must be left behind. But if left unguarded, wounded and all might become the victims of Trant’s militia, which was known to have retired no further than the Vouga, or even of the Ordenan?a of the hills. A strong garrison must be placed in Coimbra to make it safe: rumour had it on October 2 that Taupin’s brigade and a regiment of dragoons were to be set to guard the city[459]. But rumour was wrong: Masséna, after some doubting, made up his mind that he could not spare even 3,000 men. Every bayonet would be wanted if Wellington once more turned to bay. Accordingly he took the extraordinary step of telling off only a single company, 156 men, of the 44th équipage de la Marine—a naval unit which had been given him in order that he might have a nucleus of sea-going people, in case he succeeded in seizing the Portuguese arsenal at Lisbon. One would have thought that such men would have been so valuable, if only the enterprise had succeeded, that he would have chosen rather a company of ordinary infantry. These sailors, with two or three hundred footsore or convalescent men, organized into a couple of provisional companies, were all that the Marshal placed at the disposition of Major Flandrin, to whom he gave the high-sounding title of Governor of Coimbra. That officer was told that every day would increase his force, as more convalescents came out of hospital, and 3,500 muskets, belonging to the sick and wounded, were left with him. The whole mass of disabled men was concentrated in the convent of Santa Clara, a vast building outside the trans-pontine suburb of Coimbra, on the south side of the Mondego. The garrison was so weak that it could do no more than keep a guard at each of the exits of the town, which was destitute of walls, with a post of thirty men, all that could be spared, at Fornos, on the great north road facing Oporto. To abandon his wounded to almost certain destruction was a reckless act on the Marshal’s part: probably he said to[p. 408] himself that if he could but catch and beat the Anglo-Portuguese army, a small disaster in his rear would be forgiven him. Unlike Wellington, he was ‘taking risks’[460].

On October 4 the French army made its regular start from Coimbra; the 6th Corps came out to Villa Pouca and Condeixa on the Pombal road, the 2nd Corps to Venda do Cego on the Anci?o road, which runs parallel with the other, ten miles to the east, and joins it at Leiria. Montbrun’s cavalry pushed in from Soure, to place itself in front of the 8th Corps, which now moved on from Condeixa as the head of the main infantry column. Its scouts that evening bickered in front of Pombal with Anson’s light cavalry, which was covering the retreat of the allied army. The two days which the French had spent in plundering Coimbra had allowed the Anglo-Portuguese infantry to get a start which they never lost: they never saw the enemy again during the rest of the retreat. That night Wellington’s head quarters were at Leiria, while Hill, unpursued by any hostile force, was at Thomar. For the next six days the British pursued a leisurely course towards the Lines, along the three roads Thomar-Santarem-Villafranca, which was taken by Hill; Alcoba?a-Caldas-Torres Vedras, which was taken by Picton; and Leiria-Batalha-Alemquer, which was taken by Spencer, Leith, and Cole. It was along the last-named, the central, road, that Craufurd’s infantry and the three cavalry brigades followed the main body, at the distance of a day’s march. Anson’s light cavalry brought up the extreme rear, and was almost the only unit which saw the enemy between the 4th and the 10th of October[461]. The rest of the allied army had completely outmarched Masséna. Its retreat was marked by some disorders: the sight of rich monasteries like Alcoba?a and[p. 409] Batalha, and large towns, like Thomar and Leiria, standing empty, yet left full of all such property as the inmates could not easily carry off, proved as tempting to the British as the sight of Coimbra had been to the French. There was much drunkenness, much looting, and some wanton mischief. Wellington set himself to repress it by the strong hand. He hung at Leiria two troopers of the 4th Dragoon Guards, who were caught plundering a chapel, and a man of the 11th Portuguese infantry. Some of the regiments which were found specially addicted to pillage were ordered to bivouac in the open fields every night, and never to be quartered in a village[462].

Anson’s brigade, alone among the allied troops, had an adventurous career during the retreat to the Lines. It was always in touch with a pursuing force of immense strength, for Masséna had constituted a flying vanguard under Montbrun, whose orders were to push the enemy at all costs, and to try to come up with his infantry. This force consisted of Sainte-Croix’s dragoons, Pierre Soult’s cavalry from the 2nd Corps, Lamotte’s from the 6th Corps, one brigade (Ornano’s) of the Reserve Cavalry, and Taupin’s infantry from the 8th Corps. Lamotte’s light horse had the place of honour, and endured most of the hard knocks. They had lively skirmishing with Anson’s 1st German Hussars and 16th Light Dragoons between Pombal and Leiria on the 5th October. The British brigade turned back twice, and drove their pursuers back on to Taupin’s infantry, but always suffered when it had to resume its inevitable retreat. The French lost eight killed, seventeen wounded (including five officers) and twenty prisoners—the British fifty in all, including two officers wounded, and one taken. This combat would not have been worth mentioning, but for the fact that it was from prisoners captured in it that Masséna got his first news of the existence of the Lines of Torres Vedras. Some of the troopers spoke freely of ‘the Lines’ as their point of destination, not guessing that this was the first time that their captors had heard of them. Hence the French generals learned that there were now fortifi[p. 410]cations in front of Lisbon: but they had, of course, no knowledge of their extent or character, and only expected to find some field-works on which Wellington would turn to bay. In fact, Masséna was encouraged by the news, thinking that he was now certain of the battle which he desired.

On the 7th October the French infantry was all concentrated at Leiria, Reynier’s corps having now rejoined the other two. Montbrun’s cavalry spread out so far as Alcoba?a—whose monastery it sacked—on the coast-road, and Muliano on the central road. Vedettes were sent out on the cross-road to Thomar also, but could find no trace of an enemy in that direction. On the night that followed Masséna received the disquieting intelligence that his deliberate taking of risks with regard to Coimbra had already been punished. A mounted officer, who had escaped, brought him news that his hospitals and their guard had been captured at a single blow by Trant’s militia that same afternoon.

That enterprising partisan, it will be remembered, had been driven behind the Vouga by Sainte-Croix’s dragoons on September 30th. Since, however, none of the French turned aside to molest him, and all marched across his front on the Coimbra road, he was not forced to retire any further. And having his orders from Wellington to follow the enemy with caution, and pick up his stragglers and marauders, he came southward again when Masséna’s rearguard entered Coimbra. He had advanced to Mealhada when it was reported to him, on the 6th, that the rearguard of the French had left the city on the preceding day. A few people who had returned from the mountains to their homes, despite Wellington’s proclamation, sent him assurances that the numbers of the garrison were absolutely insignificant, and that of the wounded enormous. Judging rightly that it would have a splendid moral effect to capture Masséna’s hospitals, and the commencement of a base-magazine which was being formed at Coimbra, Trant resolved to strike at once. If he had waited a little he could have got help from J. Wilson and from Miller, who had descended into the Celorico-Vizeu country, each with his brigade. They had been directed by Wellington to cut the French communications with Almeida, and had already carried out their orders.

[p. 411]

But Trant dreaded delay, thinking that Masséna might send back troops to Coimbra, when he found that Wellington was retiring as far as Lisbon. Without waiting for his colleagues, he marched at midday from Mealhada to Fornos on the 7th, and had the good fortune to surprise and capture the insignificant French post at that village: not a man escaped. He was now only eight miles from Coimbra, and was able to rush down into the city in the early afternoon before his arrival was known. He had with him one weak squadron of regular dragoons, and six militia battalions, having been joined since September 29th by all his stragglers and some outlying units. The whole made about 4,000 men[463]. Formed in two columns, they charged into Coimbra by its two northern entrances, sweeping away the small French guards at the gates. The squadron of cavalry then galloped along the street parallel with the river, and seized the bridge, thus cutting off the communication between the French in the town and those at the convent of Santa Clara, where the wounded lay. The small grand-guard, which the enemy kept inside the place, took refuge in the bishop’s palace, but was forced to lay down its arms at the end of an hour. The men at the convent, joined by many of the convalescents, kept up a fire for a short time, but surrendered at discretion, on Trant’s promise to protect them from the fury of his troops. He was, unfortunately, not entirely able to redeem his promise: the Coimbra local regiment was so enraged at the state in which it found its native town that it mishandled some of the prisoners—eight are said to have been slain[464]. The total loss of the Portuguese division was three killed and one officer and twenty-five men wounded.

Wilson and Miller came up next day, and sweeping the roads towards Condeixa and Pombal, picked up 300 more stragglers and marauders from the tail of Masséna’s marching column. Trant handed over Coimbra to them, and escorted his prisoners to Oporto with his own division: there were 3,507 sick and[p. 412] wounded, of whom half could march, while the rest were taken off in carts. Of able-bodied men not more than 400 soldiers were taken: but some hundreds of commissariat and hospital employés and men of the train brought up the total figures of the prisoners to 4,500 men. Trant has been accused by some French writers[465] of deliberately exposing his captives to the fury of the peasantry, and parading the wounded in an indecent fashion through the streets of Oporto. But the handsome testimonial to his humanity signed by a committee of French officers, which Napier prints in the Appendix no. 5 to his third volume, is enough to prove that Trant did his best for his prisoners, and that the unfortunate incident which occurred just after the surrender must not be laid to his account[466].

Masséna’s army received the news of the fall of Coimbra with indignation. It produced a painful impression on every mind; and while the rank and file murmured at the Marshal’s cruelty in abandoning their comrades to death—for it was falsely reported that the Portuguese had massacred them all—the officers blamed his blind improvidence, and observed that a brigade might well have been spared to protect not only the hospitals but the invaluable base-dép?t behind them[467].

There was heavy skirmishing between the British rearguard cavalry and Montbrun’s advance, both on the 8th and 9th of October. On the first of these days the horse-artillery troop attached to Anson’s brigade was, by some extraordinary mistake, left encamped out in front of the squadrons which were told off as its escort, and was nearly surprised in Alcoentre by an[p. 413] irruption of Sainte-Croix’s dragoons in a storm of rain[468]. Somers Cocks’s squadron of the 16th Light Dragoons charged just in time to save the guns, and to jam the head of the enemy’s column, as it was crossing the bridge which leads into the village. Alcoentre was held till dusk, when Taupin’s infantry came up, and Anson’s brigade retired, having lost only one trooper wounded, while the French had sixteen disabled or taken.

From this day onward, the weather, which had been fine and dry since the army left Coimbra, broke up for the autumn rains, and the last three days of the retreat to the Lines were spent in torrential downpour. This had the advantage of delaying the French; for while the British infantry, who were two days ahead of them, reached their destined position on the 9th (with the exception of the Light Division and Pack’s Portuguese), the enemy was marching on flooded roads from the 8th to the 11th.

On the 9th there was continual bickering in the rain, from Quinta da Torre as far as Alemquer, between Lamotte’s light cavalry brigade, which had again replaced Sainte-Croix’s dragoons at the head of the pursuing column, and Anson’s two much-enduring regiments. On this day the 1st Hussars of the King’s German Legion had the thick of the work: Linsingen’s squadron of that admirable regiment, which formed the rear detachment of the whole army, turned back to charge no less than four times in five miles, and always with success. At dusk the French infantry got up, and the allied cavalry retired on to Alemquer after a fatiguing day of fighting, in which the hussars had lost two killed, two officers and nine men wounded, and seventeen missing; the supporting regiment, the 16th Light Dragoons, had one killed, three wounded, and four missing, and the Royals of Slade’s brigade, who only got engaged in the late evening, one wounded and four missing. Lamotte’s loss was a little more—six killed, twenty-two wounded, and twenty-one prisoners[469]. Three of his officers were hurt, one taken.

On the next day (Oct. 10) the whole of the British cavalry[p. 414] marched from Alemquer to within the Lines, distributing themselves to the cantonments which had been arranged for them. But Craufurd’s and Pack’s infantry, which had hitherto been completely covered by the horsemen, did not follow their example with quite sufficient promptitude, and got engaged in an unnecessary skirmish. The Light Division should have withdrawn at noon, but Craufurd, believing the French infantry to be still far away, and despising the cavalry which hovered around him, remained in Alemquer, intending to spend another night in a dry cantonment, for the torrential rain which was falling promised a fatiguing march to his men. At four o’clock Taupin’s infantry came up, and engaged the pickets of the Light Division in a skirmish. Having been strictly forbidden by Wellington to get entangled in a rearguard action, and remembering perhaps his experience at the Coa, Craufurd tardily and unwillingly moved off. But dusk coming on, his column missed its road, and instead of retiring into the section of the Lines which it was destined to occupy, between the Monte Agra?a and the valley of Calandriz, went too far to the west, and came in upon the position of the 1st Division in front of Sobral. This would have been dangerous if the French had had any infantry to the front, to take advantage of the unoccupied gap in the lines. But Montbrun’s advanced guard had pressed more than thirty miles in front of the main body of Masséna’s army, and this force contained nothing but cavalry, save the single brigade of Taupin—less than 3,000 men[470]. This force, such as[p. 415] it was, did not pass Alemquer that night—Craufurd, in his retreat on Sobral, was followed by cavalry alone. It was not till next morning, when Montbrun sent out reconnaissances in all directions, that he found himself in front of fortifications drawn across every road, and gradually realized that he was in front of the famous ‘Lines of Torres Vedras.’

It must not be supposed that Wellington’s final arrangements for the reception of the army of Masséna in front of Lisbon were made at leisure, or at a moment when he had nothing to distract him. Though the actual retreat of his army from the position of Bussaco to the position of Torres Vedras was conducted at an easy pace, and practically unmolested by the enemy, yet the days during which it was being carried out were a time of political, though not of military, storm and stress. Ever since the French had started from Almeida, and made their first advance into the mountains of Beira, Wellington had been engaged in an endless and tiresome controversy with the Portuguese Regency. Though they had assented, long before, to the scheme for devastating the country-side and bringing Masséna to a check only in front of Lisbon, yet when the actual invasion began, and the first hordes of fugitives were reported to be leaving their homes, and burning their crops, and taking to the mountains, several of the members of the Regency became appalled at the awful sacrifices which they were calling upon the nation to endure. The Principal Sousa put himself at the head of the movement, and was supported by the Patriarch, the Bishop of Oporto, so famous in 1808. Sousa brought before the Regency proposals that Wellington should be formally requested to try the chances of a pitched battle on the frontier, before retiring on Coimbra or Lisbon. In addition, he was always maintaining in private company that the people should not be required to take in hand the scheme of devastation and wholesale emigration, till it was certain the allied army was unable to stop Masséna somewhere east of the Serra da Estrella. He also laid before the Regency documents intended to prove that the system of devastation was physically impossible, and that it would prove incapable of stopping the advance of the French, owing to the difficulty that would be found in persuading the peasantry to destroy instead of hiding their[p. 416] stores of food[471]. There was a certain modicum of truth in this last argument, and the French did succeed in living for a longer time in the evacuated districts than Wellington had considered possible. On the other hand, the Principal was hopelessly wrong in his contention that the French would suffer little inconvenience. They were starved out of Portugal by Wellington’s device, even though it took longer to work out its results than he had calculated. There is no reason to suppose that Sousa was in any way treacherously inclined: he and his whole family stood or fell with the English alliance, and the victory of the French would mean ruin to them. But his private and public utterances and those of his satellites had a deplorable effect. In the mouth of the common people it took the form of a widely-spread rumour that Wellington had refused to fight at all, and intended to re-embark the British army. This did not lead to any wish to submit to Napoleon, but to a desperate determination to resist even if deserted. Wellington’s dispatches are full of a riot which took place in Lisbon on September 7th, when the militia proposed to seize on St. Julian’s, the Citadel, and the Bugio fort because they were informed that the English garrisons were about to evacuate them and put to sea[472]. When Masséna had already passed Coimbra, Sousa was mad enough to propose, at the Regency board, that the Portuguese troops should not retire within the Lines, but remain outside and offer battle in the open, even if the British refused to stand by them. The nervous activity of the government had been shown some three weeks before by the sudden arrest and deportation of some fifty persons in Lisbon, who were suspected, rightly or wrongly, of ‘Jacobinism,’ and had been accused of having secret communication with d’Alorna and the other renegades in Masséna’s army. They included a few officers, and a good many lawyers, doctors, merchants, and minor officials, as well as some dependants and[p. 417] relatives of the exiles. The case against most of them was so weak that Wellington protested against their banishment, holding that the alarm caused by the arrests would make the people of Lisbon unreasonably suspicious, and give rise to a belief in wide-spread plots. But despite his letter to the Regency all were shipped off to the Azores[473]. Some were ultimately allowed to go to England, others to Brazil, but the majority were not allowed to return to Portugal till 1816.

‘All I ask from the Government,’ wrote Wellington, on October 6th, in the midst of the retreat, ‘is tranquillity in the town of Lisbon, and provisions for their own troops[474].’ These two simple requirements were precisely those which he did not obtain. The capital of Portugal was kept disturbed by arbitrary arrests, by proclamations which often contained false news, and sometimes pledged the Regency to measures which the Commander-in-Chief disapproved, and by senseless embargoes laid on vehicles and commodities, which were never turned to use[475]. At the same time the Portuguese troops were not fed, and the tents which had been ordered forward to the positions behind the lines never started from the magazines of Lisbon[476].

Wellington’s temper, tried to the uttermost by these distractions, when his mind was entirely engrossed by military problems, grew sharp and irritable at this time. He went so far as to write to the Prince Regent at Rio de Janeiro, to declare that either he or Principal Sousa must leave the country. He suggested that some post as ambassador or special envoy should be found for the man who troubled him so. The Patriarch, as ‘a necessary evil,’ he did not wish to displace, but only to scare. Unfortunately, an appeal to Brazil was hopeless, since the Regent was entirely in the hands of the Principal’s brother, the Conde de Linhares. Much acrimonious correspondence, delayed by the vast time which was consumed in getting letters[p. 418] to and from Rio, only led in the end to a proposal from Linhares that his brother should leave the Regency, if Charles Stuart, the British Ambassador, was also withdrawn from it, and if the War-Minister, General Miguel Forjaz, whom Wellington considered a necessary person and the ablest man in Portugal, should also be removed from his post[477]. To this proposal neither Wellington nor the British government would consent, and as it only came in when Masséna’s invasion had already been foiled, and the French had retired into Spain, the crisis was over. The Principal remained at the Council Board, to talk much impracticable and mischievous stuff, but to do little positive harm. When the invasion was past Wellington could afford to disregard him.

SECTION XXI: CHAPTER IV
THE LINES OF TORRES VEDRAS

We have hitherto, when speaking of Wellington’s immense scheme for fortifying the position on which he intended to bring his enemy to a standstill, refrained from entering into the details of his plan. It is now time to describe it in full, and to explain its design.

The character of the peninsula on which Lisbon stands lends itself sufficiently well to defence. At a first inspection the country-side offers a rather chaotic expanse of mountain and valley, whose general features are hard to seize from any one point. On further examination, it appears that the whole square mass of land between the Atlantic and the Tagus estuary is nothing more than a continuation of the ridge of the Serra de Monte Junta, the main mountain-chain of Estremadura. But from the backbone or central mass of the highland so many large spurs are thrown out to each side, and these are themselves so high and steep, that the whole peninsula seems more like a ganglion of mountains than a well-marked chain. The two chief joints or vertebrae in the backbone are the Monte Agra?a above Sobral, and the Cabe?a de Montechique six miles south of it, and these form the central points respectively of the first and second lines of defence which were finally laid out. Besides the outer defences there was in Wellington’s scheme, from the very start, an inner ring of works, covering only a small area on the sea-shore, at the southernmost point of the peninsula, to the west of Lisbon. This was merely intended to cover an embarkation, if by any unforeseen disaster the Lines themselves should be pierced.

It remains to speak of the system of defences in detail. In October 1809, Wellington’s plan had embraced no more than one continuous line of works from Alhandra on the Tagus to the[p. 420] mouth of the Rio S?o Louren?o on the Atlantic, with certain redoubts and fortified camps thrown out in front, at Torres Vedras, Monte Agra?a, and other points. These latter fortifications were not intended to be held in permanence; but it was hoped that they might defer and hinder the enemy’s attack on the main line in the rear. It was only the long delay in Masséna’s advance, which gave Wellington five or six months on which he had not counted, that led to the ultimate strengthening of the scattered outer works, and their conversion into a continuous whole, capable of turning back, instead of merely detaining for a time, the invading army. Indeed, all across the peninsula, designs that were slight, isolated, and provisional when first drawn up, were in the end enlarged, and perfected into wholly different structures. For the engineers, having unlimited labour at their disposal, and much more time than had been promised them, could turn their attention, after the essential works had been completed, to devising all manner of additional improvements and securities for the chosen position.

The construction of the Lines was entrusted to Colonel Fletcher, Wellington’s commanding engineer, who had as his chief assistant Major John Jones, the historian of the works, and in addition eleven British officers of the Royal Engineers, two from the King’s German Legion, and three from the Portuguese regular army. Wellington himself, after making one all-embracing survey of-the positions in Fletcher’s company in October 1809, and another in February 1810, left all the rest to his subordinate, and refrained from worrying him with matters of detail, being satisfied that his own intentions had been thoroughly well grasped. The labour available was, firstly, that of the Lisbon militia regiments, who were brought up by alternate pairs, and paid an extra 4d. a day for their services[478]; secondly, that of hired volunteers from the peasantry of the district, of whom from 5,000 to 7,000 were generally in hand; they received 1s., afterwards 1s. 8d. a day[479]; and lastly of a conscription from the whole of southern Estremadura, for a circuit of forty miles around. The forced labour was paid at the same rate as[p. 421] that freely hired. On the whole, only about ￡100,000 was paid out between November 1809 and September 1810—so that the Lines of Torres Vedras may be considered one of the cheapest investments in history. The militiamen and peasantry were worked in gangs of some 1,000 or 1,500 men, each in charge of an engineer officer, who had a few English and Portuguese military artificers as his assistants: only 150 such were available, so short were both armies of trained men. ‘In some districts a subaltern officer of engineers with a few English soldiers, utterly ignorant of the language, directed and controlled the labour of 1,500 peasantry, many of them compelled to work at a distance of forty miles from their homes, while their lands lay neglected. Nevertheless, during a year of this forced labour not a single instance of insubordination or riot occurred. The great quantity of work performed should, in justice to the Portuguese, be ascribed more to the regular habit of persevering labour in those employed than to the efficiency of the control exercised over them[480].... Indeed, it is but a tribute of justice to the Portuguese of Estremadura to state that, during many months of constant personal intercourse, both private and public, the labouring classes ever showed themselves respectful, industrious, docile, and obedient, while the governing classes in every public transaction evinced much intelligence, patriotism, good sense, and probity. Secrecy with respect to the extent and nature of the works was enjoined, and it is highly creditable to all concerned that hardly a vague paragraph concerning the Lines found its way into the public prints. The French invaders remained ignorant of the nature of the barrier rising against them, till they found our army arrayed on it so as to stop their further advance[481].’

The total frontage of the southern and stronger series of lines, those which Wellington originally planned as his line of defence, was twenty-two miles from sea to sea. The outer and northern series of works, which was originally only a supplement and outer bulwark to the other, was longer, extending to twenty-nine miles, for it crosses the peninsula in a diagonal fashion and not on the shortest possible line that could be drawn. Lastly,[p. 422] the small interior line round St. Julian’s and Oyeras, which was prepared as the embarking-place of the army in the event of defeat, has a circumference of about two miles. In all, therefore, fifty-three miles of defences were planned—a stupendous work, far exceeding, when its elaborate details are studied, anything that had been constructed in modern times in the way of field-fortification.

It must be remembered that the character of the Lines in no way resembles that of our own great Roman wall from Tyne to Solway, of the wall of China, or of any other long continuous stretch of masonry. It is only on a few points that works of any great length are to be found. The Lines are in essence a series of closed earthworks, dotted along the commanding points of the two ranges of hills which Wellington chose as his first and second fronts of resistance. Some few of the earthworks rose to the dignity of fortified camps, armed with many scores of guns. The majority of them were small redoubts, constructed to hold three to six guns and garrisons of two or three hundred men only. But even the smallest of them were individually formidable from their structure: the normal ditch was 16 feet wide and 12 feet deep, the parapets 8 to 14 feet thick, and all were properly fitted with banquettes. When it is remembered that they were well palisaded, and had outer hindrances of abattis, chevaux de frise, and trous-de-loup scattered in front, it is clear that they were forts requiring a regular attack, not mere lines of trench and mound. The strength of the whole series was that they were placed in scientific fashion, so as to cross fires over all the ground on which an attacking force was likely to present itself. No practicable point of assault could be found on which advancing columns would not be cut up by flanking fire for a very long distance, before they drew near to their objective. Immense pains had been taken to make the more exposed sections of the country-side into one vast glacis. Mounds which might have given cover had been removed to the last stone, hollow roads filled up, houses pulled down, olive-groves and vineyards stubbed up to the roots, so as to give a perfectly smooth and featureless ascent up to the line of redoubts. Greatly to Wellington’s credit (as may be incidentally remarked) compensation was paid on a liberal scale to all owners[p. 423] of dwellings, mills, fruit-trees, &c., for the havoc made by these necessary pieces of demolition. The result was a complete clearance of cover. ‘We have spared neither house, garden, vineyard, olive-trees, woods, or private property of any description,’ wrote the officer in charge of the works to his chief at the end of the preparations: ‘the only blind to the fire of the works now standing anywhere is that beautiful avenue of old trees in the pass of Torres Vedras. The Juiz da Fora and the inhabitants pleaded with me so hard for the latest moment, lest they might be cut down unnecessarily, that I have consented to defer it till the day before the troops march in. As I have trustworthy men with axes in readiness on the spot, there is no doubt of their being felled in time. The pine woods on the Torres heights are already down, and formed into abattis[482].’

It was not necessary, or indeed possible, to slope into a glacis the whole of the ground in front of each of the lines of defences. In many places other methods of making it impassable were used. At the north-western front of the first line, between Torres Vedras and the sea, for nearly six miles, a long marsh had been created: the river Zizandre had been dammed up, and had filled the whole of the narrow bottom in which it flows. ‘It has overflowed its banks, and in a short time more than half the valley has become so complete a bog that no reward can induce any of the peasantry to pass over it[483],’ wrote the officer who had carried out the experiment. Nor was it possible for the enemy to attempt to drain the bog, for four[484] redoubts furnished with heavy guns, and placed on dominating points of the hillside, commanded the bottom so completely that it was impossible for any party to approach it with safety. Yet the redoubts were out of the range of field-guns on the slopes beyond the Zizandre: only guns of position could have touched them, and Masséna had none such with him. Two[p. 424] similar inundations on a smaller scale had been caused at the other end of the Lines, by damming up the Alhandra and Alverca streams, each of which spread out in a marsh a mile broad, reaching to the foot of the heights above the Tagus, and could only be passed on the narrow paved high-road from Santarem to Lisbon.

In other places a very different method of making the Lines unapproachable had been adopted. Where the heights were very steep, but not absolutely inaccessible—a dangerous thing to the defence, for here ‘dead ground,’ unsearchable by the cannon of the redoubts above, must almost necessarily occur,—the slope had been cut or blasted away in bands, so as to make absolute precipices on a small scale. At one point above Alhandra[485] this was done on a front of full 2,000 yards. Even this was not the last precaution taken: at several places ravines ran deep into the line, and up them columns, more or less under cover, might possibly have penetrated. Such ravines, therefore, were stuffed, at chosen points, by a broad abattis or entanglement, mainly composed of olive-trees with all their chief boughs remaining, dragged together and interlaced for a depth of many yards. Such a structure could not be crawled through, nor could it be hewn down without an infinite waste of time and labour; nor, on the other hand, did it afford any cover, since grape or musketry could play perfectly well through it. The chief of these traps was that laid across the long ravine above the village of Arruda, down the bottom of which flows one of the winter torrents which fall eastward into the Tagus.

It was fortunate that Portugal was a well-wooded country: there are regions where it would be impossible to procure the immense amount of timber that was lavished on the accessories of the redoubts. All, as has been already mentioned, were palisaded; many had in addition abattis or entanglements thrown up in front of them, some way down the hillside, so as to detain the advancing enemy under fire as long as possible.

The works were divided into eight sections, the first line[p. 425] composed of four, the second line of three, while the eighth consisted of the inner retrenchment for purposes of embarkation, at the extreme southern point of the peninsula. Of the outer or secondary line the three sections were:

(1) A front of five miles from the Tagus at Alhandra along the crest of a steep but not very lofty ridge, as far as the great ravine that overlooks the village of Arruda. This front was elaborately fortified, as it blocks the great road, in the flat by the waterside, which forms the easiest approach to Lisbon from the north. In the five miles there were ultimately constructed no less than 23 redoubts with 96 guns. Two thousand yards of hillside in one place had been scarped into a precipice; a mile by the side of the Tagus had been inundated. The one considerable gap in the line, the ravine at the head of the valley of Calandriz, had been choked by one of the great abattis above described. The redoubts required a garrison of 6,000 men.

(2) The second section, from the ravine above Arruda to the left of the steep Monte Agra?a, formed somewhat of a salient angle: it had a front in all of some four and a half miles, which included the most lofty and defensible part of the backbone range of the Lisbon peninsula. One of the four great paved roads entering the capital from the north, however, passes over the shoulder of these heights, and they were therefore very heavily fortified from the first, the large redoubt for 1,600 men, on the top of Monte Agra?a being one of the original outer works ordered for construction in Wellington’s earliest notes of October 1809. There were in all seven redoubts mounting 55 guns and requiring a garrison of 3,000 men on this fraction of the lines.

(3) Quite different in character was the front of eight miles from the left of Monte Agra?a to the pass of Runa, overlooking the upper valley of the Zizandre and the village of Sobral. The fortification of this line had not entered into Wellington’s original plan, and there were only two redoubts upon it when Masséna appeared before it in October 1810. Such defence as there was consisted in the fact that the dominating Monte Agra?a redoubts overlooked it on the right, and that the two small works just mentioned commanded the main high-road from Sobral to Cabe?a de Montechique, which goes through its centre.[p. 426] But there was a clear possibility that the enemy might make a push up the valley and the high-road, by the village of Zibreira, and this was indeed the most probable point of attack in the whole 29 miles of front for the enemy to select. When, at the last moment, the British Commander-in-Chief determined to hold the outer lines, and not merely to fall back after having used them for a temporary defence, he had to cram this point with troops, and to construct new works upon it as quickly as possible. Four divisions, therefore, more than 20,000 men, were concentrated here. Wellington’s own head quarters were established at the hamlet of Pero Negro, on the slope above the high-road, and a very large redoubt was thrown up on the Portello hill, above Zibreira, with several smaller ones further to the right, to connect it with the Monte Agra?a works. Sobral, the village at the foot of the heights, was held as an outpost, but abandoned when Masséna pushed forward to the front, as it was too far advanced to the north to be treated as an integral part of the position. But the French, when they had carried Sobral with difficulty, looked at the main line behind it, and refused to attempt any further advance. The hillside was as formidable as the Bussaco heights from which they had only recently been repulsed: it was full of troops and growing in strength every moment as the earthworks continued to arise.

(4) The fourth section of the outer or northern front was that from the gorge of the Zizandre (or the pass of Runa, as it is sometimes called) to the sea. It was about twelve miles long, but of this space six miles and more was covered by the impassable bog formed by the obstructed Zizandre, and another mile was formed by the formidable entrenched camp of San Vincente, above the town of Torres Vedras, the most complete and self-sufficing of all the works in the peninsula. This stronghold lay outside the main line, beyond the river, covering the bridge and the paved chaussée from Leiria to Lisbon, the only carriage-road on the western side of the Lines[486]. It was one of[p. 427] the earliest of the fortifications commenced by Wellington’s engineers, having been started on November 8, 1809, and was placed in such a conspicuous point, and planned on such a large scale, that it attracted public attention more than any other part of the works, and gave its name to the whole in popular parlance[487]. The whole front on both sides of Torres Vedras and its great fort was so strong and inaccessible as to offer little temptation to the invader to select it as a point of serious attack, all the more so because troops brought opposite to it would be completely cut off from any left in front of the eastern and central part of the lines. For the geography of the peninsula at this point is peculiar: north of the gorge of the Zizandre the great backbone range, the Serra de Barregudo and the Serra de Monte Junta, extends for a distance of fifteen miles, without being crossed by a single road practicable for horses, much less for wheeled vehicles. There are nothing but goat-tracks across the heights. If, therefore, any considerable body of troops had been sent to observe or contain the western section of the lines, it would have been separated by two days’ march from the rest of the army, and liable to be crushed, ere succoured, by the defenders of Lisbon, who had good cross-roads across the peninsula, by which they could transfer themselves from point to point under the protection of their works. As a matter of fact, nothing but flying parties of French horse ever appeared in this direction. Masséna had not troops to spare for any secondary attack, more especially for one on such an unpromising part of the Lines. Wellington had foreseen this when he distributed his field army behind the various sections of the front: to support the garrisons of the twelve miles of redoubts about Torres Vedras he only placed one division, while there were three behind the eastern section, and more than four in the partially entrenched central part[488].

Passing on to the second line of defence, from Quintella on the Tagus to the mouth of the Rio S?o Louren?o on the[p. 428] Atlantic, we find three sections of defence, which, unlike those of the outer line, were all completed by September 1810, and had no central gap.

(1) There was over a mile of impassable inundation at the eastern end, between Quintella and Alverca. Above the first-named village was an isolated hill, which was all fortress, for no less than six redoubts had been placed upon it, to enfilade the high-road across the inundated lower ground. Then came the Serra de Serves, three miles of lofty and difficult hills, which had been scarped into almost perfect inaccessibility. In a sudden dip west of this range was the pass of Bucellas, through which runs one of the three great high-roads that enter Lisbon. It was easily defensible, as it lies between two high and steep mountain-sides, and is only a couple of hundred yards broad. Redoubts were placed so as to rake it from end to end, and to flank it on both sides. The chaussée itself was blocked with successive abattis, and the viaduct leading up to it was mined.

(2) The second section of the inner line extended from the pass of Bucellas to the Park of Mafra, a front of over six miles. The eastern part of this was formed by the towering heights of the Cabe?a de Montechique, the most dominating mountain-summit in the whole peninsula, almost steep enough to defend itself without fortification; but three redoubts nevertheless had been reared upon its summit. But from the pass of Montechique, at the left side of the summit, down to Mafra the ground was less well marked, and here the chaussée from Sobral and Zibreira crossed the range. Much fortification, therefore, was lavished on these four miles, along which there were nine strong redoubts, connected with each other in the rear by a military road passing along the southern crest of the heights. There was a second and formidable ridge behind this line, where further defence could be offered in the unlikely event of the enemy forcing his way up the high-road.

(3) From Mafra to the sea, nearly ten miles, there was for the most part a well-marked line of heights protected in front by the ravine of the river of S?o Louren?o, a deep, rugged, and in many cases inaccessible cleft, only crossed by a single road, that from Torres Vedras to Mafra. Nevertheless, six redoubts were reared, to cover this, and the few other points where the ravine[p. 429] was passable. The eastern part of this section, that along the wall of the Royal Park (Tapada) of Mafra, was its weakest portion, and for two miles at this point the British engineers set all their ingenuity to work. The outlying heights called the Serra de Chypre, in front of the park, were covered by four redoubts, and turned into a first defence. The wall of the Tapada itself was loopholed and furnished with a banquette. The important road which passes its foot was obstructed with cuts, enfiladed by the artillery of several works, and stockaded at more than one point. There was another group of redoubts along the south end of the Torres Vedras road, at the village of Morugueira; and finally Mafra town, in the rear of all, was turned into a defensive post by means of trenches and barricades. Altogether, what was by nature the weakest point in the southern lines was made by art one of the strongest. This too, in spite of the fact that, being approachable only from Torres Vedras, it was on the whole not a probable front on which to expect an attack.

A mere mention must suffice for the eighth section of the defensive works, the semicircle at St. Julian’s and Oyeras which was intended to protect the embarkation of the army if the worst should come. It was strongly entrenched, and could be held by a very few battalions, while the rest were utilizing the numerous and solid piers alongside of which the fleet of transports was to be moored.

Having described the Lines, it remains that we should describe the garrison set to guard them, detailing separately each element, regular and irregular. The forces at the disposition of Wellington were materially increased at the moment of his arrival within the Lines. On October 8 he found at his disposition a brigade of three battalions newly arrived at Lisbon, the 1/50th, 1/71st, and 1/92nd, all old Corunna regiments which had served in the Walcheren expedition, and were still none too healthy from their long sojourn in the deadly marshes of Zeeland. There had also landed about the same time the 94th regiment, and the Brunswick Oels Light Infantry, a foreign battalion raised from the refugees who had fought under the Duke of Brunswick in the abortive North German insurrection of 1809. Moreover, two battalions—the[p. 430] 2/30th and 2/44th—had just been sent to Lisbon from Cadiz, where General Graham now thought that the British contingent was larger than was absolutely necessary. The 1/4th and 1/23rd came out a little later, and do not appear in the fortnighty ‘general state’ of the army till November 15. Thus the army was swelled by nine battalions, or some 6,500 men[489]. No cavalry, however, had arrived.

Wellington used these new arrivals to form a new 6th Division of infantry, and to complete to full strength the 5th Division, which had hitherto possessed only one British brigade. He did not, however, keep the lately landed units together: acting on the principle which he always followed, of mixing veteran acclimatized battalions with new arrivals, he formed the new 6th Division by adding Campbell’s brigade, taken from Cole’s 4th Division, to two Portuguese regiments the 8th and the Lusitanian Legion, both of which had been hitherto attached to the 5th Division, and had served with Leith at Bussaco. In the 4th Division, Campbell’s brigade was replaced by that of Pakenham, taken from Spencer’s 1st Division, while compensation was made to Spencer, by giving him the newly landed 1/50th, 1/71st, and 1/92nd, as a new brigade under Erskine. The 5th Division under Leith got three more of the fresh arrivals, the 1/4th, 2/30th, and 2/44th as its second brigade. The 94th was given to Picton’s second brigade,—which had hitherto consisted of only 2? battalions,—to raise it to average brigade-strength. The Brunswick Oels J?gers, being a light corps, were partly divided up into separate companies and told off to different brigades (as the 5/60th, a similar unit, had already been), though the head quarters and six companies joined Pakenham’s brigade in the 4th Division. But when the 1/23rd, the last of the reinforcements, came out, it also joined Pakenham, while the Brunswickers were transferred to the Light Division—where they did not long abide[490].

Even after allowing for the trifling losses at Bussaco, the British field army in Portugal was now far larger than it had[p. 431] ever been before, the gross total of troops in the Lines amounting to 42,000 men, of whom about 7,000 were sick or detached, and 35,000 were present under arms. This figure does not include the two battalions of marines who guarded St. Julian’s and the lines around it at the mouth of the Tagus.

Of Portuguese regulars, Wellington had now under his hand the 24,000 men who had fought at Bussaco, plus the 1,400 cavalry under Fane and the brigade under Bradford (now consisting of five battalions)[491] which had been guarding the position behind the Alva on the day of the battle, together with the reserve artillery of Lisbon. The total made 27,500 men, of whom 24,500 were with the colours and 3,000 sick in hospital.

Of militia there were three brigades and four isolated units more within the Lines—the Southern Beira brigade of Lecor, three regiments[492], the Northern Estremaduran brigade of Miranda, also three regiments[493], and the Lisbon local brigade of five regiments[494] with two stray units from the north[495], and two from the south[496]. The numbers of all the regiments ran very low, owing to the way in which they had been neglected and under-fed by their government, since they were called out nine months before; many had died, and far more had deserted. The thirteen corps did not between them supply more than 8,200 men present under arms, with 1,000 sick in hospital. In addition there were 3,200 artillerymen improvised from the ranks of the infantry militia or the Ordenan?a, making altogether 12,400 troops of the ‘second line.’

As to the Ordenan?a who had taken refuge in and about Lisbon with their families, when the whole population of south[p. 432]western Beira and northern Estremadura retired within the Lines, it is impossible to obtain any figures, save that they supplied the bulk of the 3,000 volunteer artillerymen just mentioned above, and that the picked men of the Ordenan?a of the capital itself had been organized into two battalions of ‘Atiradores Nacionales’ of about 450 men each. The whole may have amounted to any number from 20,000 up to 40,000 men, of whom about two-thirds were armed with muskets, the rest, those from the remoter districts, having still nothing better than pikes. As most of them were scattered with their families in the villages where they had taken refuge, or the camps of huts which they had formed in sheltered situations, they could hardly be considered to be in a state of mobilization, and certainly were of no use either for garrisoning forts or for employment in the line of battle.
Map of the Lines of Torres Vedras

Enlarge  LINES OF TORRES VEDRAS

Lastly, in calculating the forces which Wellington accumulated within the Lines, we must mention the two Spanish divisions from the Army of Estremadura. Hearing that all was quiet for the moment on the frontier of Andalusia, the British Commander had asked the Marquis of La Romana, whether, in accordance with a promise made so long ago as July, he could spare any troops to assist in the holding back of the main French army of invasion. The Marquis, with a liberality of which the Cadiz Regency would have disapproved, if its leave had been asked, replied that he would bring up his two reserve divisions. Leaving Ballasteros on the Andalusian border, and another division under Imaz at Badajoz, in addition to the garrison and Madden’s Portuguese cavalry, he marched for Aldea Gallega and Lisbon with the troops of La Carrera[497] and Charles O’Donnell[498], about 8,000 men. On October 25th he had arrived at the cantonments behind Mafra, on the second line of defence, which his ally had requested him to occupy. Wellington defended the bringing up of these troops by the plea ‘that he did not think himself justified in not bringing into his positions all the force which was at his disposal’[499]. But it is doubtful whether the[p. 433] advantage of getting 8,000 Spanish troops within the Lines justified the danger incurred in Estremadura, when it was possible that Soult might send out Mortier at any moment to attack the depleted army that covered the approach to Badajoz. Napoleon thought that he should have done so, and when he heard of the arrival of La Romana at Lisbon, wrote to censure the Duke of Dalmatia in the fiercest strain[500]. ‘It was a shame and a scandal that he had retired to Seville: the 5th Corps had orders to be always at La Romana’s heels, and to prevent him from moving into Portugal, so that the news of its return to Seville roused the Emperor’s surprise and anger.’ There can be no doubt that Napoleon did well to be angry. The balance of affairs in Andalusia tended to stand at an equipoise precisely because La Romana’s army was strong enough to keep the 5th Corps employed. When 8,000 men had been withdrawn by the Marquis to the Lisbon lines, Mortier was in a position to sweep all before him as far as the gates of Badajoz, or to execute a raid into the Alemtejo if that course seemed preferable. But Soult did not send his lieutenant on this errand on his own initiative, but waited till he received direct orders to do so from Paris. By that time it was too late, and neither the disaster of the Gebora nor even the fall of Badajoz had any influence on the course of events in Portugal. Masséna was forced to retreat before a single patrol from the Army of Andalusia had got into touch with his outposts. What might have happened if Soult had launched his blow at Badajoz in October, and had appeared on the left bank of the Lower Tagus in December, it is impossible to say. Probably Wellington would have found some means of averting disaster, but it is unquestionable that his task of defence would have been made far more difficult.

For the full realization of the meaning of the Lines of Torres Vedras there are two general facts which must be remembered. Firstly, they were garrisoned by troops which formed no part of the field army. Wellington’s sixty thousand regulars were not frittered away in the garrisoning of redoubts, but were held in masses behind the lines, ready to reinforce any threatened point, and to deliver a pitched battle in the open, if the head of the[p. 434] French army were thrust through the defences at some weak section. The generals of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, who so often built lines, and were so easily evicted from them, suffered disaster because they drew out their armies in one attenuated thread, and were therefore weak at every point, and always inferior to the assailant at the place where he made his assault. Wellington’s army was (with the exception of the 3rd Division at Torres Vedras) gathered in two solid masses, one facing Sobral, on the heights between Monte Agra?a and Runa, the second and smaller behind Alhandra. The one could reach the other in half a day’s march, for the roads behind and parallel to the lines had been put in good repair.

The whole of this vast system of redoubts was to be held by the troops of the second line, and by them only. There were altogether some 20,000 men of the second line in the fortifications, composed of (1) the 8,000 (afterwards raised to 11,000) militia infantry. (2) Of about 800 Portuguese regular artillery, aided by over 2,000 gunners picked from the militia and Ordenan?a, trained by the regulars and incorporated with them. (3) Of some 250 British artillerymen from the batteries which had been lying in reserve at Lisbon. (4) Of picked companies of the Lisbon Ordenan?a (atiradores) drilled into a state of discipline not much worse than that of the militia. (5) Of the landing force of 2,000 British marines, partly from the fleet, partly brought specially from England to garrison the proposed lines of embarkation at St. Julian’s. (6) Of the dép?ts, convalescents and recruits of the eight Line regiments of infantry raised from Lisbon and Southern Estremadura—about 4,000 strong.

In all, therefore, there were about 20,000 men, mostly troops of secondary quality, or 28,000 if the Spanish auxiliaries are counted, ready to man the Lines, without a man being withdrawn from the ranks of the field army. The outer lines were calculated to require about 18,000 men for the redoubts, the inner ones 14,000, but clearly both did not require to be manned at once. If the outer line were broken, the garrison-troops from the intact parts of it could fall back on the second. Meanwhile the field army would be engaging any French columns that might have broken through,[p. 435] and there would be ample time to arrange for the manning of the second and stronger front. But it must be repeated once more that it was not on the passive defence of the redoubts by their garrisons that Wellington reckoned for success, but on the fighting of the field army, who would tackle the columns of attack that had committed themselves to the assault of the section—whichever it might be—that Masséna might select as his objective. All criticism based on general principles concerning the weakness of long extended lines falls to the ground, when it is remembered that Wellington had his army massed for a pitched battle in and behind his defences, not strung out on an interminable front.

The last point on which stress must be laid is that the most careful arrangements for the transmission of orders and intelligence from end to end of the Lines had been made. There were five signal-stations, with semaphores worked by seamen on (1) the redoubt No. 30 near the Atlantic, (2) the great redoubt of Torres Vedras, (3) the Monte de Socorro above Wellington’s head quarters at Pero Negro, (4) the summit of the Monte Agra?a, (5) the hill behind Alhandra on the Tagus. After some practice it was found that a message could be sent from one end to the other of the 29 miles in seven minutes, and from No. 3, the head quarters semaphore, to either end of the Lines in four minutes. There was a similar line of four semaphores on the second, or main, series of defences. Military roads had been opened behind both the fronts, so that troops could be moved along the shortest possible line. On the other hand, it was fortunate that there existed no cross-road from sea to sea outside the Lines, which could be of any practical use to the invader. The only route of this sort, that from Alemquer by Sobral to Runa, was commanded for the whole length from Sobral to Runa by the British heights, whose foot it hugs, while from Sobral to Alemquer it is separated from the Lines by the steep and pathless ridge of Galaria, across which nothing on wheels could pass. Nevertheless, here lay the invaders’ best chance—corps placed on this road, and screened by the ridge, could be moved for some distance to left or right unseen from the Lines. The road, however, was bad, rocky, and narrow: it is marked as the ‘Cal?ada Arruinada’ or ‘ruined road’ in contemporary maps. The other[p. 436] paved road in this direction, that from Sobral to Arruda and Alhandra, passed through the line of ground occupied by the British at two points, and was under fire from the redoubts at short range for the rest of its course: it was absolutely impracticable.

It only remains to be added that the navy had been utilized for auxiliary service: not only were its marines under orders to man the St. Julian’s lines, but its seamen had fitted out all the gunboats in the Lisbon arsenal. A flotilla of great strength infested the Tagus estuary, and by the fire of its heavy guns prevented the French from approaching the shore, or endeavouring to build boats at the mouths of its creeks. If any attacks had been made upon either of the extreme ends of the Lines, the columns delivering them would have been under fire from the sea throughout their operations. But, as we shall see, the French never contemplated this: the one temptation which Masséna felt was to assault, far inland, the gap in front of Sobral between the Monte Agra?a and the Serra de Socorro. And there, as we shall see, at the critical moment, prudence got the better of ambition, and the invader turned back foiled. The high-water mark of French conquest in Europe was reached on the knoll by Sobral on the wet and gusty 14th of October, 1810.
SECTION XXI: CHAPTER V
MASSéNA BEFORE THE LINES OF TORRES VEDRAS: HIS RETREAT TO SANTAREM (OCTOBER-NOVEMBER 1810)

On the night of October 10, when Craufurd made his hasty retreat to Sobral, and went within the Lines, Montbrun had his head quarters at Alemquer, where he kept Taupin’s infantry brigade, and Lamotte’s and Sainte-Croix’s cavalry. Pierre Soult’s light horse felt towards their left, in the direction of the Tagus, and occupied Carregado, where they failed to find any British outposts, Hill’s corps having been withdrawn behind the brook which enters the Tagus near Castanheira. The main body of the army was far to the rear, in one vast column: Ney’s and Reynier’s corps lay that night in and about Alcoentre: Junot’s bivouacked around the convent of Nossa Senhora de Maxeira, a short distance to the south of Alcoentre. All the troops were terribly fatigued by three days’ movement in torrential rain, and had no more marching-power left in them.

It was only on the following morning (October 11) that Montbrun discovered the Lines. His cavalry had been ordered to move forward on the two roads across which they lay. Pierre Soult therefore pushed for Villafranca, on the high road which skirts the Tagus; he found Hill’s outlying pickets at Villafranca, drove them out of the town, and on passing it came in sight of the line of redoubts and scarped hillside above Alhandra, which was manned by the Portuguese militia and backed by Hill’s British infantry. It was impossible to advance further, so the brigadier, leaving an advanced post in Villafranca, drew back his three regiments to Castanheira, and sent his report to Montbrun.

That general himself, with the main body of his cavalry, had followed the rough road from Alemquer to Lisbon. He drove in some British dragoon pickets, and then arrived in front of the village of Sobral, which he found occupied by the infantry[p. 438] outposts of Spencer’s division. He did not attempt to push further that day, as his flanking reconnaissance had come in sight of the sections of the Lines behind Arruda and behind Zibreira, where redoubts and solid lines of infantry were visible. Sobral itself was clearly not held in force, nor did it form an integral part of the British position. But Montbrun feared to attack it, when he had only a single brigade of infantry to the front, while many thousands of British troops might issue from the Lines to overwhelm him if he committed himself to a serious attack. The village on its knoll was left alone for the present, though it was tempting to contemplate the seizure of a point which lay so far forward—less than two miles from the front of Wellington’s chosen position. But Montbrun contented himself with sending back word to Masséna that he had come upon a continuous line of fortifications stretching from the Tagus bank to some point westward, which was not yet discovered. For his furthest reconnaissances towards Runa and the Upper Zizandre had found the enemy in front of them, however far they pushed.

Meanwhile Masséna’s tired infantry of the main body had made hardly any movement: the 2nd and 6th Corps still lay about Alcoentre. Junot alone with the 8th Corps advanced as far as Moinho de Cubo, half way between Alcoentre and Alemquer. Thus Wellington was given a whole day more to arrange his troops in their positions along the Lines. On this morning he was rather under the impression that the French attack would be directed upon Alhandra and Hill’s corps, which, he observed, would be a ‘tough job, defended as all the entrances of the valleys are by redoubts, and the villages by abattis[501].’ Moreover, the French ‘positively could not’ get guns up to attack the line west of Hill, since, in the existing state of the weather, no cannon could leave the paved roads, and the only path of that description leading from the Sobral direction to the Tagus bank ran through Arruda, where Craufurd and the Light Division were now comfortably installed. Considering it likely, therefore, that Masséna would bring a heavy attacking force, by circuitous roads from the rear, to Villafranca, in order to make a frontal attack on Hill along[p. 439] the high-road by the Tagus, Wellington warned Craufurd and Spencer to be ready to move in eastward to the assistance of the extreme right wing of the Lines. In the afternoon, however, he discovered that the force in front of Sobral (Montbrun) seemed much larger than that in front of Alhandra (Pierre Soult), and showed more signs of making wide-spreading reconnaissances. He therefore drew up an alternative scheme, by which, in the event of an attack on Spencer’s front at Zibreira, Cole’s and Campbell’s (the new 6th) divisions were to support the threatened point, and even Picton was to come in from the distant Torres Vedras[502]. No French troops were reported from this last direction, and De Grey’s cavalry pickets from Ramalhal (far outside the Lines) reported that not the smallest party of the enemy’s horse had been seen west of the Serra de Barregudo or the Monte Junta[503].

On the 12th Montbrun made a movement which seemed to justify Wellington’s first idea, that Hill was to receive the French attack. He moved Taupin’s brigade, the only hostile infantry which had yet been seen, southward from Alemquer to Villafranca on the Tagus. This was done, however, only because the whole 8th Corps was coming up on this day from Moinho de Cubo by Alemquer to Sobral, which it reached in the afternoon, replacing Taupin’s small force. Its arrival was at once reported to Wellington, who saw that his second theory of the intention of the enemy, not his first, had been correct, and transferred his main attention to the side of Sobral. That village, by some extraordinary blunder on the part of Sir Brent Spencer, had been evacuated by the pickets of the 1st Division during the night of the 11th-12th[504]. They were put back into it, by the special orders of the Commander-in-Chief, in[p. 440] the early morning, for Wellington wished to hold it as long as was safe, on account of the fine view obtainable from its knoll over the routes from Alemquer by which the enemy must approach. Hence, when Junot’s advanced guard came up in the afternoon, there was a collision at Sobral. The troops of Clausel finally succeeded in expelling the British outposts, which belonged to Erskine’s and L?we’s brigade, from the village. The casualties were few on both sides—nineteen men only were lost by the British[505]. The retiring pickets did not fall back into the Lines, but clung to the other side of the ravine which separates Sobral from the lower slopes of Monte Agra?a. They were only 300 yards from the village.

While this skirmish was in progress the main body of the French were at last set in motion from Alcoentre. The 6th Corps advanced this day (October 12) to Moinho de Cubo and Otta; the 2nd Corps, taking a road more to the east, so as to lean towards the Tagus, arrived at Carregado. Junot’s corps was encamped behind Sobral, Clausel’s division having its advanced posts (Brigade Ménard) in the village, while Solignac lay two miles to the rear. The weather was still abominable, and all the movements were accomplished with great fatigue and delay.

On this afternoon the French army suffered the loss of its most brilliant and energetic cavalry officer. General Sainte-Croix, while exploring the Tagus bank, north of Villafranca, in search of deserted boats, was cut in two by a cannon shot from a British gunboat which was watching his cavalry from the estuary. He was held to be the only officer, except Colonel Pelet, who had any personal influence with Masséna[506], and as that influence was always exerted on the side of daring action, it is probable that the many French diarists who deplore his death are right in considering that it may have had some positive effect on the conduct of the campaign[507].

[p. 441]

On the night of the 12th-13th Wellington had become convinced, and rightly, that the great mass of Junot’s corps, visible behind Sobral, constituted the main danger to his position. He therefore drew in troops from his right, even calling down from Torres Vedras Picton, in whose front no enemy was yet visible. From Monte Agra?a to the Portello redoubts he put in line four British divisions—Spencer, Cole, Picton, and Campbell, along with Pack’s independent Portuguese brigade; this last was placed in the great redoubt on Monte Agra?a, which dominated Sobral and all the lower hills. In reserve were two more divisions—the 5th under Leith, and a temporary Portuguese division consisting of the brigades of Coleman and Alex. Campbell. Altogether 30,000 men were concentrated on this comparatively short front of about four miles, besides the militia and artillery who garrisoned the minor forts[508]. Junot, whose corps did not now muster more than 12,000 men, did wisely to refrain from making any serious attack. He was not, however, wholly quiescent: attempting to extend his troops more to the right, to the west of Sobral, along the undulating ground in the direction of the Upper Zizandre, he got into touch with the outlying pickets of Cole’s division, which stood beyond those of Spencer and Picton in the British line. The first attack fell on the light companies of the 7th Fusiliers and the newly-arrived Brunswick Oels battalion. When they were driven in, Cole fed his fighting-line with the light companies of Hervey’s [late Collins’s] Portuguese brigade. Finding his voltigeurs outnumbered, Junot, in a similar fashion, sent up Gratien’s brigade from his second division to reinforce his advance. Hence there ensued[p. 442] some sharp skirmishing, which lasted several hours, till Cole drew back his outpost line from the lower plateaux north of Sobral to the foot of his fighting-position, on the heights below the Portello redoubts. Junot had thus gained a mile of ground, but not ground that was of any service to him for a regular attack on the Lines, since it was merely part of the rolling upland that was dominated by Wellington’s main position. The 4th Division lost twenty-five British and a much larger number of Portuguese in this long bicker. Hervey the Portuguese brigadier was wounded. The French casualties were probably a little the larger[509].

On the same afternoon Reynier, with somewhat over a battalion of infantry, made a detailed reconnaissance of Hill’s position in front of Alhandra. He pressed in close enough to draw the fire of the nearer redoubts, but halted when he had realized the strength of the line opposite him, and reported to Masséna that he considered the right wing of the allied position hopelessly impracticable for an attack.

Next morning (October 14) the French Commander-in-Chief came up in person from the rear. It is astonishing that he had made no earlier attempt to judge with his own eye of the strength of Wellington’s line of defence. He arrived at Sobral in time to witness a bitter skirmish, the most important of all[p. 443] the engagements that took place during the crucial days of the campaign of 1810. Spencer’s outposts, as has been already mentioned, had on the 12th retired only some 200 or 300 yards from Sobral, and had taken up their position on the other side of the ravine that divides that village from the lower slopes of the Monte Agra?a. Across the high-road the main picket, furnished by the 71st regiment, had thrown up a barricade. Junot considered this lodgement, so close to his line, as a thing that ought not to be permitted. Accordingly he brought up his artillery, which had only arrived from the rear on the previous night, to the front of Sobral, and, after cannonading the barricade for a short time, sent against it the compagnies d’élite of the 19th of the Line, supported by other troops of Ménard’s brigade. The first rush of the attack carried the barricade and the line of stone walls on each side of it. But the whole of the 71st was ready to sustain the pickets, and with a fierce rush swept the assailants back across the barricade, down the slope, and into the outer houses of Sobral. From thence, of course, they had to retire, as a whole division was fronting them; but they resumed their old position without being pursued.

Junot refused to renew his attack, and Masséna, who had arrived while the skirmish was in progress, did not direct him to go forward again. It was clear that there was a very strong force in front of the 8th Corps, and that the redoubts visible along the Monte Agra?a on the one hand and the Portello heights on the other were of the most formidable description. Masséna’s senior aide-de-camp and chief confidant, Pelet[510], thus describes the psychological situation: ‘On arriving at Sobral, instead of the “undulating accessible plateaux” that we had been told to expect, we saw steeply scarped mountains and deep ravines, a road-passage only a few paces broad, and on each side walls of rock crowned with everything that could be accomplished in the way of field fortifications garnished with artillery; then at last it was plainly demonstrated to us that we could not attack the Lines of Montechique with the 35,000 or 36,000 men[511] that[p. 444] still remained of the army. For, even if we had forced some point of the Lines, we should not have had enough men left to seize and occupy Lisbon.... It was clear that we must wait for reinforcements[512].’ Another eye-witness, Junot’s aide-de-camp Delagrave, in his Memoir on the Campaign of 1810-11, expresses the same view in his single sentence, explaining that ‘the prince, seeing that the enemy was better prepared and stronger than had been believed, put an end to the combat, and on each side the troops took up once more their original positions[513].’ The loss in this combat—insignificant enough in itself, but decisive in that it revealed to Masséna the uselessness of a further advance—was 67 on the British side, about 120 on that of the French[514].

After putting a stop to the combat of Sobral, Masséna rode away eastward, along the slopes of the upland that faces the Monte Agra?a, and as far as the knoll facing Arruda in the front of the Light Division. Here he pressed so near the British front that a single shot was fired at his escort from the redoubt No. 120 to warn him to trespass no further. He saluted the battery by lifting his hat to it, and went up the hill out of range[515]. Some of his aides-de-camp continued the[p. 445] exploration till they touched Reynier’s vedettes near Villafranca, but the Marshal himself returned to his head quarters at Alemquer to think over the situation. There some sort of a council of war was held that same night: Junot, it is said, urged the Chief to try the effect of a bold dash at the English army arrayed in front of Sobral. But he was talked down by Ney and Reynier, who argued that such an attack would be insane, considering the weakness of their corps and the strength of Wellington’s fortifications. Without doubt they were right: even if Masséna had brought his whole three corps to bear on Sobral, he had 10,000 men less than at Bussaco, and Wellington 10,000 men more, leaving the garrisons of the forts out of the question. The allies had 30,000 bayonets concentrated on the threatened point, and could have brought up Hill, Craufurd, and Hamilton’s and Le Cor’s Portuguese—20,000 men more—from the east end of the Lines, the moment that it was clear that Reynier was no longer in front of them. The position, owing to the forts, was far stronger than Bussaco, and the French cavalry would have been as useless on October 15 as it had been on September 27. The report which Foy drew up for Masséna and presented to the Emperor gives the whole gist of the matter: ‘The Marshal Prince of Essling has come to the conclusion that he would compromise the army of His Majesty if he were to attack in force lines so formidable, defended by 30,000 English and 30,000 Portuguese, aided by 50,000 armed peasants[516].’

An open assault on the Sobral position was now, indeed, the thing that the British most desired. Wellington wrote, with his usual ironical moderation, to his trusted lieutenant, Craufurd, that ‘he thought his arrangements had now made the position tolerably secure[517].’ Among these last arrangements, it may be remarked, was the drawing back of the 71st and the light companies of the 1st Division from the barricades on the near side of the ravine of Sobral. They were moved a few hundred yards to the rear, nearer to Zibreira. This was probably intended to encourage the French to sally out from Sobral up the road, where everything was now in order to receive them.[p. 446] Their advance was hourly expected; D’Urban, Beresford’s Chief of the Staff, wrote gleefully on October 15, ‘Each individual division has now more than sufficient troops to occupy the space allotted to it, and the overplus forms a first reserve for each respectively. If the force thus posted beats the attacking enemy, of which there can be little doubt, our telegraphic communications will bring down Craufurd from Arruda and Hill from Alhandra on to their flank—and the affair will be complete. There is much appearance that the enemy will attack this position with his whole force—Alhandra is far too strong for him. He cannot well retire, and it is hoped that his distress for provisions will compel him to bring matters to a speedy decision[518].’

But both the cautious Commander-in-Chief and the eager head of the Portuguese Staff were mistaken in estimating the position. They had judged wrongly the character of Masséna, and his psychological position of the moment. He would not attack; indeed, after October 14 he seems never to have had the least intention of doing so. The lesson of Bussaco had not been lost, and he was no longer prepared to assail, with a light heart, the Anglo-Portuguese Army posted ready to receive him in a strong position. Probably the energetic statement of Ney and Reynier that they dared not risk their men—that the troops would be demoralized if ordered to advance for a second slaughter—also had its effect on the Marshal. But Masséna was proud and obstinate, and if he could not go forward, he shrank, for the moment, from going back. On October 15 began the one phase of the campaign which the British, from general down to subaltern, had least expected. The French army began to show signs of intending to settle down in front of the Lines, as if for a blockade. After a few more attempts to feel the front of the Lines about Arruda and the valley of Calandriz, which were so feeble that they did not even drive in Craufurd’s outposts, the enemy began to fortify the front of his position with field-works, and sent away the whole of his cavalry to the rear—a sufficient sign that his offensive power was spent.

Masséna’s first dream of masking the Lines by a close blockade was absolutely impracticable, considering the present state of his supplies. The troops were already living on the gleanings of[p. 447] the hastily-evacuated villages of the Lisbon Peninsula, which could not last them for long, and would not even have sufficed for a week’s consumption if Wellington’s decrees had been properly carried out. If he was to feed his army from the thin resources left behind by the Portuguese, Masséna would soon find it necessary to spread it far and wide; since, if he kept it concentrated in front of Wellington, it would soon go to pieces, exposed in bivouacs to the November rains, and forced to draw its nourishment by marauding from afar. It seems from the instructions which he gave to Foy at the end of the second week of his stay in front of Lisbon, that the Marshal actually contemplated clinging to his present advanced position till he should receive reinforcements. He hoped that the 9th Corps would come up to his aid from Old Castile, and that Mortier and the 5th Corps would join him from Andalusia. But these were mere hypotheses: he was not in touch with either Drouet or Mortier. Indeed, he had been cut off from all communication with his colleagues since the day that he crossed the Mondego. The 9th Corps, as a matter of fact, was only at Valladolid, and showed no signs of moving on. Mortier had retired to the mountains in front of Seville, after his successes over the army of La Romana in September. Almeida was in a state of close blockade by Silveira’s detachments from beyond the Douro. Ciudad Rodrigo was in hardly better case, being strictly watched by Julian Sanchez and his mounted guerrilleros, so that no one could get to or from it without a very strong escort. Gardanne’s regiment of dragoons, left behind by Masséna, was worn out in the effort to keep open the road between Rodrigo and Salamanca[519]. From the Army neither Almeida nor Rodrigo received a word of news from the 18th of September to the 15th of November. So effectually was the road closed, that rumours were current of such divers characters as that Masséna had forced the English to embark, and that he had been completely foiled, and was marching back to Spain via Castello Branco. Paris was hardly better informed: the only news that the Emperor got was that dribbled out, four or five weeks later, by the[p. 448] English papers[520]. Hence came ludicrous notices in the Moniteur, of which the worst was one published on November 28, which stated that Coimbra had been occupied by Masséna without a battle, that the army on October 1 had only 200 sick and 500 wounded since it had left Almeida, and that no general or colonel had been killed or even hurt since the invasion began! And this after twelve such officers had fallen at Bussaco. That battle, we may remark, was presented ultimately to French readers as ‘a demonstration executed by the brigades of Simon and Graindorge in order to mask the great flank-march of the Prince of Essling. But they had gone beyond their instructions, and brought on a combat in which 200 men had been killed and 1,200 wounded.’ Fririon, the historian of the campaign, cannot restrain himself from adding, ‘This is how history was written at that time; it was by reports of this lying description that an attempt was made to calm anxious families. Did no one reflect that, by deceiving them in this way, the government made enemies of all those who trusted for a time in the exactitude of the Bulletins, and lost their illusion soon after, when they learnt the melancholy ends of their sons and their brothers[521]?’

The dearth of news from the front was not Masséna’s own fault. He had sent back several aides-de-camp to find their way to Almeida, but all had either been captured by the Ordenan?a or forced to turn back. The best known of these was the young Mascarenhas, one of the Portuguese traitors on the Marshal’s staff. He started from Coimbra on October 3, with the Bussaco dispatch, disguised as a shepherd, but was detected by a band of Ordenan?a, and sent as prisoner to Lisbon. The Regency had him tried by court-martial, and as he was caught without a uniform, he was condemned as a spy as well as a traitor, and executed by the garotte in December[522].

There was a perfect cordon of Portuguese militia and irregulars round Masséna’s rear in October and November. J. Wilson had come down to Espinhal, and had his outposts in Leiria; Trant had returned to Coimbra. They were in touch, by means of the Estrada Nova and the garrison of Abrantes, with the Ordenan?a[p. 449] of Castello Branco, and a Spanish detachment of three battalions under Carlos d’Espa?a, which La Romana had sent to Villa Velha, at the same time that he took his two divisions under La Carrera and Charles O’Donnell within the Lines. On the side of the Atlantic the garrison of Peniche had sent out a force of 300 men to Obidos, under Captain Fenwick, and these joined hands with De Gray’s cavalry at Ramalhal, in front of Torres Vedras. A few French parties which crossed the Monte Junta to raid towards the sea coast were cut off either by Fenwick or by the dragoons. But Masséna never sent any serious detachment in this direction.

For just one month (October 14-November 14) Masséna maintained his position in front of the Lines. The 8th Corps had thrown up some earthworks on, and to the flanks of, the hill of Sobral, thus assuming a defensive instead of an offensive position. The 2nd Corps went back to Carregado, but left strong detachments in Villafranca. By the dispositions of October 16 the 6th Corps remained with its main body at Otta, far to the rear, and an advanced guard at Alemquer. Ney was so placed that he could succour either of the other corps if they were attacked. A brigade of Loison’s division was pushed forward to the hill opposite Arruda[523]: in face of this last Craufurd was adorning the front of his line with a luxury of abattis, entanglements, and pitfalls, which would have made the hillside inaccessible to even the most alert and vigorous person moving alone. Formed troops could not have got past the first two or three traps.

But the most significant part of Masséna’s arrangements was to be found in his rear: Montbrun’s cavalry reserve went back to Santarem; thither also went the reserve artillery on the 17th, and the hospitals on the 20th of October. At the same time each of the corps was directed to send to Santarem all smiths, carpenters, and other artificers that could be found in its ranks. They were told to report to General Eblé, the officer commanding the artillery, who had received from the Marshal a special mission—the construction of boats and pontoons sufficient to bridge the Tagus or the Zezere. For, if he were starved out in Estremadura, Masséna had it in his mind that he might find[p. 450] it convenient either to cross into the Alemtejo, or to force a way across the Zezere into the Castello Branco district, in the hope of opening communication with Spain via Zarza and Alcantara. Montbrun’s cavalry explored northward and eastward, seeking for likely spots at which the Tagus might be bridged, and on the other side reconnoitring the line of the Zezere, to see how it was held. Not a boat could be found on the greater river; at Chamusca a daring party of fifty men swam its broad current, for a dash at some barks which were visible on the other side, but all were found to have had their bottoms carefully knocked out and to be filled with sand. Dejean, the officer who explored as far as Punhete on the Zezere, found all the bridges broken, and the garrison of Abrantes watching the fords, with strong detachments at Punhete and Martinchel.

Eblé found at Santarem that he had to create a pontoon equipage with no materials at all to work from. There was raw iron in the bars and balconies of houses, and raw timber in their floors and rafters, but nothing else. His smiths had to start on the weary task of forging saws and hammers, his carpenters had to turn housebreakers—in the technical sense—to obtain planks and joists. His task was hard, and would clearly take many weeks before it could be properly accomplished.

Meanwhile time was all-important to Masséna, for every day the country between Santarem and the Lines grew barer and yet more bare, as the foragers of the three French corps worked their will upon it. The men were already going into hospital by thousands, and dying there. Junot’s conscript battalions, unsheltered from the rain in their bleak bivouac above Sobral, suffered most—Ney’s and Reynier’s men were (for the most part) housed if not fed. The Army, which had 65,000 men on leaving Almeida, and 55,000 after the loss of Coimbra, had dwindled down to 50,000 effective sabres and bayonets by the month of November[524].

Wellington was already pondering on the possibility of taking[p. 451] the offensive. He had received hundreds of deserters during the last few weeks[525], and knew by their means of the miserable condition of the enemy—of the fact that the cavalry had nearly all been sent to the rear, and of the attempt that was being made to create a bridge-equipage at Santarem[526]. His dispatches of October 27 and November 3 to Lord Liverpool treat at length of the advantages and disadvantages of assailing the French in their present position[527]. He sets forth the strength of his own army—29,000 British troops present with the colours, after deducting sick and men detached, 24,000 Portuguese effective, and 5,000 of La Romana’s Spaniards, making a total of 58,615. He refuses to contemplate the use of the militia, infantry or artillery, in the field; considering their behaviour at Bussaco and elsewhere, ‘I should deceive myself if I could expect, or your Lordship if I should state, that any advantage would be derived from their assistance in an offensive operation against the enemy.’ On the other hand, he estimates Masséna’s fighting force at 55,000 men—a slight miscalculation, for there were only 50,000 effective at this moment, and of these 4,000 cavalry and one brigade of infantry were at Santarem and other distant places, from which they could not have been withdrawn for a battle suddenly forced upon their main corps. Masséna could really have put no more than 44,000 men in line within twenty-four hours of an alarm. Wellington then proceeds to argue that he must make a frontal attack, for if he drew a very large force out of the Lines, in order to assail the enemy’s flank by a wide encircling march, ‘the inevitable consequence of attempting such a man?uvre would be to open some one or other of the great roads to Lisbon, and to our shipping, of which the enemy would take immediate advantage to attain his object.’ Accordingly ‘we must carry their positions by main force, and in the course of the operation I must draw the army out of their cantonments, and expose men and horses to the inclemencies of the weather at this time of the year.’ Moreover, if Masséna were defeated, it would cause Soult to evacuate Granada, raise the[p. 452] siege of Cadiz, and come with 50,000 men to aid the army of Portugal. ‘So if I should succeed in forcing Masséna’s positions, it would become a question whether I should be able to maintain my own, in case the enemy should march another army into this country.’ Blake and the garrison of Cadiz, when freed from Soult’s presence, would certainly do nothing to help the general cause of the Allies. They would neither come to Portugal, nor be able to make a serious advance on Madrid, so as to draw off Soult in that direction. He therefore concludes, that ‘When I observe how small the superiority of numbers is in my favour, and know that the position will be in favour of the enemy, I am of opinion that I act in conformity with the intentions of His Majesty’s Government in waiting for the result of what is going on, and in incurring no extraordinary risk.’ What he calls ‘the safe game’ is to keep on the strict defensive, hoping that the enemy’s distress for provisions, and the operations of the militia in his rear, may cause him either to make a desperate attack on the Lines—in which he will be repulsed with awful loss—or else to make such large detachments, to clear off the corps of Wilson, Trant, and the rest, that it will become easy and safe to attack the remaining army in its present position.

Here, as when we considered the reasons which determined Wellington to evacuate the Coimbra country at the end of September, we are bound to recognize that he adopted an attitude of caution which he would not have assumed in 1812 and 1813, when he had thoroughly proved his army. The temptations to assail Junot’s isolated and advanced position at Sobral were enormous. The 8th Corps had been thrust forward into a re-entering angle of the British lines, in which it could be attacked from the left flank as well as from the front. It was wasting away daily from its privations, and had apparently not more than 10,000 bayonets left—the cavalry of the corps (Sainte-Croix’s old division) had been sent off to Santarem, save one regiment. To sustain Junot the 6th Corps could eventually be used, but only one brigade of it (that of Ferey) was in the first line, and this depleted unit, which had been so thoroughly routed at Bussaco, had its old enemy, Craufurd’s Light Division, in its front. Of the rest of the 6th Corps, one division was at Alemquer, eleven miles behind Sobral, the other at Otta, six[p. 453] miles behind Alemquer[528]. It would have taken the one four or five hours, the other nearly the whole of a short November day, to assemble and to come up. Reynier could not quit Hill’s front without freeing the latter’s two strong divisions for action. Meanwhile Wellington had disposable, in Junot’s immediate front, the divisions of Spencer, Cole, Leith, and Alex. Campbell [Picton had been sent back to Torres Vedras], plus the Portuguese brigades of Pack, Coleman, and A. Campbell, with La Romana’s Spaniards also, if he should choose to employ them—this, too, after leaving Craufurd to look after Ferey, and Hill to keep Reynier in check. It is impossible not to conclude that a sudden frontal and flank attack on Sobral with 30,000 men must have enveloped and crushed the 8th Corps. Though its position was good, its supports were too far off; Ney could not have come up to Junot’s aid, before he was overwhelmed. Masséna was uneasy about this possibility of disaster, and had issued orders on October 29 that if Junot and Ferey were attacked, they were to fall back on Alemquer, while Ney was to bring up his reserves to that same place, and Reynier to abandon his position in front of Alhandra and march on Alemquer also[529]. But the weak point of this arrangement was, that if Junot had been attacked at dawn, both in front and flank, by an overwhelming force, he could never have got back to Alemquer, and must have been cut off and battered to pieces close in the rear of Sobral. The English frontal attack—Spencer, Leith, and Pack—would have started at a distance of less than a mile from his position: Cole and Campbell on the flank had only two miles to cover. Both columns had a down-hill march before them till the line of rising ground about Sobral was reached. How could the 8th Corps have got away? Even an orderly retreat, with a fighting rearguard, would have been impossible.

But if Junot’s 10,000 men had been destroyed behind Sobral, Wellington would then have been in the position to push in between Ney and Reynier, whose columns would just have been beginning to near Alemquer. He might easily have driven them[p. 454] apart, and have forced them to retire on Santarem or some such distant point, in order to complete their junction. Even had they succeeded in joining, Masséna would have had a demoralized army of little over 30,000 men remaining. It is certain that he must have refused to fight, and have started on a disastrous retreat either by Castello Branco, or more likely by Thomar. For the latter direction would have brought him to his base at Almeida—the former would have taken him through an almost uninhabited country, to a part of Spain, the mid-Tagus, where no French army was ready to receive or succour him.

It is impossible, therefore, to doubt that Wellington had a great opportunity before him. Yet it is easy to see why he refused to take it. A mere victory of the second class—the thrusting of Junot out of his positions, not followed by the complete annihilation of the 8th Corps—would have done no more for him than he himself stated in the above-quoted dispatch of November 3. If Junot got away with the main body of his troops, and joined Ney and Reynier, and if their united army took up a defensive position at Santarem or elsewhere, Masséna might still hang on to Portugal, till Soult brought up to his aid the whole Army of Andalusia, or great reinforcements arrived from Castile. Any chance—a fog, heavy rain, the rashness or stupidity of some subordinate—might prevent the complete and instantaneous success of the attack on Sobral. These things being taken into consideration, Wellington resolved to lie still in the Lines, and to let the weapon of starvation play for some time longer on the French. He expected them to retire within a few days from sheer necessity, or else to deliver the much desired attack on his impregnable position.

Masséna had found that the preparation of his bridge equipage at Santarem would be a long business. He knew that his numbers were shrinking every day in the most appalling fashion, not only from deaths and invaliding, but from desertion. Yet he stood still for a fortnight longer than his adversary had expected, and meanwhile made a last desperate appeal for help to the Emperor. He had guessed that all his previous attempts to communicate with Spain had failed because his messengers had been sent without a sufficient escort, and had fallen by the way. Accordingly, he told off a body of more than 500 men to[p. 455] bear his next letter, and gave the command of them to an officer of well-known intelligence and resource—Foy, who had served in all the three Portuguese campaigns, Junot’s of 1808, Soult’s of 1809, and this last of his own. Moreover, it was known that Napoleon had confidence in his ability, though he was an old Republican, and had actually been one of the few who had refused to sign the address which was drawn up to ask the First Consul to declare himself Emperor in 1804. Foy was given a whole battalion of infantry—the 4th of the 47th of the Line—with 120 mounted men. He was told to avoid the main roads, to cross the Zezere, pass north of Castello Branco, and to try to reach Spain by way of Sabugal or Penamacor. This was obviously a difficult task, since the Ordenan?a were known to be abroad, even in this rugged and deserted region. To cover Foy’s start, Montbrun marched, with a brigade of dragoons and a couple of battalions of infantry, to make a demonstration against Abrantes, and draw the attention of its garrison from the upper Zezere. Montbrun forced the passage of the river at Punhete, after a sharp skirmish, and established his vanguard on the further side. He thus attracted to himself all the forces which Lobo, the governor of Abrantes, could spare outside his walls. Meanwhile (October 31) Foy passed the Zezere higher up, at an unguarded ford, and marched by Cardigos and Sobreira Formosa along the Castello Branco road. But he abandoned it before reaching that town, and turned north, crossing the Serra de Moradal by Fund?o and Belmonte. From thence he reached Sabugal, and finally Ciudad Rodrigo on November 8. He had been unmolested save by a body of Ordenan?a, who cut off some of his stragglers. The passage of his column, whose strength was exaggerated by rumour, caused Carlos d’Espa?a to burn the bridge of Villa Velha, under the impression that Foy intended to seize it, and open up communication southward with Soult. He and Lobo reported to Wellington that Foy and Montbrun were the van of a great force, which was about to overrun and occupy the Castello Branco country[530]. But Masséna’s messenger had no other object than to reach Castile with as great rapidity as possible, and without fighting.

[p. 456]

Arrived at Rodrigo, Foy gave over his escort to General Gardanne, with orders to him to collect all the convalescents of the Army of Portugal, and to draw out the garrison of Rodrigo and Almeida, if Drouet was now in condition to take charge of these fortresses. This should give him a force of 6,000 men, with which he was ordered to cut his way to join the main army, to whom he was to bring a convoy of ammunition, which was running desperately low at the front. How badly Gardanne executed his charge we shall presently see.

Foy meanwhile, with a fresh dragoon escort, rode for Salamanca and Valladolid, at which last place he was disgusted to find Drouet and the bulk of the 9th Corps, whom he had expected to meet at Rodrigo[531]. He met the general, and passed on to him Masséna’s request that he would collect the whole of his 16,000 men, and march on Almeida, and from thence down the Mondego to Coimbra, after which he was to open up communication with the main army by Leiria or Thomar. Drouet, assuming some of the airs of a commander-in-chief, did not show the eagerness to carry out these directions which Foy had hoped to find.

From Valladolid Foy rode straight through by post, braving guerrilla bands and swollen rivers, through Burgos and Bayonne to Paris, which he reached on the night of November 21. On the next day he delivered his dispatches to the Emperor, and was put through two hours of sharp cross-questioning by his master. The notes of this conversation, taken down the same afternoon by the general, are one of the most interesting documents for the study of Napoleon’s psychology. Striding up and down his study, pouring out strings of queries, rapid judgements, rebukes and laudations, even anecdotes and screeds of political philosophy, the Emperor presented a wonderful picture of restless and far-reaching intellectual activity. Foy put in his excuses and explanations in the gaps of the Emperor’s tirades. ‘Why the devil did Masséna thrust himself into that muddle[532] at Bussaco? Even in a plain country columns do not break through lines, unless they are supported by a superior artillery fire.’ ‘And the disgrace at Coimbra, where he has let his[p. 457] hospitals be taken by 1,500 ragged rascals! To lose your hospitals is as disgraceful as to lose your flags! In a regularly organized country—England, for example—Masséna would have gone to the scaffold for that job. The English are full of courage and honour: they defend themselves well. Masséna and Ney did not know them, but Reynier, whom they had beaten twice or thrice [Alexandria and Maida], ought to know them! Wellington has behaved like a clever man: his total desolation of the kingdom of Portugal is the result of systematic measures splendidly concerted. I could not do that myself, for all my power. Why did not Masséna stop at Coimbra, after Bussaco?’ ‘Because,’ faltered Foy, ‘supposing he had done so, Your Majesty would have reproached him by saying “If you had only pushed straight on Lisbon the English would have embarked.”’ ‘Very possible, indeed,’ replied the Emperor, breaking into a broad smile. ‘Well, I wanted to drive them into the sea: I have failed. All right; then I will have a regular campaign in Portugal, and use them up. I can wear them down in the nature of things, because England cannot compete in mere numbers with me.’ Then followed an excursus into the characters of French generals—Junot, Ney, Soult especially. Then a curious confession that he had made a miscalculation in taking up the Spanish war: ‘I thought the system easier to change than it has proved in that country, with its corrupt minister, its feeble king, and its shameless, dissolute queen. But for all that, I don’t repent of what I did; I had to smash up that nation: sooner or later they would have done me a bad turn.’

Then comes the Emperor’s conclusion upon the present state of affairs. ‘Masséna must take Abrantes—Elvas would be of no good to us. The only way to get Wellington to make a forward move will be to force him to try to raise the siege of Abrantes. As long as Masséna stays in position opposite Lisbon, nothing is lost; he is still a terror to the English, and keeps the offensive. If he retreats, I fear great disaster for him. But why did he not take up some regular plan of operations? The very day after he reconnoitred the Lisbon lines, it was clear that he would never attack them. I will send immediate orders for the 5th Corps [Mortier] to invade the Alemtejo.[p. 458] Will they be obeyed? At that distance only those who choose carry out my directions. [A hint at Soult’s selfish policy.] I tremble lest Masséna may call Drouet down to him, and then get his communications cut again. By communications I mean sure points, at two or three marches distance, properly garrisoned and provisioned, where convoys can rest and be safe. An army without open communications loses heart and gets demoralized.... All the hope of the English is in that army of Wellington’s! If we could destroy it, it would be a terrible blow to them.’

The Emperor, pleased with Foy’s intelligent explanations of the situation, created him a general of division, and told him to rest for a month, and then return to Portugal. He sent for him to administer a second catechism on the 24th, and then condescended to explain his view of the situation, and his orders for the future. He quite approved of Masséna’s resolve to hold out in front of the Lines, and had already given Drouet directions to assemble his corps at Almeida, and open up communications with the Army of Portugal—in fact, the order to do so had been sent off as early as November 3, and its bearer must have crossed Foy somewhere on the road[533]. Soult had also been ordered, two days before Masséna’s appeal came to hand, to create a diversion in the direction of Spanish Estremadura[534]. He was now sent a sharp reproof for having done nothing, and more especially for having allowed La Romana to slip away with two divisions to Lisbon unmolested[535]. But it seems clear that no orders to concentrate his whole army and invade the Alemtejo were sent him, and these were the only measures that could have helped Masséna. Napoleon’s obiter dictum that it would be no use to besiege and capture Elvas shows a misapprehension of the situation. A mere demonstration in Spanish Estremadura might call back La Romana, but would not help the Army of Portugal to any appreciable extent. It was not La Romana’s 8,000 men who formed the strength[p. 459] of the defence of Lisbon. Wellington could have spared them without harm, and, indeed, sent them away long before Masséna quitted Portugal.

It may be added that (as facts were to show ere long) the mere sending up of Drouet to the front was not nearly sufficient to put Masséna in a position to incommode Wellington, more especially when the 9th Corps was told to drop detachments at short intervals at every stage after Almeida. By following these orders, indeed, Drouet brought to the main army a mere 6,000 men on December 26, having left the rest of his corps beyond the Mondego. His arrival was of absolutely no use to the Prince of Essling. The one thing which could have saved Masséna was the arrival, not of a small field force such as Drouet or Mortier commanded, but of a large army, on the Lower Tagus, and on its southern side. Such an army, as the disposition of the French troops in Spain then stood, could only have been produced if Soult had consented to abandon Granada, raise the siege of Cadiz, and march with the greater part of the Army of Andalusia into the Alemtejo, masking Badajoz and Elvas, and leaving a division or two in Seville to keep Blake and the Spanish troops from Cadiz in check. But the Duke of Dalmatia could never be induced to abandon two-thirds of his Andalusian viceroyalty, in order to execute a movement whose results, if successful, would mainly redound to the glory of Masséna. Nothing short of a definite and peremptory order from Paris would have made him call in Victor and Sebastiani, and evacuate Eastern and Southern Andalusia. Such an order the Emperor did not send. His dispatch of Dec. 4 only ordered that a corps of 10,000 men should advance to the Tagus in the direction of Villa Velha and Montalv?o, to communicate with Masséna[536]. Soult undertook instead a blow at Badajoz, in January, with a force of 20,000 men, while leaving Cadiz still blockaded and Granada still held. Napoleon, therefore, must take the blame of the final failure of the invasion of Portugal. As has been shown above, from his own words, he was conscious that he was too far from the scene of operation, and that mere ordinary directions to his lieutenants might not be carried out with zeal. ‘Je donne[p. 460] l’ordre. L’exécutera-t-on? De si loin obéit qui veut[537].’ But if this were so, it was surely necessary either that he should go to Spain in person, or else—the more obvious alternative—that he should appoint a real Commander-in-Chief in the Peninsula, who should have authority to order all the other marshals and generals to obey his directions, without malingering or appeals to Paris. Napoleon had deliberately created a divided authority beyond the Pyrenees when he set up his military governments, and instructed Suchet, Kellermann, and the other governors to report directly to himself, and to pay no attention to commands emanating from Madrid[538]. King Joseph, as a central source of orders, had been reduced to a nullity by this ill-conceived decree. Even over the troops not included in the new viceroyalties he had no practical authority. Not he and his chief of the staff, but Masséna, ought to have been entrusted with a full and autocratic power of command over all the armies of Spain, if a true unity of purpose was to be achieved.

This necessary arrangement the Emperor utterly refused to carry out: he sent rebukes to Drouet for hesitating to obey the orders of the Prince of Essling, and he jested at the absurd conduct of Ney and Junot in conducting themselves like independent generals[539]. But these officers were in command of troops definitely allotted to the Army of Portugal. Over the other generals of Spain he refused to allow Masséna any control, and he continued to send them his own ever-tardy instructions, which had often ceased to be appropriate long before the dispatch had reached its destination. If we seek the reasons of this unwise persistence in his old methods, we find that they were two. The first was his secret, but only half-disguised, intention to annex all the Spanish provinces north of the Ebro to France, an insane resolve which led him to keep Suchet and Macdonald in Aragon and Catalonia, as well as the governors of Navarre and Biscay, out of the control of any central authority that he might set up in Spain. The second was his jealousy of entrusting the vast army south of the Ebro,[p. 461] far more than 250,000 men at the moment, to any single commander. He remembered Soult’s absurd strivings after royalty in Portugal; he knew that Masséna, though the best of soldiers, was false, selfish, and ambitious; and he refused to hand over to either of them a full control over the whole of the forces in the Peninsula. It was even better, in his estimation, to leave King Joseph a shadow of power, than to take the risk of giving overmuch authority to one of the two able, but not wholly trustworthy, marshals to whom he must otherwise have entrusted it.

The war in Portugal, therefore, went on as a mere section of the great contest in the Peninsula; the other and less important episodes were not made wholly subordinate to it. And if this system continued Wellington was free from any real danger. He knew it himself; he studied diligently both the political position and the details of the emplacement of the imperial armies in the Peninsula. He was fortunate enough to secure whole budgets of French dispatches captured by the Ordenan?a[540], and all that he read confirmed him in his conclusion. ‘I calculate,’ he writes on October 27, ‘that a reinforcement of 15,000 men would not now give the enemy so good an army as they had at Bussaco. He lost 2,000 killed or taken there: Trant took 5,000 at Coimbra: above 1,000 prisoners have gone through this army: many have been killed by the peasantry. They cannot have less than 4,000 sick[541], after the march they have made, and the weather to which they are exposed. The deserters tell us that almost every one is sick. From this statement you may judge of the diminution of their numbers; and you will see that I have not much reason to apprehend anything from [Drouet’s] “quinze beaux bataillons which fought at Essling”[542], and which cannot be here before the middle of November. I do not think I have much to apprehend even if Mortier is added to them. However, we shall see[p. 462] how that will be.... All the accounts which I receive of the distresses of the enemy for want of provisions would tend to a belief that their army cannot remain long in the position in which it is placed, and it is astonishing that they have been able to remain here so long as this[543].’ That they have succeeded in staying even a fortnight in front of the Lines is, he adds, entirely the fault of the Portuguese government, for not carrying out thoroughly the work of devastation. But, for the reasons stated on an earlier page, Wellington was resolved not to take the offensive, even against a foe whose ranks were beginning to grow thin. Famine should do the work, and no lives should be wasted.

There remained only one danger: it was just possible that Soult, even though Masséna had not yet suffered any disaster great enough to make the evacuation of Eastern Andalusia imperative, might send Mortier and some additional divisions of his other corps to Spanish Estremadura, and make a dash at the Lower Tagus. Masséna’s boat-building at Santarem, of which every deserter spoke, might be intended to give him the materials for a bridge by which he might communicate across the Lower Tagus with Soult. Wellington accordingly resolved to keep a strict watch beyond the Tagus, and to have a flying force ready, which could hinder the construction of a bridge or a bridge head. With this object on November 2 he sent over the Tagus General Fane, with his 1,500 Portuguese horse, a battalion of Ca?adores, and a few guns. All the North Alemtejo Ordenan?a were called out to watch the river banks, and to lend what small assistance they could to the cavalry. Fane discovered the French dockyard at Santarem, and tried to fire it with rockets on November 13. He failed, but the mere appearance of his little force on the further bank of the Tagus had some good effect, since it warned Masséna that an attempt to pass the broad river would not be unopposed, and therefore made him more chary of attempting it. Fane, being in touch with Abrantes on his right hand and with Lisbon on his left, now formed, as it were, a section of the blockading screen which was thrown round the whole French army.

Wellington had miscalculated the time which the French could[p. 463] afford to spend in front of the Lines, without suffering actual starvation, by about a fortnight. On November 10 Masséna gave orders for the evacuation of his whole position, and a general retreat on Santarem, because it had become absolutely impossible to stay any longer on the ground facing Zibreira and Alhandra, unless the whole army was to perish. The report from the 8th Corps may suffice to give in a few words the condition of affairs, ‘General Clausel wishes to observe that during the daytime he cannot count on any other troops save those actually guarding the outpost line. The majority of the men are absent on raids to the rear, to seek for maize and cattle. The last detachment which came back to camp had been nine days away. Generals and soldiers agree in stating that for some time it has only been possible to collect a little corn with extreme difficulty. For eight days the troops have been living on polenta (boiled maize flour) alone, and of this they have received only half a ration. During the last four days the 1st Division has received only one ration of meat, which amounted to six ounces of goat’s-flesh. If the corps had to make a retreat, it would have to abandon its sick and wounded for want of carts, which the intendant-generals will not furnish[544].’ The condition of the 2nd and 6th Corps was only so far better that they had to send their foragers a less distance, when seeking for the scanty store which could still be gleaned from the hidden granaries of the Portuguese.

But Masséna had no intention of retiring on Spain when he began to issue orders for a general movement to the rear. Profoundly sensible of the difficulties of a November retreat through the mountains, trusting that he might block the British army by maintaining a bold attitude in its front, and still hoping that large reinforcements might reach him ere long from Drouet and Mortier, he had resolved only to evacuate the Lisbon peninsula, and to retire no further than to the flat and fertile lands between Santarem and the Zezere. In the Plain of Goleg?o, as it is sometimes called, he hoped to feed his army for many weeks more, for the region was still comparatively full of resources, since it had only been exploited as yet by the garrison[p. 464] of Santarem and the flying columns which had marched to the Zezere. It was now his cherished hope that Wellington might follow him into the plain-land, abandoning his defensive system, and consenting to give battle in the open. The English might even be induced to attack the French army when it should have taken up a new and a strong position. In somewhat rash confidence the Marshal professed himself certain of the result, even with his depleted army of under 50,000 men, if Wellington would consent to fight. At the worst, if starved out again or beaten in the field, he would retreat on Spain by Castello Branco, for which purpose he had sent up the greater part of his boat-train from Santarem to build a bridge over the Zezere. He had also pushed part of Loison’s brigade of infantry across that river at Punhete, and was holding with it a point suitable for a tête-du-pont. A regiment of dragoons was attached to this force: it skirmished not unfrequently with parties sent out to reconnoitre from Abrantes, but with no serious result. For General Lobo, the governor, had no intention of coming out with a large detachment, in order to push the French advanced guard back over the river. He had been ordered to keep to the defensive, and only sent out occasional reconnaissances to see whether the enemy were still in position.

Loison’s troops were now no longer the only large force which had quitted the army in front of the Lines. Not only was Montbrun, with the main body of the cavalry, watching the roads from the north, but six battalions of infantry had been sent up from the 6th Corps on November 8 to occupy Torres Novas and Thomar. If Wellington had attacked the enemy behind Sobral on any day after that date, he would have found Ney short of fourteen battalions[545] out of the thirty-four which formed his corps. There would have been only 10,000 infantry ready to support Junot in the direction of Alemquer. But this fact, of course, was unknown to the English general, who had already made up his mind not to take the offensive. If it had come to his knowledge, he might have attacked, even at the last[p. 465] moment, with an enormous probability of inflicting on the enemy not the mere repulse that he disliked to contemplate—on account of its ulterior effects—but a crushing defeat, which might have hurled them out of Portugal.

On November 10 Masséna ordered the hospitals of the 6th and 8th Corps at Alemquer, and of the 2nd Corps at Azambuja, to be sent off to Santarem. At the same time the intendants of the commissariat were ordered to direct to the rear the meagre store of provisions which was in their possession, loaded on the much depleted transport train which still survived. On the 13th the reserve parks and the artillery train of each corps were ordered to follow. On the 14th, at eight o’clock in the evening, the infantry, many of whom lay in contact with the British lines, acted on their marching directions. Ney’s main body, which was out of sight of Wellington, was to move first; then Junot and Ferey’s brigade, whose movement was most perilous—for if their departure were discovered while they were on the hither side of the defile of Alemquer, they ran a great risk of being enveloped and destroyed. Reynier was to maintain his position at Villafranca and Carregado, until it was reported to him that Junot and his corps had passed Alemquer and reached Moinho de Cubo. For if the 2nd Corps had gone off at an early hour, and its departure had been discovered, Hill might have marched from Alhandra on Alemquer quickly enough to intercept Junot at that point; and if Junot were being pursued at the moment by the troops from his immediate front, the whole 8th Corps might have been cut off.

On the night of the 14th, when the movement was commencing, Masséna was favoured with the greatest piece of luck which had come to him since the explosion of Almeida. A fog began to rise in the small hours, and had become dense by the early morning. It caused some difficulty to the retiring troops, and dragoons had to be placed at every cross road to point out the right direction to the infantry columns[546]. But it had the all-important result of permitting the British outposts to see nothing at dawn. The limit visible to them was less than 100 yards. It was only at ten o’clock in the morning of the 15th that the mists were suddenly rolled up by an east wind, and that the[p. 466] nearer outposts could see that the French sentinels in front of them had disappeared. The first alarm was given by Campbell’s 6th Division[547]. The news spread along the whole line from west to east, and reached the Commander-in-Chief, who ascended the hill in front of Sobral a few minutes later[548]. The ingenuity of the enemy in concealing his departure had been great. Ferey’s brigade, in front of Arruda, had erected a well-designed line of dummy sentinels before the Light Division, which were not discovered to be men of straw, topped with old shakos and bound to poles, till the fog rolled off on the 15th[549].

Meanwhile the French had accomplished the first stage of their retreat absolutely unmolested. Ney had retreated as far as Alcoentre; Junot had passed the defile of Alemquer, and passed through Moinho de Cubo to Aveira de Cima. Reynier, who had waited till Junot was in safety before he withdrew at eight in the morning, reached Cartaxo before the day ended. The first and most difficult stage of the retreat had been finished without a shot being fired. What would have happened had the night of the 14th been clear and starry, and the morning sun had shone out on the 15th, so that Junot would have been detected as he was passing Alemquer, and Reynier would have been visible still in line of battle behind Villafranca, the French diarists of the campaign prefer not to contemplate. Yet they mostly continued to speak of Wellington as a mediocre general, who had all the luck on his side.

On the night of the 15th the British Commander-in-Chief had to draw his deductions from the facts before him. Three things were possible: Masséna might have been so thoroughly starved out and broken in spirit, that he might be intending to retire on Spain, either via Thomar and the Mondego, or by his new bridge on the Zezere and the route of Castello Branco. Or he might be proposing to cross the Tagus by means of the boats and pontoons still remaining at Santarem, to seek unwasted fields in the Alemtejo and a junction with Mortier. Or, again, he might merely be abandoning a position that was no longer tenable, in order to take up a new one—perhaps at Santarem, perhaps at[p. 467] Thomar, but very possibly at and about Abrantes, whose siege he might be contemplating[550].

On the whole Wellington thought it probable that the last-named plan was the one which Masséna intended to adopt. A retreat on Spain would not only be difficult and dangerous, but inconsistent with the Marshal’s obstinate and courageous temper. It was much more likely that he would endeavour to hold out in Portugal, and meanwhile to cover his partial discomfiture by a bold stroke, such as the siege of Abrantes, which would still give an offensive air to his movements, and would also throw on the British army the responsibility of relieving the fortress. Such a course, it will be remembered, was what Napoleon recommended to Foy[551]. ‘There is still a chance that the enemy may take up and try to keep a position at Santarem,’ wrote Wellington to Fane on the night of the 15th, ‘endeavouring to keep his rear open, and to get a communication with Ciudad Rodrigo across the Zezere.’ But he was inclined to think that Abrantes was Masséna’s goal. He therefore directed Fane to transfer his cavalry to the point opposite Abrantes on the south bank of the Tagus, and requested Carlos d’Espa?a to enter the place and strengthen the garrison. He intended to pass over Hill’s two divisions to strengthen Fane, and for that purpose directed Admiral Berkeley to prepare all the boats of the fleet to ferry Hill across to Salvaterra, on the south bank of the Tagus, from whence his force could join Fane, and either reinforce Abrantes, by means of its bridge of boats, or join in the pursuit of Masséna if he were about (an unlikely chance) to retire on Spain by way of his bridge over the Zezere[552] and Castello Branco.

Meanwhile all was still uncertain, and it was Wellington’s first task to find out what roads the enemy had taken in his retreat. He did not on the 15th order his whole army to leave the Lines in headlong pursuit. Only Spencer, Craufurd, and Hill were[p. 468] directed to march that afternoon. The former, with a cavalry regiment out in his front, occupied Sobral, and pushed its vanguard forward to Alemquer by the high road. The second left Arruda, climbed the low hills in front of him, where Ferey had been encamped for the last month, and felt his way to Alemquer, by the bad road which his immediate adversary had taken eighteen hours before. Hill followed the great chaussée along the Tagus bank, by Villafranca and Castanheira, and reached Carregado before dark. He was warned to be in readiness to cross the river, by means of Admiral Berkeley’s boats, at the earliest possible moment, in case the French should have built a bridge at Santarem to enable them to cross into the Alemtejo.[553]

The advancing troops found the French camps, and the villages where the more fortunate battalions had been quartered under cover, in the most dreadful condition. ‘The Alemquer road was covered with horses, mules, and asses which had perished from want of forage. We passed many French soldiers lying dead by the road-side, whose appearance indicated that disease and want of food had carried them off. Every house in every town or village was thoroughly ransacked[554].’ ‘Alemquer had been entirely sacked, the windows and doors torn down and burnt, as well as most of the furniture; china, pier-glasses, and chandeliers all dashed to pieces with the objectless fury of savages. They had left many miserable fellows behind, who were too ill to march: these were, of course, put to death by the Portuguese whenever we happened to miss finding them out. We found several peasants whom the French had murdered and left upon the road, and also several French killed by the Portuguese. It was a dreadful sight to see so many fine towns and villages sacked, and without a creature in them.’[555]

On the 15th none of the enemy had been seen save the dead and the abandoned sick. The traces of their retreat, however, showed that all had gone off by the roads towards Santarem. On the 16th Wellington moved more troops out of the Lines, to support Hill, Craufurd, and Spencer, in the event of the enemy[p. 469] showing fight. Slade’s horse followed Spencer, Pack’s Portuguese followed Craufurd; Picton, Leith, Cole, and Campbell were left in the Lines, which Wellington still disliked to leave wholly unguarded while he was not yet certain of the ultimate intentions of the French. The advanced guard picked up about 300 prisoners this day—partly marauders, partly debilitated men who could not keep up with their regiments during a second stage of hard marching. Next day (November 17) it was evident that the enemy was being overtaken: Anson’s cavalry brigade, which had reached the front on the preceding night, cut up a number of small parties of the French rearguard—the 16th Light Dragoons alone captured two officers and 78 men, not stragglers, but belated pickets and convoy guards. One of their exploits was long remembered—Sergeant Baxter, with five men only, came on an infantry outpost of 50 men, who had stacked their arms and were cooking. Bursting in upon them, he captured an officer and 41 men, though some of the Frenchmen had got to their muskets and wounded one of his troopers.[556]

On the afternoon of the 17th the enemy’s rearguard was at last discovered, drawn up on a heath outside the village of Cartaxo. It consisted of one of Reynier’s divisions, which Craufurd was preparing to attack, when the Commander-in-Chief came up, and refused him leave to begin the combat, because neither Hill nor Spencer was within supporting distance of him. Opinions differed as to whether an attack would have led to a repulse by superior numbers, or to the capture of the French division, which had a bridge and a long causeway—a most dangerous defile—in its rear[557]. Probably Craufurd was not in quite sufficient strength to be certain of success: he had but six strong battalions[558], a battery, and the 16th Light Dragoons in[p. 470] his company. The enemy had the eleven weak battalions of Merle’s division, and two regiments of cavalry: probably 1,000 bayonets and 300 sabres in all more than Craufurd could command. But an attack made with vigour, when half the French had begun to retire across the defile, might have had considerable results. Merle’s division was, however, allowed to retire unmolested in the evening, while the Light Division took up quarters for the night at Cartaxo. Reynier drew back the whole of his corps next morning to the environs of Santarem, which he had been directed to defend. Meanwhile the 8th Corps had reached Pernes with one division, and Alcanhede with the other and its cavalry: these were the points at which Junot had been ordered to stay his retreat. The bulk of the 6th Corps was at Thomar, but Loison’s division had been kept in the neighbourhood of the Zezere[559], and part of Marchand’s infantry and Ney’s corps-cavalry were at Caba?os. The retreat was thus ended, for Masséna was in possession of the new ground on which he intended to maintain himself for the winter, and he was prepared to accept a defensive battle if Wellington should push him any further. His left flank near the Tagus (Reynier’s corps) was advanced: his right flank (Junot’s corps) much ‘refused.’ Ney was forming the central reserve.

Unfortunately for himself the British Commander-in-Chief received, on the night of the 17th, confusing intelligence, which led him to the false conclusion that the enemy was still retiring, and was aiming either for Abrantes or for the borders of Spain. This news was sent by Fane, who from the other bank of the Tagus had observed French columns and convoys marching eastward from Santarem towards the Zezere[560], and wrongly inferred that the main army was making for this direction, and that only a rearguard had been left in Santarem. He was also influenced by the fact, reported from Abrantes, that Masséna had cast a second bridge over the Zezere near[p. 471] Punhete, as if to give him a quicker chance of passing that river. In consequence of this news, Wellington directed Hill to cross the Tagus at Vallada with his own division, Hamilton’s Portuguese, and the 13th Light Dragoons, in order to strengthen Abrantes if it were assailed, or to fall on the flank of the French, if they were merely passing that fortress on their retreat to Spain. Thus he deprived himself of 14,000 men on the right bank of the Tagus, where alone troops were really needed. To make up for Hill’s absence, Leith’s and Cole’s divisions were called out of the Lines, where they had rested till this moment (18th November)[561]. But they were two marches off, and Wellington had for the moment in his front line only Craufurd, Spencer, Pack’s Portuguese, and Slade’s and Anson’s cavalry, a force of some 16,000 men. Reynier was in his immediate front at Santarem, with 13,000 men of all arms. Junot’s corps at Alcanhede and Pernes was twelve miles away, and about 11,000 strong: the greater part of his men could have been brought up in half a day’s march. Ney was too distant to come up in less than 24 hours, and then only with half his corps, as Loison and one of Marchand’s brigades were far away. But if Wellington had attacked Santarem on the 19th the Duke of Elchingen would have appeared next morning.

Craufurd was as strongly convinced as his chief that there was nothing in front of him but a rearguard on the night of the 18th, and he even doubted whether the last of the French would not withdraw at midnight. It was this that induced him to make the curious personal exploration mentioned by Napier (iii. 63)[562], when, followed by a single sergeant only, he pushed[p. 472] along the causeway in the small hours of the morning, ran into the French picket, and escaped as if by miracle the volley that was fired at him. The picket reported to Reynier that they had been seriously attacked, had killed three of their assailants, and had heard the groans of wounded dragged away by the survivors. Craufurd and his sergeant retired, thoroughly convinced that the causeway had not been evacuated.

It was undoubtedly fortunate for the British Commander-in-Chief that his habitual caution prevented him from making a serious attack on the force at Santarem, under the impression that it was a mere rearguard, left behind to detain him while the enemy’s main body was pushing for Abrantes. Reynier’s position was very formidable. The town of Santarem, surrounded by an old mediaeval wall, stands on a lofty height above the Tagus, with a narrow suburb—where the French dockyard had been established—along the lower edge of the hill. But this was only the third and last line of the defensive position. In front of it lay low alluvial ground, inundated by the rain which had been falling during the last fortnight, and barely passable save by the chaussée from Lisbon. The plain was cut in two by the Rio Mayor, a deep muddy stream at this time of the year, and to reach Santarem a narrow bridge over this obstacle had to be passed. Just where the chaussée leaves the marsh, to climb towards the town, was a long knoll, completely commanding the road: on this Reynier had placed a battery with infantry supports. This force must be driven in by the British, and the only practicable way to reach it was by forcing a passage along the causeway, for the marsh between the road and the Tagus turned out, when explored, to be practically inaccessible to formed troops, though individuals might wade through it in a few places. Behind the advanced French knoll were the foot-hills of the lofty ridge on which Santarem lies. The enemy were visible upon it, working hard at the construction of a line of abattis from the olive-trees which cover its slopes. Behind this, again, was the town itself, hastily prepared for defence.

On the morning of November 19th the British advanced guard was on the edge of the swampy plain; Craufurd’s Light Division occupied the near end of the long bridge over the Rio[p. 473] Mayor, and skirmished with the French outposts, who refused to retire from the further side. Spencer came up more to the left, and further inland, Pack’s Portuguese reached the upper course of the Rio Mayor. Neither Leith nor Cole had yet arrived at the front, so that the force available for an attack was no more than 16,000 men. Nevertheless, Wellington, still hoping that he had only a rearguard in front of him, made dispositions for a demonstration against the enemy’s front, which was to be turned into a real attack if he showed want of strength. Craufurd was directed to advance across the swamp near the Tagus, if he found it practicable. Pack was to cross the upper Rio Mayor, and turn the hostile right. Spencer was formed at the entrance of the bridge and causeway, and ordered to charge up the chaussée at the French centre, and the battery commanding the road, so soon as he should see that the flanking divisions were making good progress. Fortunately for Wellington the attack was never delivered: more rain during the night had made the marsh so waterlogged that Craufurd, who had crossed the Rio Mayor by a narrow wooden bridge near Valle, came to a stand in the slush, though a few of his skirmishers pushed far enough forward to engage the enemy’s pickets on the other side. Pack’s Portuguese on the left flank got across the river with much difficulty, but their guns were absolutely stuck in the mud far to the rear, and the brigadier sent back word to Wellington that he should advance no further without special orders. The 1st Division had not yet begun to move. Thereupon the Commander-in-Chief called back both Craufurd and Pack, and gave up his plan. It is clear that he had nourished some intention of attacking in earnest, for he wrote to Hill that afternoon: ‘I did not attack Santarem this morning, as the artillery of the left wing (Pack) had lost its way, and I am rather glad that I did not attack, as the enemy have there undoubtedly a very strong post, and we must endeavour to turn it. And if they [the main body] have not retired across the Zezere or towards the Alva, they must be too strong for us here.’

It is obvious that both Wellington’s and Masséna’s strategy on the 18th and 19th November is exposed to criticism. Why had the British General only 16,000 men to the front on these[p. 474] days, when he was risking a general action with the French? One of two courses must have been adopted by the enemy: either he must be marching hard for the Zezere, and intending to retire into Spain, or he must be merely changing his ground, and proposing to fight at Santarem, or in front of Abrantes, or elsewhere. In either case it was strange tactics for Wellington to take the field with 16,000 men (deducting Hill on the other side of the Tagus), while he left Leith and Cole two or three marches behind, and still kept the divisions of Picton, Campbell, and Le Cor, and the unattached Portuguese brigade of Coleman and Alex. Campbell—20,000 men—unmoved within the Lines. For if the enemy was flying, there was no need to leave such a force of regulars to guard positions which the French could not be intending to attack. While if the other hypothesis was correct, and Masséna, with an army which Wellington still reckoned at 50,000 men, was in a fighting mood, and ready to give battle if he saw an advantageous opportunity, it was still more inexcusable to leave behind 20,000 men, who would be wanted for the decisive struggle.

On the other hand, the French Marshal was taking a terrible risk also. Supposing Wellington had been leading his whole force—deducting Hill—for a resolute attack on the Santarem positions, which was the most probable course for him to adopt, he might have had not only the 16,000 men that he had actually brought forward, but Leith and Cole with 11,000 more, and Picton and the other 20,000 men left in the Lines, a force, if the cavalry be thrown in, of full 50,000 sabres and bayonets. If Wellington had left Craufurd and Pack to block the marshy southern exit from Santarem, which was as difficult for Reynier as for his adversaries, he might have thrown 40,000 men into the empty space of twelve miles between Reynier and Junot, have driven away the latter’s 11,000 men, and surrounded Reynier’s 13,000 in Santarem. Ney could not have got up in time to prevent this. The 2nd Corps would either have had to surrender, for it had hardly any food, or to cut its way out with disastrous losses[563].

[p. 475]

Reynier saw this perfectly, and was in an agony of mind on the 18th and 19th. He wrote urgent appeals to Masséna, for permission to abandon Santarem on the former day, pointing out that if his front was practically inaccessible, because of the swamps, his right might be turned by the upper Rio Mayor, where he had only a single regiment in observation, to face what might be an overwhelming strength of British troops, who might be preparing to cut in between him and Junot. He sent all his train, sick, and wounded to Goleg?o[564], and besought leave to follow them. When he received a peremptory reply, to the effect that he was to hold Santarem to the last, he came to the conclusion that he was to be sacrificed in order to allow the other two corps to escape unmolested. When Pack advanced on the 19th he sent the report that he was turned by 10,000 British troops—Pack had but 3,000 Portuguese—and that Clausel with Junot’s nearest division was too far off to succour him. He prepared to suffer a disaster, and to die fighting[565]. He ordered his troops to surround Santarem, in rear as well as in front, with a double line of abattis, and continued to strengthen and repair its old walls.

Nothing, therefore, could exceed Reynier’s relief when Pack and Craufurd halted, and Spencer did not move at all, after the firing had begun upon the 19th. On the next morning the British army was still stationary, save that a cavalry reconnaissance, pushed northward from Pack’s position on the upper Rio Mayor, discovered Junot’s outposts in the direction of Alcanhede and Pernes, and reported to Wellington that the enemy was in strength, with all arms, in this direction. Leith[p. 476]’s division came up this morning, raising the British force to 21,000 men, but this, as the Commander-in-Chief now saw, was not sufficient to enable him to deal with two corps d’armée, of which one was in an inaccessible position and now stockaded up to the eyes. He halted, and sent, very tardily, orders for Cole to join in haste, and for Campbell’s division to come up from the Lines. But even thus he was too weak to strike. Hill was now at Almeirim, half way to Abrantes on the other side of the Tagus. Fane had actually entered Abrantes, and sent news that the enemy was making no forward movement from the Zezere. Thus at last Wellington discovered that he must have practically the whole French army in his front, while his own forces were in a state of terrible dispersion.

On the 21st he wrote a dispatch to Lord Liverpool which shows that he had given up all intention of pushing Masséna further. ‘Although the enemy have moved large bodies of troops eastward from Santarem, I have not heard that any large body has crossed the Zezere.... Their army being collected between Santarem and the Zezere, they are in a situation to be able to maintain themselves in their strong position till the reinforcements, which I know are on the frontier, can join them. For this reason, and because I am unwilling to expose to the inclemencies of the weather a larger body of troops than is absolutely necessary to press upon the enemy’s rear, and to support my advanced guard, I have kept in reserve a considerable proportion of the allied army—some of them still in their cantonments in the Lines, our fortified position. I have ordered General Hill to halt the head of his corps at Chamusca [on the other side of the Tagus, fifteen miles south of Abrantes] till the enemy’s movements have been decided.... The rain, which has been very heavy since the 15th, has so completely filled the rivulets and destroyed the roads, that I have hitherto found it impossible to dislodge the enemy from his position at Santarem, by movements through the hills on his right flank. Possibly the bad state of the roads has also been the cause of his remaining at Santarem so long.... The enemy’s army may be reinforced, and they may again induce me to think it expedient, in the existing state of affairs in the Peninsula, to resume my positions [the Lines]. But I do not believe that they have it[p. 477] in their power to bring such a force against us as to render the contest a matter of doubt[566].’

In a supplementary dispatch, dated the same day, Wellington adds: ‘At first I thought the enemy were off, and I am not quite certain yet that they are not going.... I am convinced that there is no man in his senses, who has ever passed a winter in Portugal, who would not recommend them to go now, rather than to endeavour to maintain themselves upon the Zezere during the winter, or than attack our position, whatever may be the strength of their reinforcements.’

There were, indeed, men in the French camp who advised Masséna to continue his retreat, but he had no intention of taking up a timid policy after braving so many passed dangers. He had resolved to maintain himself between Santarem and the Zezere, and to call down Drouet and other reinforcements[567], in the hope that, ere the winter was over, the Emperor might find means to strengthen him to a force which, with the co-operation of Soult from Andalusia, would enable him finally to resume the offensive, and make a second and more formidable attack upon the Lines. In adopting this resolve he was, though as yet he knew it not, carrying out the instructions which the Emperor was at this very moment (November 22) dictating to Foy at Paris. But Wellington had not written at random when he reminded Lord Liverpool of the terrors of a Portuguese winter, and in the end the Prince of Essling was forced to begin on the 1st of March, with under 40,000 men of his original force, the retreat which he might have commenced on November 20 with over 50,000[568].

The scheme for starving out the French, which Wellington had devised early in 1810, and begun to execute in September, was now transferred to a different area. Masséna had been able to endure for a month in front of the Lisbon Lines: the question now was whether he would be able to live so long in the land between the Rio Mayor and the Zezere. Wellington could not be sure of his data, in calculating the day when exhaustion would once more compel the French to shift their[p. 478] ground. It was only certain that the plain of Goleg?o, and the Thomar-Torres Novas country, had not been devastated by the Portuguese government even with the same energy that they had displayed in the Lisbon Peninsula. And there, as the British Commander-in-Chief complained, not half the necessary work had been done. Yet something had certainly been accomplished; the population had nearly all been withdrawn, the mills destroyed, the corn buried or sent over the Tagus. Trusting to these facts, and to the rains and frosts of the oncoming winter, Wellington hoped that Masséna would finally be reduced to a disastrous retreat by sheer privation. ‘Though it is certainly astonishing that the enemy have been able to remain in this country so long, and it is an extraordinary instance of what a French army can do[569].’

Resolved to take no further offensive action, and to let famine do its work, Wellington, on November 24, gave orders for the army to draw back and go into winter quarters, leaving only Craufurd and Pack in touch with the enemy in front of Santarem, and Spencer in support of them at Cartaxo. Of the other divisions, Hill remained behind the Tagus at Chamusca and Almeirim, with his own troops and Hamilton’s Portuguese. Picton and the 3rd Division retained their old post at Torres Vedras, with Coleman and Alex. Campbell’s Portuguese near them. Cole remained at Azambuja, in rear of Spencer. Leith was sent back to Alcoentre, Campbell’s 6th Division was placed at Alemquer, behind Leith. Le Cor’s Portuguese stayed at Alhandra, within the Lines.

‘The army thus placed,’ writes D’Urban, the Quarter-Master-General, on this day, ‘at once takes care of Abrantes (by means of Hill), observes the enemy at Santarem (with Craufurd and Pack), has a division on the higher Rio Mayor road to turn the enemy’s right, if this become expedient (Leith’s to wit), and still “appuis” itself on the Lines, its retreat into which is secured by its echelloned position. Means are ready to pass General Hill back to the right bank of the Tagus, with such celerity, that his divisions can be counted upon for the order of march or battle on this side of the river as certainly as if he were already there[570].’

[p. 479]

Masséna, on the other hand, also remained nearly quiescent for many days, the only important change which he made in the cantonments of his army being that he moved in Clausel’s division closer to Santarem, to fill the dangerous gap between the 2nd and 8th Corps, which had existed on November 18. On the 22nd and 23rd he pushed forward, against Pack’s Portuguese and Anson’s light cavalry, a considerable force, consisting of Clausel’s whole division and six squadrons from the 8th Corps, and General Pierre Soult with two cavalry regiments and three battalions from the 2nd Corps. After some lively but bloodless skirmishing, the allied troops retired behind the Rio Mayor, evacuating the village of Calares beyond the stream, and drawing in their cavalry pickets, which had hitherto held some ground on the further bank. This affair confirmed Wellington in his conclusion that nearly the whole French army was now concentrated on the Santarem-Pernes line, and made him more reluctant than ever to take the offensive.

Meanwhile Montbrun’s cavalry, supported by small detachments from the infantry of Ney’s corps, had pressed somewhat further to the north, in order to occupy a broader tract of land from which the army might feed itself, a task that grew harder every day. From his head quarters at Ourem and from Caba?os, on the Thomar-Coimbra road, he continued to send out strong reconnaissances in every direction, of which some occasionally pushed as far as Leiria on the road towards Coimbra, and others scoured the left bank of the lower Zezere and the Nabao. The limit of their excursions was fixed by the fact that Wilson’s brigade of Portuguese militia still lay at Espinhal, and, though it was reduced by desertion and sickness to 1,500 men, was reported to Montbrun as a serious force, with which he had better not meddle. Trant’s troops at Coimbra—a weak militia division—were also estimated at much over their real strength. It was not till later that sheer starvation drove the French further afield, and revealed to them the weakness of the cordon of inferior troops which hemmed them in upon the northern side.

The blockade of the French army, therefore, remained still unbroken, and its communication with the north was as[p. 480] absolutely interrupted in the end of November as in the beginning of October. One attempt to break through the screen of Portuguese irregulars had been made in November, but of its failure Masséna had as yet no knowledge. When Foy reached Rodrigo, on his way to Paris, he had handed over his escort of one battalion of infantry and 120 horsemen to General Gardanne, who was ordered to strengthen them with all the convalescents of the Army of Portugal, and with the garrisons of Almeida and Rodrigo also, if these last had now been relieved by troops of Drouet’s 9th Corps. At the head of 6,000 men, as Masséna calculated, he could cut his way to join the main army, escorting a great train of munitions, of which both the artillery and the infantry at the front were lamentably in need. Gardanne could not gather in the Almeida garrison, as that place was still blockaded by Silveira’s Portuguese. But with the two battalions from Rodrigo, added to Foy’s late escort, and a mass of convalescents, he had collected some 5,000 men by November 20[571], the day on which he marched by the Sabugal-Belmonte-Fund?o route towards Punhete and the lower Zezere. He was cursed with dreadful weather, followed and harassed by all the Ordenan?a of the Castello Branco country, hampered by his heavy convoy, and much troubled by the disorderly convalescents, who were largely professional malingerers. But he got as far as Cardigos on the Sobreira-Formosa road, only fifteen miles from Punhete, where Loison was awaiting him on the Zezere. Here he was brought to a stand (November 27) by the flooded and bridgeless stream of the Codes. No news had reached him from Masséna, while he was assured by Portuguese deserters, who probably were sent out to deceive him by the governor of Abrantes, that the Marshal had not only evacuated his position before the Lines, but was retreating on Spain via the Mondego. They added that Hill had just reached Abrantes with 10,000 men, and was about to march against him. Thereupon Gardanne hastily turned back, reached Penamacor by forced marches on[p. 481] November 29, and from thence retired to Rodrigo, having lost 400 men and 300 horses by disease and fatigue during his ill-conducted expedition. If he had pushed forward fifteen miles further on the 28th, he would have got into touch with Loison, and reached Masséna’s head quarters in safety. Wellington, not without reason, professed himself unable to comprehend this strange march and countermarch. ‘I do not exactly understand this movement[572],’ and ‘if this march was ordered by superior authority, and was connected with any other arrangements, it had every appearance of, and was attended by all the consequences of, a precipitate and forced retreat[573].’

Here, then, we leave Masséna and his army, cantoned in the space between the Rio Mayor and the Zezere, still destitute of news from France, and still entirely ignorant whether or no any endeavour was being made to relieve them. Of their further doings during the three months that ended on March 1, 1811, we shall tell elsewhere. Suffice it to say that, despite many dangers and risks, Wellington’s scheme of starvation was played out to the end, and achieved complete success. Of the privation and losses that the French suffered, and the atrocities that they committed, of the difficulties of the British Commander-in-Chief—with an obstinate enemy still in front of him, a factious Regency and a half-starved population behind him in Lisbon, and a disquieting prospect that Soult might take a hand in the game—the fourth volume of this work will give full details.
SECTION XXII  END OF THE YEAR 1810 CHAPTER I
OPERATIONS IN THE NORTH AND EAST OF SPAIN (JULY-DECEMBER 1810)

While tracing the all-important Campaign of Portugal, down to the deadlock in front of Santarem, which began about the 20th of November, 1810, and was to endure till the 1st of March in the succeeding year, we have been obliged to leave untouched events, civil and military, in many other parts of the Peninsula during the autumn. Only the Andalusian campaigns have been carried down to November: in Northern Spain we have traced the course of affairs no further than September[574]: in Eastern Spain no further than August[575]. Moreover, little has been said of the general effect on the French occupation caused by the division of supreme authority which Napoleon sanctioned in the spring[576], or of the importance of the long-deferred meeting of the Spanish Cortes, which assembled at Cadiz in the autumn. With these points we must deal before proceeding to narrate the campaigns of 1811.

The survey of the military operations, none of which were particularly important, must precede the summary of the political situation, with regard to King Joseph on the one side and the Cortes on the other. For the acts of the King and the Cortes had an influence extending far beyond the months in which they began, and were, indeed, main factors in the Peninsular struggle for years to come. But the doings of the armies in Galicia and Asturias on the one flank, in Catalonia and Valencia on the other, can easily be dismissed in a few pages: they were but preliminaries to the greater operations in the spring of 1811.

We may first turn to the north-west. When Masséna[p. 483] plunged into Portugal in September 1810, and was lost to the sight of his colleagues and subordinates for nearly three months, the situation left behind him was as follows:—Leon and Old Castile, as far as the Galician foot-hills and the Cantabrian sierras, were held down by Serras and Kellermann with some 12,000 men—a force none too great for the task that lay before them. The latter general had charge of the provinces of Valladolid, Toro, and Palencia, as one of the ‘military governors’ recently appointed by the Emperor. He gave himself absurd airs of independent authority, and took little more heed of the orders of Masséna than of those of King Joseph, for whom he showed a supreme contempt. General Serras’s troops were more definitely part of the Army of Portugal. They were in charge of the provinces of Zamora, Leon, and Salamanca, thus covering Kellermann’s government on the outer flank, and taking care of the borders both of Galicia on the Spanish and of Tras-os-Montes on the Portuguese side. To cover this long front Serras had only eleven battalions[577], and two provisional regiments of dragoons—some 9,000 men. Out of this force he had to find garrisons for Astorga, Leon, Benavente, Zamora, and several smaller places. Kellermann, who was intended to serve as a reserve for Serras, as well as to guard the central dép?ts at Valladolid, had only two regiments of dragoons (part of his original division) and three infantry battalions, making 3,000 men in all[578]. Both of them were directed to keep in close touch with Bonnet, who, at the head of his old troops, the four regiments which never came south of the Cantabrian hills till the Salamanca campaign[579], kept a precarious hold on Central and Eastern Asturias with 9,000 men.

There were also present in the circumscription of Serras’s and Kellermann’s command the garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo (two battalions) and Gardanne’s five squadrons of dragoons, which[p. 484] Masséna had left behind, in the vain hope that they would keep the line clear between Almeida and Salamanca. This force added 2,500 men to the total of the French troops in Leon.

If the French were left rather weak in this direction, the same was not the case in the region further east. From Burgos to the Bidassoa the country-side was full of troops in the latter half of September, when the Army of Portugal had gone westward. In the Government of Burgos were the two infantry divisions of the Young Guard, under Roguet and Dumoustier, with their two cavalry regiments, making 11,464 sabres and bayonets. Navarre was occupied by 8,733 men, Biscay by 8,085. The little province of Santander was held by three provisional battalions 3,500 strong. But this permanent garrison, making over 31,000 men, was at the moment supplemented by Drouet’s 9th Corps, for whose arrival at the front Masséna had waited so long and so vainly. On September 15 its commander, its head quarters, and Claparéde’s division, were at Vittoria: Couroux’s division and the cavalry brigade of Fournier were echelloned between Vittoria and Bayonne. The whole corps mustered over 18,000 sabres and bayonets. Fifty thousand men, therefore, adding the permanent garrisons to the advancing corps of Drouet, were between Burgos and Bayonne, and there were yet a few more troops to come forward from the interior of France, for Caffarelli was bringing up another division, which had the official title of the ‘Division of Reserve of the Army of Spain,’ and consisted of four provisional regiments of infantry and two cavalry regiments, with a strength of 8,000 men[580]. It was ordered to be at Bayonne by October 20, and formed the nucleus of the force which in the next year was styled the ‘Army of the North’.

Without counting this last unit, which was only in process of formation in September, Napoleon had between the Galician frontier and Bayonne no less than 72,000 men[581]. What had[p. 485] his enemies to oppose to this formidable host, whose strength was considerably greater than that of the force with which Masséna invaded Portugal? Of regularly organized troops the number of Spaniards and Portuguese opposed to them was absolutely insignificant. Silveira in the Tras-os-Montes had six regiments of militia and one of the line—this last being the 24th, the absconding garrison of Almeida. The whole made under 7,000 men, including an incomplete cavalry regiment. Mahy in Galicia had recruited up the depleted divisions which La Romana had left with him in the spring to a strength of 12,000 men, mostly raw and untrustworthy; for the best regiments had been destroyed at the siege of Astorga. The remains of the army of Asturias, which had suffered so many defeats at the hands of Bonnet during the spring and summer, consisted of about 6,000 men, of whom half, under Barcena and Losada, were holding the western end of the province, behind the Navia river, with head quarters at Castropol, while the rest lurked in the higher valleys of the Cantabrian Sierra, rendering Bonnet’s communication with Serras in Leon insecure, and sometimes descending to the coast, to make a sudden attack on one of the small garrisons which linked the French garrison in Oviedo with that at Santander. Of these roving bands the chief leader was the adventurous Porlier, the Marquesito[582], as the Asturians called him, who won a well-deserved reputation for his perseverance and never-failing courage. The 25,000 men of Silveira, Mahy, and the Asturian army were the only regular troops opposed to the 75,000 French in Northern Spain. How came it, then, that the enemy was held in check, and never succeeded in pushing on to the support of Masséna any force save the two divisions of Drouet? The answer is simple: the French garrisons were fixed down to their positions partly because of Napoleon’s entire lack of naval power, partly because of the unceasing activity of the guerrilleros, who were far more busy in 1810 than at any preceding time. As to the first-named cause, it may be said that the 20,000 French in Asturias, Santander, and Biscay were paralysed by the existence of a small Anglo-Spanish squadron based on Corunna and Ferrol. As long as this existed, every small port along the whole[p. 486] northern coast of Spain had to be garrisoned, under penalty of a possible descent from the sea, which might cut the road from Oviedo to San Sebastian at any one of a hundred points, and provide arms and stores for the guerrilla bands of the mountains. Many such expeditions were carried out with more or less success in 1810. The first and most prosperous of them took place in July, when Porlier, putting his free corps of some 1,000 men on transports, and convoyed by the British commodore Mends, with a couple of frigates, came ashore near the important harbour of Santona, drove out the small garrison, and then coasted along in the direction of Biscay, destroying shore-batteries and capturing as many as 200 men at one point and another. Of the peasantry of the coast, some enlisted in Porlier’s band, others took to the hills on their own account, when they had been furnished with muskets from the ships. The Marquesito repeated his raid in August, but this time stopped on shore, and put himself at the head of the local insurgents, who made so strong a head in the country about Potes and the upper Pisuerga, that Serras marched against him with almost the whole of his division[583], and spent September in hunting him along the sides of the sierras. But though aided by troops lent by Bonnet, and by detachments from Burgos, the French general could never catch the adroit partisan, who, when too hard pressed, returned to the central mountains of the Asturias.

Pleased with the exploits of Porlier, the Cadiz Regency resolved to keep up the game, and sent up to Corunna Colonel Renovales, the officer who had for so long made head against Suchet in the mountains of Aragon[584]. He was authorized to requisition a brigade from Mahy’s army, and the more seaworthy ships from the arsenal of Ferrol. Applications for naval assistance had also been made to the British Admiralty, and Sir Home Popham came, with four frigates and a battalion of marines, to assist in a systematic raid along the coasts of Asturias and Biscay. The joint expedition started from Corunna on October 14, with a landing force of 1,200 Spanish and 800 British bayonets on board. On the 16th it drew in to[p. 487] land near the important harbour of Gijon, where Bonnet kept a force of 700 men, who depended for their succour on the main body of his division at Oviedo. But the French general chanced to be hunting Porlier further to the east, and had left the Asturian capital almost ungarrisoned. Hence, when Porlier unexpectedly appeared before Gijon on the inland side, having eluded his pursuer, and the ships threw the landing force ashore, the French battalion had to fly. Several ships, both privateers and merchantmen, with a considerable amount of military stores, fell into the hands of Porlier and Renovales. This exploit drew down on them the whole French force in the Asturias, for Bonnet concentrated every man and musket on Gijon. But the Anglo-Spanish squadron, having thus drawn him westward, sailed in the opposite direction, and, after threatening Santona, was about to touch at Vivero, when it was scattered by a hurricane from the Bay of Biscay. A Spanish frigate and brig, an English brig, and several gunboats and transports were dashed on the rocky coast, and lost with all hands. This disaster, which cost 800 lives, compelled Renovales to return to Corunna (November 2). But the raid had not been useless; it had compelled Bonnet to evacuate many posts, distracted the garrisons of Santander and Biscay, and even induced Caffarelli to march down to the coast with his newly-arrived division, the ‘Reserve of the Army of Spain.’ Serras, too, had drawn up the greater part of his scattered division to the north-west, thus leaving the borders of Galicia and the Tras-os-Montes hardly watched. This enabled Mahy to send down troops into the plain of Leon, and to establish something like a blockade around Astorga. But all the operations of the Captain-General of Galicia were feeble and tentative. He passed among his countrymen as an easy-going man, destitute of energy or initiative[585]. Silveira, in the Tras-os-Montes, a more active but a more dangerous man to entrust with troops, took advantage of Serras’s absence to cross the Douro, invest Almeida, and cut the communication between that place and Ciudad Rodrigo[586].

Such was the effect of the sea-power, even when it was used sparingly and by unskilful hands. The raids along the northern[p. 488] coast had kept Bonnet and the troops in Santander and Biscay fully employed; they had distracted Serras, Caffarelli, and even the garrisons of the province of Burgos. They had saved Mahy and Silveira from attack, and had lighted up a blaze of insurrection in the western hills of Cantabria which, thanks to the energy of Porlier and his colleague Louga, was never extinguished.

Meanwhile the mass of French troops between Burgos and Pampeluna—the 9th Corps, the Young Guard Divisions, and the garrison in Navarre—had been ‘contained’ by an enemy of a different sort. Here the influence of the British naval supremacy was little felt: it was due to the energy of Spaniards alone that the 38,000 men under Drouet, Roguet and Dumoustier, and Reille were prevented during the months of September, October, and November from doing anything to help Masséna. Old Castile, Navarre, and the lands of the Upper Ebro, were kept in a constant turmoil by a score of guerrillero chiefs, of whom the elder Mina was the leading figure. We have already had occasion to speak of the exploits of his relative, ‘the Student’ as he was called, to distinguish him from his uncle, and have noted his final capture by Suchet[587]. Francisco Espoz y Mina had rallied the relics of his nephew’s band, and began his long career of raids and counter-marches in April 1810. His central place of refuge was the rough country on the borders of Navarre and Aragon, where he kept his main dép?t at the head of the valley of Roncal; but he often ranged as far afield as Biscay and the provinces of Soria and Burgos. Almost from his first appearance he obtained a mastery over the other chiefs who operated on both sides of the Upper Ebro, having won his place by the summary process of seizing and shooting one Echeverria, ‘who,’ as he writes, ‘was the terror of the villages of Navarre, which he oppressed and plundered in a thousand ways, till they complained to me concerning him. I arrested him at Estella on June 13, 1810, caused him to be shot with three of his principal accomplices, and incorporated his band (600 foot and 200 horse) with my own men[588].’ Mina was the special enemy of Reille,[p. 489] then commanding in Navarre, but he also attracted the attention of Drouet, one of whose divisions was entirely absorbed in hunting him during the autumn of 1810. This was the main cause of the non-appearance of the 9th Corps at Rodrigo and Salamanca, when Masséna was so anxiously awaiting its arrival. Mina’s lot during this period was no enviable one: he was beset on all sides by flying columns, and was often forced to bid his band disperse and lurk in small parties in the mountains, till the enemy should have passed on. Sometimes he was lurking, with seven companions only, in a cave or a gorge: at another he would be found with 3,000 men, attacking large convoys, or even surprising one of the blockhouses with which the French tried to cover his whole sphere of activity. The Regency, admiring his perseverance, gave him, in September, the title of ‘Colonel and Commandant-General of all the Guerrilleros of Navarre.’ He asserts with pride, in his memoir, that he was at one and the same time being hunted by Dorsenne, commanding at Burgos, Reille from Navarre, Caffarelli and his ‘division of Reserve of the Army of Spain,’ by D’Agoult, Governor of Pampeluna, Roguet, commanding the Young Guard, and Paris, one of Suchet’s brigadiers from the Army of Aragon. Yet none of the six generals, though they had 18,000 men marching through his special district, succeeded in catching him, or destroying any appreciable fraction of his band.

There is no exaggeration in this; his services were invaluable during the campaign of Portugal, since he was wearing out a French force of five times his own strength in fruitless marches, under winter rains, and over roads that had become all but impassable. The archives of the French War Office show lists of officers by the dozen killed or wounded ‘dans une reconnaissance en Navarre,’ or ‘dans une rencontre avec les bandes de Mina,’ or ‘en combat près de Pampelune,’ during the later months of 1810. Wellington owed him no small gratitude, and expressed it to him in 1813, when he entrusted him with much responsible work during the Campaign of the Pyrenees. The suffering inflicted on the provinces of the Upper Ebro by Mina’s activity was of course terrible: the French destroyed every village that sheltered him or furnished him with recruits, and were wont to shoot every prisoner from his band that they[p. 490] caught, till he began to retaliate by corresponding or greater numbers of executions from the considerable number of prisoners in his hands. In 1811 this barbarous system was in full swing on both sides, but it was put to an end by mutual agreement in 1812. In addition to the woes that Navarre and its neighbours suffered under the French martial law, and by the monstrous requisitions imposed upon them to feed the mass of troops forming the flying columns, they had also to maintain the patriotic bands. Mina declares that he always took rations for his men, but avoided levying money contributions on the peasantry, depending on his booty, the rents of national and ecclesiastical property, on which he laid hands, on fines inflicted on ‘bad Spaniards,’ i. e. those who had done anything to help his pursuers, and on ‘the custom-houses which I established upon the very frontier of France; for I laid under contribution even the French custom-house at Irun, on the Bidassoa, which engaged to deliver, and actually paid to my delegates, 100 gold ounces (about ￡320) per month.’ By this strange secret agreement private goods passing Irun and the other frontier posts were guaranteed against capture in the district which Mina’s bands infested[589].

Eastward of Mina’s sphere of activity the guerrilleros were more numerous but less powerful. Among the chief of them was Julian Sanchez, who, with a mounted band of 300 to 500 lancers—infantry would have been easily caught in the plain of Leon—busied himself in cutting the communication between Salamanca, Ciudad Rodrigo, Zamora, and Valladolid, and was Kellermann’s chief tormentor. He was in regular communication with Wellington, and sent him many captured dispatches and useful pieces of information. In Old Castile the priest Geronimo Merino, generally known as ‘El Cura,’ was the most famous and most active among many leaders. It was his band, aided by that of Tapia, also a cleric, which on July 10, 1810, fought a most daring and desperate action at Almazan, near Soria, with two French battalions of marines, who were marching, the one to join Masséna the other to join Soult. It cost the enemy no less than 13 officers hors de combat, as the Paris[p. 491] archives show[590], and over 200 men, though the guerrilleros were finally beaten off. In October he surprised and captured an enormous convoy of corn and munitions of war, whose loss put the French garrison of Burgos in considerable straits for some weeks. He waged with Dorsenne the same horrible contest of retaliation in the shooting of prisoners which Mina was at the same time carrying on with the generals in Navarre. There were many other bands in Old Castile, those of Abril, Tenderin, Saornil, Principe, and others, of whom some are accused by their own colleagues of being more harmful to the country-side than to the French, from their reckless and miscellaneous plundering, and their refusal to combine for any systematic action[591]. Yet even the worst of them contributed to distract the activity of the French garrisons, and to retard the communication of dispatches and the march of isolated detachments. Under the easy excuse that it was dangerous to move any small body of men along the high-roads, the French commanders of every small town or blockhouse detained for weeks, and even months, drafts on their way to the south or the west, with the result that the number of recruits received at Madrid, Seville, or Salamanca never bore any proper proportion to the total that had crossed the Bidassoa.

Northward from Old Castile, on the skirts of the mountains of Santander and Biscay, the dominating personality among the guerrilleros was Louga, who afterwards rose to some distinction as a commander of regular troops. His special task was the cutting of the communications between Burgos and Bilbao, and Bilbao and Santander; but he often co-operated with Porlier, when that restless partisan made one of his descents from the Asturian mountains, either on to the coast region or on the southern skirts of the Cantabrian sierras.

On the whole, there were probably never more than 20,000 guerrilleros in arms at once, in the whole region between the Sierra de Guadarrama and the shore of the Bay of Biscay. They never succeeded in beating any French force more than two or[p. 492] three battalions strong, and were being continually hunted from corner to corner. Yet, despite their weakness in the open field, their intestine quarrels, their frequent oppression of the country-side, and their ferocity, they rendered good service to Spain, and incidentally to Great Britain and to all Europe, by pinning down to the soil twice their own numbers of good French troops. Any one who has read the dispatches of the commandants of Napoleon’s ‘military governments,’ or the diaries of the officers who served in Reille’s or Dorsenne’s or Caffarelli’s flying columns, will recognize a remarkable likeness between the situation of affairs in Northern Spain during 1810 and 1811 and that in South Africa during 1900 and 1901. Lightly moving guerrilla bands, unhampered by a base to defend or a train to weigh them down, and well served as to intelligence by the residents of the country-side, can paralyse the action of an infinitely larger number of regular troops.

In the north-east of Spain, where the French were engaged not with mere scattered bands of guerrilleros, but with two regular armies, O’Donnell’s Catalans and Caro’s Valencians, the fortune of war took no decisive turn during the autumn of 1810, though one dreadful blow to the Spanish cause—the loss of Tortosa—was to fall in the winter which followed.

We left Suchet in August 1810, established in his newly-conquered positions at Lerida and Mequinenza, master of all the plain-land of Aragon, as well as of a strip of Western Catalonia, and only waiting for the co-operation of Macdonald and the 7th Corps to recommence his operations[592]. That co-operation, however, was long denied him. The Emperor’s last general orders, which had reached Suchet in June, briefly prescribed to him that the conquest of the city and kingdom of Valencia was his final object, but that he must first break the Spanish line by capturing Tortosa, the great fortress of the Lower Ebro, and Tarragona, the main stronghold of Southern Catalonia[593]. For both these latter operations he was to count on the aid of Macdonald and the Army of Catalonia[594]. Relying on this support, Suchet, after less than a month had elapsed since the capture of Mequinenza, had pushed his advanced guard down the Ebro,[p. 493] till it was at the very gates of Tortosa. One detachment even passed the town, and seized the ferry of Amposta, the only passage of the Ebro near its mouth, actually cutting the great road from Tarragona to Valencia, and only leaving the bridge of Tortosa itself open, for the linking of the operations of Caro and O’Donnell. Meanwhile Suchet was preparing his siege-train at Mequinenza, and waiting for a rise in the Ebro, which would commence to become navigable with the arrival of the autumn rains, in order to ship his guns down-stream to their destined goal. He was at the same time making the land route to Tortosa passable, by repairing the old military road from Caspe to Mora and Tivisa, which had been constructed during the wars of the Spanish Succession, but had long ago fallen into ruin.

Suchet was quite aware that by thrusting a comparatively small force—he had only brought up 12,000 men—into the near neighbourhood of Tortosa, he was risking the danger of being attacked at once by the Army of Valencia from the south and O’Donnell’s Catalans from the north. But he trusted that Macdonald and the 7th Corps would keep the latter—the more formidable enemy—employed, while he had a well-founded contempt for the generalship of Caro, who had always proved himself the most incompetent and timid of commanders. But Macdonald arrived late, having been forced to spend the whole summer, as has been already related[595], in his triple revictualling of Barcelona, and meanwhile the Valencian army came to the front. Its leading division, under Bassecourt, threatened Morella, on Suchet’s flank, early in August, hoping to draw him away to defend this outpost. But a single brigade under Montmarie sufficed to turn back the Valencian detachment, and Suchet kept his positions. O’Donnell meanwhile, vainly hoping for solid help from Caro, had joined the division of his army which was kept at Falcet[596], and after threatening Suchet’s head quarters at Mora on July 30, so as to distract his attention, suddenly turned aside and entered Tortosa with 2,500 men. Calling out all the troops available for a sortie, he issued from the town on August 3, and beat up the outposts of the division under Laval, which was in observation before his gates. But though the Catalans fought fiercely, and drove in the first[p. 494] French line, they were not strong enough to push the enemy away from Tortosa. O’Donnell should have brought a heavier force if he intended to accomplish his end. Shortly after he returned to Tarragona, whither he was called by the movements of Macdonald.

Some days later than he had covenanted, Caro came up to Vinaros, on the coast-road from Valencia, and to San Mateo on the parallel inland road, with his whole army, including the force which Bassecourt had been commanding. It consisted of no more than 10,000 ill-organized troops of the Line, who had been joined by nearly as many unregimented peasants in loose guerrilla bands. The whole mass was far from being formidable, as Suchet knew. Wherefore the French general, cutting down to the smallest possible figure the containing troops left before Tortosa, and at his head quarters at Mora, marched with eleven battalions and a cavalry regiment—only 6,000 men in all—to meet the Valencians. He drove their advanced cavalry from Vinaros, and advanced against their positions at Calig and Cervera del Maestre. Caro at once ordered a precipitate retreat, and did not stop till he had placed thirty miles between himself and the enemy. His obvious terror and dismay at the approach of the French roused such anger that he was summoned to give up the command by his own officers, and obeyed without hesitation[597]. He fled by sea to Majorca, knowing, it is said, that he would have been torn to pieces if he had shown his face before the populace at Valencia, over which he had exercised a sort of dictatorship for more than a year. Suchet, unable to catch such an evasive enemy, and regarding the routed army as a negligible quantity, returned to Mora, where he received the news that the long-expected Macdonald was at last about to appear (August 20).

The Duke of Tarentum had thrown the third and last of his great convoys into Barcelona on the 18th of August, having brought with him as its escort the French division of his army, which was now commanded by Frère[598], and the Italian divisions[p. 495] of Severoli and Pignatelli. He had left behind him General Baraguay d’Hilliers, in the position which Reille had been wont to hold, as the defender of the Ampurdam and Northern Catalonia as far as Hostalrich. Eighteen thousand men were told off for this task, including all the German brigades; but after garrisoning Gerona, Rosas, Figueras, and Hostalrich, d’Hilliers had no great field-force left, and found full employment in warding off the raids of Manso, Rovira, and the other miquelete leaders upon the communication between Gerona and Perpignan. Nearly 10,000 men had also been left in Barcelona, including many sick, and the three divisions with which Macdonald marched to join Suchet did not exceed 16,000 sabres and bayonets, though the whole force of the 7th Corps was reckoned at over 50,000 men.

On August 13 Macdonald forced the Pass of Ordal, after some skirmishing with the somatenes, and entered the plain of Tarragona. It was the news of his approach to the Catalan capital which brought O’Donnell back in haste from Tortosa. He concentrated the greater part of his troops, on the hypothesis that the 7th Corps might be intending to lay siege to the place. He brought down Campoverde’s division from the north to join those of Ibarrola, Sarsfield, and the Baron de Eroles, which were already on the spot. It soon became known, however, to the Spaniards that Macdonald could not be bent on siege operations, for he was bringing with him neither the heavy artillery nor the enormous train of provisions that would be required in such a case. He marched past Reus and Valls to Momblanch, skirmishing all the way with O’Donnell’s detachments, and thence to Lerida, which he reached on August 29. There he found Suchet awaiting him for a conference. The orders from Paris, on which both were acting, seemed to prescribe that Tortosa and Tarragona should both be attacked[599]. But the General and the Marshal agreed that their joint strength was not more than enough for one siege at a time. They agreed that the 3rd Corps should undertake the leaguer of Tortosa, and ‘the containing’ of the Valencian army, while the 7th should cover these operations by keeping O’Donnell and[p. 496] the Catalans fully employed. Suchet therefore drew his detachments southward from Lerida and the plains of the Segre, handing over all that tract to Macdonald. From this fertile region alone could the Marshal have fed his corps, Central Catalonia being barren, and so overrun by O’Donnell’s detachments that it was impossible to forage freely within its bounds. Suchet undertook to provide for his own corps during the siege of Tortosa by bringing up stores from Saragossa and the valley of the Ebro, via Mequinenza. Macdonald lent him, meanwhile, the weakest of his three divisions, 2,500 Neapolitans under Pignatelli, who were to escort the siege-train for Tortosa along the Ebro, when the autumn rains made the river navigable from Mequinenza to the sea.
Coins current in 1808-14

Enlarge  COINS CURRENT IN SPAIN AND PORTUGAL IN 1808-14

While Suchet was moving southward and making ready for the siege, the Duke of Tarentum established himself with head quarters at Cervera on the Barcelona-Lerida road, and brigades at Lerida, Agramunt, and Tarrega, all in the plain; he was ready to fall upon O’Donnell’s flank if the Catalans should make any attempt to succour Tortosa, by marching from Tarragona along the roads parallel to the sea coast. Meanwhile he had completely lost touch both with the garrison of Barcelona and with Baraguay d’Hilliers in the Ampurdam. This was the regular state of things during the Catalan war; for if the French left detachments to guard a line of communication, they were invariably cut off by the enemy; while, if they did not, the roads were blocked and no information came through. So vigorous were the somatenes at this moment, that small parties moving from Tarrega to Cervera,—places only twelve miles apart, and in the middle of the cantonments of the 7th Corps,—were not unfrequently waylaid and destroyed. Macdonald, despite his well-known humanity, was forced to burn villages, and shoot road-side assassins caught red-handed. He lay in the position which he had taken up on September 4-6 for the greater part of that month and the succeeding October, concentrating at intervals a part of his forces for an expedition into the hills, when the Catalans pressed him too closely. At the commencement of his sojourn in the plains, he sent Severoli with an Italian brigade to collect provisions in the valley of the Noguera Palleresa. This raid led to dreadful[p. 497] ravaging of the country-side, but Severoli returned with no spoil and many wounded. He had pushed his advance as far as Talarn, skirmishing the whole way, and driving the somatenes before him, but could accomplish nothing save the burning of poor villages evacuated by their inhabitants. A week later other expeditions scoured the mountain sides eastward, with little more success[600].

Meanwhile, though Macdonald imagined that he was not only protecting Suchet’s northern flank, but also attracting the attention of O’Donnell to himself, the enterprising Spanish general had contrived an unwelcome surprise for him. He knew that he was not strong enough to fight the 7th Corps in the open field, nor even to face Suchet by making another attempt to relieve Tortosa—which place, for the moment, was in no immediate danger. He therefore resolved to draw Macdonald from his present position, by a blow at the corner of Catalonia where the French were weakest.

The Marshal considered that Baraguay d’Hilliers was perfectly safe in the northern region which he garrisoned, since no regular Spanish force was now in arms in that direction. O’Donnell resolved to undeceive him. Leaving the two divisions of Obispo and Eroles to block the road from Macdonald’s post at Cervera to Barcelona, with orders to retire into Tarragona if hard pressed, he ordered a third division, that of Campoverde, to prepare for a forced march to the north. At the same time a force, consisting of the British frigate Cambrian and the Spanish frigate Diana, convoying a few transports with 500 men on board for disembarkation, sailed from Tarragona, for a destination which was kept secret to the last moment. The troops were under Doyle, the British commissioner in Catalonia; Captain Fane of the Cambrian was senior naval officer.

O’Donnell’s march was perilous: he had to pass close to the front of the garrisons of Barcelona, Hostalrich, and Gerona, through a most difficult and mountainous country, without giving any signs of his presence; for, if his movement were discovered, Baraguay d’Hilliers might concentrate his scattered brigades, and crush him by force of numbers. The march, how[p. 498]ever, was carried out with complete success, and on September 13 O’Donnell lay with 6,000 infantry and 400 horse at Vidreras, south of Gerona, while the naval force was hovering off Palamos, the nearest point on the coast. The rough region between Gerona and the sea was at this moment occupied by half Rouyer’s division of troops of the Confederation of the Rhine, under Schwartz—the ever-unlucky general whose name was connected with the disasters of Bruch[601] and Manresa[602]. He had with him four weak battalions of the 5th (Anhalt-Lippe) and 6th (Schwartzburg-Waldeck-Reuss) regiments, and a squadron of cuirassiers: a force which, owing to the sickliness of the autumn season, did not amount to much more than 1,500 men in all. But he was so close to Gerona[603], where lay Rouyer’s other two regiments, and some French troops, that he was not considered in any danger by his superiors. Schwartz’s main duty was to prevent any communication between the somatenes of the inland and the cruisers which were always passing up and down the coast. Provoked by a recent raid at Bagur, on September 10, where an English landing-party had stormed one of his coast batteries, and captured the garrison of 50 men, Schwartz had just strengthened all his posts along the shore. He had only 700 men at his head quarters at La Bispal; the rest were dispersed between Bagur, San Feliu, Palamos, and the connecting post at Calonje. On the morning of the fourteenth he was stricken with horror when his outposts informed him that they had been driven in by Spanish infantry and cavalry in overwhelming force. He sent orders, too late, for his troops on the coast to concentrate, and prepared to fall back on Gerona with his whole force. But his messenger had hardly gone when he was attacked by O’Donnell, who drove him into the indefensible castle of La Bispal, which was commanded by a neighbouring hill and the church tower of the village. After losing some men shot down from these points of vantage, Schwartz surrendered at nightfall, when the Spaniards were preparing to storm his refuge. His defence cannot have been very desperate, as he had lost only one officer and four men killed, and three officers and sixteen men wounded.[p. 499] But this was only part of the disaster which befell the German brigade that day: by a careful timing of the attacks Doyle and Fane stormed Palamos with the landing-force at the same moment that La Bispal was being attacked, while Colonel Fleires, with a detachment of O’Donnell’s land troops, surprised San Feliu, and Colonel Aldea with another cut off the companies at Calonje. In all the Spaniards captured on that day one general, two colonels, fifty-six officers, and 1,183 rank and file, with seventeen guns. Schwartz’s brigade was absolutely destroyed; only a few stragglers reached Gerona, from which no help had been sent, because O’Donnell had turned loose all the somatenes of the region to demonstrate against the place[604].

Without waiting for Rouyer and Baraguay d’Hilliers to assemble their forces, O’Donnell departed from the scene of his exploits without delay. He himself, having received a severe wound in the foot, embarked with the prisoners on board Fane’s ships and returned to Tarragona. Campoverde, with the land-force, retired hastily past Gerona to the mountains of the north, retook Puycerda, beat up the outposts of the French garrison of Montlouis on the frontier of Cerdagne, and raised some contributions on the other side of the Pyrenees. From thence he descended the Segre, and established himself at Cardona and Calaf, facing Macdonald’s northern flank.

So thoroughly had the main body of the 7th Corps lost touch with the troops left behind at Gerona and in the Ampurdam, that the news of the disaster of La Bispal only reached Macdonald, via France and Saragossa, more than a fortnight after it had happened. It alarmed him for the safety of the north, but did not suffice to draw him away from Suchet, as O’Donnell had hoped. The news that the Spanish raiding division had disappeared from the neighbourhood of Gerona encouraged him to remain in his present position, which alone made the siege of Tortosa possible. Presently he was informed that a considerable force had appeared in his own sphere of operations—this being the same division of Campoverde which had done all the mischief in the north. He therefore marched[p. 500] on October 18, with two French and two Italian brigades, to attack this new enemy. On the next day he occupied Solsona, where the Junta of Upper Catalonia had hitherto been sitting. The place was found deserted by its inhabitants, and was plundered; its great cathedral was burnt—either by accident or design. On the twenty-first, however, when the Marshal came in front of Cardona, he found the town, the inaccessible castle above it, and the neighbouring heights, manned by Campoverde’s division, strengthened by several thousand somatenes of the district. The Italian general Eugenio marched straight at the position, with Salme’s French brigade in support, despising his enemy, and not waiting for the Commander-in-Chief and the reserves. He met with a sharp repulse, for the Spaniards charged his columns just as they drew near the crest, and hurled them down with loss. Macdonald refused to throw in all his troops, and contented himself with bringing off the routed brigade. He then returned to Solsona and Cervera, much harassed in his retreat by the somatenes. It is curious that he did not press the combat further, as he had a large superiority of numbers over the Catalan division, and had not lost much more than 100 men in the first clash[605]. But the position was formidable, and the Marshal more than once in this campaign showed himself averse to taking risks. Perhaps, also, he may have already made up his mind to return to the east and abandon Suchet, since it was at about this time that more disquieting information from Baraguay d’Hilliers reached him by way of France.

This new budget of troubles contained two main items. The first was that the August supplies thrown into Barcelona were nearly exhausted, and that the town urgently required revictualling. The second was that it was impossible to send on the necessary convoys, because of the extreme activity of the somatenes, and the inadequate number of troops left in Northern Catalonia. One considerable train of waggons had been captured and destroyed near La Junquera, on the very frontier of France, by the Baron de Eroles, who had now taken up the[p. 501] command of the northern insurgents. Another was standing fast at Gerona for want of sufficient escort, a third had been collected at Perpignan, but dared not start. So pressing was the need for the relief of Barcelona, that Macdonald made up his mind that he must break up from his present cantonments—even at the risk of making the siege of Tortosa impossible—and transfer himself to the north-east.

Accordingly, on November 4, he commenced a toilsome march by way of Calaf, Manresa, and Hostalrich to Gerona, where he arrived in safety on the 10th. Campoverde followed him, for some way, by parallel paths along the mountains, but never dared to strike, the strength of the 7th Corps when it marched in a mass being too great for him. It is probable that the Marshal would have had more trouble if O’Donnell had been in the field, but that enterprising general was not yet healed of the wound which he had received at La Bispal. It had gangrened, and he had been sent to Majorca by his physicians, who declared that a complete cessation from military work was the only chance of saving his life. The interim command was turned over in November to the senior Lieutenant-General in Catalonia, Miguel Iranzo, a very poor substitute for the hard-fighting Spanish-Irish general.

Macdonald, having joined Baraguay d’Hilliers, had now an imposing mass of troops under his hand. Moreover, he got back the services of his old divisional generals Souham and Pino, who arrived from sick leave, and took over charge of the divisions lately in the charge of Frère and Severoli. A great draft from France and Italy had rejoined in their company. The Marshal was therefore able to collect the fractions of the great convoy destined for Barcelona, and to conduct it to that city after a slow and cautious march on November 25. He then changed the battalions in the garrison of Barcelona, where he left both Pino and Souham, sent back to the Ampurdam the troops he had borrowed from Baraguay d’Hilliers, as escort for the returning convoy, and marched for the second time to join Suchet; moving by way of Momblanch, he got once more into touch with the Army of Aragon at Falcet, near Mora, on December 12.

Thus the campaign came back, at mid-winter, to the same[p. 502] aspect that it had shown in the first days of September. It has been the wont of military critics to throw the blame for the lost three months on Macdonald[606]. But this seems unfair: it is true that he was absent from the post which he had promised to hold, for the protection of Suchet’s rear, from November 4 to December 13. But why had so little been done to forward the siege of Tortosa during the time from September 4 to November 4—two whole months—while the Marshal was in the covenanted position, and actually carrying out his promise to contain the Catalans, and leave Suchet’s hands free for the actual prosecution of the projected siege? The commander of the Army of Aragon had been given two of the best campaigning months of the year—September and October—and had no enemy about him save the ever-unlucky Valencian army, the local somatenes of the Lower Ebro, and the scattered bands of Villacampa in the hills of Upper Aragon. It was only sixty miles from his base at Mequinenza, where his siege-train had been collected months before, to the walls of Tortosa, and he had brought up his field army before that place as early as August. No doubt the country between Mequinenza and Tortosa is rough, and its roads execrable, while water-transport along the Ebro was rendered more difficult than usual by a rather dry autumn, which kept the river low. But twenty-six heavy siege-guns were got down to Xerta, only ten miles from Tortosa, as early as September 5, during a lucky flood, while a considerable number more were pushed to the front during the same month, by the land route, formed by Suchet’s new military road from Caspe to Mora. It seems, therefore, that Suchet’s inactivity in September and October can be explained neither by laying blame on Macdonald, nor by exaggerating the difficulties of transport. If, as he wrote himself, ‘Notre corps d’armée se trouvait encha?né sur le bas Ebre, sans pouvoir agir, et son chef n’avait d’espoir que dans une crue d’eau et dans le secours des circonstances[607],’ he was himself responsible for his failure, either from over-caution or because he had undertaken a task beyond his means. The real cause of his two months’ delay was the vigorous action of the[p. 503] enemy. There was no danger from the disorganized Valencian army, which only made a feeble attempt on November 26-27 to beat up the small force under General Musnier, which lay at Uldecona to cover the blockade of Tortosa from the south; the attack, led by Bassecourt, was driven off with ease. The real opponents of Suchet were the irregular forces of the Catalans, and the Aragonese insurgents in his rear. The former, though few in numbers, since Macdonald was attracting their main attention, attacked every convoy that tried to float down the gorge of the Ebro, and sometimes with success. On the 15th of September they captured a whole battalion of Pignatelli’s Neapolitans, which was acting as guard to some boats. On other occasions they took or destroyed smaller or greater portions of flotillas carrying guns or stores to Xerta, where the siege park was being collected. But Villacampa’s Aragonese gave even greater trouble; from his lair in the Sierra de Albaracin that enterprising partisan made countless descents upon Suchet’s rear, and so molested the garrisons of Upper Aragon, that the French general had repeatedly to send back troops from his main body to clear the roads behind him. Villacampa was beaten whenever he tried to fight large bodies, even though he was aided by a General Carbajal, whom the Regency had sent from Cadiz with money and arms, to stir up a general revolt in the Teruel-Montalban region. The Polish General Chlopiski, detached in haste from the blockade of Tortosa, broke the forces of Carbajal and Villacampa in two successive engagements at Alventosa, on the borders of Valencia (October 31), and Fuensanta, near Teruel (November 11). The insurrection died down, Villacampa retired into his mountains, and Chlopiski returned to the main army. But only a few days later Suchet had to cope with a new danger: Macdonald having taken himself off to Gerona, the Catalans were at last able to detach regular troops to reinforce the somatenes of the Lower Ebro. A brigade under General Garcia Navarro came up to Falcet, opposite Mora, and formed the nucleus of a raiding force, which beset the whole left bank of the Ebro, and made its navigation almost impossible. Suchet had to detach against it seven battalions under Abbé and Habert, who attacked Navarro’s entrenched camp at Falcet on[p. 504] November 12, and stormed it. The Spanish general, who showed distinguished personal courage, and charged valiantly at the head of his reserves, was taken prisoner with some 300 men. The somatenes fled to the hills again, and the regulars retired to Reus, near Tarragona, where they were out of Suchet’s sphere of operations. It was just after this combat that the unfortunate Army of Valencia made the useless diversion of which we have already spoken[608]. It, at least, kept Suchet busy for a few days. By the time that it was over, the greater part of the remaining siege-material was ready at Xerta, the water-carriage down the Ebro having become easy since Garcia Navarro’s defeat. When, therefore, Macdonald’s arrival at Momblanch was reported at Suchet’s head quarters, and an adequate covering-force was once more placed between him and the Catalan army in the direction of Tarragona, the actual leaguer of Tortosa could at length begin. It lasted, short though it was, till the New Year of 1811 had come, and must, therefore, be described not here but in the fourth volume of this work.

Thus six months had elapsed between the fall of Lerida and the commencement of the next stage of the French advance in Eastern Spain. If it is asked why the delay was so long, the answer is easy: it was due not, as some have maintained, to Suchet’s slowness or to Macdonald’s caution, but solely to the splendid activity displayed by Henry O’Donnell, a general often beaten but never dismayed, and to the tenacity of the Catalans, who never gave up hope, and were still to hold their own, after a hundred disasters, till the tide of success in the Peninsula at last turned back in 1812-13.
SECTION XXII: CHAPTER II
KING JOSEPH AND THE CORTES AT CADIZ: GENERAL SUMMARY

It only remains that we should deal shortly with the higher politics of Spain during the last months of 1810—the troubles of King Joseph, and the complications caused by the meeting of the Cortes at Cadiz.

Of the growing friction between the King and the commanders of the ‘military governments’ created by the Emperor in February, we have already spoken[609]. Joseph did well to be angry when his dispatches to Saragossa or Barcelona were deliberately disregarded by his brother’s special orders. But things became worse, when he was not merely ignored, but openly contemned. A few examples may suffice. In the early summer a brigade sent out by Marshal Ney raided the province of Avila, which was not included in any of the military governments, raised requisitions there, and—what was still more insulting—seized and carried off the treasure in the offices of the civil intendant-general of the province[610]. Joseph wrote to Paris that ‘the Emperor cannot be desirous that his own brother—however unworthy—should be openly humiliated and insulted; that he asked for justice, and abstained from any further comment’[611]. Napoleon replied by placing Avila in the block of provinces allotted to the Army of Portugal, and withdrew it for the time from the King’s authority. It was soon after that he created Kellermann’s new ‘military government’ of Valladolid, thus taking another region from under the direct authority of Joseph. Some months later Kellermann asserted the complete independence of his viceroyalty, by causing the[p. 506] judges of the high-court of Old Castile, which sat at Valladolid, to take a new oath of allegiance to the Emperor of the French, as if they had ceased to be subjects of the kingdom of Spain[612]. Soult, too, continued, as has been shown before, to cut off all revenues which the King might have received from Andalusia, and Joseph’s financial position became even worse than it had been in 1809[613].

The summary of his complaints, containing a declaration that he wished to surrender his crown to the Emperor, was drawn up as the autumn drew near; it deserves a record; it is absolutely reasonable, and confines itself to hard facts. ‘Since Your Majesty withdraws Andalusia from my sphere of command, and orders that the revenues of that province should be devoted exclusively to military expenses, I have no choice left but to throw up the game. In the actual state of affairs in Spain the general who commands each province is a king therein. The whole revenues of the province will never suffice to keep him; for what he calls his “absolute necessities” have never been formally stated, and as the revenues rise he augments his “necessities.” Hence it results that any province under the command of a general is useless for my budget. From Andalusia alone I hoped to get a certain surplus, after all military expenses had been paid. But its command is given over to a general who would never recognize my authority; and with the command, he gets the administrative and governmental rights. Thus I have been stripped of the only region which could have given me a sufficient maintenance. I am reduced to Madrid [i.e. New Castile], which yields 800,000 francs per mensem, while the indispensable expenses of the central government amount to 4,000,000 francs per mensem. I have around me the wrecks of what was once a great national administration, with a guard, the dép?ts and hospital of the army, a garrison, a royal household, a ministry, a council of state, and the refugees from the rebel provinces. This state of affairs could not endure for two months longer, even if my honour, and the consciousness of what is due to me, would allow me to remain[p. 507] in this humiliating position. Since the Army of Andalusia has been taken from me, what am I? The manager of the hospitals and magazines of Madrid, the head jailer of the central dép?t of prisoners!’ Joseph then states his conditions. If he is allowed (1) to have a real control over the whole army; (2) to send back to France officers, of whatever rank, notoriously guilty of maladministration; (3) to reassure his Spanish partisans as to rumours current concerning his own forced abdication and the dismemberment of the monarchy; (4) to issue what proclamations he pleases to his subjects, without being placed under a sort of censorship, he will retain his crown, and pledge himself to reduce all Spain, and ‘make the country as profitable to the interests of France as it is now detrimental.’ If not, he must consider the question of retiring across the Pyrenees and surrendering his crown[614].

Napoleon could not give any such promises, and for good reasons: he rightly distrusted his brother’s military ability, and knew that—whatever was the title given to Joseph—men like Soult or Masséna would disregard his orders. Apparently he considered that a conflict of authorities in Spain, such as had been existing for the last six months, was at least better than the concentration of power in the hands of one indifferent commander-in-chief. It is doubtful whether he did not err in his conclusion. Almost anything was better than the existing anarchy, tempered by orders, six weeks late, from Paris. But a second, and a more fatal, objection to granting Joseph’s conditions was that the ‘rumours current concerning the dismemberment of the Spanish monarchy’ were absolutely true. Napoleon was at this moment at the very height of his wild craze for adding alien and heterogeneous provinces to the French Empire, in the supposed interest of the Continental System. It was in 1810 that he declared Holland and the Valais, Hamburg and Bremen, Oldenburg and Dalmatia, integral parts of his dominions. And Northern Spain was destined to suffer the same fate. Mina and Rovira, Eroles and Manso, were to wake some morning to find themselves French subjects! On October 12 the Emperor wrote to Berthier: ‘You will inform General Caffarelli, in strict confidence, that[p. 508] my intention is that Biscay shall be united to France. He must not speak of this intention, but he must act with full knowledge of it. Make the same private communication to General Reille about Navarre[615].’ Aragon, or at least the portion of it north of the Ebro, and Catalonia were to suffer the same fate. Already justice was administered there in the name of the Emperor, not in that of the King of Spain, and a coinage was being struck at Barcelona which no longer bore the name of ‘Joseph Napoleon King of Spain and the Indies[616].’

The line of argument which Napoleon adopted with regard to this proposed annexation is very curious. His directions to his Foreign Minister, Champagny, run as follows[617]: ‘Herewith I send you back the Spanish documents with six observations, which are to serve as the base for negotiation. But it is important that you should broach the matter gently. You must first state clearly what are my opinions on the Convention of Bayonne [viz. that the Emperor regards his guarantee of the integrity of Spain as out of date and cancelled]. Then speak of Portugal[618], and next of the expense that this country [Spain] costs me. Then let the Spanish envoys have time to reflect, and only after an interval of some days tell them that I must have the left bank of the Ebro, as an indemnity for the money and all else that Spain has cost me down to this hour. I think that, as in all negotiations, we must not show ourselves too much in a hurry.’ The mention of Portugal means that the Emperor contemplated making his brother a present of the Lusitanian realm, where Spain was hated only one degree less than France, as a compensation for Catalonia and the rest. On the same morning that Mina found himself a Frenchman, all[p. 509] the Ordenan?a of the Beira hills were to discover that they were Castilians! Mad disregard of national feeling could go no further.

A letter to the French ambassador at Madrid explained at much greater length the Emperor’s reasons for breaking the oath that he had sworn to his brother at Bayonne, when he named him King of Spain. ‘When the promise was made, His Majesty had supposed that he had rallied to his cause the majority of the Spanish nation. This has proved not to be the case: the whole people took arms, the new king had to fly from Madrid, and was only restored by French bayonets. Since then he has hardly rallied a recruit to his cause; it is not the King’s own levies that have fought the rebels: it is the 400,000 French sent across the Pyrenees who have conquered every province. Therefore all these regions belong not to the King, but to the Emperor, by plain right of conquest. He intends, for this reason, to regard the Treaty of Bayonne as null; it has never been ratified by the Spanish nation. One only chance remains to the King: let him prevail upon the newly-assembled Cortes at Cadiz to acknowledge him as their sovereign, and to break with England. If that can be done, the Emperor may revert to his first intentions, and ratify the Treaty of Bayonne, except that he must insist on a “rectification of frontiers sufficient to give him certain indispensable positions”’—presumably San Sebastian, Pampeluna, Figueras, Rosas, &c.[619]

The mere first rumour of his brother’s intentions, transmitted by Almenara and the Duke of Santa-Fé, his ambassadors ordinary and extraordinary at Paris, drove Joseph to despair. ‘The Spanish nation,’ he wrote[620], ‘is more compact in its opinions, its prejudices, its national egotism, than any other people of Europe. There are no Catholics and Protestants here, no new and old Spaniards; and they will all suffer themselves to be hewn in pieces rather than allow the realm to be dismembered. What would the inhabitants of the counties round London say if they were menaced with being declared no longer English? What would Proven?als or Languedocians say if they were told[p. 510] that they were to cease to be Frenchmen? My only chance here is to be authorized to announce that the promise that Spain should not be dismembered will be kept. If that is granted, and the generals who have misbehaved are recalled to France, all may be repaired. If not, the only honourable course for me is to retire into private life, as my conscience bids me, and honour demands.’ On November 18, after having received more formal news of the Emperor’s intentions from his envoys, Joseph declared that the die was cast: he would return to his castle of Mortefontaine, or to any other provincial abode in France that he could afford to purchase, as soon as his brother’s resolve was made public.

Yet the crisis never came to a head. The annexation of the Ebro provinces was never published, though private assurances of their impending fate were laid before the Spanish ministers and the King. What caused the Emperor to hesitate, when all was prepared? The answer may be found in his dispatch to Laforest on November 7: ‘I need hardly warn you,’ he writes, ‘that these insinuations (the ultimatum to the King) are to be made only on condition that the French army has entered Lisbon, and that the English have taken to their ships.’ And again, ‘The Emperor is acting in sincerity: if in reality the capture of Lisbon, and an offer from the cabinet of Madrid, might possibly decide the rebels to treat, His Majesty might consent, &c., &c.’ It was the Lines of Torres Vedras which saved King Joseph from abdication and Spain from dismemberment. The evacuation of Portugal by Wellington was the indispensable preliminary to the carrying out of the great annexation scheme: its completion was deferred till the ominous silence of Masséna should be ended by a triumphant dispatch proclaiming the capture of Lisbon. Since that dispatch never came, Napoleon kept postponing his ultimatum. Then followed the news, delivered at Paris by Foy on November 21, showing that Masséna had been brought to a standstill. Even then the Emperor’s plan was kept back, not abandoned. It was not till the Army of Portugal had recoiled in despair and disarray to the banks of the Coa that Napoleon abandoned his cherished scheme, and consented to treat with his brother on reasonable terms. But Joseph’s visit to Paris in the spring of 1811 and[p. 511] its consequences belong to another chapter of this history. It must suffice here to point out that he spent all the winter of 1810-11 in a state of mental anguish, expecting every day to be forced to publish his abdication[621], and, meanwhile, living a life of shifts and worries—selling his last silver plate to feed his courtiers[622], and exchanging an endless correspondence of remonstrances and insinuations with Soult and the commanders of the ‘military governments’ of the North[623]. Even from the military point of view he did not consider himself safe; the Empecinado and other guerrillero chiefs carried their incursions up to the very gates of Madrid; and La Mancha, from which, by the Emperor’s orders, much cavalry had been withdrawn for the benefit of Soult[624], was frequently raided by detachments from Blake’s Army of Murcia. ‘à chaque instant du jour et de la nuit,’ wrote the unhappy sovereign, ‘je suis exposé à monter à cheval pour défendre ma vie contre les bandes exaspérées des insurgés, qui entourent Madrid: cette ville est aux avant-postes[625].’

Meanwhile, the other government which claimed to be the legal representative of Spanish nationality was even more truly ‘aux avant-postes.’ The Cortes had assembled at Cadiz, where the booming of the French cannon was perpetually heard, and where an occasional shell from Villantroys’ celebrated mortars would plump harmlessly into the sand of the Peninsula or the outskirts of the town itself. The Cortes had opened its sessions on September 24, though less than half its members had assembled. The difficulty of collecting them had been very great, since all had to arrive by sea, and many had to come from regions very remote, such as Asturias, Galicia, or Catalonia. The assembly could not be called satisfactory or repre[p. 512]sentative. The scheme drawn up for its election by the commission that had sat in the preceding winter was complicated. There was to be a deputy for every 50,000 souls throughout Spain; but the form of selection was indirect: the villages chose each one primary elector; the primary electors met at the chief town of the district to choose a second body of secondary electors; the secondary electors chose a final committee for the whole province (Junta provincial electoral) and these last, aided by the Governor, Archbishop, and Intendant of the province, nominated the deputies. But this complicated system could only work in the regions which were in the hands of the patriots. Only Valencia, Murcia, Estremadura, the Balearic Isles, and Galicia were wholly free at the moment. In Catalonia the capital, Barcelona, and large tracts of the country were occupied by the French. In the Asturias three-quarters of the province were held down by Bonnet. The two Castiles, Andalusia (excepting Cadiz), Biscay, Navarre, Leon, and Aragon were entirely or almost entirely in the hands of the enemy. The delegates supposed to represent them were either chosen in hole-and-corner meetings of insurgent juntas lurking in some remote fastness, or—where even this semblance of local election was not possible—by nomination by the Regency, or in wholly casual assemblies of the natives of those districts who chanced to be in Cadiz at the time. The representatives of Madrid, for example, were chosen in this fashion by the body of exiles from that city meeting in the spacious courtyard of a large public building[626]. The result of this informal and irregular method of choice was that many provinces purported to be represented by deputies who had no real local influence therein, but had chanced to commend themselves to the insurgent juntas, or to the persons—in some cases a mere handful—who happened to have fled from that particular region to Cadiz. It is said that the very names, and much more the persons, of a good many of the deputies were absolutely unknown to their supposed constituents. Most of all was this the case with the members of the Cortes who were supposed to represent Spanish America. It had been decreed by the late Central Junta that the colonies formed[p. 513] an integral part of the Spanish monarchy, and were therefore entitled to representation. But the modest number of twenty-six members allotted to them were elected at Cadiz, by a committee of Americans nominated by the Regency from those who happened to be resident in that town. Most of the deputies were out of touch with the people beyond the seas, of whom they were theoretically the delegates.

This fact was specially unfortunate when the first symptoms of discontent and sedition in Buenos Ayres, Mexico, and the Caraccas had begun to show themselves. Though few realized it as yet, the insurrection of Spanish America was just about to break forth. The least foreseen of all the results of Napoleon’s aggressions in Old Spain was that the colonies, which had been called upon to take their part in the national war against the French, and had been promised a share in the administration of the empire, should accept the show of freedom and equality that was offered in a serious spirit. The Americans demanded that they should no longer be treated as subjects and tributaries of the mother country, but recognized as possessing rights and interests of their own, which must be taken into consideration when the general governance of the dominions of Ferdinand VII was in question. And these rights and interests included not only a claim to such self-government as other Spanish provinces possessed, but a demand that their commercial and economic needs should no longer be subordinated to the convenience of the mother country. The colonies could not see why the monopoly of all their trade should be left in the hands of the merchants of Old Spain. They wished to traffic on their own account with Great Britain and the United States. This claim was one which no inhabitant of Old Spain could view with equanimity. The monopoly of South American commerce had always been believed to be the most essential item in the greatness of the realm. It had been preserved almost as strictly in the eighteenth century as in the seventeenth or sixteenth. The old Asiento, which gave Great Britain a minute share in that commerce, had been conceived to be a humiliation and a disgrace to the king who granted it. Spain had fought more than once to preserve the American monopoly—it is only necessary to allude to the war of[p. 514] ‘Jenkins’s Ear’ to show what she was prepared to face in its defence.

And now, when the mother country was in such desperate straits, the questions of American self-government and American trade were raised in the crudest form. Great Britain had provoked the distrust of her Spanish allies by many of her acts, even when they were done in good faith and with no ulterior motive. But the most irritating of all was the request, which had been already made more than once in a tentative fashion, for a measure of free trade with South America. Wellington had recommended that the point should not be pressed, when Spain was in her extremity; but it was inevitable that since nearly all British subjects, and nearly all Americans, were desirous to see the old barriers removed, the question should crop up again and again. The opening of the American trade was the only return that Spain could make for the aid that Great Britain had now been giving her for more than two years of war. When Canning in 1809 wrote that ‘in questions of commerce any proper occasion must be used to recommend a more enlarged and liberal policy than has hitherto been acted upon in Spain,’ it is easy to see what was in his mind. The ministers in power in 1810 were mostly of the same opinion. But to ask for free trade with America in the year when Hidalgo was making his first rising in Mexico, and the cabildos on the Rio de la Plata were quietly substituting municipal self-government for the ancient autocratic rule of their viceroys, was to provoke acute suspicion. In 1806-7 Great Britain had backed Miranda and other colonial separatists, either with the hope of getting a footing for herself in South America, or at least with that of establishing republics which would grant her all the commercial privileges that she asked. The successive Spanish governments of 1808-10 could never convince themselves that the scheme had been completely dropped, and mistook British demands for open trade with America for a desire to sever the discontented colonies from their mother country. The most unpopular act of the Regency of 1810 was their decree of May 7, issued, as all Spaniards held, in base subservience to their allies, which had granted England and Portugal a certain limited right of exchanging their products[p. 515] with the colonies, on paying the heavy customs-due of ten and a half or fifteen and a half per cent[627]. So great was the cry raised against it in Cadiz that the Regency was cowardly enough to cancel it on June 22, under the pretext that it had not been ratified in a session at which all its members were present!

But it was not the American question alone which lay as a source of danger before the newly-assembled Cortes, nor was it the American deputies alone who misrepresented their constituents. Speaking in general, it may be said that the whole assembly showed a disproportionate number of liberals, when the relative numbers of the democratic and the conservative parties throughout Spain were taken into consideration. The events of the next ten years were to show that the Serviles, as their opponents called them, were really in a majority in the whole country-side and in many towns. If that had not been so, Ferdinand VII could not have restored autocratic government with such ease when the Peninsular War was over. Reactionaries of the blackest dye, who would have liked to restore the Inquisition, and would have put back the press into the shackles which it had endured before 1807, were probably in a clear majority in the nation. The clerical interest was in many ways the mainstay of the War of Independence, and the clergy, with very few exceptions, would gladly have gone back to the system of the eighteenth century[628]. The majority of the old official class sympathized with them, and the peasantry were almost everywhere under their control. On the other hand, the liberals, if all shades of them were reckoned together, had a clear majority in the Cortes, both because the regions which were properly represented in that assembly chanced to be those in which they were most numerous, and because they had secured a disproportionate number of the seats belonging to the lost provinces, which had been filled up by more or less fictitious elections within the walls of Cadiz. That town itself was the least conservative place in Spain, and the refugees who had served as electors because they happened to be on the[p. 516] spot, were not drawn from the bulk of the population—were neither priests nor peasants,—but mainly came from those sections of the upper and middle classes where liberal opinions had made more progress.

The Cortes on the whole was a democratic body: Spain, on the whole, was reactionary. The number of those who hated Napoleon because they regarded him as the enemy of the Church, the jailer of the Pope, and the breaker-up of old laws, was much greater than that of those who hated him because he was the embodiment of autocracy, and the foe of all free self-government. Intense national pride was common to both parties, and all could unite against a foe whose aim was the dismemberment of Spain. But the union was made difficult by the fact that men who had imbibed, more or less consciously, some of the ‘Principles of 1789’ had to co-operate with men who looked back on the régime of Philip II as a Golden Age. ‘I can see no prospect of Liberty behind the crowd of priests who everywhere stand foremost to take the lead of our patriots. I cannot look for any direct advantage from the feeling which prompts the present resistance to Napoleon, as it arises chiefly from an inveterate attachment to the religious system whence our present degradation takes source. If the course of events enables us to attempt a political reform, it will be by grafting the feeble shoots of Liberty upon the stock of Catholicism, an experiment which has hitherto, and must ever, prove abortive’ wrote a desponding Liberal[629]. How could the writer of such words and his friends work cordially in company with such fanatics as the Estremaduran deputy who, in one of the earlier sessions of the Cortes, proposed the astonishing motion that, in spite of all that had happened since 1807, ‘the Inquisition remains in full possession of its ancient authority, and can make free use of all the powers which it has ever enjoyed in the past[630].’ There were others who objected to the use of the dangerous word ‘constitution,’ and even to the phrase las leyes de Espa?a, as implying an authority independent of the crown[631].

[p. 517]

When it is remembered that the form in which the Cortes had been summoned was new and experimental, that the elections had been—even according to that form—irregular, that no single member was accustomed to parliamentary usages, that the parties represented in it held views of the most divergent kinds, the wonder is not that the assembly displayed many weaknesses, but that it did no worse. Observers of a pessimistic frame of mind had feared that it would break up altogether after a few stormy sittings. ‘It was too full,’ wrote the regent Lardizabal, ‘of youths, and of men who yesterday were mere adventurers, without any practice in command, knowledge of business, or experience of the world. Whole provinces were represented by deputies whom they had not chosen, and were expected to conform to a constitution, and to accept sweeping reforms, made by men to whom they had given no mandate, faculty, or authority to take such changes into consideration. For neither the Regency, nor even the King, had the legal right to nominate deputies: no one could choose them save the provinces or cities which were integral parts of the nation, and no one could claim to represent a province save the men to whom that same province had given powers, and instructions to act in conformity with its wishes.’

This motley assembly, so many of whose members were of doubtful legitimacy, held its opening session on September 24, 1810. The meeting-place was not within the walls of Cadiz itself, but in the large suburban town of La Isla, in the centre of the great island of Leon, which forms the outwork of the city. It was hoped that the six miles which separated its sitting-place from Cadiz would prevent interruption by popular demonstrations, such as had been so pernicious to the French chamber during the Revolution. The Cortes had as their home the large but bare theatre of San Fernando, which had been roughly fitted up with benches and tribunes. After high mass had been celebrated by the old Cardinal Bourbon, the only male member of the royal family who was not in captivity[632], the Regency declared the session opened, and then withdrew, after[p. 518] a brief speech by the Senior Regent, the Bishop of Orense, who bade the assembly constitute itself in due form and elect its president and secretaries.

This was done with no delay; the president chosen was a Catalan, Ramón Lazaro de Dou, while the two secretaries were Evaristo Perez de Castro and Manuel Lujan. Both of them were well known to entertain Liberal opinions, and their choice marked the predominance of their party in the Cortes. Sitting till midnight was long past, the assembly passed six decrees drawn up by Mu?oz Torrero, one of the few clerical deputies who held Liberal views, and Manuel Lujan. By these the Cortes declared itself in possession of supreme power in the State, but resolved that, of the three branches of authority—the legislative, the executive, and the judicial—it intended to take only the first-named under its own charge, handing over the executive to the late Regency, and the judicial to the ordinary courts of law. The Regency should be responsible to the Cortes for all its acts of administration, and liable to be called to account. It was ordered to make an instant oath of obedience to the assembly, ‘recognizing the sovereignty of the nation represented by the deputies of this general and extraordinary Cortes.’ This Casta?os and the other regents did with an ill grace, all save the Bishop of Orense, who misliked the oath, contending that its terms spoke of the nation as being sovereign in its own right, without consideration of the King’s indefeasible majesty[633]. He would not swear, and so vacated his place. He did not lose much by his early dismissal, for on October 28 the Cortes abruptly deposed his four colleagues—Casta?os, Lardizabal, Saavedra, and Esca?o—and replaced them by a new Regency of three members. These were Joaquim Blake, that most unlucky of generals; Admiral Cisgar, then commanding the Cartagena squadron, who passed as an able administrator; and an obscure naval captain, Pedro Agar, of whom little was known save that he was American born, and might, therefore, theoretically represent the colonies. The[p. 519] change in regents was decidedly for the worse as far as character and ability went. Apparently the Cortes were jealous of an administration whose power was older than their own, and had not originally been created by them. They wished to have an executive more entirely dependent on themselves. Some of the Liberals pretended that the old regents were plotting to hold a sort of ‘Pride’s Purge’ of the Cortes, and to restore themselves to power. But of this no proof was ever given[634]. Considering the difficult times which they had passed through, and their well-intentioned if rather feeble attempt to serve the state, Casta?os and his colleagues deserved a better fate than arbitrary dismissal, without thanks, and with a tacit accusation of treason laid to their charge.

Between the time of the first assembly of the Cortes and the change in the Regency an infinite number of subjects had been dealt with. The Liberal majority, led by Agustin Argüelles, had decreed liberty of the Press in all political discussions, but very illogically refused it for discussions on matters of religion. They had abolished all feudal rights and privileges of nobility. They passed a decree of amnesty for all rebels in America who should lay down their arms, and proposed many projects for improving the position of the Colonies, few of which, unfortunately, happened to bear any relation to the chief grievances under which the South Americans conceived themselves to be labouring. The insurrection still went on, and, though the mother country was placed in such a desperate condition, troops were actually withdrawn from the Murcian army to sail with General Elio, who was directed to restore order at Buenos Ayres and in the provinces of the Rio de la Plata. Discussions continued, with much heat and a considerable amount of eloquence, on many other points, during the early days of the Junta. The subjects of debate were generally constitutional, occasionally financial. It was worthy to be observed that the two topics on which all the deputies rallied together were the question of opposition to the French, and the question of the defence of their own sovereign rights. Even the majority of[p. 520] the Serviles would join with the Liberals whenever any doubt was raised with regard to the right of the Cortes to arrogate to itself the title of Majesty or the attributes of supreme power. When, for example, the Bishop of Orense refused to take the oath of obedience, several clericals of most reactionary views took part against him; and when a few weeks later the Marqués del Palacio, named as a deputy-regent during the absence of Blake, also displayed reluctance to swear to the same form on similar grounds, he did not receive the report that he had expected from the reactionaries. Indeed, he was put under arrest for some time, without, as it seems, any attempt to protect him being made by the Serviles. Like the Bishop of Orense, he ended by swallowing his scruples and accepting the prescribed formula[635].

A similar desire to assert its own absolute supremacy impelled the Cortes to refuse to countenance two dynastic intrigues which came from different quarters. The eldest daughter of Charles IV, Carlotta, Princess of the Brazils and wife of the Regent Jo?o of Portugal, was the nearest of kin to Ferdinand VII who had escaped Napoleon’s claws in 1808. She was of opinion that she had a good right to expect the Regency during her brother’s captivity at Valen?ay, and her agents repeatedly urged her claims, both during the days of the first Regency and after the Cortes had assembled. Sousa-Holstein, the Portuguese ambassador, naturally lent them his aid, and she had Spanish partisans, though few of them were persons of good reputation. Yet, by constant persuasion and promises, Carlotta’s representatives actually succeeded in inducing great numbers of the deputies to pledge themselves to push her interests. It is said that, at one time or another, a full half of the members had given the intriguers encouragement. But to do this, and to make a formal attempt to pass a decree conferring the Regency on her, were very different things. When overt action was urged by her agents, or their partisans in the Cortes, nothing came of the attempt. The assembly was naturally unwilling to surrender its own sovereignty, and to introduce a court and its intrigues into Cadiz. It must be added that Jo?o of Portugal had no liking for his wife[p. 521]’s scheme, that Wellington saw its disadvantages[636], and that the great bulk of the Spaniards would have resented the whole affair, as a Portuguese intrigue, if it had ever been laid before the nation as a definite proposal.

The second dynastic scheme which was running its course at this time was engineered by another branch of the Spanish royal house. The restless and unscrupulous Queen Caroline of Sicily could not forget that if Carlotta of Portugal was the nearest relative of the captive King, yet her husband Ferdinand was his nearest male kinsman, save the princes in Napoleon’s hands. She availed herself of this fact to urge that one of her children would be a very suitable person to be entrusted with power in Spain, and thought of her younger son Prince Leopold as a possible candidate for the Regency. But since he had not the necessary reputation or age, the Queen soon fell back upon her son-in-law Louis Philippe, Duke of Orleans, the exiled son of the infamous Philippe égalité. He had not only a good military record for his services at Jemappes and elsewhere in the early Belgian campaigns, but was universally known as a man of ability. Unfortunately, he had fought on the Republican side in 1792—a thing hard to forget, and certain to cause suspicion: and his ability was always displayed for purposes of self-interest, and savoured of unscrupulousness.

Nevertheless, Orleans had already made overtures to the old Regency in the spring of 1810, and had been promised by them a command on the borders of Catalonia. They had failed to keep the pledge, and he now appeared at Cadiz, and wished to present himself before the Cortes and plead his cause. He took small profit thereby, for the assembly regarded him and his relatives as suspicious persons, refused to give him an audience when he presented himself before its doors, and politely but firmly insisted that he should return to Sicily in a few days—an order which he was forced to obey. ‘Whether it was that he was a Frenchman, though a Bourbon, or whether it was that he had once been a Republican, though he had ceased to be one, or whether it was that he was a prince of[p. 522] the royal house, and therefore distasteful to the newly-assembled Cortes, who were secretly inclined to democratic views, the majority viewed him with disfavour[637].’ On October 3 he set sail for Palermo.

At the end of 1810 we leave the Cortes still indulging in fiery constitutional debates, still busy in asserting its own supreme power, and curbing many attempts at self-assertion in the new Regency which it had created. With the English government it was not on the best of terms: though it decreed the erection of a statue to George III as the friend and deliverer of Spain—a monument which (it need hardly be said) was never erected—it was very slow to seek or follow the advice of the allied power. It clamoured for subsidies, but refused the opening of the South American trade—the only return that could be given for them. Money in hard gold or silver Great Britain could no longer supply—for the years 1810-11 were those when the paper-issues of the Bank were our sole currency; cash had almost disappeared, and could only be procured by offering six pounds or more in notes for five guineas. But the Spaniards did not want paper, but gifts or loans in gold or silver. They got no more of the precious metals—Great Britain had none to spare, and found it almost impossible even to procure dollars to pay Wellington’s army in Portugal. All that was given after 1809 was arms and munitions of war.

English observers in the Peninsula were not well pleased with the first months of the rule of the Cortes. ‘The natural course of all popular assemblies,’ wrote Wellington to his brother, Henry Wellesley, now minister at Cadiz, ‘and of the Spanish Cortes among others, is to adopt democratic principles, and to vest all the powers of the State in their own body. This assembly must take care that they do not run in that tempting course, as the wishes of the nation are decidedly for monarchy. Inclination to any other form of government would immediately deprive them of the confidence of the people, and they would become a worse government, and more impotent, because more numerous, than the old Central Junta.’ A few weeks later he doubted whether even a Regency under Carlotta of[p. 523] Portugal, with all its disadvantages, would not be better than mere democracy[638].

Vaughan, on the spot at Cadiz, gave quite a different view of the situation, but one equally unfavourable to the Cortes as a governing power. ‘It is full of priests, who (united with the Catalans) are for preserving the old routine, and adverse to everything that can give energy and vigour to the operation of government. Fanaticism and personal interest direct their opinions.... Be assured that the Cortes is, as at present constituted, anything but revolutionary or Jacobinical.... If there is not soon some new spirit infused into it, it will become an overgrown Junta, meddling with every paltry detail of police, and neglecting the safety of the country—and the Regency will be content to reign (very badly) over Cadiz and the Isla[639].’

There was much truth in both these verdicts, though Vaughan underrated the force of self-interest in driving a popular assembly to claim all power for itself, while Wellington underrated the dead-weight of clerical conservatism, which was the restraint upon that tendency. Both were right in asserting that, whatever the Cortes might be, the mass of the nation had no wish to set out on the path of Jacobinism. They both perceived the danger that the Cortes might turn itself into a constitutional debating society, and at the same time prevent any really efficient executive from being established. Such was its actual fate. Except that Spain now possessed a governing authority which, with all its faults, had infinitely more pretension to claim a legal mandate from the people than any of its predecessors, the situation was not greatly changed. From the military point of view, as we shall see in the next volume, the aspect of the Peninsula was in no degree improved. The same blunders that had marked the administration of the old Provincial Juntas, of the Supreme Central Junta, and of the first Regency, continued to exhibit themselves under the rule of the Cortes.
Vol. IV.  Dec. 1810-Dec. 1811.PREFACE
In this volume are contained the annals of all the many campaigns of 1811, with the exception of those of Suchet’s Valencian expedition in the later months of the year, which for reasons of space have to be relegated to Volume V. It was impossible to exceed the bulk of 660 pages, and the operations on the Mediterranean coast of Spain can be dealt with separately without any grave breach of continuity in the narrative, though this particular Valencian campaign affected the general course of the war far more closely than any other series of operations on the Eastern side of the Peninsula, as I have been careful to point out in the concluding chapters of Section XXIX.

The main interest of 1811, however, centres in the operations of Wellington and his opponents, Masséna, Soult, and Marmont. In the previous year the tide of French conquest reached its high-water mark, when Soult appeared before the walls of Cadiz, and Masséna forced his way to the foot of the long chain of redoubts that formed the Lines of Torres Vedras. Already, before 1810 was over, Masséna’s baffled army had fallen back a few miles, and this first short retreat to Santarem marked the commencement of a never-ceasing ebb of the wave of conquest on the Western side of the Peninsula. Matters went otherwise on the Eastern coast in 1811, but all Suchet’s campaigns were, after all, a side issue. The decisive point lay not in Catalonia or Valencia, but in Portugal.

[p. iv]When Masséna finally evacuated Portugal in March 1811, forced out of his cantonments by Wellington’s skilful use of the sword of famine, a new stage in the war began. The French had lost the advantage of the offensive, and were never to regain it on the Western theatre of war. All through the remainder of 1811 it was the British general who dealt the strokes, and the enemy who had to parry them. The strokes were feeble, because of Wellington’s very limited resources, and for the most part were warded off. Though Almeida fell in May, the siege of Badajoz in June, and the blockade of Ciudad Rodrigo in August and September, were both brought to an end by the concentration of French armies which Wellington was too weak to attack. But the masses of men which Soult and Marmont gathered on the Guadiana in June, and Dorsenne and Marmont gathered on the Agueda in September, had only been collected by a dangerous disgarnishing of the whole of those provinces of Spain which lay beneath the French yoke. They could not remain long assembled, firstly because they could not feed themselves, and secondly because of the peril to which their concentration exposed the abandoned regions in their rear. Hence, in each case, the French commanders, satisfied with having parried Wellington’s stroke for the moment, refused to attack him, and dispersed their armies. That the spirit of the offensive was lost on the French side is sufficiently shown by the fact that when their adversary stood on the defensive upon the Caya in June, and at Alfayates in September, they refused to assail his positions.

We leave the allied and the French armies at the[p. v] end of the autumn campaign of 1811 still in this state of equipoise. Wellington had made two successive attempts to strike, and had failed, though without any grave loss or disaster, because the forces opposed to him were still too great. His third stroke in January 1812 was to be successful and decisive, but its history belongs to our next volume.

The main bulk of the seven sections herewith presented consists of a narrative of the successive phases of the long deadlock between Wellington and his enemies along the Portuguese frontier: but I have endeavoured to give as clear a narrative as I can compile of all the side-campaigns of the year, in Andalusia, Murcia, Estremadura, Galicia, the Asturias, and Catalonia, and to show their bearings on the general history of the great Peninsular struggle.

I must apologize for the long space of time—three years—that has elapsed between the appearance of the third and the fourth volumes of this work. But it was impossible to produce these sections till I had taken two more voyages over the more important fighting-grounds of 1811—one round Catalonia, the other along the line of Masséna’s retreat from Portugal. It was only in the last days of September 1910 that I was able to accomplish the latter journey. It was made under the happiest conditions, for the government of King Manuel kindly lent me a motor-car, and put at my disposition the services of Captain Teixeira Botelho, an admirable specialist on the artillery side of the Peninsular War. Guided by him, and accompanied by my friend Mr. Rafael Reynolds of Barreiro, I was able to study the topography of Pombal, Redinha, Condeixa, Casal Novo, and Foz do Arouce, not to speak of many other[p. vi] picturesque spots of military interest. Hence my survey of the main fighting-grounds of 1811 has been fairly complete—I spent long days at Fuentes de O?oro and Albuera, walked all round Badajoz and the field of the Gebora, and studied Tarragona and other Catalan sites. Barrosa alone, I regret to say, I have not been able to visit.

I have to offer grateful thanks to many possessors of documents, who have been good enough to place them at my disposition. The most important of all were the D’Urban papers, lent to me by Mr. W. S. M. D’Urban, of Newport House, near Exeter; the diary and official correspondence of his grandfather, Sir Benjamin D’Urban, Beresford’s Chief-of-the-staff during the Estremaduran campaigns of 1811, were simply invaluable for the comprehension of those operations. I had already acknowledged my indebtedness to the D’Urban papers in my narrative of 1810; but in the following year, when Beresford was acting as the leader of an independent army, they were even more important—as my constant references to them in notes will show.

A new source of high value came to my knowledge last year, through the kindness of Mr. G. Scovell, of Hove, who placed in my hands the papers of his grandfather, Major Scovell, who acted in 1811-12-13 as Wellington’s cipher-secretary. Not only was this officer’s personal diary of great use to me, but the file of the intercepted French dispatches in cipher, with the interpretation of them worked out with infinite pains, proved as valuable as it was interesting. Many of the originals, written on small scraps of the thinnest paper, and folded into such minute shapes that they could be sewed on to a button, or hidden in a coat[p. vii]seam, had evidently been taken on the persons of emissaries of the French generals, who had been captured by the guerrilleros, and had probably in most cases cost the bearers their lives. The ciphers were of two sorts: in the more complicated every word was in cipher; in the less complicated only names of persons and places and the numbers of troops or dates were disguised, the bulk of the dispatch being in plain French. In the key to these last there were several hundred arbitrary numbers used, and it was Major Scovell’s task to make out from the context, or the repetition of the same figures in many documents, what the individual numbers meant. By the end of his researches he had identified four-fifths of the names, and those which he had not all belonged to unimportant persons or places, infrequently mentioned.

A much shorter but quite interesting file of diary and letters placed at my disposal were those of Cornet Francis Hall of the 14th Light Dragoons. They practically covered only the year 1811, but were very full, and written in an animated descriptive style, very different from that of many dry and short journals. They contained by far the best account of the cavalry part of the fighting at Fuentes de O?oro that I have ever seen, and I am exceedingly obliged to the writer’s granddaughter Miss E. G. Hall for allowing me to utilize them.

I am still occasionally using notes of 1811 made from two collections of unpublished letters, of which I had occasion to speak in my last preface, those of General Le Marchant, now in the hands of Sir Henry Le Marchant of Chobham, and those of General John Wilson belonging to Commander Bertram Chambers[p. viii] R.N. To both of the courteous possessors of these files of correspondence I owe my best thanks.

I must mention, as in previous volumes, much kind help given me by those connected with the military archives of Paris, Madrid, and Lisbon. Once more I must acknowledge the unfailing kindness of M. Martinien at the French War Ministry, who did so much to make easy for me endless searches through the overflowing cartons of its Library. At Madrid Commandant Juan Arzadun of the Artillery Museum placed much suggestive material at my disposal, and found me one or two scarce books, while Major Emilio Figueras at the War Ministry searched out and copied for me a number of unpublished ‘morning states’ of the various Spanish Armies. I must also recur to the name of Captain Teixeira Botelho of the Portuguese Artillery, my companion on the line of Masséna’s retreat, who furnished me with a rich mine of information in his unpublished subsidios para a historia da Artilheria Portugueza.

Among my English helpers I must give a special word of thanks to Major John Leslie, R.A., to whose researches I owe all that I know about the British artillery in the Peninsular War. His ‘Dickson Papers’ are always at my elbow, and I owe him particular gratitude for the Artillery Appendix XXIV, which he has been good enough to compile for me. To the Hon. John Fortescue, the historian of the British Army, whom we were proud to welcome at Oxford as Ford Lecturer this year, I am deeply indebted for his answers to my queries on many dark points, and most especially for his notes as to several suppressed parts of the Wellington Correspondence. Mr. Rafael Reynolds of Barreiro, who shared in my[p. ix] September tour of last year, has obtained for me in Lisbon a number of rare Portuguese volumes, most especially a complete set of Marshal Beresford’s Ordens do Dia for the whole Peninsular War—an almost unprocurable collection, containing every general order, report of a court martial, list of promotions, and statistical paper, which was issued to the Portuguese Army. It is absolutely invaluable for identifying names and dates, and settling questions of organization. The Rev. Alexander Craufurd, grandson of the famous commander of the Light Division, has continued, as in previous years, to place his store of information concerning the campaigns of that hard fighting unit at my disposal.

Lastly, the compiler of the index, a weary task executed under many difficulties, must receive my heartfelt thanks for much loving labour.

I must apologize to readers for some occasional discrepancies in spelling which may be discovered in the text and maps. They are mainly due to the fact that all along the Portuguese-Spanish frontier every town and village is spelt differently by its own inhabitants and by its close neighbours of the other nationality. I find it impossible to avoid the occasional intrusion of a Portuguese spelling of a Spanish locality, and vice versa. Matters are made still more hard by the fact that the spelling of local names in Portugal (less so in Spain) seems to have been much changed since 1811. It is difficult to avoid occasionally an archaic, or on the other hand a too-modern, form for a name. These slight errors, or discrepancies between names as spelled in the text and in the maps, were nearly all caused by alterations between the received spelling of 1811, followed in the maps I used, and that of 1911.[p. x] I do not think that they will cause any difficulty to the reader, who will not e. g. find it hard to recognize that Foz do Arouce is the same as Foz de Arouce or Casal Novo as Cazal Novo.

In a few cases the critic may find a slight difference in the numbers of troops, or of killed and wounded, which are given in the text and in the appendices. In almost all cases this results from the fact that the official totals quoted in the text turned out not to work out in exact agreement with the detailed list of items in the ‘morning states’ or the complete casualty lists. These errors, always trifling, could not be discovered till the arithmetic of the appendices had been verified, sometimes when the text had already been printed off. The most frequent discrepancies were found in comparing Wellington’s totals of Portuguese strengths or casualties with the detailed official figures. In all instances the differences are small, but the Appendices must be taken to give the more exact numbers.

C. OMAN.

Oxford:
July 1, 1911.
SECTION XXIII  THE WINTER CAMPAIGN OF 1810-11 CHAPTER I
MASSéNA AT SANTAREM. THE DEADLOCK ON THE LOWER TAGUS. DECEMBER 1810-JANUARY 1811

On the 18th of November, 1810, Masséna had completed the movement to the rear which he had commenced on the 14th. His army no longer threatened the Lines of Torres Vedras: he had abandoned the offensive for the defensive. Concentrated in the triangle Santarem-Punhete-Thomar, with his three corps so disposed that a march of twenty miles would suffice to concentrate everything save outlying detachments, he waited to see whether his enemy would dare to attack him; for he still hoped for a battle in the open field, and was prepared to accept its chances. At Bussaco, so he reasoned, his defeat had been the result of an over-bold attack on a strong position. The event might go otherwise if he threw the responsibility of the offensive on Wellington. He had secured for himself an advantageous fighting-ground: his left flank was protected by the formidable entrenchments around Santarem; his front was covered by the rain-sodden valley of the Rio Mayor, which during the winter season could be crossed only at a few well-known points. His right wing could not be turned, unless his adversary were ready to push a great force over villainous roads towards Alcanhede and the upper course of the Rio Mayor. And if Wellington should risk a large detachment in this direction, it might be possible to burst out from Santarem, against the containing force which he would be compelled to leave on the banks of the Tagus, about Cartaxo, and to beat it back towards the Lines—a movement which would almost certainly bring back the turning column from the North. For the English general could not dare to leave Lisbon exposed to the chances of a sudden blow, when there was little but Portuguese militia left to occupy[p. 2] the long chain of defensive works from Alhandra to Torres Vedras. For some weeks after his retreat to his new position at Santarem, Masséna lived in hopes that Wellington would either deliver an attack on his well-protected front, or undertake the dangerous turning movement towards his left.

No such chance was granted him. His adversary had weighed all the arguments for and against the offensive, and had made up his mind to rely rather on his old weapon—starvation—than on force. In several of his December dispatches he sums up the situation with perfect clearness; on the 2nd he wrote to Lord Liverpool, ‘It would still be impossible to make any movement of importance upon the right flank of the enemy’s position at Santarem without exposing some divisions of troops to be insulated and cut off. The enemy having concentrated their army about Torres Novas, &c., I do not propose to make any movement by which I incur the risk of involving the army in a general action, on ground less advantageous than that which I had fixed upon to bring this contest to an issue [i. e. the Lines]. The enemy can be relieved from the difficulties of their situation only by the occurrence of some misfortune to the allied army, and I should forward their views by placing the fate of the campaign on the result of a general action on ground chosen by them, and not on that selected by me. I therefore propose to continue the operation of light detachments on their flanks and rear, to confine them as much as possible, but to engage in no serious affair on ground on which the result can be at all doubtful[1].’ At the end of the month he simply restates his decision: ‘Having such an enemy to contend with, and knowing (as I do) that there is no army in the Peninsula capable of contending with the enemy, excepting that under my command; that there are no means of replacing any large losses I might sustain; and that any success acquired by a large sacrifice of men would be followed by disastrous consequence to the cause of the allies, I have determined to persevere in the system which has hitherto saved all, and which will, I hope, end in the defeat of the enemy[2].’

[p. 3]Accordingly Wellington’s main army was kept for the three winter months of December, January, and February almost precisely on the same ground on which it had been placed in the last week of November. The three British cavalry brigades formed a line in front of the whole, reaching from Porto de Mugem on the Tagus to S?o Jo?o de Ribiera on the upper Rio Mayor[3]. The infantry divisions (save the 2nd) were arranged in successive lines of cantonment behind them, watching the course of the Rio Mayor, while the reserves had retired as far as the Lines of Torres Vedras. Practically the whole force could be concentrated in a single march—or a march and a half at most—in case Masséna should take the improbable—but still conceivable—step of sallying out from Santarem to resume the offensive. When the first French reinforcements began to come up—about the New Year of 1810-11—such a sally seemed to Wellington quite worth guarding against[4]. The disposition of the infantry was as follows: On the right, near the Tagus, lay the Light Division, immediately in front of Santarem, quartered in Valle and other villages. On the left the front line was formed by Pack’s Portuguese, who lay at Almoster, on heights overlooking the middle course of the Rio Mayor. In support of the Light Division, but five miles to the rear, at Cartaxo and other places, was the large and powerful 1st Division, 7,000 bayonets. The 4th Division lay at an equal distance behind the 1st, at Azambuja and Aveiras da Cima. Behind Pack, on the inland or Leiria road, Picton and his 3rd Division were placed at Alcoentre. Their support was the 5th Division at Torres Vedras in the old Lines, seventeen miles to the rear, from which a circuitous road led to Alcoentre. Finally the newly-formed 6th Division was placed at the other end of the Lines, but just outside them, at Alemquer and Arruda, with Le Cor’s Portuguese division immediately behind, at Alhandra.

In all the main army consisted of about 48,000 men of all[p. 4] arms; but this did not compose the whole of Wellington’s available resources. He had transferred a considerable detachment to the southern bank of the Tagus, to protect the Alemtejo against any possible descent by the French. It will be remembered that as early as the beginning of November[5] he had sent across the river Fane’s Portuguese cavalry and a battalion of Ca?adores, who were directed to watch the road along the further bank, to prevent any trifling force of French from crossing in search of provisions, and to keep open the communications with Abrantes. As long as Masséna was threatening the Lines of Torres Vedras, there was no danger that he would throw anything more than a raiding party across the Tagus; he would want every man for the great assault. But when the Marshal gave up the offensive and retired to Santarem, the aspect of affairs was changed; it was quite possible that, with his army in a state of semi-starvation, he might venture to send a considerable detachment over the river, to gather the food which was so necessary to him. Nor was it unlikely that he might have a still more cogent reason for invading the Alemtejo. If, as Wellington thought probable[6], the army of Andalusia were to be ordered up to assist the army of Portugal, it would be of great importance for the latter to possess a footing on the left bank of the Tagus, as the communication with Soult’s troops must certainly be made in this direction. Accordingly there was good reason for securing the line of the river, and for cooping up Masséna in his limited sphere on its western bank. On the 19th-20th of November, Hill and the 2nd Division, attended as usual by Hamilton’s two Portuguese brigades, and with the 13th Light Dragoons attached, crossed the Tagus in boats a little to the north of Salvaterra, to reinforce Fane’s detachment. This was a serious force—10,000 men—which Wellington could ill spare, and he made elaborate arrangements to enable it to return in haste, in the event of Masséna’s once more taking the offensive on the western bank of the Tagus. The flotilla of[p. 5] gunboats and river craft, which had been guarding the river, was to be kept ready at Alhandra to bring back the 2nd Division, at the first alarm of a movement of the French from Santarem. Meanwhile Hill moved up the river and established his head quarters at Chamusca, a little north of Santarem, from which point he could both observe the main body of the French and impede any attempt that they might make to cross the river, and also could keep in touch with Abrantes, and reinforce it, supposing that Masséna showed any signs of molesting it. The British brigades of the 2nd Division were distributed along the river, William Stewart’s at Pinheiros and Tramagal most to the north, Hoghton’s at Chamusca, Lumley’s at Almeirim, exactly facing Santarem. Hamilton’s two Portuguese brigades continued the line southward, Fonseca’s brigade at Mugem, Campbell’s at Salvaterra. Fane’s four regiments of Portuguese cavalry, and the British 13th Light Dragoons, were strung out by squadrons along the whole front from the neighbourhood of Abrantes to Almeirim, patrolling the river bank with unceasing care[7].

On the 29th of November Hill was disabled by a severe attack of fever, and the control of all the troops beyond the Tagus devolved on his senior brigadier, William Stewart. Wellington only allowed this hard-fighting but somewhat too venturesome officer to retain his very responsible command for a few weeks. Troubled by Stewart’s constant requests to be allowed to make offensive movements against the French, which did not enter into his own plans[8], and dreading the consequences of his enterprise, the Commander-in-Chief superseded him, by sending over Beresford to take the charge of all the forces on the Alemtejo bank of the Tagus (December 30). He would have preferred to give the duty to Hill, who had in the preceding summer carried out a similar task with complete success, while he watched Reynier from Castello Branco[9]. But Hill’s fever[p. 6] lingered on for many weeks, and when he was convalescent the medical men insisted that he must return to England for change of air. This he did in February, and we miss his familiar name in the records of the Peninsular War for a space of three months, till his reappearance at the front in May.

Beresford therefore began, with the New Year, to exercise a semi-independent command over the detached force beyond the Tagus, which he was to retain for nearly six months. The experiment of giving him this responsible duty was not altogether a happy one; and after his unsuccessful operations in Estremadura, and his ill-fought victory at Albuera, Wellington withdrew him to other duties in June, and once more handed over the troops south of the Tagus to the cautious yet capable hands of Hill.

The main force, meanwhile, faced the front of Masséna’s army; Beresford’s detachment observed its left flank along the Tagus. But this was not all; Wellington had also taken his precautions to cast around the rear of the irregular parallelogram held by the French a screen of light troops, which effectually cut their communications with Spain, and restricted, though they could not altogether hinder, their marauding raids in search of provisions. This screen was weakest beyond Abrantes, on the line of the Zezere; but here the land was barren, and the enemy had little or nothing to gain by plundering excursions. The Castello Branco country was only guarded by its own Ordenan?a levy, which was trifling in force, as the whole ‘corregedoria’ from the Zezere to the Elga had only 40,000 souls, and it had sent its two militia regiments within the Lisbon lines. But, save in the small upland plain about Castello Branco itself, there was practically neither population nor tillage. The less barren and deserted mountain land between the Zezere and the Mondego was much more worth plundering, and was protected by the militia brigade of John Wilson, who lay at Espinhal on the Thomar-Coimbra road, with a force of four battalions, which ought to have numbered 3,000 men, but often shrank down to 1,500. For the militiamen, unpaid and ill-fed, deserted freely during the winter season, and as their homes lay far northward, by the Douro, it was not easy to gather them back to their colours. But Wilson had always a sufficient nucleus about him[p. 7] to check any marauding party that fell short of a regiment, and was a real restraint on the foragers of the 6th Corps, when they pushed out from Ourem or Thomar to gather food. He was only once seriously engaged, when, on December 23rd, General Marcognet, with two battalions and a cavalry regiment, came up against him, drove him out of Espinhal after some skirmishing, and pushed a reconnaissance as far as the Mondego, of which we shall hear in its due place.

Beyond Wilson to the west, the line of observation was taken up by Trant’s militia brigade, which lay at Coimbra, to which town many of its fugitive inhabitants had by this time returned. He had a larger force than Wilson—seven militia regiments, whose strength varied from day to day but seldom fell below 3,000 men. With this irregular force he watched the line of the lower Mondego, keeping pickets out some way to the south of the river, as far as Louri?al and Redinha. They were only once driven in, when on Dec. 6th-8th one of Montbrun’s dragoon regiments pushed up the high road, and verified the fact that all the passages of the lower Mondego, including the bridge of Coimbra, were guarded.

The last link in the chain of detachments which Wellington had cast around the French was the garrison of the sea-girt fortress of Peniche, half-way between Lisbon and the mouth of the Mondego. It was held by the dép?ts of several infantry regiments of the regular army, under General Blunt of the Portuguese service, not by any single organized unit. But there were some 2,000 or 3,000 recruits, more or less trained, in the place, and the enterprising Major Fenwick, whom Blunt had put in charge of his outpost-line, kept large pickets out in the direction of Caldas and Obidos, which frequently came in contact with the raiding parties of the 8th Corps, and did them much harm. Fenwick was mortally wounded in action near Obidos on Dec. 4th[10], but the forward position of these outposts of the Peniche garrison was maintained, and the French could never forage in the coast-land for a radius of some[p. 8] fifteen miles around that fortress, though they moved as they pleased about Leiria and the deserted abbeys of Batalha and Alcoba?a. The Portuguese outposts at Caldas were in close and regular touch with Anson’s cavalry pickets from S?o Jo?o de Ribiera on the Rio Mayor.

It will be seen therefore that the limited space in which Masséna’s army could seek its living was a parallelogram, bounded by the Tagus on the south, the lower Zezere on the east, the Rio Mayor and the Alcoa (the river of Alcoba?a) on the west, and on the north by an irregular line drawn from Leiria through Pombal to Caba?os near the Zezere. Outside these limits food could only be got by large detachments, moving with all military precautions, and obliged to keep up a constant running fight with the Portuguese militia. The profit from such expeditions, whose march was necessarily very slow, was so small that Masséna sent out very few of them, since the peasantry got off with their flocks into the hills, whenever the first skirmishing shots along the high road were heard. The sustenance of the French was mainly obtained by harrying and re-harrying the area bounded by the limits stated above, where they could work their will without meeting with any resistance. There was very little change in the cantonments of Masséna’s army during the three months of their stay between the Tagus and the Zezere. Of the 2nd Corps both divisions were in the Santarem fortifications, holding the town and the banks of the Rio Mayor to the west of it. Close in touch with the 2nd Corps came the 8th, with Clausel’s division in front line from Tremes to Alcanhede and Abrah?o, and Solignac’s in second line at Torres Novas, Pernes, and the adjacent villages. Both corps had their cavalry brigades out in front of them, along the line of the Rio Mayor. Ney and the 6th Corps formed the general reserve of the army, having Mermet’s division at Thomar (the Marshal’s head quarters), and Marchand’s at Goleg?o near the Tagus; Loison’s, the third division of the corps, was detached on the Zezere, guarding the bridge which had been established across that river at Punhete, and watching the garrison of Abrantes. Its front post was at Montalv?o beyond the Zezere, only five miles from the Portuguese fortress; its remaining battalions were ranged along the river from Punhete as far north as Dornes. Montbrun and[p. 9] the cavalry reserve (less certain squadrons lent to Loison), lay at Ch?o-de-Ma?ans on the northern skirts of the plain of Thomar; they had one infantry regiment (lent by Ney) to support them, at Caba?os, and their main duty was to watch and restrain Trant and Wilson, with whose advanced posts they were always bickering.

The situation of the French army was remarkably compact: Ney’s division at Goleg?o was only one long march (eighteen miles) behind Reynier; his second division at Thomar was less than two marches (twenty-six miles) behind Junot. Only Loison could not have been brought up at short notice, supposing that Wellington had attacked the line of the Rio Mayor. If, on the other hand, an Anglo-Portuguese force had debouched from Abrantes to attack Loison—no impossible plan, and one that William Stewart had strenuously urged Wellington to adopt—the division at Punhete could have been reinforced from Goleg?o and Thomar in one march, since the former of these places is about thirteen miles from the Zezere, and the latter not more than ten.

Masséna’s dispositions, as can be seen at a glance, were purely defensive. They could not be otherwise, when his army had dwindled down by the beginning of December to 45,000 efficient sabres and bayonets, while his hospitals were encumbered by 8,000 or 9,000 sick. All that he aspired to do was to hold on in the Santarem-Rio Mayor position, pinning his adversary down to the neighbourhood of Lisbon, till he should be restored to the power of taking the offensive once more, by the arrival of reinforcements; his aid must come on one side from Soult and the Army of Andalusia, on the other from Drouet’s 9th Corps, whose services had been promised to him by the Emperor long before the invasion of Portugal began. But down to the end of the year he had not the slightest breath of information as to whether this assistance was close at hand, or whether it had, perchance, not even begun to move in his direction. Since he had cut himself loose from the frontier of Spain in September, not a single dispatch had reached him, not even a secret emissary had penetrated to his head quarters. For all that he knew Napoleon might be dead, or engaged in a new war with some continental enemy. It is an astonishing testimony to the[p. 10] efficiency of the screen of Portuguese Ordenan?a and militia, which Wellington had cast round the French army, to find that nothing had slipped through. And the Marshal’s attempts to send out news of himself had been almost equally well foiled; all his messengers had been intercepted save Foy, who (as it will be remembered) had forced his way over the unfrequented Estrada Nova road on October 31st[11]. And Foy had got through to Ciudad Rodrigo because he had been given such a large escort—600 men—that no mere gathering of local Ordenan?a could stop him.

Masséna, down to the end of December, did not know in the least whether Foy or any other of his emissaries had got through. He had simply to wait till news should penetrate to him. Meanwhile the one governing preoccupation of his life was to get food for his army, since if food failed he must be driven to the disastrous winter retreat, across flooded streams and between snow-clad mountains, to which Wellington hoped to force him. The English general’s forecast of the time which would be required to starve out the French army was wrong by some eight or nine weeks. He thought that they would have consumed every possible morsel of food that could be scraped together by December—as a matter of fact they held out till the end of February, in a state of constantly increasing privation. It seems that Wellington underrated both the capacity for endurance that the enemy would show, and still more the resources which were available to him. The Portuguese government had ordered the peasantry to destroy all food-stuffs that they could not carry off, when the country-side was evacuated in October, and the people retired within the Torres Vedras lines. Ostensibly the decree had been carried out; but it was impossible to induce these small cultivators to make away with good food, the worst of crimes to the peasant’s mind. The large majority hid or buried, instead of burning, their stores, trusting to recover what they had concealed when the French should have departed. Many of the hiding-places were very ingenious—in some cases caves in the hills had been used, and their[p. 11] mouths plastered up with stones and earth. In others, pits or silos had been dug in unlikely places, and carefully covered up, or cellars had been filled, and their entrances bricked up and concealed. The ingenuity that is bred by an empty stomach soon set the French on the search for these hoards. When it was once discovered that there was much hidden grain and maize in the country, every man became a food-hunter. Whole villages were pulled down in the search for secret places in their walls or under their floors. Parties scoured every ravine or hillside where caves might lurk. We are told that one effective plan was for detachments to go about with full barrels in fields near houses, and to cast water all over the surface. Where the liquid sank in suddenly, there was a chance that a silo lurked below, and the spade often turned up a deposit of hundreds of bushels. But more drastic methods than these were soon devised. In the sort of no-man’s-land between the actual cantonments of the French army and the outposts of Wilson, Trant, and Blunt, the population had not entirely disappeared. Though the large majority had retired, some of the poorest or the most reckless had merely hidden themselves in the hills for a week or two, and came down cautiously when the French had marched by towards Lisbon. A sprinkling of miserable folk lived precariously in or near their usual abodes, always ready to fly or to conceal themselves when a foraging party was reported in the neighbourhood. Hence came the horrid business that one French diarist calls the ‘chasse aux hommes’; it became a regular device for the marauders to move by night, hide themselves, and watch for some unwary peasant. When he was sighted he was pursued and often caught. He was then offered the choice between revealing the hiding-places of himself and his neighbours, and a musket-ball through the head. Generally he yielded, and the party went back with their mules loaded with grain, or driving before them some goats and oxen. Sometimes he was himself starving, could reveal nothing, and was murdered. We are assured by more than one French narrator of these hateful times that it was discovered that torture was more effective than the mere fear of death. If the prisoner could or would discover nothing, he was hung up for a few minutes, and then let down and offered[p. 12] a second chance of life. Sometimes this led to revelations; if not he was strung up again for good[12]. Torture by fire is also said to have been employed on some occasions.

Naturally these atrocities were not practised under the eyes of the officers commanding regular foraging parties[13]. But when a company had dispersed in search of plunder, the men who were separated in twos or threes without control acted with such various degrees of brutality as suited themselves. Moreover, there was a floating scum of unlicensed marauders, who had left their colours without leave, and were in no hurry to rejoin them. These were responsible for the worst crimes: sometimes they gathered together in bands of considerable strength, and it is said that they were known to fire on regular foraging parties who tried to arrest or restrain them[14], and that one troop, several hundred strong, fought a desperate skirmish with a whole battalion sent to hunt them down. But it was not these fricoteurs, as they were called, who were the sole offenders; many horrors were perpetrated within the limits of the cantonments by the authorized raiding companies. Guingret of the 39th, in Ney’s corps, mentions in his diary that he had seen such a detachment return to camp, after having surprised a half-deserted village, with a number of peasant girls, whom they sold to their comrades, some for a couple of gold pieces, others for a pack-horse[15], and assures us that rape was habitual when such a surprise had succeeded. It was in vain that Masséna and the corps-commanders issued general orders prohibiting misconduct of any kind, and even executed one or two offenders caught flagrante delicto. For the regimental officers, who depended on the individual efficiency of their men in marauding for their daily food, were not too eager to make inquiries as to what had passed outside their own vision, and the soldier who brought home much booty was not[p. 13] too closely questioned as to the manner in which he had obtained it. When a foraging party had turned over many bushels of wheat or maize, or a hundred sheep, to the store of their battalion, it could hardly be expected that their colonel would show his gratitude by inquiring whether the happy find had been procured by torture or by simple murder.

Of the three corps which formed Masséna’s army, that of Reynier, in the Santarem entrenchments, seems to have suffered most, because it was concentrated on a narrow position, with no unexhausted country around it, and with other troops immediately in its rear, who had sucked dry the resources of the plain of Goleg?o. Its foraging parties had to go thirty miles away before they had a chance of finding ground that had not been already picked over most carefully by the men of the 6th or the 8th Corps. Junot’s men were a little better off, as they had the Leiria-Alcoba?a country immediately on their flank, and could plunder there without molestation, unless they pressed in too closely upon the outposts of Trant’s or Blunt’s detachments. Nevertheless the 8th Corps lost more men by disease than either of the others during this hard winter. It was composed to a great extent of conscript battalions new to Spain, young and unacclimatized, whose men died off like flies from cold, dysentery, and rheumatism. Clausel’s division, which contained all these raw units, sank from 6,700 to 4,000 men in the three months that preceded the New Year, without having been engaged in any serious fighting—a loss of forty per cent.: while the case-hardened troops of Reynier, who had been in the Peninsula since 1808, and had already gone through the privations of Soult’s marches to Corunna and Oporto, only shrank from 17,000 to 12,000 bayonets in the same three months. Moreover, of the 5,000 lost by them, 2,000 were the casualties of Bussaco, not the victims of Wellington’s scheme of starvation. Ney’s corps and the cavalry reserve were better off than either Junot’s or Reynier’s troops, having at their disposition the fertile country between Goleg?o, Thomar, and Abrantes, where, at the commencement of their sojourn, food was to be got with comparative ease—many fields of maize were still standing unreaped when they first arrived, and it was not till after the New Year of 1811 that they began to be seriously pinched, and to be[p. 14] driven far afield, up the valley of the Zezere and into the mountains in the direction of Espinhal and Coimbra. The 6th Corps was still 18,000 strong out of its original 24,000 on January 1st, and of the 6,000 missing, 2,000 represented Bussaco casualties in actual fighting.

It must be confessed that the French army displayed splendid fortitude and ingenuity in maintaining itself on the Tagus so long beyond the period of Wellington’s estimate. That it did not altogether dissolve, when it was living from hand to mouth, with a fifth or a quarter of the men habitually absent on foraging expeditions, is surprising. Desertions to the allied lines, save from the foreign battalions in Loison’s and Solignac’s divisions, were very rare; the native French gave many recruits to the marauding fricoteurs, but seldom passed over to the enemy. The regimental officers succeeded in organizing a regular system by which the exploitation of the country-side was made as effectual as could be managed. They repaired and set going the ruined mills, discovered and rebuilt the bakers’ ovens of every village and town, and in most cases organized regimental food-reserves which made them independent of the general commissariat[16]. For there was little or nothing to be got from head quarters. Shoes proved the greatest difficulty, but the men learnt to make rude mocassins or ‘rivlins’ of untanned hide, which served fairly well, though they needed constant replacing[17]. In some regiments a third of the men might be seen wearing this primitive footgear. Another weak point was ammunition—there had been no great consumption of it since Bussaco, or the state of the army would have been perilous indeed, since it had to depend on what it had originally brought down from Spain in September. No more had been received, and attempts to establish a powder factory at Santarem failed for lack of saltpetre. If Masséna had been forced to fight two or three general engagements, his stores would have been so depleted that he would have had to abscond at once, lest the army should be left without cartridges. Meanwhile he hung on to his position, conscious that his power of endurance was[p. 15] limited, but hoping at any moment to see reinforcements break through from the north or the east, to refill his ranks and bring him the needful convoys.

Of military operations, as opposed to mere raids by detachments in search of food, hardly anything was undertaken by the Army of Portugal down to the end of the year. Between the 22nd and the 29th of December, General Ferey, with five battalions and a cavalry regiment, carried out a useless excursion beyond the Zezere, into the desolate region of Castello Branco as far as Corti?ada; apparently he had been sent out because of rumours that a French force was operating in this direction, and he was told to get into touch with it. But these reports were idle—they were tardy echoes of Gardanne’s unhappy march on the Estrada Nova[18] a full month before. The brigade returned, wearied and more than half-starved, on the seventh day, equally destitute of news and of the plunder that it had hoped to find in a hitherto untouched district. The only fruitful action, indeed, which the French carried out in this month was the completion of the great bridge-equipage at the mouth of the Zezere, which Masséna had ordered General Eblé to construct many weeks back[19]. His object was to have at his disposition means for crossing the Tagus, in case he should wish to invade the Alemtejo, or to co-operate with any friendly troops that might appear from that direction. Originally he had intended to make Santarem his crossing-point, but, after some boats had been built there, with immense difficulties owing to the entire lack of appliances, he determined that the place was too near the British lines, and too much exposed to attacks by Wellington’s river flotilla. Obviously a serious attempt to cross the Tagus near Santarem, even if its initial stages succeeded, and the larger part of the army got over, would expose the rear divisions to almost certain destruction, since Wellington could throw 30,000 men upon them within the next twelve hours. There is no more certain way of ruining an army than to allow it to be caught divided into two halves by a broad river spanned by one or two precarious bridges. On the other hand, the mouth of the Zezere was very remote from Wellington’s main[p. 16] army, and a crossing made opposite to it could only be opposed by a part of Beresford’s force, which was not very large, and was spread along fifty miles of the river front. Moreover, the corps executing the passage would not have any great danger on its flank or rear, since there was only the Portuguese garrison of Abrantes to molest it. It was an additional advantage that a bridge-equipage at Punhete could be kept in perfect safety a mile or two up the Zezere, out of range of guns on the further bank of the Tagus, and could be floated down at the last moment: while at Santarem the boats had to be stored on the actual bank of the Tagus, exposed to attacks from the side of the water by Wellington’s gunboats. One effort to sink or fire them by a bombardment and the use of Congreve rockets had already been made[20].

Accordingly Masséna resolved that if he made any attempt to cross into the Alemtejo, he would take Punhete and the estuary of the Zezere as his starting-point. Here he established his dockyard, and hither he transferred most of the busy workers from Santarem. In the course of a month they got ready for him the materials for two bridges broad enough to span the Tagus, besides ninety flat-bottomed boats. The mouth of the Zezere was protected by a number of batteries, to keep down the fire of any guns that Beresford might bring up to sink the bridges when they were being cast across.

These preparations did not long escape Wellington’s notice; he saw that the ground opposite Punhete was the most crucial point in Beresford’s long front, and bade him close up his troops toward it. The detachment beyond the Tagus was reinforced by a Spanish brigade under Carlos de Espa?a, drawn from La Romana’s army, which was placed at Barca just opposite the mouth of the Zezere, with William Stewart’s brigade of the 2nd Division close by at Santa Margarida, Tramagal, and Pinheiros. Three batteries were established on the Tagus bank opposite Punhete, and armed with six-pounders; but as these were overmatched by the French guns across the water, nine-pounders were requisitioned from Lisbon[21]. The rest of the[p. 17] 2nd Division and Hamilton’s two Portuguese brigades were to be ready to march to support Carlos de Espa?a and Stewart at the shortest notice. These dispositions were sufficient to keep Masséna quiet; he had no real intention of crossing the Tagus unless he heard of Soult’s approach from the direction of the Alemtejo[22].

On that side all was tranquil—as indeed it was destined to remain for many a week more. But just at the end of the month of December the isolation in which the Army of Portugal had so long been living at last came to an end, and reinforcements and news were at last received, though the news was disheartening and the reinforcements inadequate. On the 26th the reconnoitring party under General Marcognet, which had just beaten up Wilson’s quarters at Espinhal, was surprised by the appearance of a party of regular cavalry pushing towards them on the road from Ponte de Murcella. The uniforms were soon seen to be those of French dragoons, and a joyful meeting took place[23]. The new-comers announced that they were the advanced guard of Drouet’s 9th Corps, which was pushing down the valley of the Mondego in search of the Army of Portugal, but had no exact knowledge of where it was to be found.

The 9th Corps, it will be remembered, was a promiscuous assembly of some twenty newly-raised fourth battalions, belonging to the regiments which were already in Spain. Eleven were fractions of corps serving in Soult’s Army of Andalusia, five of regiments of Ney’s 6th Corps, the rest of units under Reynier’s and Junot’s command. Drouet had been originally ordered to do no more than conduct these battalions, which were little better than a mass of drafts, to join the regiments to which they belonged. They were divided into two provisional divisions under Generals Conroux and Claparéde. Thrust, as it were, into Spain without any regular organization, destitute of battalion transport, and with an improvised and insufficient staff,[p. 18] they had made very slow progress since they crossed the Pyrenees, mainly owing to difficulties of commissariat. When Foy passed Salamanca on November 10th, the head of Claparéde’s division had only just entered that city; the tail of the corps was struggling up from Valladolid and Burgos. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that Claparéde only reached the neighbourhood of Almeida on the 15th of November, and that Drouet had not concentrated his whole force at that place till December 14th. He had about 16,000 men, having left three of his own battalions to garrison Ciudad Rodrigo, and picked up instead the remains of Gardanne’s column, which had retreated on to the Spanish frontier in such disorder at the end of the preceding month[24]. This detachment, by reason of its losses during its disastrous flight, had been reduced to about 1,400 men fit for service—about the same number that Drouet had left behind him from his own corps. Drouet was acting under stringent orders from the Emperor to move forward at the earliest possible moment[25], and open up communication with Masséna. His original instructions had been to go no further forward than Almeida himself, but to send a column under Gardanne, 6,000 strong, to clear and keep open the way to the Tagus. The march and failure of Gardanne have been already related, and Drouet saw that to carry out the Emperor’s orders he must use a larger force. At the same time his dispatches told him that he must at all costs keep in touch with Almeida, and not merely join Masséna and allow himself to be cut off from Spain[26].

Drouet’s solution of the problem was that with Conroux’s division and Gardanne’s detachment, some 8,000 men, he would march down the Mondego by Celorico and Ponte de Murcella, and cut his way to join Masséna, but that he would leave his second division under Claparéde behind him, about Celorico and Trancoso, to keep in touch with Almeida and maintain his communications. This was about as much as could be done to carry[p. 19] out Napoleon’s instructions, which were essentially impossible to execute. For the Portuguese militia, with which the 9th Corps had to deal, were, when properly managed, a very intangible enemy, who could retire whenever a column passed, and return to block the way when it had gone by. It is impossible to see how Drouet could have kept open the whole road from Almeida to Thomar, without leaving all along the way a couple of battalions, entrenched in a good position, at distances of fifteen or twenty miles from each other. And if he had done this, he would have had no force left at the moment when he joined Masséna. It was useless for Napoleon to tell him in one breath to keep the road open from end to end, and in the next to forbid him to make any small detachments[27]. But the Emperor neither fully understood the military situation in Portugal, nor grasped the relative merits of its roads or the relative resources of its various regions. In a dispatch sent out to Masséna on December 4th (but not delivered till February) he advised that Marshal to try to open his communications with Spain by the awful mountain road from the Zezere by Cardigos and Belmonte to Guarda, and at the same time to use the desolate Castello Branco country ‘pour faire des vivres.’ Ferey’s fruitless expedition up that very road and into that very region, carried out a fortnight before the Emperor’s dispatch was even written, had sufficiently proved the futility of the suggestion.

But to return to Drouet: he left Almeida on December 14th, and crossed the Coa with both his divisions and Gardanne’s detachment. The only enemy near him was Silveira, who with his six militia regiments and the reorganized 24th of the Line (the absconding garrison of Almeida, which had eluded its forced oath to Masséna in the preceding autumn[28]) was lying at Trancoso. To that place the Portuguese general had retired (abandoning the blockade of Almeida) when the 9th Corps arrived on the frontier. Of the other militia brigades of the north Miller with four battalions was at Vizeu, Trant with seven at Coimbra; Baccelar, the Commander-in-Chief, lay at Oporto with the small remainder.

Drouet, copying Masséna’s first dispositions in the preceding[p. 20] autumn, marched from Almeida in two columns; he himself took the high road by Celorico; Claparéde was sent along the more difficult mountain route by Trancoso, which place Silveira evacuated on his approach. At Celorico Drouet cut himself loose from his lieutenant, who (in accordance with Napoleon’s orders) was to stay behind, to remain in touch with Almeida, and (vain thought!) to keep open the communications. Taking Conroux and Gardanne with him, he marched south of the Mondego, past Chamusca and Moita, as far as Ponte de Murcella, which he reached on the 24th. He met with no opposition, for Baccelar, anxious only for Oporto, had told Silveira to keep in front of Claparéde, and Miller to stay at Vizeu, but both to be ready to fall back on Oporto if Drouet’s advance turned out to have that city as its objective. Similarly Trant was to hold on to Coimbra unless the French column took the northern road, in which case he too might be called back to Oporto[29]. Between Drouet, therefore, and Masséna’s army there was only left the weak brigade of John Wilson at Espinhal, and this force had been driven out of its usual position by Marcognet’s flying column on November 23rd, and had retired to Pe?acova beyond the Mondego, below the heights of Bussaco. On the 26th Drouet’s advance cavalry came into touch with Marcognet, as has been already related, at Espinhal, just as the latter was preparing to retire to Thomar, with the report that there was nothing stirring in the north.

Thus Drouet’s 8,000 men came into the sphere of Masséna’s operations; but he did not at first seem to realize the fact. He sent on Gardanne’s detachment (which mostly belonged to the 2nd Corps) to join the Marshal, but halted Conroux’s division at Espinhal, and only went forward in person as far as Thomar, where he stopped for two days conferring with Ney. Instead of reporting himself to Masséna, he merely sent on a dispatch, to say that he had opened the communications, and was under orders from the Emperor to keep them safe. With this purpose he intended to return to the Mondego, and get back into touch with Claparéde. Masséna was in no small degree irritated at this pretension of Drouet to act as an independent commander, and sent him a peremptory order to come to head quarters to[p. 21] make his report, and to send on Conroux’s division from Espinhal to occupy Leiria. After some slight friction Drouet obeyed. The communications with Almeida, re-established for a moment, were thus broken again after four days, for John Wilson, the instant that Conroux began to break up from Espinhal, came boldly back towards that place, attacked the French rearguard on December 30th, and, after doing it some little harm, blocked the high-road to the north once more[30]. Drouet was completely cut off from Claparéde, and his arrival brought no profit to Masséna beyond his 8,000 men and the moderate train of ammunition which he had escorted. It was not with such a reinforcement that the Marshal could hope to resume the offensive. Indeed, as Wellington sagely remarked[31], if nothing more came up to join him, his retreat looked more certain and necessary than ever.

While Drouet was on the march to Leiria, his lieutenant, Claparéde, the moment that he was no longer under his superior’s eye, had gone off on a bold and rather hazardous raid of his own. Finding that Silveira’s militia were sticking closely to his skirts, he resolved to make an attempt to surprise them by a forced march. Concentrating at Trancoso on December 30th, he fell upon the enemy on the following day at Ponte do Abbade, and routed them with a loss of 200 men. Silveira, notwithstanding this check, adhered to his orders to keep close to Claparéde, and retired no further than Villa da Ponte, some seven miles away. But the French general made a second sudden sally from Trancoso on January 11th[32], beat the Portuguese much more decisively, and pursued them as far as Lamego on the Douro. Silveira crossed the river in great disorder on the 13th, and the news of his defeat brought terror to Oporto. Baccelar at once ordered not only the brigade from Vizeu (Miller was just dead and no longer commanded it), but Trant from Coimbra, and Wilson from Pe?acova, to fall back and join him.[p. 22] They concentrated at Castro Daire, ten miles south of Lamego, with a force of 14,000 bayonets, whereupon Claparéde, who had only 6,000 men with him, began to fear that he would be cut off from Almeida and isolated in a difficult position. He evacuated Lamego and returned to Trancoso by forced marches, having accomplished nothing save the destruction of a few hundred militia and the spreading of panic as far as Oporto (January 18th)[33]. Shortly after he left Trancoso and moved southward to Celorico and Guarda[34], where he commanded the two roads to the Tagus, yet was not too far from Almeida and his base. But he was still completely cut off from Masséna, and the Portuguese at once resumed their old positions around him—Trant returning to Coimbra, Wilson to Pe?acova on the Mondego, while Baccelar with the reserves lay more to the rear, at S?o Pedro do Sul on the Vouga. Claparéde’s movement would have been dangerous for the allies if he had possessed a heavier force, but 6,000 men were too few for a serious march on Oporto, and if the column had not retreated in haste it would probably have suffered complete disaster.

The only use which Masséna could make of Drouet and the division of Conroux was to cover more ground for foraging by their means. When placed at Leiria they much restricted the activities of Blunt at Peniche and Trant at Coimbra, who could no longer push their advanced posts so far to the front, and had to cede to the enemy all the land about the Souré and Alcoa rivers. Here Drouet collected enough food both to feed himself and to give help to Ney; but the resources of the district were, after all, limited, and within a few weeks the men of the 9th Corps were living on the edge of daily starvation like their fellows. The Army of Portugal had got no solid help from this quarter. It remained to be seen whether they would obtain better aid from the other side from which Masséna had hoped to be reinforced—the Army of Andalusia.
SECTION XXIII: CHAPTER II
SOULT’S EXPEDITION INTO ESTREMADURA. JANUARY-MARCH 1811. THE BATTLE OF THE GEBORA AND THE FALL OF BADAJOZ

In his original scheme for the invasion of Portugal, Napoleon had given no part to the Army of Andalusia, judging that Masséna, supported by the 9th Corps, would be amply strong enough to drive the English into the sea. It is not till the 29th of September that the imperial correspondence begins to show signs of a desire that Soult should do something to help the Army of Portugal. But the assistance which was to be given is defined, in the dispatch of that date, as no more than a diversion to be made against Estremadura by Mortier and the 5th Corps, with the object of preventing La Romana from giving any aid to Wellington[35]. Soult is directed to see that Mortier keeps the Spanish Army of Estremadura in check: he is always to be on its heels, so that it will have no opportunity of sending troops towards the Tagus. Nothing is said about making a serious attack on Estremadura, or of threatening Badajoz with a siege. On the 26th of October comes the next allusion to this subject[36]: the Emperor had learnt from the English newspapers—always his best source of intelligence—that La Romana with a large part of his forces has marched on Lisbon to join Wellington, and that he has been able to do so without molestation. That this should have happened was, he thought, due to direct disobedience on Soult’s part: the Marshal cannot have kept in touch with the enemy. And he is directed in vague terms to ‘faire pousser sur La Romana,’ whatever exactly that may mean. An interpretation for the phrase,[p. 24] however, turns up in the next imperial dispatch[37]—Mortier and the 5th Corps ought to have followed the Spanish general march for march, and to have presented themselves on the Lower Tagus in face of Lisbon shortly after the arrival of La Romana in the Portuguese capital.

Soult had little difficulty in proving that this scheme was absolutely impossible. It argued, indeed, a complete misconception of the situation in Estremadura and Andalusia. To talk lightly of pushing Mortier and the 5th Corps, which comprised at this moment just 13,000 men, right across Estremadura to the mouth of the Tagus, ‘en talonnant La Romana,’ was futile. The Spanish General had gone off to join Wellington with some 7,000 or 8,000 men. But he had left behind him in Estremadura two strong infantry divisions, those of Mendizabal and Ballasteros, with 12,000 bayonets, 6,000 more infantry in garrison at Badajoz, Olivenza, and Albuquerque, and the whole of his cavalry, 2,500 sabres. In addition there were interposed between Mortier and the Tagus about 8,500 Portuguese—a cavalry brigade under Madden which had been lent to the Spaniards, and, near Badajoz, a regular infantry brigade at Elvas, and four militia regiments, forming the garrisons of the last-named place, of Campo Mayor, and of Jerumenha. That is to say, there lay before Mortier, after La Romana’s departure, a field army which, if concentrated, would make up 18,000 men, and in addition six fortresses containing garrisons amounting to 11,000 men more, and covering all the main strategical points of the country. How could he have pursued La Romana? If he had followed, he would have found himself at once involved in a campaign against superior forces in a region studded with hostile strongholds. ‘On this frontier,’ as Soult wrote to Berthier, ‘there are six fortified places—Badajoz, Olivenza, Jerumenha, Elvas, Campo Mayor, Albuquerque, in which there are at least 20,000 infantry and 2,500 cavalry. It is clear to me that if I thrust a body of 10,000 men forward to the Tagus, as his majesty has directed, that body would never reach its[p. 25] destination, and would be cut off and surrounded before I could get up to its aid[38].’ This was indisputably correct: Mortier might have beaten Mendizabal and Ballasteros in the open field, if they chose to offer him battle; but if they preferred to concentrate on Badajoz or Elvas, and defied him from under the shadow of those great fortresses, he could not ignore them and march by in pursuit of La Romana. The moment that he was past their positions, they would cut him off from Andalusia, and he would find himself with their whole force at his back, and in front of him anything that Wellington might have sent to the south bank of the Tagus. In December this would have meant 14,000 men under Hill, at the New Year about 16,000 under Beresford. As Soult truly said, the expedition would have been encompassed, and probably destroyed, long before Masséna heard of its having got anywhere near him[39]. Nevertheless the[p. 26] Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Portugal was told to expect this diversion as a matter of certainty: in the dispatch that Foy took back to him (dated Dec. 4) he was given the precise statement that the 5th Corps was to be looked for somewhere in the direction of Montalv?o and Villaflor, on the Tagus above Abrantes, at no distant date.

After having, as he thought, demonstrated to his master that it would be useless to send Mortier alone, with 10,000 or 12,000 men, to make an impossible dash at the Tagus, Soult made another proposal. He would undertake not a mere raid, but the capture of Badajoz, the conquest of Estremadura, and the destruction of the army of that province; but he must take with him a force much greater than the mere 5th Corps. ‘The enterprise is a big one, but ought to succeed—at least it will produce a happy diversion in favour of the imperial army in Portugal[40].’ It would call back La Romana from Lisbon, and possibly cause Wellington to detach troops in his aid, and Masséna would have less in front of him in consequence, and might resume the offensive.

There was of course another course possible: Soult might have marched for Estremadura not with the 13,000 men of the 5th Corps alone, nor yet with the 20,000 men whom he actually took thither in January, but with the greater part of the French Army of Andalusia, 35,000 or 40,000 men. To do so he would have had to abandon Granada, Malaga, and Jaen on the one side, and his hold on the Condado de Niebla and the west upon the other. He might even possibly have had to raise the siege of Cadiz, though this is not quite certain. Many months after, in the end of March, when all chance of the conquest of Portugal was over, the Emperor told him that this would have been his proper course, and read him an ex-post-facto lecture on the advantages that might have followed, if he had evacuated two-thirds of his viceroyalty and taken an imposing force to sweep across the Alemtejo and assail Lisbon from the southern side[41].[p. 27] But it must be remembered that in December and January all the orders that were sent him directed him to move no more than a small corps—in one dispatch the Emperor calls it only 10,000 men. A supreme commander-in-chief present on the spot might have seen his way to make the temporary sacrifice of the provinces which had cost so many men to conquer and to hold, in order that every available man might be sent against Lisbon, and the English might at last be expelled from the Peninsula. But Soult was not such a commander-in-chief; he was only one of the many viceroys whom Napoleon preferred to a single omnipotent lieutenant. Was it likely that he would sacrifice half his own territory, when no order to do so lay before him, in order that a colleague, sent on a separate task with forces no less than his own, might have every possible advantage? Soult is often blamed for not having seen that the crushing of Wellington’s army was the end to which all others should have been subordinated, and that it would have been cheap in the end to surrender half or three-quarters of Andalusia, and even to raise the siege of Cadiz, in order to secure that point. He might have replied that his master was no less blind than himself: dispatch after dispatch had ordered him to send a trifling detachment towards the Tagus, not to mass every available man and march on Lisbon, leaving Seville and the Cadiz lines exposed to all manner of dangers. He was primarily responsible for the retention of the Andalusia that he had conquered; it was for the Emperor, not for himself, to order the evacuation of much or all of that great realm. The Emperor gave no such directions: from September to January his whole series of dispatches spoke of nothing more than the movement of a moderate force; those of January 25th and February 6th approved of the course which Soult had actually chosen, and took it for granted that he would not move towards the Tagus till he should have captured Badajoz[42]. It was not till March, when he began to[p. 28] see that all his arrangements were going wrong, and that his scheme of times was erroneous, that the Emperor began suddenly to launch out into criticisms of Soult, and to complain that ‘to try to hold every point at a moment of crisis leads to possible disaster,’ that ‘Seville, Badajoz, and the Cadiz lines were the only necessary things,’ and that the Marshal ought to have 30,000 men or more with him at Badajoz instead of the 20,000 men whom he had actually taken thither[43]. If so, why had the orders not been given to that effect early in December, when Napoleon had just learnt from Foy the state and position of the Army of Portugal, which had so long been hidden from him behind Wellington’s screen of Ordenan?a?

If we seek deep enough, we find the cause of all misdirections in the fact that the Emperor persisted in guiding the movements of all his army from Paris, and would not appoint an independent commander-in-chief of all the Spanish armies, who should be able to issue orders that would be promptly obeyed by every separate marshal or general in each province. A moment’s reflection shows that the data as to the details of the situation in the Peninsula, from which Napoleon had to construct his scheme of operations, always came to him a month late. And when he had issued the dispatch which dealt with the situation, it reached its destination after the interval of another month, and had long ceased to have any bearing on the actual position of affairs. A single example of how the system worked may suffice. Masséna started Foy for Paris, with his great report on the state of the Army of Portugal, on October 29. Foy reached Paris and saw the Emperor on November 22 and the succeeding days. The detailed dispatches to Masséna and Soult, consequent on Foy’s report, were not sent off till December 4.[p. 29] On January 22nd Soult acknowledges the receipt of the dispatch of that date, along with that of two others dated November 28 and December 10, all of which arrived together, because the guerrilleros of La Mancha had stopped the posts between Madrid and Seville for a full fortnight after the New Year[44]. Of what value to Soult on January 22 could be orders based on the condition and projects of Masséna on October 29? The data at the base of the orders were three months old—while Soult had been already for more than a month engaged on a campaign undertaken on his own responsibility, without any knowledge of the exact requirements of Masséna, or of the intentions of the Emperor.

The Estremaduran expedition of January-March 1811, therefore, must be looked upon as the private scheme of the Duke of Dalmatia[45], undertaken with the general object of giving indirect assistance to Masséna, because the last orders that he had received from Paris (those of October 26), telling him to give direct assistance, by sending Mortier to the Tagus, were impossible of execution[46]. Soult had two leading ideas in his mind when he planned out his campaign. The first was that he was going into a country thickly set with fortresses; the second was that, when once the skirts of the Sierra Morena have been passed, Estremadura is a ‘cavalry country,’ a land of heaths and of unenclosed tillage-fields of vast area. Accordingly he intended to march with a very large force of cavalry, and with a heavy siege-train. At Seville he had at his disposition the greatest arsenal of Spain; but for many months all that it produced had been going forward to Cadiz: no less than 290 pieces had been sent to arm the vast lines in front of the blockaded city. Accordingly it took some time to get ready the heavy guns, and to manufacture the ammunition required for such a big business as the siege of the six fortresses,[p. 30] small and great, into whose midst he was about to thrust himself. The personnel for the siege-train had also to be collected: requisitions were sent, both to Victor at Cadiz and to Sebastiani at Granada, to detach and send into Seville nearly all their sappers, and the men of several companies of artillery. They were also to send to the expeditionary force many regiments of cavalry. Mortier had only two (10th Hussars and 21st Chasseurs), which had sufficed when he was engaged in the heights of the Sierra Morena, but were insufficient when he was about to descend into the plain of the Guadiana. Accordingly half the cavalry of Victor’s 1st Corps was called up—four regiments (4th, 14th, 26th Dragoons, 2nd Hussars), while Sebastiani gave up one (27th Chasseurs); to these was added an experimental Spanish cavalry regiment of ‘Juramentados’ recently organized at Seville. Only one infantry regiment was requisitioned, the 63rd Line, from Victor’s 3rd Division. The putting together of these resources gave a force in which the proportions of the arms were very peculiar—4,000 cavalry, 2,000 artillery and sappers, to only 13,500 infantry; the last, all save the above-mentioned 63rd regiment, drawn from Mortier’s 5th Corps. The orders for the concentration of the troops were issued early in December, but owing to the time required for drawing in units from Granada and Cadiz, and for the preparation of the siege-train, it was not till the last day of the old year that the Marshal took his departure from Seville.

The collection of a field army of 20,000 men, which was to cut itself loose from Andalusia for a time, imposed some tiresome problems on Soult. Since he had resolved not to evacuate Granada or Malaga on the one hand, nor the posts west of the Guadalquivir on the other, and since he was drawing off the 5th Corps, which had hitherto provided for the safety of Seville and found detachments for the Condado de Niebla, he had to make provision for the filling of the gap left behind him. Hence we find him calling upon Victor to spare men from in front of Cadiz—a demand which the Duke of Belluno took very ill—since he truly declared that he had no more troops in the 1st Corps than sufficed to man the lines and to keep posts of observation in his rear. The garrison of Cadiz was always increasing, and included a strong nucleus of British troops.[p. 31] How could he face sorties, or disembarkations in his rear, if he was cut down to a mere 18,000 men in place of the 24,000 on which he had hitherto reckoned? Nevertheless, he was forced to provide a detachment to hold Xeres, as a half-way house to Seville, and to send out a cavalry regiment (9th Dragoons) and one battalion west of the Guadalquivir. Similarly, the brigade of Godinot in the kingdom of Cordova[47] was required to find a skeleton garrison for Seville, which was raised to a somewhat higher figure, in appearance, by the doubtful aid of some ‘juramentado’ companies of Spaniards, and of the dép?ts and convalescents of the 5th Corps. The great city, with a turbulent population of 100,000 souls, which formed the centre of his viceroyalty, became at this time Soult’s weakest point—he left it so inadequately held that it was at the mercy of any considerable hostile force which might approach it—and such a force was ere long, as we shall see, to make its appearance. Godinot had also to look after the insurgent bands of the central Sierra Morena, who often blocked the post road to Madrid. Sebastiani (save for the cavalry and artillery borrowed from him) was left with his 4th Corps intact, and his duty was unchanged—to watch the Spanish army of Murcia, and to suppress the guerrilleros of the Sierra de Ronda and the eastern coast—an unending task from which Soult thought that he ought not to be distracted. Napoleon, wise after the event, wrote in March that Soult should have left no more than the Polish division of the 4th Corps in the direction of Granada, and have brought the remainder of it to strengthen or support the troops at Seville and in the lines before Cadiz. In that case the Poles would certainly have had to move westward also ere long, since there were but 5,000 of them, and all Eastern Andalusia would have had to be evacuated. But this idea had never struck Soult as practicable, and Sebastiani’s whole corps was left in its old posts in the kingdom of Granada.

The invasion of Estremadura was carried out in two columns of about equal strength, which used the two main passes between Western Andalusia and the valley of the Guadiana.[p. 32] The right column under Latour-Maubourg took the route by Guadalcanal, Llerena, and Usagre; it was composed of his own regiments of dragoons from the 1st Corps, and of Girard’s infantry division of the 5th Corps, which latter had been cantoned in Llerena since the autumn, and was now picked up and taken forward by the cavalry. The left column, which was accompanied both by Soult and by Mortier, was composed of Briche’s light cavalry and Gazan’s division of the 5th Corps. It had to escort the slowly moving siege-train of 34 guns, which (with the 60,000 kilos of powder belonging to it) was drawn by 2,500 draught oxen, requisitioned along with their drivers from the province of Seville. This column took the route Ronquillo, Sta Olalla, Monasterio, which, if less steep and better made than the Llerena-Guadalcanal road, is longer, and passes through an even more desolate and resourceless country. It was intended that the two columns should join at Los Santos or Almendralejo, in the Estremaduran plain, and lay siege at once to Badajoz, the enemy’s most formidable stronghold. Its fall, so Soult hoped, would lead to the easy conquest of the minor fortresses.

But the two columns did not meet with equal fortune. That commanded by Latour-Maubourg met practically no resistance in its first stages. On arriving at Usagre on January 3, it found in its front almost the whole of the allied cavalry in Estremadura—Butron with 1,500 Spaniards, Madden with nearly 1,000 Portuguese. But this was merely a screen thrown out to cover the retreat beyond the Guadiana of Mendizabal and the division of Spanish infantry which had been cantoned in this region. That officer had been ordered by his chief, La Romana, to break the bridge of Merida, after retiring over it, and then to attempt to hold the line of the Guadiana. He did neither; precipitately marching on Merida, he passed through it in great haste, but forgot to see that the bridge was duly destroyed, and then retired along the north bank of the Guadiana to Badajoz. Latour-Maubourg, according to his directions, did not cross the river, but halted near Almendralejo, to wait for the other column, which was not forthcoming. Only Soult himself and Briche’s light cavalry appeared at Zafra on the 5th, and joined Latour-Maubourg on the 6th of January.[p. 33] Gazan’s infantry and the siege-train were far away, and unavailable for many a day. The plans of the left invading column had miscarried. For when its head reached Monasterio, at the summit of the long pass, its tail, the siege-train, was dragging far behind. In the desolate stages about Ronquillo and Sta Olalla it had met with tempestuous rains, as might have been expected at the season. Many of the oxen died, the unwilling Spanish drivers deserted wholesale, and there was much delay and considerable loss of vehicles. The train and its small escort got completely separated from Gazan’s infantry. At this moment Soult’s cavalry reported to him that a formidable column of hostile infantry was lying a few miles to the west of Monasterio, on the bad cross-road to Calera, and was apparently moving round his flank, either to fall upon the belated convoy or perhaps to make a dash at Seville.

This column was the 5,000 infantry of Ballasteros, who, as it chanced, had begun to march southward at the same moment that Soult had started northward. The Spanish general had just received orders from Cadiz bidding him cut himself loose from the Estremaduran army, and move into the Condado de Niebla, where he was to unite with the local levies under Copons, drive out the weak French detachment there stationed, and threaten Seville from the west if it should be practicable. These orders had been given, of course, before Soult’s plan for invading Estremadura was suspected at Cadiz. But though unwise in themselves—it was not the time to deplete Estremadura of troops—they had the effect of bringing Soult’s great man?uvre to a standstill for some weeks. The Marshal determined that he must free his flank from this threatening force before continuing his march, and ordered Mortier to attack Ballasteros without delay. This was done, but the Spaniard, after a running fight of two hours, retired to Fregenal, fifteen miles further west, without suffering any serious harm (January 4th). He was still in a position to threaten the rear of the convoy, or to slip round the flank of the French column towards Seville. Soult therefore resolved to go on with his cavalry and join Latour-Maubourg, but to drop Gazan’s infantry in the passes, with the order to head off Ballasteros at all costs, and to cover the siege-train in its journey across the mountains.[p. 34] Gazan therefore took post at Fuentes de Leon, but soon heard that Ballasteros had moved south again from Fregenal towards the Chanza river, and was apparently trying to get round his flank. Leaving a detachment to help the convoy on its slow and toilsome route, Gazan resolved to pursue the Spanish column and destroy it at all costs. This determination led him into three weeks of desperate mountain-marching and semi-starvation, at the worst season of the year. For Ballasteros, who showed considerable skill in drawing his enemy on, moved ever south and west towards the lower Guadiana, and picked up Copons’s levies by the way. He at last turned to fight at Villanueva de los Castillejos on January 24th. Gazan, who had been joined meanwhile by the small French detachment in the Condado de Niebla, brought his enemy to action on the 25th. The Asturian battalions which formed Ballasteros’s division made a creditable resistance, and when evicted from their position retired across the Guadiana to Alcoutim in Portugal, without having suffered any overwhelming loss[48]. Gazan therefore resolved to pursue them no further—indeed he had been drawn down into one of the remotest corners of Spain to little profit, and realized that Soult must be brought to a standstill one hundred miles away, for want of the 6,000 infantry who had now been executing their toilsome excursion in the mountains for three weeks.

Accordingly, the French general bade Remond, the commander of the Niebla detachment, watch Ballasteros, and himself returned to Estremadura by a most painful march through Puebla de Guzman, El Cerro, Fregenal, and Xeres de los Caballeros. He reported his return to Soult at Valverde on February 3rd. His services had been lost to his chief for a month all but two days, a fact which had the gravest results on the general course of the campaign of Estremadura[49].

[p. 35]For the Duke of Dalmatia, when he had joined Latour-Maubourg on January 6th, found that he had at his disposition 4,000 cavalry but only the 6,000 infantry of Girard, while the siege-train was still blocked in the passes by Monasterio. With such a force he did not like to beleaguer a place so large and so heavily garrisoned as Badajoz. Accordingly, he was forced to abandon his original intention of forming its siege, and to think of some lesser enterprise, more suited to his strength. After some hesitation, he determined to attack the weak and old-fashioned fortress of Olivenza, the southernmost of all the fortified places on the Spanish-Portuguese frontier. To cover his movement he sent Briche’s cavalry to Merida, which they occupied on January 7th, almost without resistance, finding the bridge intact. From thence they sought for Mendizabal on the north side of the Guadiana, and discovered that he had withdrawn to Albuquerque, twenty miles north of Badajoz. Meanwhile Latour-Maubourg with four dragoon regiments took post at Albuera to watch the garrison of Badajoz, while Soult marched with Girard’s infantry and one cavalry regiment to attack Olivenza, before whose walls he appeared on January 11th, 1811.

Olivenza ought never to have been defended. For since its cession by Portugal to Spain after Godoy’s futile ‘War of the Oranges’ in 1801, it had been systematically neglected. The breach made by the Spaniards at its siege ten years before had never been properly repaired—only one-third of the masonry had been replaced, and the rest of the gap had been merely stopped with earth. Its one outlying work, a lunette 300 yards only from its southern point, was lying in ruins and unoccupied. The circuit of its walls was about a mile, but there were only eighteen guns[50] to guard them. The garrison down to the 5th of January had consisted of a single battalion left there by La Romana, when he marched for Portugal in October. But Mendizabal, apparently in inexcusable ignorance of the condition of the place, had ordered a whole brigade of his infantry to throw themselves into it when Soult began to press forward. He sacrificed, in fact, 2,400 out of the 6,000 bayonets of his division[p. 36] by bidding them shut themselves up in an utterly untenable fortress[51]. The governor, General Manuel Herck—an old Swiss officer—was ailing and quite incapable; a man of resources might have done something with the heavy garrison placed under his orders, even though the walls were weak and artillery almost non-existent; but Herck disgraced himself.

When Soult arrived in front of Olivenza on January 11th, his engineers informed him that the place, weak as it was, was too strong to take by escalade, but that a very few days of regular battering would suffice to ruin it. Unfortunately for him, there was as yet no heavy artillery at his disposition, but only the divisional batteries of Girard’s two brigades; the siege-train was still stuck in the passes. However, the outlying lunette opposite the south front was at once seized, and turned into a battery for four field-guns, which opened their fire on the next day. The old Spanish breach of 1801, obviously ready to fall in on account of its rickety repairs, was visible in the north-west front, the bastion of San Pedro. Opposite this sites for two more batteries were planned, and a first parallel opened. The trench-work went on almost unhindered by the Spaniards, who showed but few guns and shot very badly, but under considerable difficulties from the rainy weather, which was perpetually flooding the lower parts of the lines. But in ten days approaches were pushed right up to the edge of the counterscarp, and mines prepared to blow it in. The siege artillery began to arrive on the 19th, in detachments, and continued to drop in for several days. On the 21st the batteries, being completed, were armed with the first 12-pounders that came up. On the 22nd the fire began, and at once proved most effective: the bastion of San Pedro began to crumble in, and the old breach of 1801 revealed itself, by the falling away of the rammed earth which alone stopped it up. The arrangements for a storm had not yet been commenced when the garrison hoisted the white[p. 37] flag. Mortier refused all negotiations and demanded a surrender at discretion. This the old governor hastened to concede, coming out in person at one of the gates, and putting the place at the disposition of the French without further argument.[52] Soult and Mortier entered next day, and 4,161 Spanish troops marched out and laid down their arms before the 6,000 infantry of Girard, who had formed the sole besieging force. The total loss of the French during the siege was 15 killed and 40 wounded—that of the besieged about 200. The figures are a sufficient evidence of the disgraceful weakness of the defence.

When one reflects what was done to hold the unfortified town of Saragossa, and the mediaeval enceinte of Gerona, it is impossible not to reflect what a determined governor might have accomplished at Olivenza. The place was short of guns, no doubt—but the enemy was worse off till the last days of the siege, since he had nothing but twelve light field-pieces until the siege-train began to arrive. General Herck made no sorties to disturb the works—though he had a superabundant garrison; he made no serious attempt to retrench the breach, and he surrendered actually ere the first summons had been sent in before the storm. At the worst he might have tried to cut his way out between the French camps, which were scattered far from each other, owing to the extremely small numbers of the besieging army, who only counted three men to the defenders’ two. Altogether it was a disgraceful business. The place, no doubt, ought never to have been held; but if held it might at least have been defended—which it practically was not.

Soult was placed in a new difficulty by the surrender of Olivenza. Though his siege-train had begun to come up, he had no news of Gazan, and his infantry was still no more than a single division. He had to spare two battalions to escort the 4,000 prisoners to Seville, and to put another in Olivenza as garrison[53]. This left him only eleven battalions—5,435 bayonets,[p. 38] to continue the campaign, though he had the enormous force of 4,000 cavalry at his disposition, and a siege-train that was growing every day, as more belated pieces came up from the rear. He might probably have waited for Gazan, for whom messages had been vainly sent, if he had not received, on the day that Olivenza fell, one more of Berthier’s peremptory letters, dated 22 December, in which he was told (as usual) to send the 5th Corps to join Masséna on the Tagus without delay. This letter came at an even more inappropriate moment than usual, as Gazan, with half that corps, was lost to sight in the mountain of the Condado de Niebla, more than a hundred and twenty miles away. But it was clear that something immediate must be done, or the Emperor would be more discontented than before; accordingly Soult resolved to take the very hazardous step of laying siege to Badajoz at once with the small infantry force at his disposition. For this move would undoubtedly provoke alarm at Lisbon, and lead Wellington to send off La Romana’s army to succour it, and perhaps some Anglo-Portuguese troops also, so that the mass opposed to Masséna would be more or less weakened.

Accordingly on the 26th of January Soult marched against Badajoz, which is only twelve miles north-west of Olivenza, with under 6,000 infantry, ten companies of artillery, and seven of sappers, to invest the southern side of Badajoz, while Latour-Maubourg, with six regiments of cavalry, crossed the Guadiana by a ford, and went to blockade the place on its northern front.

Badajoz, though owning some defects, was still a stronghold of the first class, in far better order than most of the Peninsular fortresses. It belonged to that order of places whose topography forces a besieger to divide his army by a dangerous obstacle, since it lies on a broad river, with the town on one side and a formidable outwork on the other. Indeed the most striking feature of Badajoz, whether the traveller approaches it from the east or the west, is the towering height of San Cristobal, crowned by its fort, lying above the transpontine suburb and dominating the whole city. Any enemy who begins operations against the place must take measures to blockade or to attack this high-lying fort, which completely covers the bridge and its tête-du-pont, and effectively protects ingress or egress to or from[p. 39] the place. But San Cristobal is not easy to blockade, since it is the end-bluff of a very steep narrow range of hills, which run for many miles to the north, and divide the country-side beyond the Guadiana into two separate valleys, those of the Gebora and the Caya, which are completely invisible from each other.

The city of Badajoz is built on an inclined plane, sloping down from the Castle, which stands on a lofty hill with almost precipitous grass slopes, at the north-east end of the place, down to the river on the north and the plain on the south and west. The castle-hill and San Cristobal between them form a sort of gorge, through which the Guadiana, narrowed for a space, forces its way, to broaden out again at the immensely long bridge with its thirty-two arches and 640 yards of roadway. Below the castle the Rivillas, a stagnant brook with hardly any current,—the home of frogs and the hunting-ground of the city storks,—coasts around the walls, and finally dribbles into the river. The front of the place from the river to the castle was composed of eight regular bastions; along the river edge there lies nothing more than a single solid wall without relief or indentations: but this side of the place is wholly inaccessible owing to the water. There are two outlying works, which cover heights so close into the place that it is necessary to hold them, lest the enemy should establish himself too near the enceinte. These are the Picurina lunette beyond the Rivillas, and the much larger Pardaleras fort, a ‘half-crown-work,’ opposite the south point of the city, which covers a well-marked hill that commands that low-lying part of the place, and is a position impossible to concede to the besieger, since it is only 250 yards from the nearest bastion. It was ill-designed, having a very shallow ditch, and being incompletely closed at its gorge by a mere palisade.

The eight bastions which form the attackable part of the enceinte of Badajoz have (they remain to-day just as they were in 1811, for the place has never been modernized) a height of about thirty feet[54] from the bottom of the ditch to the rampart, while the curtains between them are somewhat lower, about twenty-two feet only. The ditch was broad, with a good[p. 40] counterscarp in masonry seven feet high; beyond it each bastion was protected in front by a rather low and weak demi-lune.

The garrison, not more than enough for such an extensive place, consisted at the New Year of 4,100 men; but Mendizabal threw in two battalions more (1st and 2nd of the Second Regiment of Seville) before he retired to the borders of Portugal, so that the figure had risen to 5,000 before Soult appeared in front of the walls. The governor was a very distinguished soldier, General Rafael Menacho, who had served through the old French war of 1792-5, and had commanded a regiment at Baylen. He was in the full vigour of middle age (forty-four years old) and abounding in spirit, resolution, and initiative, as all his movements showed down to the unhappy day of his death.

Soult’s engineers, after surveying the situation of Badajoz, reported that under ordinary circumstances the most profitable front to attack would certainly be the western—that between the Pardaleras fort and the river; but at the same time they decided that it had better be left alone. For the army was so weak that it could not properly invest the whole city, and if the north bank of the Guadiana were left practically unoccupied, as must necessarily be the case, the Spaniards would be able to seize the ground beyond the bridge-head, and establish batteries there, which would effectually enfilade the trenches which would have to be constructed for approaching the west side of the place. The castle and the north-east angle of the town were too high-lying to be chosen as the point of attack, and the Rivillas and its boggy banks were better avoided. They therefore advised that the south front should be chosen as the objective, and that the first operation taken in hand should be the capture of the Pardaleras fort, for that work appeared weak and ill-planned, while its site would make the most advantageous of starting-points for breaching the enceinte of the town itself. It was the most commanding ground close in to the walls which could be discovered. Soult and Mortier concurred, and placed the army in the best position for utilizing this method of attack. The camps of Girard’s division were placed on and around two low hills, the Cerro de San Miguel on the right of the Rivillas, and the Cerro del Viento on its left. On[p. 41] the former height, about 1,800 yards from the town, nothing was done save the construction of a rough entrenchment—to face the Picurina and restrict possible sallies—in which three small batteries were afterwards inserted. The Cerro del Viento, which is about 1,200 yards from the Pardaleras, was to be the real starting-point of the attack, and under its side the siege-park and engineers’ camp were established. Two batteries in front of it were marked out and begun on the first night of ‘open trenches’ (January 28-9), but it was not till the third night (January 30-1) that the first parallel was commenced, on the undulating ground to the west of the Rivillas. When the work became visible next day, the governor directed a vigorous sortie against it, composed of 800 men. The trenches were occupied for a moment, but soon recovered by the French supports. A small body of Spanish cavalry which had taken part in the sally rode right round the rear of the camp, and sabred the chef-de-bataillon Cazin, the chief engineer, and a dozen of his sappers on the Cerro del Viento. But the total loss of the besiegers was only about seventy killed and wounded, while the men of the sortie suffered much more heavily, while they were being driven back across the open ground towards the city. Their commander, a Colonel Bassecourt of the 1st Regiment of Seville—the corps which furnished the sallying force—was killed. Next day the siege-works were so little injured that the artillery was able to put guns into the first batteries that had been marked out. On the first three days of February incessant and torrential rains stopped further work—the whole of the first parallel was inundated, and the flying bridge by which alone Soult could communicate with Latour-Maubourg on the other side of the Guadiana was washed away.

But despite of the rain February 3 was a day of joy for the French, for on its morning Gazan reported his arrival at Valverde, ten miles away, and at 3 o’clock his division of 6,000 men marched into camp and doubled the force of the besieging army. Their arrival was a piece of cruel ill-luck for the Spaniards, for on that same afternoon, at dusk, Menacho sent out a formidable sortie of 1,500 men—all that he could safely spare from the ramparts—who came out of the river-side gate (Puerto de las Palmas) and stormed the first parallel, driving[p. 42] out the workers and the three companies of their covering party. The Spaniards had already filled up a considerable section of the trench, when they were charged by two battalions of Gazan’s newly-arrived troops, and driven out again, before they had finished their task. The serious nature of the attack may be judged from the fact that the French lost 188 killed and wounded—including eight officers—in repelling it. If only one brigade of Girard had been in the Cerro del Viento camps, instead of Gazan’s entire division, it is probable that the whole first parallel and the batteries behind it would have been destroyed. While the damage was being repaired, on February 4, Soult began to bombard the town from these batteries, but with no good effect. The result, indeed, was rather to the profit of the Spaniards, for a great portion of the civil population fled at the first sign of bombardment, and escaped by night down the Guadiana bank towards Elvas. The provisions left in their deserted houses added appreciably to Menacho’s stores.

The work of extending the first parallel diagonally toward the Pardaleras was still going on, when, on February 5th, the whole situation before Badajoz was changed by the appearance in the neighbourhood of a Spanish army of succour. Even before Soult had started from Seville at the New Year, Wellington had been aware of the imminence of the invasion of Estremadura, and had been consulting with his colleague La Romana as to the measures that it would be necessary to take[55]. As early as the 2nd of January La Romana had sent orders to Mendizabal, to tell him that if the French should cross the Sierra Morena in force, he was to evacuate Southern Estremadura, break the bridges of Medellin and Merida, and endeavour to defend the line of the Guadiana[56]. By later instructions (January 8) Mendizabal was directed to retire into the Sierra de San Mamed if the enemy crossed the river above Badajoz,[p. 43] but to throw himself upon their rear, and to hang on to them, if they crossed below, and seemed to be making for Elvas and Portugal. On the 12th, Wellington, hearing that Soult seemed to be heading towards Olivenza rather than Merida, conceived doubts as to whether he might not be intending to abandon his communications with Seville, to leave the fortresses behind him, and to march to the Tagus to co-operate with Masséna upon the Alemtejo bank of that river. On the 14th arrived the more comfortable news that the French had sat down to beleaguer Olivenza, a sure sign that they did not propose to cut themselves loose from their base and to join Masséna as a flying column. As a matter of fact, as we have seen, Soult, having been deprived of Gazan’s assistance, was too weak at this moment to dream of an incursion into Portugal, and had attacked Olivenza because he could find nothing else to do for the present.

Accordingly, since the enemy had apparently settled down to besiege the Estremaduran fortresses, Wellington and La Romana determined to reinforce Mendizabal up to a strength which would enable him to act as a serious check upon Soult, probably even to foil him completely. On January 14th La Romana ordered Carlos de Espa?a and his brigade of some 1,500 or 1,800 men, from opposite Abrantes, to join the small existing remnant of the Army of Estremadura[57]. On the 19th[58], the more important resolve was taken of sending the remainder of the Spanish troops from the Lisbon lines on the same errand—they amounted to about 6,000 men, the rest of La Carrera’s division, and the whole of that of Charles O’Donnell. Starting on the 20th they reached Montemor o Novo on the 24th—where they heard of the disgraceful capitulation of Olivenza,—and Elvas on the 29th. To the same point came in Mendizabal, who, with the remains of his own infantry division—something over 3,000 men, and Butron’s cavalry, had moved from his original post at Albuquerque to Portalegre on the Portuguese border, and had there been joined by Carlos de Espa?a’s brigade. Madden’s Portuguese cavalry had already moved back to Campo Mayor and[p. 44] Elvas when Soult first undertook the siege of Olivenza. By the accumulation of all these forces an army of about 11,000 infantry and over 3,000 cavalry was put together[59].

La Romana himself had intended to take charge of the expedition, which under his prudent leadership would probably have achieved its desired end, and have held Soult completely in check. But he was prevented from starting with his troops on the 20th by an indisposition which was not judged to be serious—a ‘spasm in the chest[60],’ apparently a preliminary attack of angina pectoris. He appeared convalescent on the 22nd, but died suddenly of a recurrence of the complaint early on the afternoon of the 23rd, after he had already sent forward his secretary and staff to prepare quarters for him on the way towards the army. His death was a real disaster to the cause of the allies, for two main reasons. The first was that, unlike most of his contemporaries in the Spanish service, he was a very cautious general, who avoided risks and preferred to man?uvre rather than to fight, unless he had a good chance of success. His long marches and many retreats had won him the punning nickname of the ‘Marqués de las Romerías’—the Marquis of Pilgrimages: but even a long ‘pilgrimage’ is better than a defeat, and he had never destroyed an army, like Cuesta, Blake, or Areizaga. The other reason which made him valuable to the allied cause was that, being a man of great tact and obliging manners, he had won Wellington’s personal regard, and always lived on the best terms with him. Indeed, the Marquis was the only Spanish general, save Casta?os, who never had any difficulties with his English colleague; and it may be added that[p. 45] Wellington thought much more of his capacity than of that of Casta?os, whom he regarded as well-meaning but weak. He wrote of him, in words that may be regarded as entirely genuine and heartfelt, and which were not intended for Spanish eyes, that he was the brightest ornament of the Spanish army, an upright patriot, a strenuous and zealous defender of the cause of European liberty, a loyal colleague, a useful councillor[61].

That the Marquis was not a man of brilliant genius, nor a general of the first rank, is sufficiently evident from the account of his campaigns, duly detailed in the first three volumes of this work. But he had a very high and meritorious record; of all the old nobles of Spain he was the one who served his country best in the day of her distress. His energy and determination were displayed in his romantic escape from Denmark in 1808[62]. Having once unsheathed his sword in the national cause, he never faltered or despaired even in the day of the worst disaster. If his life had been spared he would have fought on undismayed to the end of the war. Though he became involved in the unhappy disputes which preceded the fall of the Supreme Junta, in the winter of 1809-10[63], and did not disdain to accept a command from the illegal Seville government in the January of the latter year[64], he was neither a self-seeker nor a frondeur. If his words or acts sometimes appeared factious, they were inspired by a genuine discontent at the incapacity of the ruling powers, not by a desire for self-advancement; and there seems to be no evidence to connect him with the unwise and autocratic proceedings of his brother José Caro in Valencia. During the last year of his life he was discharging a very invidious task while he commanded in Estremadura under the control of the last regency, which treated him with neglect and regarded him with suspicion. His death is said to have been hastened by scurrilous accusations made against his loyalty in pamphlets and newspapers published at Cadiz[65], which drove[p. 46] him to distraction, for he was a man of a sensitive disposition, keenly affected by any criticism. Albuquerque, it will be remembered, is said to have been helped towards his grave by similar means[66].

The death of La Romana, and the transfer at this same date of Charles O’Donnell to another sphere of operations, caused a general rearrangement of the commands in the Army of Estremadura. Mendizabal, as the sole Lieutenant-General in the province, succeeded to the place and responsibilities of the Marquis, but only as a provisional chief; the Regency, justly doubting his abilities, nominated Casta?os as Captain-General. Unfortunately, as we shall see, the victor of Baylen reached Estremadura just in time to hear that his locum tenens had destroyed the army, and left hardly a wreck of it behind him. Meanwhile Mendizabal made over his own old division to a Major-General Garcia, while that of Charles O’Donnell fell to another officer new to us, Major-General José Virues. La Carrera became chief of the staff, or practically second in command, and his ‘vanguard division’ passed to his old brigadier Carlos de Espa?a.

As early as January 28th Soult had directed Latour-Maubourg with four regiments of light cavalry to make a reconnaissance in the direction of the Portuguese frontier, and by this movement had become aware that Mendizabal was at Portalegre, with his own infantry and Butron’s cavalry. It was no surprise to the Marshal, therefore, to find, a week later, that a considerable force was pressing in his posts on the north of the Guadiana. The presence of Madden’s Portuguese dragoons in the advanced guard showed that the enemy had been reinforced. Latour-Maubourg’s cavalry-screen was driven in without much fighting, and the French general retired to Montijo, nine miles up the river (February 5th-6th). That night Mendizabal’s army, nearly 15,000 strong, camped on the heights of San Cristobal, and communicated with Badajoz freely, the blockade being broken so far as the northern bank of the Guadiana was concerned.

Wellington and La Romana, when the return of the Spanish troops from Lisbon to Estremadura was ordered, had settled[p. 47] upon a regular plan of campaign[67], which had been communicated to Mendizabal. It required some slight modification when the fall of Olivenza became known, and when Soult’s intention to besiege Badajoz declared itself. But in its essentials it was well applicable to the situation of affairs upon February 6th. After a solemn warning to the Spanish generals that the Army of Estremadura is ‘the last body of troops which their country possesses,’ and must not be risked in dangerous operations, the memorandum suggests (1) that an entrenched camp capable of holding the entire army should be prepared on the heights which lie between Campo Mayor and Badajoz, and which end in the high bluff of San Cristobal above the latter town. (2) That if possible an attempt should be made to break the bridges of Medellin and Merida, so as to restrict the French to the southern bank of the Guadiana. (3) That the Regency should be asked to send back Ballasteros’s division to join the Army of Estremadura, and (4) that the bridge of boats in store at Badajoz should, if possible, be floated down to Jerumenha, to give the Portuguese garrison of Elvas the power of crossing the Guadiana below Badajoz. The last suggestion was impracticable, because the French, when the dispatch reached Mendizabal, were so close to the river that the bridge could not have been transferred. The other three suggestions were all valuable, but none of them were carried out—least of all the most important of them, that which prescribed the entrenching of the San Cristobal heights, and their occupation by the whole of the Spanish army.

Mendizabal had a plan of his own—he resolved not to fortify himself on the heights beyond the river, as Wellington suggested, but to throw a great part of his infantry into Badajoz, and make with them a grand sortie against the French lines. The bulk of his cavalry remained below San Cristobal, and had a skirmish of evil omen with Latour-Maubourg, who drove them in with ease, and pursued them beyond the Gebora to the foot of the heights. But Madden’s Portuguese horse filed into town across the bridge, to join in the sally of the infantry.

[p. 48]At three o’clock on the afternoon of the 7th of February the sortie was made. While Madden’s dragoons and a small infantry support threatened the left of the French lines, without closing, a large force composed of all Carlos de Espa?a’s ‘vanguard division,’ with picked battalions from the others, delivered a vigorous—indeed a desperate—assault upon Soult’s right, the entrenchments on the hill of San Miguel. There were apparently four columns, each of two battalions, and making 5,000 men: they came out from the Trinidad gate, drew up under the wing of the Picurina lunette, and then marched straight at the French camp. They pierced the line of entrenchments in their first rush, swept away the guard of the trenches, carried the three batteries which were inserted in them, and then became engaged in a fierce fight with Phillipon’s brigade of Girard’s division, the troops encamped behind this part of the lines. Mortier, who was on the other flank, detecting that the movements in front of him were only a demonstration, promptly sent several battalions eastward to succour the threatened point. These fell upon the Spaniards’ flank, and threatened to cut them off from their retreat into the fortress, whereupon Carlos de Espa?a, who was slightly wounded, ordered a retreat, finding that forces equal to his own had now been concentrated against him[68]. His troops suffered severely in fighting their way back into Badajoz—their loss was about 650 men; that of the French, whose front line had been very severely handled, came to about 400. But the besieged could spare the larger number better than the besiegers the smaller, since they had the whole army of succour to draw upon, while Soult had no reserves nearer than Seville. It is hard to see why Mendizabal, if he was resolved upon a sortie, did not double the force engaged in it, as he might easily have done without depleting any part of[p. 49] the enceinte. For, counting the garrison, he had 15,000 infantry—a larger number than the French could dispose of. To send out 5,000 only seems to have been a half-measure, which ensured ultimate failure when the besiegers should have drawn together[69]. The fighting of Carlos de Espa?a’s men was most creditable, but there were not enough of them.

On the next day but one Mendizabal withdrew from Badajoz the divisions of Carlos de Espa?a and Virues, and part of that of Garcia[70], leaving the original garrison strengthened by the remainder of the last-named unit up to a force of 7,000 men. The field army retired across the river, and encamped on the strong position of the heights of San Cristobal, its right wing resting on the fort, while the remainder of its camps lay along the reverse slope of the range for a distance of a mile and a half. There were some 9,000 infantry on the position, and the 3,000 horse of Butron and Madden were encamped behind it in the plain of the Caya. By some inconceivable folly Mendizabal made no attempt to use this large force of cavalry, which he should have sent forward to seize and hold the valley of the Gebora, in front of his position. All beyond that stream, which flows at the very foot of the San Cristobal heights, was abandoned to Latour-Maubourg. It seems certain that the French cavalry general could have been driven to a respectful distance if a force of all arms had been sent against him, for he had on the north of the Guadiana only five regiments of horse and not a single battalion of infantry. But the Spaniard allowed himself to be cooped up on the hill, and kept no guard of cavalry far out in the plain to shield his front and report the motions of the enemy. What was worse, he made no attempt to entrench the long hillside, though this was a point on which Wellington and La Romana had given very clear and definite instructions. The position was strong, but as no care was taken to keep the enemy at a distance, it was always possible that he might make a sudden dash at it, and the Spanish army—scattered in its camps—would require time to take up its ground and form its fighting-line.

[p. 50]For some days after the sortie, however, Soult paid little attention to Mendizabal, and concentrated all his efforts against the fortress. Having completed the first parallel, and established several new batteries in it, he proceeded with his operations against the Pardaleras fort. His plan was very daring—not to say hazardous—for on the afternoon of the 11th of February, when the work was much battered but still quite defensible, he determined to try to capture it by escalade. At dusk two columns, making about 500 men, issued from the trenches and dashed at the Pardaleras: the left-hand column coasting round its flank made for the gorge, which was only defended by a row of palisades. These were so weak that they were broken down or hewn to pieces by the assailants without much difficulty. At the same time the right column, which had entered the ditch, found an open postern into which it made its way. Attacked on two sides, the garrison evacuated the work, and fled into the city, leaving 60 men killed or prisoners behind them. The French, who had lost only 4 killed and 32 wounded in this reckless venture, established themselves in the Pardaleras. But the governor turned against the fort all the guns of the next two bastions, and the captors had to burrow and lie low, till on the night of the 12th-13th a trench was run out from the first parallel, which gave safe ingress and egress. During the intervening day the besiegers lost more men in holding the work than they had in storming it[71], and the Pardaleras, close though it was to the walls, proved to be ground from which it was most difficult to push forward while the artillery fire of the town was unsubdued. To transform the open gorge in its rear into a base for new approaches was a slow and expensive business, and the siege made a much less rapid progress than had been hoped.

Meanwhile Soult resolved to make a blow at Mendizabal and his field army, which was visible day after day encamped on the San Cristobal heights, in a position imposing but unfortified and ill-watched. The Marshal had intended to cross the Guadiana and deliver his attack even before the Pardaleras was taken, but much rain was falling, and the river had overflowed its banks, so that access to the point where the French flying-bridge had been[p. 51] established, a mile above Badajoz, was difficult. Moreover the Gebora was also in flood, and reported to be unfordable, though usually a slender stream. The only thing which the Marshal was able to do between the 11th and the 18th of February was to shell the nearer end of the heights of San Cristobal from the batteries in his right attack, with the object of inducing the Spanish battalions there encamped to move further from the protection of the fort, which effectually covered their right flank. On February 13th this plan was seen to have been effective: the Spaniards had withdrawn from the neighbourhood, and had left half a mile unoccupied between San Cristobal and their new camp.

On the afternoon of the 18th it was reported to Soult that both the rivers had fallen, and that the Gebora had again become fordable. He made no delay, and at dusk his striking-force began to cross the Guadiana—the operation was slow, since only two flying-bridges and a few river-boats were available. But at dawn nine battalions[72], three squadrons, and two batteries were on the north bank, while Latour-Maubourg had come up from his usual post at Montijo with six cavalry regiments more. The whole force assembled in the angle between the Guadiana and the Gebora amounted to no more than 4,500 infantry[73] and 2,500 horse, with twelve guns, a total so much below Mendizabal’s 9,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry that the adventure seemed most hazardous. But fortune often favours the audacious, and on this day Soult chanced on the unexpected luck of a very foggy morning. He was practically able to surprise the enemy, for the first warning that a battle was at hand only came to Mendizabal when, shortly after dawn, his picket at the broken bridge of the Gebora—a short mile or so in front of the heights—was driven in by masses of French infantry. At the same moment a tumult broke out on his left rear: the 2nd Hussars, sent on by Latour-Maubourg to discover and turn the Spanish northern flank, had been able to mount the heights unseen and unopposed, by making a long détour, and rode unexpectedly into the camp[p. 52] of one of Carlos de Espa?a’s regiments. Mendizabal’s troops flew to arms, and began hastily to form their line upon the heights, but they had no time to get into good order, for the enemy was upon them within a few minutes.

Mortier, to whom Soult had committed the conduct of the battle, showed great tactical skill. On reaching the line of the Gebora, infantry and cavalry poured across it without a moment’s delay; all the three fords of which the French knew proved to be practicable, though on the southernmost one, near the bridge, the infantry had to cross with the chilly water up to their waists. The order of battle was very simple: the right wing, composed of the whole of the cavalry, was to pass by the most northern ford and ascend the heights beyond the Spanish left. Arrived at the crest, one brigade was to push along it, and fall on the flank of the hostile line, while the other descended into the valley of the Caya, and charged into the Spanish camps, so placing itself directly in Mendizabal’s rear. Of the infantry three battalions (the 100th regiment) were to ascend the hillside in the gap between the fort of San Cristobal and the nearest Spanish camp, a gap which had been caused (as it will be remembered) by the withdrawal of the Spaniards from the southernmost heights under the stress of bombardment six days before. This column was to risk the fire of the fort, which it had to disregard, and fall on the hostile flank. Meanwhile the centre—very weak and composed only of six battalions of infantry (34th and 88th regiments)—was to attack the Spanish front, when the two turning movements were well developed.

The San Cristobal heights are a most formidable position, two miles of smooth steep slopes with an altitude of 250-300 feet, overlooking the whole plain of the Gebora and with hardly any ‘dead ground’ in their sides. They form an excellent glacis for an army in position ready to defend itself by its fire, for the assailant must come up the hill at a slow pace and utterly exposed. Cavalry could only climb at a walk, and with difficulty; but Mortier had sent all his horse far to the north, where they ascended, and partly crossed, the range at its lowest point, beyond the extreme flank of the enemy. Just at this moment the fog rose, and everything became visible. On gaining the heights unopposed, Briche’s light cavalry formed up across[p. 53] them, and commenced to move along the summit towards the Spanish left wing, while Latour-Maubourg, with three dragoon regiments, descended the reverse slope and moved towards the hostile camp, in front of which Butron’s Spanish horse and Madden’s Portuguese could be seen hastily arraying their squadrons.

It may be said that the battle of the Gebora was lost almost before a shot had been fired, for on seeing themselves threatened in flank and about to be charged by Latour-Maubourg, the Spanish and Portuguese horse broke in the most disgraceful style, disregarding the orders of their commanders, and went off in a disorderly mass across the plain of the Caya, towards Elvas and Campo Mayor. They outnumbered the enemy, and could have saved the day if they had fought even a bad and unsuccessful action, so as to detain the French dragoons for a single hour. But the cavalry of the Army of Estremadura had a bad reputation—they were the old squadrons of Medellin and Arzobispo, of which Wellington preserved such an evil memory, and Madden’s Portuguese this day behaved no better[74]. They escaped almost without loss, for Latour-Maubourg let them fly, and turned at once against the flank and rear of Mendizabal’s infantry.

The combat on the southern part of the heights had not yet assumed a desperate aspect. Though the column which was formed by the 100th regiment had got up the hillside under the fort of San Cristobal, and had penetrated into the gap between that work and its extreme left, the Spanish infantry was still holding its own. The fog having cleared, they were able to estimate the smallness of the number of the hostile infantry, and stood to fight without showing any signs of failing. But the fusilade was only just beginning all along the hillside when the victorious French cavalry came into action. Briche’s light horse came galloping along the crest of the heights, while Latour-Maubourg’s dragoons were visible in the plain behind, well to the rear of the Spanish line. Mendizabal, horrified at the sight, ordered his men to form squares, not as usual by battalions, but vast divisional squares, each formed of many regiments, and with artillery in their angles. If the French cavalry alone had been present, it is possible that in this forma[p. 54]tion the Spaniards might have saved themselves. But Mortier’s infantry was also up, and well engaged in bickering with Mendizabal’s men. The squares, when formed with some difficulty, found themselves exposed to a heavy fire of musketry from the front at the same moment that the cavalry blow was delivered on their flank. Briche’s hussars penetrated without much difficulty through battalions already shaken by the volleys of the French infantry. First the northern and soon afterwards the southern square was ridden through from the flank and broken. The disaster that followed was complete: some of the Spanish regiments dispersed, many laid down their arms in despair, a limited number clubbed together in heavy masses and fought their way out of the press towards the plain of the Caya and the frontier of Portugal. General Virues and three brigadiers were taken prisoners, with at least half of the army. Mendizabal and two other generals, La Carrera and Carlos de Espa?a, got away, under cover of the battalions which forced their passage through toward the west. In all about 2,500 infantry escaped into Badajoz[75], and a somewhat smaller number towards Portugal[76]. The rest were destroyed—only 800 or 900 had been killed or wounded, but full 4,000 were taken prisoners, along with seventeen guns—the entire artillery of the army—and six standards. The French loss, though under-estimated by Soult in his dispatch at the ridiculous figure of 30 killed and 140 wounded, was in truth very small—not exceeding 403 in all. It fell almost entirely on the cavalry—who had done practically the whole of the work. The regimental returns show that only four officers in the infantry were killed or wounded, to thirteen in the mounted arm. In proportion this battle was more disastrous to the vanquished and less costly to the victors than even Medellin or[p. 55] Oca?a. It is difficult to write with patience of the culpable negligence of Mendizabal, in allowing himself to be surprised in such a position, when he was amply provided with cavalry, or of the conduct of the Spanish and Portuguese horse in abandoning their infantry without striking a single blow, when even a show of resistance might at least have given their comrades time to save themselves. For the battalions on the heights could have escaped into Badajoz, or even have retreated along the Guadiana without desperate loss, if they had been granted an hour’s respite: while if the French cavalry could have been detained till the infantry battle on the heights was decided, it is quite clear that Mendizabal in his splendid fighting position, and with double numbers, could have held his own and driven off the attack of the nine battalions of Mortier.
Map of the siege of Badajoz and battle of Gebora

Enlarge  BADAJOZ. The French Siege (Jan.-March 1811),
& the Battle of the Gebora (Feb. 19th 1811).

The Army of Estremadura having been practically destroyed,—the demoralized remnant of 4,000 horse and foot which escaped into Portugal counted for nothing,—Soult could at last besiege Badajoz from both sides of the river, and reckon on being undisturbed in his operations. He left three battalions, a battery, and five regiments of Montbrun’s cavalry on the north bank, to invest the fort of San Cristobal, and returned, with the rest of the force that had won the battle, to his lines. There was still much to be done, for the governor Menacho was resolute, and the garrison had been raised to over 8,000 men by the influx of Mendizabal’s fugitives. The siege was destined to last three weeks longer, and might have been prolonged to a far greater duration if Menacho had not been killed on March 4; as long as he lived the defence was vigorous and honourable.

Though Soult could concentrate all his attention on the approaches towards the curtain between the bastions of Santiago and San Juan, they did not progress very rapidly. Menacho brought up all the artillery that could be readily moved on the threatened front, and continued to pound the ruins of the Pardaleras and the trenches leading up to it. It was only on the night of the 24th February that a battery was at last completed under the right flank of the fort, and another under its left, to keep down the fire of the defenders. Nor was it till the 28th of the same month and the 1st of March that the zigzags began to creep forward from the second parallel towards the[p. 56] body of the place. On the 2nd of March the approaches reached the demi-lune outside the bastion of San Juan, and the French could look down into the ditch, but they found the counterscarp in good order, and the palisades intact. On the 3rd they commenced mining, with the object of blowing in the counterscarp and filling the ditch. But their work was stopped by a vigorous sortie, the last which Menacho sent out. A small column of Spaniards passed out of the left bastion, seized and demolished the advanced trenches, and spiked the twelve guns which armed the two nearest batteries. The progress of the besiegers was checked for a day—but at a disastrous cost, for the governor himself, while watching the effect of the sortie from the ramparts, was killed by a chance shot. His place was taken by the senior brigadier in the place, José Imaz, a man of desponding heart and utterly lacking in energy. It was a thousand pities that, when the rout of the Gebora took place, neither La Carrera nor Carlos de Espa?a had been driven back into Badajoz, for both these officers were men of desperate resolution, who would have played out a losing game to the last moment with stubborn courage. The French narratives note that from the moment of Menacho’s death the defence slackened; it became partly passive, and was no longer conducted with common skill. No more sorties were made, and there seemed to be a lack of ingenuity in the measures taken to resist the completion of the approaches[77]. All that was done was to keep up a hot fire on the head of the French sap, and to replace one disabled gun by another upon the walls.

On the 4th of March the besiegers had lodged themselves solidly in the demi-lune of the bastion of San Juan, and had commenced on the very edge of the ditch a battery for six heavy guns (24-pounders), which were to work upon the curtain between San Juan and Santiago, the place selected for the breaching.[p. 57] On the 5th the embrasures were completed, on the 7th the guns were got into position, on the 8th the counterscarp was blown in by a mine, and the battery began to play upon the walls at a distance of only sixty yards. Though the besieged kept up a terrible fire upon it, and killed many gunners, its effect was all that the French had desired. The ramparts began to crumble, and on the morning of the 10th there was a breach seventy feet wide in the curtain, near the bastion of Santiago, while the ditch was half filled with débris. The engineers pronounced that an assault was practicable, though another day’s fire would be desirable to finish the business. The Spanish guns on the front attacked were all silenced, but from the flanking bastions a fire was still kept up, which would obviously be very murderous to the storming columns. It was clear that it would be better to subdue it, and to batter the breach into an easier slope, before the assault should be delivered.

Soult, however, was anxious to press matters, for he had received on the 8th two pieces of news which completely changed the strategical situation. The first was that Masséna had given orders for the evacuation of Santarem and his other positions on the Tagus five days before, and had already commenced his retreat towards the north. There was no longer any chance of joining the Army of Portugal and attacking Wellington. Indeed, it was probable that the English general would find himself free to make a large detachment against the besiegers of Badajoz, and that, if the town should not fall within the next ten days, Beresford’s 15,000 men from the south bank of the Tagus would appear at Elvas or Campo Mayor, ready to attack the siege-lines in the rear. And Soult from his experiences of 1809 was quite aware that to meet an Anglo-Portuguese army would not be a business like that of the Gebora.

But this was not all. News of the most disquieting kind had just arrived from Andalusia. Victor reported from in front of Cadiz that a large expeditionary force, comprising an English division, had landed at Algesiras and Tarifa on February 25th-26th, had moved into the inland, and was evidently about to attack his siege-lines from the rear. He expressed grave doubts as to the situation. Daricau, the Governor of Seville, had even a worse report to make: the roving division of Ballasteros, which[p. 58] had been driven into Portugal by Gazan on January 25th, had recrossed the Spanish frontier the moment that its pursuers had retired, had invaded the Condado de Niebla, and had inflicted a severe defeat on Remond, whose small corps had been left to cover that region, on the Rio Tinto (March 2nd). Daricau reported that the Spaniards were marching on Seville, and that, after leaving a skeleton garrison of convalescents and Juramentados in the city, he was moving out with a field force of no more than 1,600 bayonets to rally Remond’s men, and fight at San Lucar la Mayor for the protection of the capital of Andalusia. Ballasteros was believed to have a considerable force, and the result was doubtful.

On the morning of the 10th of March, therefore, Soult was in no small distress concerning the fate of Daricau and Victor, whose last dispatches were now six or seven days old, and who might have suffered disasters, for all that he knew, since those dispatches were written. If modern methods of communication had existed in 1811, he would have known already that Victor had suffered a complete and bloody defeat at Barrosa on March 5th. He was therefore prepared to take great risks at Badajoz, in order to have his army free at any cost for the succour of Andalusia. Mortier was ordered to get all ready for a storm during the course of the afternoon, but meanwhile, when a few hours’ battering after dawn had somewhat improved the slope of the breach, a parlementaire was sent into Badajoz at 9 a.m. to summon Imaz to capitulate. The letter which he bore was couched in such elaborate terms of politeness, complimenting the Spaniards on their long and gallant resistance, and intimating that the most honourable terms would be granted, that the governor should have suspected that Soult was not sure of his ground. But to a man cowed in spirit and weighed down by a responsibility too great for him, such hints were useless. Imaz summoned a council of war, the regular refuge of weak commanders, and called into it a veritable crowd of councillors, not only the three generals and four brigadiers present in the city, the chief engineer, and two artillery officers, but nearly a score of lieutenant-colonels and majors commanding all the battalions represented in the garrison. Unfortunately the engineer colonel, Julian Alvo, who led off the discussion, was the most downhearted[p. 59] man of all: he reported that the breach was from thirty to thirty-two ells (varas) broad, and accessible, as it had an angle of forty-five to fifty degrees; that there had been great difficulty in throwing up retrenchments and inner defences behind it, because at this point the ground-level of the streets of the town was much lower than that of the ramparts. He pointed out that to garrison the whole enceinte with a minimum force would absorb 5,000 men, which would leave only 2,000 to defend the breach. ‘As to the number and morale of the troops, the regimental officers would be able to speak with better knowledge than himself.’ But he held that if the first assault were repulsed, the fall of the town would only be delayed two or three days. If there were evidence that the place might be relieved from outside within that time, it was proper to resist to the last. If not, he thought that the heroic garrison and the city ought not to be sacrificed. For they had fully done their duty, and Badajoz as a fortress was full of defects[78].

Twelve colonels and majors gave their opinions in almost the same terms as the engineer, many repeating his actual phrases, some adding that the rank and file were demoralized[79], others that they were few in number [they actually were only 1,800 less than the infantry of the besieging force]. On the other hand, the commanding artillery officer, Joaquin Caamano, set forth a very different case. ‘The enemy has not yet subdued the fire of the place; the bastions flanking the breach are intact, and have their guns in order; the breach itself has been mined, and a parapet behind it has been thrown up during the last night; in spite of the arguments of the commander of the engineers the assault ought to be resisted, or as an alternative the garrison ought to try to cut its way out by the north bank, towards Elvas or Campo Mayor.’ Caamano was supported by the vote of another artilleryman, the Portuguese Jo?o de Mello, commanding a company which Beresford had sent into the city[p. 60] in the preceding year[80], and two major-generals, Garcia and Mancio.

Then came the oddest part of the proceedings. The Governor gave as his opinion that ‘though an inner line of defence has not been contrived, and though very few guns still remain serviceable in the bastions of Santiago, San José, and San Juan, and though we have no succour for sustaining the assault, I think we should defend the place with valour and constancy to our last breath.’ After which he at once commenced negotiations with the French parlementaire, in direct contradiction to his own vote! Apparently he thought that thirteen votes for surrender against four for resistance among his councillors covered his ignominy. The worst part of his conduct was that he was aware that an army of succour was on the march to help him. For Badajoz had semaphore communication with Elvas, and on the preceding day the Portuguese General Leite had telegraphed to him, by Wellington’s orders, that Beresford had been detached with two divisions to hasten to his aid on March 8th[81]. As a matter of fact, Beresford’s movement into[p. 61] Estremadura was retarded, and his corps did not move off for some days later, but Imaz did not know this, and he was certainly guilty of concealing from his officers that prompt succour had been promised, and was actually upon its way. The whole responsibility for the surrender falls on him, because he allowed Alvo, and the other voters for capitulation, to produce uncontradicted the statement that no relief was probable, while he knew himself that it had been promised. It is impossible to deny that this was pusillanimity reaching into and over the border of treason.

After making some foolish hagglings for eighteenth-century ceremonial of honour—the garrison was to march out by the breach, drums beating, with two cannons at its head, with lighted matches, &c.—Imaz surrendered at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and the lofty San Cristobal and the bridge-head fort were occupied by the French before dusk. Next day the troops came forth, not by the breach, because it was found impossible to scramble down it, but by the Trinidad gate, and laid down their arms[82]. They numbered 7,880 men, and there were 1,100 sick and wounded in the hospitals; the total loss in the town during the siege had been 1,851 casualties, almost the same as that of the French, which came to just under 2,000. But the 800 killed and wounded, and 4,000 prisoners of the Gebora must, of course, be added to the balance.

Badajoz was found by the victors to contain rations for 8,000 men sufficient to last for over a month, more than 150 serviceable cannon, 80,000 lb. of powder, 300,000 infantry cartridges, and two bridge equipages. There is not the slightest doubt that if Menacho had lived the place would have held out till it was relieved by Beresford. For the latter, who was finally ordered to move to its relief on March 12th, would have reached its neighbourhood on the 18th, if he had not been checked on the first day of his start by the news that the city had fallen[83].[p. 62] After the need for hurry had been removed by this disheartening intelligence, he moved slowly, but was in front of Campo Mayor, less than ten miles from Badajoz, on the 24th.

There is hardly ever an excuse for a governor who surrenders without having withstood at least one assault, and Napoleon laid down the general rule that any officer so doing should be sent before a court martial. Imaz with his large garrison, his immense artillery resources, and his certainty of being relieved in ten days was least of all men in a condition to plead justification. It is only necessary to compare him with Alvarez at Gerona, who with a smaller garrison and a far weaker fortress held out for three months, after not one but three large breaches had been made in his weak mediaeval enceinte. The Regency very properly ordered Imaz to be put on his trial, but the proceedings, which only commenced when the French liberated him, dragged on interminably, and had not come to an end when the war ceased in 1814. If ever there was a case where an example in the style of Admiral Byng, pour encourager les autres, could have been rightfully made, this was one.

Soult, relieved from desperate anxiety by Imaz’s surrender, had no other thought than to return as quickly as possible to Andalusia. Leaving Mortier at Badajoz with sixteen battalions and five regiments of cavalry, about 11,000 men, he started back for Seville on the third day after the capitulation, taking with him two regiments of dragoons and the bulk of Gazan’s division[84]. As he marched he was in fear that any hour might bring the news that Daricau had lost Seville, or that Victor had been forced to abandon the siege of Cadiz, for the report of the bloody defeat of Barrosa (March 5) had reached him on the 12th of March, and heightened his anxiety. But he reached Seville on March 20th, to find that the situation might yet be saved, and that Andalusia was still his own.

His achievements during the two months of his Estremaduran campaign had indeed been splendid. With an army not exceeding 20,000 men, and operating in the worst of weather, he had taken two fortresses, won a battle in the open field, and cap[p. 63]tured 16,000 prisoners. The Spanish Army of Estremadura, which had seemed so powerful at the commencement of his campaign, was almost exterminated, and the frontier of Portugal was laid open. Soult had redeemed his promise to make a powerful diversion in favour of Masséna, and it is hard to see how he could have done more. For he could not have moved to the Tagus before Badajoz fell, and (thanks to the courage of Menacho) that city had held out till eight days after the date on which Masséna ordered the Army of Portugal to commence its retreat to the north. Wellington’s plan of starvation had, after all, achieved its effect, and Masséna had been driven out of his position before Soult was in a position to come to his aid. Even if Masséna had stayed a little longer at Santarem, it seems hard to believe that Soult could have joined him, considering that Elvas, a place stronger than Badajoz, was in his front, and that the news from Andalusia spelt utter ruin unless he should return to save it. He must have done so, even if on March 11 the Army of Portugal had still been in its old position.
SECTION XXIII: CHAPTER III
MASSéNA’S LAST WEEKS AT SANTAREM
JANUARY-MARCH 1811

After the arrival of Drouet and his division of the 9th Corps at Leiria in the early days of the New Year, there was no serious movement of any part of the French or the British armies for some weeks. The weather was bad, and the troops on both sides remained in their cantonments, save such of the French as were detailed for the perpetual marauding parties up the line of the Zezere or in the southern slopes of the Serra da Estrella by which alone the army was kept alive. The ranks of Masséna’s battalions continued to grow thinner, but not at such a rate as in November and December—for the weakly men had already been weeded out by the dreadful mortality of the preceding period. Provisions had daily to be sought further and further afield, but they were not wholly exhausted. The Marshal waited anxiously for further news from Paris, and for tidings that the Army of Andalusia was coming to his aid. But after the arrival of Drouet’s column no further information got through for five weeks, for Wilson and Trant were blocking the northern roads with their militia as effectually as in the time before the 9th Corps started from Almeida.

Wellington, for his part, was waiting for his great scheme of starvation to work out to its logical end. He had, as has already been observed, somewhat underrated the time for which the French would be able to live on the resources of the country that he dominated. More than once in December and January he thought that he had detected the signs of a coming retreat, and had been disappointed[85]. The enemy still remained in his old[p. 65] cantonments, and nothing more than petty movements of small units had taken place. This anxious waiting was, as might have been expected, trying to Wellington’s temper. He was not shaken in his belief that he had made the right decision, but it was exasperating to see the deadlock on the Tagus continuing far beyond his expectations, and the Estremaduran campaign developing behind his back. During the long weeks of tension the strain on his mind vented itself in criticism, reasonable and unreasonable, of the authorities with whom he had to work—the British and Portuguese Governments.

The administration of Spencer Perceval had done its best to maintain the war and to support its general, under great difficulties. It had not shrunk from making financial exertions of the most unprecedented kind in order to keep up the war in Portugal. As Lord Liverpool pointed out to Wellington[86], the army in the Peninsula had cost ￡2,778,796 in 1808, ￡2,639,764 in 1809; in 1810 the sum asked for had risen to ￡6,061,235—more than double the total of either of the preceding years. And this did not include either ordnance stores, supplies sent out in kind, or the hire of transports, which were calculated to make out ￡2,000,000 more. The Government had provided these sums in face of a bitter and carping opposition on the part of the Whigs, and despite of much lukewarmness among their own followers, of whom many considered that the limit of reasonable expense had been reached. As Lord Liverpool observed, the increase of the Portuguese subsidy, and the taking into British pay of the larger half of the Portuguese army, had been ‘carried by a small and unwilling majority[87].’ The Government had driven the money bills through the House of Commons only by smart cracking of the whip of party loyalty. They had promised Wellington that his army should be increased by 14,000 men during the course of the winter, and the promise was in the course of fulfilment. Many regiments had already arrived; all were to reach the Tagus before March was out. This had been done in a time of dire distress to the Tory party, George III had been prostrated by his last attack of insanity, which was destined to be permanent, in October 1810. As it became[p. 66] certain that his recovery was not to be looked for, the appointment of the Prince of Wales as Regent was the obvious and necessary corollary. But the Prince was still reckoned a Whig, and it was believed with reason that his first act on coming into power would be to dismiss the Perceval Ministry, and to call upon Grey, Grenville, and Sheridan to form an administration. The Tories all through the winter thought that they were destined to immediate expulsion from office, and had before them a long strife with the Crown. It was only at the beginning of February 1811 that the younger George, who had taken the oath as Regent on the 6th of that month, announced, to the general surprise of the nation, that he had no intention of dismissing the Ministry, and was prepared to work with them. Perceval and Liverpool, during the three preceding months, were doing their best for the army in Portugal while they believed that a political disaster was hanging over their heads. They did not yet realize that the Prince’s Whig principles had worn thin of late, and that he was tired of the dictatorial manners which Grey and Grenville had adopted towards him.

It is terrible to contemplate the results which might have followed had the Whigs come into office at this juncture. They were pledged to the theory that the Peninsular War was hopeless and ought to be abandoned. Grey and Grenville had stated that Wellington was a failure; they had denied that Talavera was a victory. Brougham had summarized the feelings of the party in a savage attack upon both Government and general in the Edinburgh Review. At this very moment—February 1811—Ponsonby, the leader of the opposition in the House of Commons, was preaching that ‘France cannot be prevented from overrunning Spain by continuing a war in Portugal, ... so that neither in Spain or Portugal has anything happened that can give reason to believe that the war will ever terminate to our advantage[88].’ Freemantle, another leader, maintained that ‘Bonaparte, having conquered the rest of the Continent, must also conquer the Peninsula, because he has greater numbers to bring up after every defeat, and therefore defeat of one of his armies was vain[89].’ Every Whig journal was prophesying the[p. 67] expulsion of Wellington from Portugal within a few weeks, as indeed they had been doing ever since October 1809.

All honour, therefore, is due to the statesmen who continued in the midst of all their own troubles, constitutional and financial, to give a steady support to Wellington, and to redeem the pledges which they had made to him. When Napier in his great history declares that the Ministry betrayed Wellington, that ‘Perceval had neither the wisdom to support nor the manliness to put an end to the war in the Peninsula; his crooked contemptible policy was shown by withholding what was necessary to continue the contest and throwing upon the General the responsibility of failure,’ he is merely venting the malignant folly of the Whigs of his day, which ought to have been forgotten by the time that he took his pen in hand, long after the war was over.

It is unfortunately true that Wellington, in the stress of waiting hours during the winter of 1810-11, used querulous and captious language concerning his supporters at home. The main point of his complaint was that he was not supplied rapidly enough with specie, that bills were sent him when he wanted dollars or guineas, and that so the pay of the army was falling into arrears. The fact was deplorable; but on a consideration of the condition of the English monetary system at this date it is hard to see how the difficulty could have been avoided. Since the suspension of the coinage of guineas in 1797, and the introduction of an almost unlimited issue of bank-notes, gold had gradually become an almost invisible commodity in Great Britain[90]. The guinea, when seen, commanded an ever-increasing premium; by 1809 it was worth ￡1 5s., or more, in paper. British silver was equally deficient; there had been none coined at the Mint since 1787, and the internal trade of the country was being transacted with difficulty, by means of Spanish dollars or half-dollars stamped with the king’s head, or by local tokens struck by banks and corporations, which only served in the immediate neighbourhood of their place of issue[91]. The Bank of[p. 68] England dollar, the only coin which circulated generally, passed for 5s., though it had only the value of 4s. 2d. in its weight of silver. When Great Britain could find no specie for its own internal business, the Government was required to send enormous remittances in cash to the Peninsula, because all transactions therein were made in silver or gold, and English paper was not negotiable[92]. That the coin was sent at all seems marvellous, rather than that it was sent late and in insufficient quantities. The worst time of all was in the early spring of 1811, when there was a severe commercial crisis at home, and the Government was issuing exchequer bills, to the amount of ￡6,000,000, as an advance to merchants and manufacturers to stave off general bankruptcy in London[93].

It was certainly an unhappy thing that Wellington could look upon the whole situation as one in which ‘the Government chooses to undertake large services, and not to supply us with sufficient pecuniary means[94],’ and could write that the present ministers complained so much of the expense of the war, that he considered it not impossible that the army might be recalled bag and baggage—a remark made not in February but in March, when Masséna had actually retreated from the Tagus[95]. This rather unjustifiable complaint was probably the direct result of Lord Liverpool’s letter of February 20, in which he had set forth at length the enormous burden of the war, and expressed his doubts as to whether the augmentation of the Peninsular army by 14,000 men, for which he had just provided, could be permanently kept up[96]. He suggested that when the ‘present crisis[p. 69]’ (i. e. Masséna’s presence at the gates of Lisbon) had come to an end, the army should send home some of its less effective regiments, and that the ideal of 30,000 effective rank and file (not including the garrison of Cadiz) would probably have to be kept in mind. But long before the dispatch of February 20 Wellington thought that he had detected an intention on Liverpool’s part to bring the whole Peninsular War to an end, on financial grounds, and wrote most bitterly to his kinsman Pole, accusing the Secretary of State of being half-hearted, and showing a deep-rooted distrust of his influence in the Cabinet[97]. All this was forgotten when the firmness of the Ministry in support of the war became evident, and in later years Wellington wrote to acknowledge in the most handsome style the support that he had received from the Perceval administration[98].

During all these weeks of waiting Wellington was also troubled by problems with regard to the internal state of Portugal. Two main sources of worry can be traced in his correspondence. The first was the inefficiency of the Portuguese commissariat, which bid fair to cause absolute starvation among those brigades of the national army which were not incorporated with British divisions and supplied from the British stores. Slow and irregular[p. 70] forwarding of provisions to the corps stationed in advanced or remote positions led to a dreadful increase in the number of sick. We find Wellington complaining that regiments which had 1,200 men in line at Bussaco could only show 1,000 or 900 under arms in February, although they had received considerable drafts from their dép?ts at midwinter. D’Urban’s daily notes bear out the statements of the Commander-in-Chief. He asserts with indignation that by ‘the villany of commissaries,’ the same quantity of flour which provided 15? rations for the British soldier was returned as having given only 9 to the Portuguese—the balance having been embezzled. Allowances, of course, must be made for the difficulties of a government of whose territory a good third had been depopulated by the orders of Wellington. But the trouble does not seem to have been so much the actual want of food-stuffs at head quarters[99]—great quantities were got from the Alemtejo and the north—as the inefficiency of distribution, which left outlying brigades sometimes foodless for two or three days at a time. Clothing and shoes were also very slow in arriving at the front. At the bottom the cause of all this inefficiency was probably (as Wellington observes in one letter[100]) the want of money to keep up an adequate transport service, and it might be pleaded that in the distressful condition of the country the deficit was no fault of the government, but unavoidable. Wellington’s view was that with greater economy in civil expenses, and more careful supervision of commissaries and contractors, there was money enough to pay for all necessary military objects. He was probably right, but there is small wonder if a provisional government like the Regency found it hard to introduce administrative reforms in the midst of a crisis, and with the enemy almost at the gates of the capital. After all, the effort which Portugal had made was splendid, and the whole nation had accepted the awful necessity of the depopulation of its central provinces with a loyalty that was surprising, if we consider the magnitude of the sacrifice.

There was, however, a small minority of traitors still left in[p. 71] Portugal, and their intrigues seem to have given Wellington much concern, not because there was any danger from their personal action, but because they conveyed to Masséna the intelligence as to the condition of affairs in Lisbon, and in Europe at large, which he could not obtain in any other way, owing to the strict blockade kept up around his rear. On the last day of the old year four officers, two colonels and two majors, had fled out of Lisbon and joined the French[101]. They were all men who had quarrelled with Beresford, and deserted in revenge: but that four field officers could turn traitors at once was a most distressing sign. Wellington had fears of a general plot against the English, and was inclined to suspect the Bishop of Oporto and President Sousa of knowing more about it than befitted members of the Regency. He was apparently mistaken, though their petulance and intermittent protests against all his actions seemed to him to justify any doubts. But minor persons in Lisbon, old friends of Alorna and his Francophil policy, had contrived to open up communication with the renegade General Pamplona, and to send him newspapers, reports of the movement of troops, and other miscellaneous information, using as their intermediaries smugglers, who passed the lines at night to sell coffee, sugar, and other luxuries to the French[102]. For there was a ready market for such things in the army of Masséna. Fortunately this illicit correspondence was of little importance, since there was no solid party in Portugal in favour of Napoleon, and the information conveyed by newspapers as to affairs in Lisbon was not, at this time, at all encouraging to the French; while that as to events in England or remote parts of Spain was too old in date to be of any great profit to them.

Meanwhile Wellington regarded his position as secure for the moment. The Army of Portugal, even after Drouet’s arrival, was too weak to attack him. Soult’s movement from Andalusia at first caused him some uneasiness, for he[p. 72] had conceived a notion that the expedition from Andalusia, leaving Badajoz and Elvas on its left, and ignoring the Spanish Army of Estremadura, might be intending to march by Merida and Truxillo to Almaraz, and from thence to join Masséna by the circuitous route through Coria and Castello Branco[103]. He was reassured as to this possibility when the news came that Soult, unable to undertake anything bold so long as Gazan had not joined him, had sat down to besiege Olivenza on January 11th. If the Marshal intended to take all the Estremaduran fortresses before moving on, occupation could be found for him for many a week, and when La Romana’s two divisions had been sent to join Mendizabal on January 22, Wellington imagined that he might regard the situation on this side as secure. It will be remembered that he gave Mendizabal elaborate advice as to the course that he was to pursue, and he was justified in believing that if that advice was followed Badajoz would never fall, and Soult for the moment would become an almost negligible quantity.

There was always the chance, however, that Soult might turn against the Alemtejo after all, and that Masséna might make a desperate effort to cross the Tagus and join him. Hence Wellington spent much thought in devising means to prevent this danger from coming into being. Beresford received elaborate orders as to the conduct that he was to pursue, with his corps south of the Tagus, in case Masséna attempted a passage, or Soult appeared before Elvas. In the latter case the French would be fought by an army composed of Mendizabal’s Estremadurans, Beresford’s corps, and the brigade of Portuguese line troops in Elvas, a mass of over 30,000 men. This force ought to suffice, but if the worst came, and a defeat were suffered, the army south of the Tagus would try to defend first the passages[p. 73] of the Zatas river (or the Benevente river as Wellington usually calls it), then those of the Almansor, and lastly the line across the neck of the Setubal peninsula, opposite Lisbon, where there was a short front of ten miles from Setubal itself (which was fortified) past the castle of Palmella to Moita on the Tagus estuary. But behind this again was the strongest defensive position of all, a Lines of Torres Vedras on a small scale[104]. The works erected here were an afterthought: they had formed no part of the original scheme for the fortification of Lisbon, but when it had been proved to Wellington that batteries on the Heights of Almada, beyond the broad Tagus mouth, might incommode the shipping in the harbour, and possibly the town itself [the range was 2,300 yards], he had ordered, early in December, that the Portuguese labourers set free from work on the old lines by Masséna’s departure should be transferred to the Almada front[105]. Here a line of 8,000 yards from sea to sea was marked out, and strengthened with no less than seventeen closed redoubts, connected by a covered way. Eighty-six guns were allotted to them, and their defence was to be given over to the marines of the fleet, and the local militia and trained Ordenan?a (Atiradores nacionaes) of Lisbon. It was calculated that Beresford would find a garrison of 7,500 men already placed in these forts if he were ever forced back on to them. It seemed impossible that such a short front, so strongly held, could ever be broken through.

But all this was a precaution designed to face a very unlikely—if a possible—situation of affairs. It was much more probable that Masséna would try to pass the Tagus higher up, than that Soult would fight his way to its mouth across the Alemtejo, and every precaution was taken to give Masséna a hot reception if he should make the attempt. It was clear that his starting-point for such an enterprise must be Punhete and the mouth of the Zezere, for there were collected the ninety boats and the materials for the floating bridges which had been created by the energy of General Eblé. At Santarem, the other place where Masséna[p. 74] had boats, the stock of them was known to be too small for a passage in force. Beresford, it will be remembered, had already established batteries which commanded the mouth of the Zezere, and had several times stopped small explorations by the French boats. Only on one occasion did a few succeed in running past down-stream. On the whole it was considered unlikely that Masséna would attempt such a serious matter as the crossing of the Tagus opposite Punhete. D’Urban, Beresford’s chief of the staff, reported ‘It is altogether improbable that he will commit himself, unless in combination with the army arriving from the south. The stream is very rapid. The boats cannot return to the original point of embarkation for a second load of men, nor to the second point for a third load, but must cross at each time to a point lower down, owing to the current. This must and will occasion great disunion and scattering among the parts of the division who first pass, all the more because they will be vigorously opposed from the beginning. It appears to me that no attempt of the kind can succeed. The Zezere-mouth alone is their place d’armes, and leaves little else for us to watch: hence arises for them a difficulty of accomplishing this enterprise that would appear almost unsurmountable.’[106] It is most interesting to compare this judgement from the English side with the discussion of the problem by the French generals, which followed a few days later, and with which we shall presently have to deal[107].

Meanwhile both parties were decidedly nervous as to the possible movements of their adversaries. If Wellington sometimes thought that Masséna might make an attempt to cross the Tagus, Masséna was very reasonably suspicious that Wellington might make a surprise-attack upon Junot’s corps along the upper Rio Mayor, and try to cut it off, before it could be succoured by Ney from Thomar and Goleg?o. This suspicion led to the only skirmish that marked the month of January. On the 19th the Marshal ordered Junot to make a reconnaissance in force beyond the river, along the Alcoentre road, to see whether a rumour that an English division had been brought up behind Pack’s[p. 75] Portuguese outposts were true. The Duke of Abrantes conducted the affair himself, at the head of 3,000 infantry of Clausel’s division and 500 horse. He pressed in the cavalry screen in front of Pack, consisting of a squadron of the 1st Hussars of the King’s German Legion, and occupied the village of Rio Mayor, from which he drove out two Portuguese companies. Discovering nothing in reserve save Pack’s brigade, drawn up for resistance on the heights to the rear, and noting no red-coated battalions, the French withdrew after a little skirmishing, and returned to their lines. During this trifling affair Junot received a painful but not dangerous wound from the carbine of a hussar vedette. The ball struck him on the side of the nose, broke the bone there, and lodged in his cheek; but it was extracted with no difficulty, and he was able to resume command of his corps within a few days[108]. Nothing further occurred on this front till February 10, when the English cavalry paid a return visit to the French outlying picket east of the Rio Mayor, drove it in, and retired with an officer and ten men prisoners.

On February 5th the third and final period of Masséna’s stay on the Tagus may be said to have begun, with the arrival of the last orders from Paris which he was destined to receive. He had been more than a month without any official intelligence of what was going on behind him, the latest dispatches to hand having been those brought by Drouet at the end of the old year. But General Foy now appeared with the orders which the Emperor had issued on December 22nd. He had cut his way from Ciudad Rodrigo across the eastern mountains, and along the Estrada Nova, at the head of a column of 1,800 men, mostly composed of drafts belonging to the 2nd Corps, which he had found waiting on the Spanish frontier. The rains had been continuous, the badness of the road was notorious, and Colonel Grant with a small party of local Ordenan?a hung about the route of the column for the last five days of its march, and slew or captured more than a hundred stragglers. The total loss by fatigue and sickness was much greater[109].

[p. 76]The orders brought by Foy were not particularly comforting to Masséna. He was bidden to hold on to his position till he had received succour from the Army of the South, and also from the Army of the Centre. Mortier’s corps, as he had already been assured, would at some not-distant date make its appearance on the Tagus, in the direction of Montalv?o and Villaflor. A column from the Army of the Centre was to advance to Plasencia, and communicate with the Marshal via Coria and Castello Branco. He was not expected to take the offensive till he should have received these reinforcements, but he must use Drouet’s troops to keep open communications with Almeida, and ‘regularize’ the war. There was no order for him to cross the Tagus into the Alemtejo in search of Mortier: it was Mortier who was to come to him. Practically all this amounted to a command to wait and endure—the initiative was to come from outside, with the arrival of reinforcements from the south and east. ‘L’empereur appelait son armée à une lutte de fatigue et de persévérance,’ as Foy commented.

But this ‘strife of toil and perseverance’ had already been going on since November, the dispatch was forty-four days old when it reached Masséna, and the co-operation by the Armies of the South and Centre, which it promised, showed no signs of coming to pass. As a matter of fact, when Foy arrived, Mortier’s divisions were absorbed in the siege of Badajoz, and Soult, with Mendizabal upon his hands, could have moved neither a detachment nor the whole 5th Corps to the Tagus. The promised assistance from the Army of the Centre, a mere column of 3,000 men under Lahoussaye, had advanced first to Truxillo and then to Plasencia, as was promised, but had turned back for want of provisions long before reaching the Portuguese frontier. Masséna pushed several reconnaissances towards the upper Tagus, in the hope of getting information as to the appearance of friendly troops on either side of the river, but could learn nothing. He says that he judged from the tranquillity shown by the English south of the Tagus that there could be no French force near enough to cause them disquietude. Meanwhile the power of the Army of Portugal to live by plundering the country-side was being reduced every day. The distance at which food had to be sought was ever increasing, and the loss suffered by the parties which were[p. 77] cut off while raiding was growing daily more serious. The number of prisoners taken by the British cavalry on Junot’s flank and Drouet’s front amounted to several hundreds in January and February[110]. Many more were destroyed by the Ordenan?a, who were goaded to ferocious activity by the ever-growing cruelty of the marauders, and dogged every expedition that set out with an ever-increasing skill. They avoided the main bodies, but trapped and shot small parties that strayed more than a few hundred yards from the column, with patient persistence.

After waiting for a fortnight after the arrival of Foy and the imperial dispatches, and learning nothing of any approach of the long-promised troops of Mortier, Masséna assembled the corps leaders and certain other generals at Goleg?o on February 19th, at a meeting which he carefully refrained from calling a council of war. That he should do so was in itself a sign of flagging confidence; he had shown himself very autocratic hitherto, and had asked the advice of none of his lieutenants. Now he regarded the situation as so desperate that he thought that he must either give up the game and retreat from the Tagus, or risk an attack on the allied forces south of that river, with the object of crossing into the Alemtejo and going off to join Soult. His own mind was practically made up in favour of the former alternative; but he knew that if he took it without consulting his lieutenants, they would probably report him to the Emperor as having despaired before all was lost. The council of war was really called for the purpose of arguing them down, and committing them to the policy of retreat[111], so[p. 78] that they should not be able to protest against it at a later date.

The three corps-commanders came to the meeting each with a scheme of his own to develop. Ney proposed to pass the Tagus by force, with the whole army, to abandon Portugal for the moment, and to join Soult. The united armies should establish themselves on the Guadiana, complete the conquest of Estremadura, and then, after calling in all possible reinforcements, take in hand the invasion of the Alemtejo, and an attack on Lisbon from the south. Junot hotly combated this scheme: to pass into the Alemtejo meant the surrender of all Portugal to Wellington, who would chase the 9th Corps out of the Beira; it would be ‘giving up the whole game.’ He wished to establish a bridge-head on the other side of the Tagus, but not to send the whole army across, merely to occupy it with a strong detachment, and then to wait for Mortier’s promised appearance. Reynier’s scheme was a variant of Junot’s, but infinitely more dangerous, for he was a general of second-rate capacity. He would throw one corps across the Tagus, to scour the Alemtejo for provisions, and to try to find Mortier. The other two should hold on at Santarem, in the entrenched positions which had already checked Wellington for three months. The English general, he said, was timid, and would never dare to assault these formidable works, even in the absence of one-third of the army.

Masséna had no difficulty in demolishing this last proposal. The passage of the Tagus would be a dangerous and difficult operation in face of an enemy who was upon the alert, who had fortified all the obvious landing-places on the opposite bank, and who was known to have established a perfect system of signals and communications. It might very probably end in a bloody repulse. But granting that it succeeded, and that a corps of 15,000 men got over into the Alemtejo, victory would have consequences more disastrous than failure. For Wellington would fall upon the two corps left north of the Tagus with his main force, perhaps 60,000 men; and when separated from the troops detached in the Alemtejo the Army of Portugal would have only 30,000 in line. ‘N’est-il pas à craindre que cette portion de l’armée, séparée de l’autre, ne soit attaquée, battue, détruite, par un ennemi à qui, pour nous faire beaucoup de mal, il ne manque[p. 79] que de le vouloir?’ This was absolutely irrefutable logic; nothing could be more insane than Reynier’s proposal to separate the French army into two parts by the broad stream of the Tagus. Wellington could have destroyed with ease the two-thirds of it left north of the river, unless that portion should be ready to evacuate all else that it held and shut itself up to be besieged in Santarem—the only possible centre of resistance. But to be shut up in Santarem meant starvation on a worse scale than had been hitherto endured. For the army, losing its old broad foraging-ground, would be compelled to live entirely upon what might be sent it from the northern Alemtejo by the detached corps; and that region was known to be barren and thinly peopled, and had probably already been stripped of its resources by Wellington’s orders. (As a matter of fact such orders had been issued some time back.) ‘Faut-il pour un intérêt si modique que celui de manger un mois dans l’Alemtejo risquer une pareille opération?’ asked the Marshal. And any dispassionate judge must decide that his question could only be answered in the negative. Ney’s proposal, to take the whole army across the Tagus into the Alemtejo, was not quite so easy to dispose of. But there stood against its first necessary preliminary—the passage of the river—the same objections that were registered against Reynier’s plan. The passage might end in a repulse, and the position of the army would be very bad if, having concentrated at Punhete (or at Santarem) for the crossing, it found itself encircled by all Wellington’s forces, which would march in upon it the moment that Ney’s and Junot’s corps were withdrawn from their present cantonments. The Marshal disliked the idea of having to fight a battle, with the Tagus at his back, and all his possible lines of retreat intercepted[112]. Or again, the crossing might succeed, so far as the throwing of a vanguard across to the Alemtejo bank went. But Wellington would close in upon the army while it was actually passing, and might easily destroy its rearguard, or even its larger half, by attacking when the rest[p. 80] was across the water, and unable to return with sufficient promptness.

If the army were so lucky as to get off entire into the barren Alemtejo, and to unite with the 5th Corps on the Guadiana, Wellington, as Junot had pointed out, would have a free hand in northern and central Portugal, and would sweep Claparéde out of it, while he need not be seriously alarmed at any attack on Lisbon from the south of the Tagus, for the city was covered by the Almada lines[113] and could not be harassed from this quarter. Meanwhile the Army of Portugal would be cut off from all the supplies and reinforcements which were accumulating for it on the frontier of Spain, at Ciudad Rodrigo and Salamanca; ‘it would be going off to a distance from its real line of operations and of communications.’

Masséna then came to the point: having argued down the schemes of Reynier and Ney, he developed his own determination, which was to hold on for the few days more that seemed possible. The marauding operations that fed the army were rapidly growing less productive, and the moment was approaching when the daily plunder would no longer meet the daily consumption, and then, in case the long-expected Soult did not appear, the army must retire on to the line of the Mondego[114]. There, in a country comparatively undamaged, Masséna hoped to hold out some fifty or sixty days at the least: the whole 9th Corps would be available for opening and maintaining the communications with Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo, and reinforcements and stores would easily be brought forward[115]. But no further offensive movements could be contemplated; the army was exhausted and needed a long rest; in the end it would probably have to retire within the borders of Spain—perhaps to Alcantara on the Tagus, perhaps into Leon.

Ney and Reynier seem to have retired from the conference[p. 81] rather talked down than convinced, and the latter sent in to his Commander-in-Chief a sort of protest, taking the form of a précis of the meeting, in which the arguments used and the result arrived at were so misrepresented that Masséna caused a formal document to be drawn up and signed by five other generals present at the council, in which it was declared that the précis was wholly incorrect. Apparently Reynier had intended to get his protest to the Emperor’s hands, in order to free himself from any responsibility in approving a retreat which he thought that his master would condemn[116].

The few weeks for which the Army of Portugal retained its position after the conference at Goleg?o, were spent by all its units as a mere period of preparation for the retreat, for the generals had long made up their minds that Soult would never appear on the Tagus. They seem even to have thought that he might have retired from Estremadura, for the distant thunder of the bombardment of Badajoz, which had been audible at Punhete during the first half of February, seemed to have ceased. This must have been due to some change of atmospheric conditions, for it was going on with redoubled energy in the last days of the month. But Masséna and his lieutenants argued that either the siege had been raised, or else Soult had taken the place, and yet was not marching to the Tagus. They seem to have regarded his doings as a negligible quantity, when coming to their final resolve.

During the last days of February all the corps received preliminary orders, which could have no other meaning than that a retreat had been decided upon. The divisions were ordered to send their parks and heavy baggage to the rear, and the divisional batteries were told to complete as many gun-teams with good serviceable horses as was possible, by destroying caissons, and drafting their animals on to the guns. In some cases batteries had to be reduced to three or four pieces, even when half the caissons had been burnt. The 8th Corps destroyed fifty-one caissons on the 24th-27th February, yet still could find only four horses each for those remaining, including animals that were sick or barely fit for service[117]. But the[p. 82] transport of food was even more important than that of artillery material; in the central magazines there was gathered together some fifteen days’ of biscuit for the whole army, the flour for which had been procured with the greatest difficulty in small quantities, and had been hoarded to the last. This was issued to the regiments, with stringent orders not to use it till the actual retreat began. Some units were so pressed by starvation that they began to consume it, and ultimately started with only eight or ten days consumption in their packs or on their waggons. The whole of the transport was in a deplorable state; if the cavalry and artillery had lost 5,088 horses since November, the train had been depleted of draught-beasts in a still greater proportion, since they were both weaker to start with, and less carefully kept. Some regiments had no longer any horses attached to them, and could only show a few pack-mules and asses, quite insufficient for carrying their reserve ammunition and food[118]. Two things were certain—the one that if the army could not pick up provisions on the way by marauding, it would ultimately have to retire to its base within the frontiers of Spain. And no food could be collected for some days, since the first five stages of the retreat would be through a region already stripped bare. The second was that the ammunition might suffice for one general engagement, supposing that there was heavy fighting during the retreat, but that it would hardly be able to serve for two.

On March 3rd Masséna issued the orders which marked his determination to retreat at once. Ney was directed to march on the next day from Thomar, with Marchand’s division and some cavalry, and join Drouet at Leiria in the rear—they were ultimately to be the covering force of the retiring army. On the 5th Reynier was directed to send back his first division (Merle) from Santarem towards the rear, while the second division (Heudelet) continued to hold the old lines. On this same day Ney’s second division (Mermet) evacuated Torres Novas, and marched northward to Ourem near Leiria, while one of Junot’s divisions (Solignac) massed itself at Pernes, to await the arrival of the other (Clausel), which was to hold the outposts till the[p. 83] last moment. This was the critical day of the concentration, for of the eight divisions forming the Army of Portugal five had started off, leaving three (Heudelet at Santarem, Clausel on the Rio Mayor, Loison at Punhete) to hold the old positions. If Wellington had attacked in force on the 5th, it seems certain that he must have destroyed these covering forces, which in their scattered position could not possibly have held their ground. But the British general, as we shall see, was engaged in a scheme of his own, and did not at first detect the full meaning of the French movements.

For Wellington at this moment was busy in developing an encircling attack on the whole of the French positions, and it was not yet ready[119]. On February 23rd he had made up his mind to strike the moment that a large body of reinforcements, already overdue from England and the Mediterranean, should have arrived. The plan was that the main army, while holding Reynier in check at Santarem with one or two divisions, should attack Junot on the Rio Mayor with the bulk of its force. At the same time Beresford, drawing his corps to the north of the Tagus by the boat-bridge at Abrantes, was to fall upon Loison at Punhete, and (as it was hoped) thus distract Ney, whose duty would be divided between the succouring of Junot and that of the division on the Zezere. But, even if he turned most of the reserves in the direction of the Rio Mayor, the long distance[p. 84] would prevent them from arriving in time. Junot would almost certainly be overwhelmed by superior numbers, while Reynier was being ‘contained,’ and while Ney’s columns were still far off.

Preparations and reconnaissances in view of this great attack began to be made, but the reinforcements were slow to arrive. Six thousand men were due, mainly the troops which afterwards formed the 7th Division and the second British brigade of the 6th. But on March 1 only the Chasseurs Britanniques from Cadiz, and half of the 51st had yet landed[120]. Of the other expected regiments the bulk turned up in Lisbon harbour on the 4th-6th March, viz. the 2nd, 85th, 1/36th, 2/52nd, but the light infantry brigade of the King’s German Legion did not come in till the 21st of the same month. It was undoubtedly the accidental delay of a few days in the arrival of these seven battalions that caused Wellington to hold back; if Masséna had postponed his move for a week more, all would have been in line save the two belated German battalions, and the attack would have been delivered about the 10th-12th of March.

Set on the carrying out of his own plan, which could not begin to work for a few days more, Wellington was evidently not fully prepared for the suddenness of Masséna’s retreat. On the 4th of March, the day when Ney’s corps began to file to the rear, he wrote to Beresford, ‘I think it likely that the enemy is about some move, but have been so frequently disappointed that it is impossible to be certain. There is no alteration whatever in their front.’ This was true, for Junot and Reynier had not moved on a man upon the 4th. On the next—the critical—day he himself made a survey of Reynier’s lines in front of Santarem, found them still manned by Heudelet’s division, but thought that he could detect that the artillery in the French works was less numerous than on the previous day. There were no howitzers in the great work across the high road, but only what appeared to be pieces of small calibre. He could not perceive guns any[p. 85] longer upon the main heights in front of Santarem; bushes seemed to have been laid to cover the stations which they had occupied. But the outposts were the same, and he did not observe any other change on the heights, excepting that all the troops visible upon them were fully accoutred. He concluded that no general movement of Reynier’s corps had taken place. ‘It is probable that baggage and heavy artillery may have been sent off, but the effective part of the army still remains in position.’ There was no obvious alteration visible along Junot’s front, where Clausel was that day holding all the outposts, Solignac having marched back to Pernes.

If Wellington had attacked at once that day, with the troops that were up in his front line, the Light Division and the 1st Division, in front of Santarem, while demonstrating with Pack’s Portuguese and the cavalry brigades along the Rio Mayor to detain Clausel, it is probable that he might have made great havoc of Heudelet’s division, which was holding a front too long for its strength, and had no supports, since the rest of the 2nd Corps was a march to the rear by now. But he was still thinking of his own plan; the fleet, with the bulk of the expected battalions, was reported at the mouth of the Tagus, and one regiment had actually landed. Wherefore he wrote to Beresford, ‘the reinforcements have arrived, and we shall be able in a few days to attack the enemy, if he retains this position, or possibly to attack him in any other which he may take up.’ Meanwhile the rear divisions of the army were ordered to close in; on the evening of March 5th Cole (4th Division) was brought up to Cartaxo, while Campbell (6th Division) moved out from the old lines to Azambuja, which Cole had left. The 3rd Division was ordered up from Alcoentre to join Pack’s Portuguese on the Rio Mayor. Beresford was directed to bring the 2nd Division across the Tagus at Abrantes, and to attack the French on the Zezere (Loison’s division) the moment that he saw any signs of their being about to move off[121].

But all this was too late: the only chance of destroying Masséna’s rearguard would have been to have attacked on the[p. 86] morning of the 5th with the troops that were already on the spot. And this Wellington would not do, because he thought that Reynier and Junot were still in position ‘with the effective part of the army.’ On the following morning it was too late: Heudelet had evacuated Santarem, and Clausel the line of the Rio Mayor, after dusk; and each having made a long night-march, the one was at Ponte de Almonda near Goleg?o, the other near Torres Novas, before noon on the 6th. Heudelet had blown up the bridge of Alviella, Clausel that of Pernes, to detain the pursuers. The enemy had gained a full march upon the British in this direction. On the other flank Beresford brought the 2nd Division over the Tagus on the 6th, but finding that Loison had made no movement had not attacked him, his orders being to fall on only when he saw the enemy break up from his positions.

On the early morning of the same day Wellington had found that Santarem was empty and occupied it. The Light Division and Pack were sent in pursuit of Junot, and reached Pernes: the 1st Division followed Reynier, and had the head of its column at the broken bridge of the Alviella by the afternoon. The 4th and 6th Divisions, coming up from the rear, entered Santarem, while the 3rd Division reached the line of the Rio Mayor and followed the Light Division. The 5th Division and Campbell’s Portuguese were still far to the rear. On this day Wellington made up his mind, from the signs before him, that Masséna was in full march for Coimbra and the north, and did not intend to fight a battle[122]. The only puzzling sign was that Loison’s division still remained stationary on the Zezere. Was it even now possible that the other corps were going to join him for an attack on Abrantes, an attempt to cross the Tagus near it, or a retreat into Spain via the Castello Branco road? This was not likely: for if such had been Masséna’s plan, Ney would have arrived to join Loison already, and they would have commenced their movement beyond the Zezere. Wellington, however, did not feel quite certain as to what was the French scheme till Loison burnt his boats and bridges on the night of the 6th-7th, and moved off towards Thomar, in the same direction as the rest of the French army. It is clear that if Beresford had been[p. 87] ordered to fall upon Loison in force upon the afternoon of the 6th, he might have done him much harm, for there lay upon the Zezere only a single French infantry division and a cavalry brigade, while Beresford had at Abrantes, beside the garrison, an English and a Portuguese division of infantry, and as much cavalry at least as Loison possessed.

On the 7th Ney and Drouet were halted at Leiria to cover the arrival of the rest of the army. Reynier marched from Goleg?o to Thomar; Junot from Torres Novas to Ch?o de Ma?ans; Loison was at dawn close to Thomar, after a night march, leaving his boats and bridges blazing behind him as a beacon for Beresford’s benefit. It was clear that the French were all making for the Coimbra roads, and had no designs west of the Zezere. The English cavalry, following on the heels of both Reynier’s and Junot’s columns, informed Wellington that the enemy was apparently about to use both roads towards the Mondego, that by Leiria and Pombal, and that by Ch?o de Ma?ans and Anci?o. The British general expressed some surprise at this, remarking in a letter to Beresford that the latter road was so bad that he marvelled that everything had not gone by the infinitely superior Leiria chaussée, the main road to the north[123]. Meanwhile, of his own troops Beresford had crossed the Zezere, but did not reach Thomar; Nightingale’s brigade of the 1st Division moved on from the bridge of the Alviella to Atalaya beyond Goleg?o, the Light Division from Pernes advanced to Arga and La Marosa on the Torres Novas-Thomar road. The 4th and 6th Divisions reached Goleg?o in the afternoon. But hearing of Ney’s and Drouet’s concentration at Leiria, and doubtful whether he would not find that the rest of the enemy was about to take shelter behind them, Wellington resolved not to push any more troops in the Thomar direction, but to keep a large mass upon the Santarem-Leiria-Coimbra road. The bulk of the 1st Division (all save Nightingale’s brigade) and the 3rd Division were halted at Alcanhede and Pernes, and thither too the 5th Division and the Portuguese brigades from the rear were directed. It must be confessed that this was not a very rapid or vigorous pursuit: Wellington was waiting on the enemy’s movements, rather than forcing[p. 88] them to take such directions as best suited himself. But it must be remembered that he had been compelled to advance ere yet his own preparations were made, four or five days before he had intended to make his great concentric attack, and two factors were against him. The first was the eternal food-problem; the divisions had marched unexpectedly, with such supplies as they had in hand; they were unable to get anything from the country, which the French had stripped bare during the last three months. The rations for them were being brought up from the rear, but if they outmarched them they must starve: hence there were reasons against hurry. The second cause of delay was that Wellington wished to have his whole army in hand, if the enemy should turn and show fight, and the divisions which had started from the Torres Vedras Lines on the first notice of Masséna’s departure on the 5th were still far to the rear, viz. the 5th and the Portuguese battalions which had once been Le Cor’s and was now under Campbell. The new 7th Division, which had just landed, had not yet commenced its march from Lisbon.

The aspect of the region through which the army was marching was piteous in the extreme. Santarem town was a wreck, ‘the houses torn and dilapidated, the streets strewn with household furniture half-burnt and destroyed, many streets quite impassable with filth and rubbish, with an occasional man, horse, or donkey rotting, and corrupting the air with pestilential vapours: a few miserable inhabitants like living skeletons[124].’ The country-side was worse—cottages burnt and unroofed, and corpses of murdered peasants, some fresh, some mere heaps of bones, lying in every ravine. The survivors were just emerging from woods or caverns to cut up the French sick and stragglers. A single quotation may suffice to give some idea of the wayside sights of this distressing march. It comes from a 3rd Division chronicler, who is describing the village of Porto de Mos, south of Leiria: ‘When we entered the place, there was a large convent fronting us, which, as well as many of the houses, had been set on fire by the French. I never before witnessed such destruction: floors torn up, beds cut in pieces, their contents thrown about intermixed with kitchen utensils, broken mirrors, china, &c.[p. 89] There was a large fire in the chapel, on which had been heaped broken pieces of the altar, wooden images, picture frames, and the ornamental woodwork of the organ. Searching for a clean place to put down bags of biscuit, we found a door leading to a chamber apart from the chapel. It was quite dark, so I took up a burning piece of wood to inspect it. It was full of half-consumed human bodies, some lying, others kneeling or leaning against the walls. The floor was covered with ashes, in many places still red-hot. Such an appalling sight I have never witnessed. Of those who had sunk on the floor nothing remained but bones: those who were in a kneeling or standing posture were only partially consumed. The expression of their scorched faces was horrible beyond description. In a bag lying at the upper end of the apartment was the dead body of a young child, who had been strangled: the cord used was still tight about its little neck[125].’

It was on the morning that followed his arrival at Torres Novas (March 8th) that Wellington, encouraged by the reports of his cavalry scouts, to the effect that the French were marching day and night, and showed no wish to fight, issued the orders already alluded to in a previous chapter, which bade Beresford turn back the 2nd Division, and march with it and the 4th to the relief of Badajoz[126]. The report of Menacho’s death and of the rapid advance of the French siege-works had just reached him. Beresford was to take with him Hamilton’s Portuguese division, which had not yet passed the Tagus, and De Grey’s cavalry brigade. The boat-bridge at Abrantes was floated down to Tancos near Punhete, in order to save the 2nd and 4th Divisions some miles of march in their journey to the Alemtejo. These troops turned back, and were nearing Tancos on the following day, when they received orders to halt. The French, so the advanced cavalry reported, after marching hitherto day[p. 90] and night, had come to a stand at Pombal, north of Leiria, where Ney, Junot, and Drouet were now all massed. Though Reynier was said to have taken another road, that by Espinhal, Wellington was not sure that Masséna did not intend to fight, and if so, he wished to have the 4th Division with him, and De Grey’s heavy dragoons. ‘In this case it is desirable,’ he writes, ‘that I should be a little stronger, and as Badajoz is not yet pressed ... I have sent to Cole to desire that his division and the dragoons march to-morrow for Cacharia. I shall then be as strong as the enemy, or very nearly.’ The 2nd Division was to halt and wait further orders. It was not till the 12th that it was let loose, and told to resume its march to the Alemtejo: Cole and De Grey were not sent back from the main army till the 16th. Meanwhile Badajoz, as we have already seen, fell by Imaz’s pusillanimity on March 10—a date too early for Beresford to have saved it, even if he had continued the march originally prescribed to him on the 8th of that month.

Before Wellington sent on their southward journey the three divisions which were to form the future Army of Estremadura, stirring events had begun to occur on the Leiria-Coimbra road, and the general course of Masséna’s retreat had already been settled.
SECTION XXIII: CHAPTER IV
EVENTS IN THE SOUTH OF SPAIN. THE BATTLE OF BARROSA.
JANUARY-MARCH 1811

In the second chapter of this volume we dealt with Soult’s expedition to Estremadura and its results, but had to defer for later consideration the events which brought him back in haste to Andalusia the moment that Badajoz had fallen (March 12th). These must now be explained.

When his 20,000 men, collected from all the three corps which formed the Army of the South, set out on the last day of the old year 1810, Soult left behind him three problems, each of which (as he was well aware) might assume a dangerous aspect at any moment. We have already indicated their character[127]. Would Victor, with 19,000 men left to him for the blockade of Cadiz, be able to hold with security the immense semicircle of lines and batteries which threatened the island stronghold of the Cortes? Would the provisional garrison which had been patched up for Seville prove strong enough to defend that capital and its arsenals against any possible attack of roving Spanish detachments, from the mountains of the west and south? Would Sebastiani and the 4th Corps be able to beat back any attempt by the Army of Murcia to trespass upon the limits of the broad and rugged province of Granada? We may add that it was conceivable that all these three problems might demand a simultaneous solution. For if all the Spanish forces had been guided by a single capable brain, nothing would have been more obvious to conceive than a plan for setting them all to work at once. If a sortie from Cadiz were taken in hand, it would have the best chance of success supposing that Sebastiani were to be distracted by an invasion of Granada, and Seville threatened by any force that could be collected in the Condado de Niebla, or the mountains above Ronda.

[p. 92]Soult, as Napoleon pointed out to him two months later[128], had committed a considerable fault by not putting all the divisions left behind in Andalusia under a single commander, responsible for all parts of the kingdom alike. Victor was given no authority over Sebastiani, nor even over Daricau, who had been left as governor of Seville, or Godinot, whose depleted division occupied the province of Cordova. Napoleon, always suspicious of Soult, accused him of having neglected this precaution because he was jealous of Victor, and would not make him as great as himself[129]. Whether this was so or not, it is at any rate clear that the position was made much more dangerous by the fact that each of the three problems named above would be presented to a different commander, who would be prone to think of his own troubles alone, and to neglect those of his colleagues. If all three dangers became threatening at the same moment, each general would regard his own as the most important, and bestow comparatively little care on those which menaced the others. As a matter of fact, Victor was almost destroyed, because Sebastiani did not come to his help, when the sally from Cadiz took place early in March; and Seville was in serious danger a few days later, because there was no one who could order Godinot to march to its aid from Cordova without delay.

Soult was fully aware of all the possible perils of his absence. Apparently he thought Sebastiani was in the greater danger, for he requisitioned only a few cavalry and artillery from the 4th Corps, and left it practically intact to defend the province of Granada against the Army of Murcia. As to Seville, he considered that it could only be endangered by Ballasteros, and for that reason did his best to destroy that general’s division, by causing Gazan to hunt it as far as the borders of Portugal—a diversion which nearly wrecked the Estremaduran expedition for[p. 93] lack of infantry[130]. When Gazan had driven Ballasteros over the Guadiana, after the action of Castillejos (January 25), the Marshal thought that the Spaniard was out of the game, and no longer in a position to do harm—in which he erred, for this irrepressible enemy was back in Andalusia within a few weeks, and was actually threatening Seville early in March.

But the greatest danger was really on the side of Cadiz, where Victor, deprived of nearly all his cavalry and one regiment of infantry for the Estremaduran expedition, had also to furnish outlying detachments—a garrison for Xeres and the column with which General Remond was operating in the Condado de Niebla, far to the west[131]. He had only 19,000 men left for the defence of the Lines, of which a considerable proportion consisted of artillery, sappers, and marine troops, needed for the siege but useless for a fight in the open, if the enemy should make a sally by sea against his rear. The Duke of Belluno was anxious, and rightly so: for the nearest possible succours were Sebastiani’s troops in Granada and Malaga, many marches away, while the garrison of Cadiz was very strong, and indeed outnumbered his own force. At the beginning of February it comprised, including the urban militia, nearly 20,000 Spanish troops; Copons had just been withdrawn from the west to join it. There was also an Anglo-Portuguese division. General Graham had been left a considerable force, even after Wellington withdrew certain regiments to join in the defence of the Lines of Torres Vedras. He had two composite battalions of the Guards, the 2/47th, 2/67th, 2/87th, a half battalion of the 2/95th, the two battalions of the 20th Portuguese, and a provisional battalion of German recruits[132], as also two squadrons of the 2nd Hussars of the King’s German Legion, and two field batteries. The whole amounted to between 5,000 and 6,000 men. It is curious to note that Napoleon, in the dispatch by which he spurred Soult on to his Estremaduran expedition, assured him ‘that there had never been more than three English regiments at Cadiz, and that they had all gone to Lisbon,’ so that the Isle of Leon and city were only defended[p. 94] by ‘ten thousand unhappy Spaniards without resolution or power to resist[133].’ When the Emperor’s directions were based upon information so utterly incorrect as this, it was hard for his generals to satisfy him!

Within a few days of the withdrawal of the detachment taken by Soult from Victor, the news came to Cadiz that the 1st Corps had been weakened: and when the destination of the expedition was known, it seemed probable that no reserves had been left at Seville on which the besieging force could count. The idea of an attack on Victor was at once broached by the Regency, and accepted by General Graham; after some discussion, it was considered best not to assail the lines by a disembarkation from the Isle of Leon, but to land as large a force as could be spared in the rear of the enemy, at Tarifa, Algesiras, or some other point of Southern Andalusia which was in the hands of the Allies. Such a movement, if properly conducted, would compel Victor to draw backward, in order to hold off the Allies from the Lines. He would have to fight at some distance inland, leaving a minimum garrison to protect his forts and batteries, and it was proposed that the fleet and the troops left in Cadiz should fall upon them during his enforced absence.

The execution of this plan was deferred for some weeks, partly because of the difficulty of providing transport by sea for a large expeditionary force, partly because Gazan was unexpectedly drawn back into Andalusia by Ballasteros’s division, and was at the end of January in a position from which he might easily have reinforced Victor. When he had gone off to Estremadura, in the wake of Soult, the problem became simpler. After drawing back Copons’s division from the Condado de Niebla to Cadiz (as has already been mentioned), the Regency found themselves able to provide 8,000 men for embarkation, while leaving 7,000 regulars and the urban militia to hold Cadiz. Graham was ready to join in, with all his troops save the battalion companies of the 2/47th and the 20th Portuguese, and the doubtfully effective German battalion, which were to remain behind, for he did not wish to withdraw the whole British force from Cadiz at once. But he procured the aid of an almost equivalent number of bayonets from an external source: he wrote to General Campbell, com[p. 95]manding at Gibraltar, begging him to spare reinforcements from the garrison of that fortress and of the minor stronghold of Tarifa, at the extreme southern point of Europe, which was then maintained as a sort of dependency of Gibraltar. Campbell eagerly consented to take part in the plan and promised to lend 1,000 infantry. This assistance would bring up the British contingent to 5,000 men. The Spaniards were also to collect some small reinforcements: there was an irregular force under General Beguines operating in the Ronda mountains, and basing itself on Gibraltar. It was ordered to join the expedition when it should come to land, and (as we shall see) actually did so, with a force of three battalions or 1,600 men. The total of the troops whom it was proposed to collect amounted, therefore, to 9,600 Spaniards and 5,000 British, a force almost equal in numbers to Victor’s depleted corps. But it was clear that the Marshal would have to leave some sort of a garrison in the Lines before Cadiz, and that the Allies would have a numerical superiority, if they could force on a fight at a distance from the sea and the French base.

One cardinal mistake was made in planning the expedition. Its command was to be entrusted to General Manuel La Pe?a, then the senior officer in Cadiz, a man with a talent for plausible talking and diplomacy, but one who had already shown himself a selfish colleague and a disloyal subordinate. This was the same man who in 1808, nearly three years back, had sacrificed his chief Casta?os at the disastrous battle of Tudela[134], by refusing to march to the sound of the guns, and securing a safe retreat for himself and his 10,000 men, while the main army was being crushed, only four miles away, by Marshal Lannes. Though not personally a coward, he was a shirker of responsibilities, and incapable of a swift and heroic decision. He was ambitious enough to aspire to and intrigue for a post of importance, but collapsed when it became necessary to discharge its duties. He treated Graham in 1811 precisely as he had treated Casta?os in 1808, and it was not his fault that the sally from Cadiz failed to end in a disaster[135]. The English lieutenant-general had dis[p. 96]cretionary authority from his Government to refuse to act in any joint expedition of which he was not given the command. But anxious to bring matters to a head, and deceived by La Pe?a’s mild plausibility, he consented to take the second place, on the ground that the Spaniard contributed the larger body of troops to the enterprise.

If Graham himself had headed the united force, it is certain that the siege of Cadiz would have been raised for the moment, though what would have followed that success no man can say, for it would have brought about such a convulsion in Andalusia, and such a concentration of the French troops, that the whole of the conditions of the war in the south would have been altered. Graham had all the qualities which La Pe?a lacked—indomitable resolution, swift decision, a good eye for topography, the power of inspiring enthusiastic confidence in his troops. He was no mere professional soldier, but a crusader with a mission; indeed his personal history is one of extraordinary interest. When the French Revolution broke out he was a civilian of mature years, a Whig Member of Parliament, aged forty-four, mainly known as a great sportsman[136] and a bold cross-country rider. Yet certainly if the war of 1793 had not come to pass, he would only be remembered now as the husband of that beautiful Mrs. Graham whose portrait is one of Gainsborough’s best-known masterpieces.
Portrait of Lieutenant-General Thomas Graham

Enlarge  Lieutenant-General Thomas Graham

Driven to the Riviera in 1792 by the failing health of his wife, who died at Hyères, Graham was an eye-witness of the outbreak of violence and blind rage in France which followed Brunswick’s invasion. He himself was arrested—his wife’s coffin was torn open by a mob which insisted that he was smuggling ‘arms for aristocrats’ therein. He narrowly escaped with his life, and returned to England convinced that the French had[p. 97] become a nation of wild beasts, hostes humani generis. ‘I had once deprecated,’ he wrote at the time, ‘the hostile interference of Britain in the internal affairs of France, but what I have seen in my journey through that country makes me consider that war with her has become just and necessary in self-defence of our constitution[137].’ Widowed and childless, he thought it his duty to go to the front at once, despite of his forty-four years and his lack of military training. He devoted all his available funds to the raising, in his own county, of the 90th Foot, the ‘Perthshire volunteers,’ of which he became the honorary colonel. He could not take command of the corps, because he had no substantive military rank, but he could not keep at home. He went out to the Mediterranean as a sort of volunteer aide-de-camp to Lord Mulgrave, and afterwards, being found useful owing to his gift of languages—he knew not only Italian but German, a rare accomplishment in those days—he was entrusted with a special mission to the Austrian army of Italy. He served through all the disasters of Beaulieu and Würmser, starved in Mantua, and froze in the Tyrolese Alps.

From that time onward we find him wherever there was fighting against the French to be done—in Sicily, Minorca, Malta, Egypt, Portugal. So great were his services that, contrary to all War Office rules, his honorary colonelship was changed to a regular commission on the staff, and in 1808-9 he served first as the British attaché with Casta?os’s army, and later as one of Sir John Moore’s aides-de-camp. In reward for brilliant service in the Corunna campaign he was given in 1810 the command of the British force at Cadiz. And so it came about that this Whig Member of Parliament, who had commenced soldiering at forty-four (like Oliver Cromwell and Julius Caesar), was at sixty-two leading a British division in the field. He had an iron frame[138], and his spirit was as firm as his body—the crusade had to be fought out to the end, though the enemy was now the Corsican Tyrant, not the Atheist Republic against which he had first drawn his sword. It was in keeping with all[p. 98] his previous career that he consented to take the second place in the Tarifa expedition; to get the army started was essential—his personal position counted for nothing with him. Before a month was out he had good reason to regret that he had been so self-denying.

After many tiresome delays[139] the English contingent sailed from Cadiz on February 21st, but met with such fierce west winds, when it neared Cape Trafalgar, that the convoy could not make the difficult harbour of Tarifa, and was blown past it into Gibraltar Bay, where Graham landed on the 23rd at Algesiras. Here he found waiting for him a ‘flank battalion’ of 536 bayonets, which General Campbell had made up for him out of the six flank companies of the 1/9th, 1/28th, and 2/82nd. From Algesiras the troops marched on the 24th to Tarifa, where they picked up another reinforcement provided by Campbell, the eight battalion companies of the 1/28th, which had been doing garrison duty in that little fortress—460 men in all. Having now just 5,196 men, Graham divided the infantry into two brigades. The first under General Dilkes numbered 1,900 bayonets: it was composed of the two composite battalions of the Guards, together with the flank battalion from Gibraltar and two companies of the 95th Rifles. The second brigade, under Colonel Wheatley, had 2,633 bayonets, and consisted of the 1/28th, 2/67th, 2/87th, and another ‘flank battalion’ under Colonel Barnard, composed of the two light companies of the 20th Portuguese (the only troops of that nation which served in the expedition), those of the 2/47th, with four more companies of the 95th Rifles. There were only 206 cavalry—two squadrons of the 2nd Hussars of the King’s German Legion—and ten guns under Major Duncan.

[p. 99]The Spanish contingent had sailed three days after Graham, had met with the same rough weather, and had been much beaten about. But the troops began to arrive at Tarifa on the 26th, and were all ashore on the 27th. La Pe?a assumed command, was all politeness, and made over to Graham two unbrigaded battalions of his own, to bring up the force of the two small British brigades to a higher figure[140]. The rest of his troops were organized in two divisions under Lardizabal and the Prince of Anglona, the first five, the second six battalions strong[141]; he had brought fourteen guns, and four squadrons of horse under an English colonel in the Spanish service, Samuel Whittingham, an officer who did not add to his laurels during this expedition.

On arriving at the bridge of Facinas and the village of Bolonia, ten miles outside Tarifa, La Pe?a had to make up his mind whether he would march against the rear of the French lines before Cadiz by the track nearer to the coast, which passes through Vejer de la Frontera, Conil, and Chiclana, or by the inland road through the mountains, which runs past Casas Viejas to Medina Sidonia. The two roads at their bifurcation are separated by the long lagoon of La Janda, a very shallow sheet of water, seven miles long, which nearly dries up in summer, but was at this moment full to overflowing from spring rains[142]. To take the inland route across the mountains was by far the better course. The road was not good, but if the Allies could reach Medina Sidonia with their army intact, Victor[p. 100] would be forced to come out and attack them, at a great distance from his Lines. For it would be practically impossible for the Marshal to allow La Pe?a and Graham to establish themselves at Medina, in the rear of his head quarters, and backed by the Sierra de Jerez, from whose skirts they could send out as many detachments as they pleased, to cut the communication between Seville and the Lines. There was little danger of being taken in the rear by troops sent by the distant Sebastiani, whose nearest forces were at Marbella, eighty miles away, and whose attention was at this moment fully taken up by the local guerrilleros, who had been turned loose on him. Indeed, Sebastiani for some time thought that the expedition was directed against himself, and was preparing to concentrate and take the defensive. The only drawbacks to the Medina Sidonia route were there would be no chance of communicating along it with the garrison of Cadiz, and that the question of provisions might grow serious if the campaign were protracted, for the region was barren and the army ill provided with transport. But a few days would settle the affair—Victor would be compelled to come out at once and fight, with every man that he could bring, and while he was engaged at Medina, there would be nothing to prevent the 7,000 Spaniards in Cadiz from crossing the harbour and destroying the ill-garrisoned Lines. This in itself, even if the Allies failed to hold back the Marshal, would have an immense effect all over Andalusia[143].

La Pe?a originally intended to take the right-hand road, and ordered Beguines, who was now in the high hills to the east, about Ximena, to join him with his roving brigade at Casas Viejas. The column left Facinas late in the evening, for La Pe?a had a great and misplaced belief in night marches, by which he always hoped to gain time on the enemy, since his moves could not be discovered or reported till the next morning. He overlooked the corresponding disadvantage of the extreme slowness of progress over bad roads in rugged country, the very real danger that the troops (or some of them) might miss their way in the dark, and the inevitable fatigue to the men from losing their proper hours of sleep. Graham’s laconic diary shows how[p. 101] this worked out. ‘Marched in the evening, very tedious from filing across water (the stream which fills the head of the lagoon of La Janda) and other difficulties. Misled by the guides on quitting the Cortigo de la Janda (farm at the head of the lagoon): the counter-march made a most fatiguing night.... It was twelve noon before the troops halted, having been nineteen hours under arms.’

The troops of Lardizabal, at the head of the column, had reached Casas Viejas in the morning, but the English division in the rear of the army had got no further than the northern end of the lagoon, some thirteen miles from their starting-place at Puente de Facinas. There was a violent east wind, the night had been very cold, and the men were much fatigued.

Lardizabal on reaching Casas Viejas had found the convent, which was the only solid building there, occupied by a French post, two companies sent out by General Cassagne from Medina Sidonia to watch the high-road. Thinking at first that he was only about to be worried by guerrilleros, the French captain shut himself up behind his barricades, instead of retreating at once. When he found out his mistake, and saw that a whole army was about him, it was too late to get off without loss. La Pe?a ordered that the convent should be left alone, as he did not wish to waste time in battering and storming it. The whole of his troops had come up, including the roving force of 1,600 men from the hills under Beguines, when the French unwisely made a bolt eastward, in the hope of escaping. The little column was pursued and cut up by a squadron of Busche’s German Hussars, many being killed and captured. From the prisoners and Beguines’s scouts La Pe?a learnt that Medina Sidonia was (contrary to his expectation) held by a serious force of French—Cassagne’s detachment being now composed of five battalions of infantry, a battery, and a cavalry regiment, about 3,000 men. The walls had been repaired, it was said, and the place was in a state of defence.

The Spanish general should have rejoiced to learn that Victor had sent an appreciable part of his army so far afield—fifteen miles from Chiclana—and by advancing he could have forced the Marshal to come to this distance from his lines in order to support Cassagne. A battle would no doubt have followed[p. 102]—but it was for a battle that the army had sailed to Tarifa. And by drawing Victor’s whole fighting force so far away from Cadiz, La Pe?a would have given a unique opportunity to the garrison to come out and destroy the siege-works. Meanwhile, if the French lost the battle they would be annihilated, being off their line of retreat; if they won it, they would return to find the greater part of the siege-works destroyed.

But this was not the line of thought that guided La Pe?a; he was, as his previous record showed, a shirker of responsibilities, and the prospect of a battle on the morrow, or the day after, seems to have paralysed him. To every one’s surprise he gave orders that the army, waiting till dusk had come on, should leave the Medina road, and march across country by a bad bridle-path to Vejer, on the other route from Tarifa to Cadiz. Graham protested against a second night march, after the experience of the first, and rightly, for news came in ere night that the road along the north side of the Barbate river, which La Pe?a had intended to use, was absolutely under water from inundations. La Pe?a therefore consented to wait till the next morning (March 3rd) and to use another country road, that between the north end of the La Janda lagoon and the river into which it falls. The army marched at 8 o’clock—Lardizabal as before in front, the English division in the rear. But on reaching the intended crossing-place, it was found that this road, like that north of the river, was flooded, the lagoon having overflowed at its northern end, and joined itself in one shallow sheet of water to the Barbate. Graham, on arriving at the passage, found the Spaniards halted at the edge of the flood, and apparently at a nonplus. The energetic old man took the business out of La Pe?a’s hands—he and his staff rode into the water, and sought personally for the track of the submerged causeway, which they fortunately found to be nowhere more than three feet under the surface of the flood. He placed men along the track at intervals, to guide those who should follow, and sat on his horse in the middle of the ford encouraging the troops as they marched past him. ‘I set the example of going into the water,’ he remarks in his diary, ‘which was followed by Lacy, the Prince of Anglona, and others. The passage lasted three hours, and would have taken double that time but for the[p. 103] exertions made to force the men to keep the files connected.’ It was 12 o’clock at night before the army reached Vejer—having taken fifteen hours to cover ten miles, owing to the delays at the inundation. Every one was wet through and much fatigued, for the weather was still very cold.

It remained to be seen what the enemy would make of this move; a squadron of French dragoons had been found in Vejer by the advanced guard, and driven out, so that it was certain that Victor would get prompt news that at any rate some part of the allied army had now appeared on the western road. The Marshal, as a matter of fact, was puzzled. On the night of the 2nd he had heard from Cassagne that the enemy was in force on the Medina Sidonia road, and had cut up the post at Casas Viejas. He accordingly sent orders to Cassagne to bid him stand firm, and promised to support him with his whole disposable force. But before dawn on the 4th he got news, from the dragoons expelled from Vejer, that there was a heavy force on the western road. Had La Pe?a transferred himself from one route to another, or were the Allies operating in two columns? Cassagne reported a little later that the column opposed to him had advanced no further, but that there were still Spanish troops on the Casas Viejas road; and this was true, for La Pe?a had left a battalion and some guerrilla horse at that place, to give him news of Cassagne, if the latter should move.

But there was also the garrison of Cadiz to be watched, and it was showing signs of activity. On the night of the 2nd-3rd, when the field army had been lying at Casas Viejas, General Zayas had, in accordance with the scheme of times left with him, thrown his bridge of boats across the Santi Petri creek, and passed a battalion across it, which entrenched itself on the mud-flat, facing the French works that cut off the peninsula of the Bermeja. They threw up a strong tête-du-pont, undisturbed, being under the protection of the heavy guns in the castle of Santi Petri, and other batteries on the Isle of Leon. The move could only mean that the garrison of Cadiz intended to come out. Accordingly Victor resolved to stop its egress; waiting for the dusk on the night of the 3rd-4th, he sent six companies of picked voltigeurs to storm the tête-du-pont. This they accomplished, the heavy guns failing to stop them in the dusk: the[p. 104] Spanish battalion in the work (Ordenes Militares) was nearly annihilated, losing 13 officers and 300 men killed or taken. But the bridge itself was saved by the prompt sinking of two of its boats, and was hastily floated back to the island, where Zayas laid it up for further use. He had been much chagrined at seeing and hearing nothing of allied forces behind the French, which he had been told to look for on March 3rd[144].

Putting together the movement of Zayas, and the fact that some at least of the allied army was now on the Vejer road, the Marshal came to the correct conclusion that the army in the field was intending to get into communication with Cadiz and its garrison. Accordingly he made a new plan to suit this hypothesis: of his three divisions one, that of Villatte, was to block the neck of the peninsula along which the track from Vejer and Conil leads to the Santi Petri creek and the Isle of Leon. The other two, concentrated at Chiclana, were to wait till the allied force had found itself blocked in front by Villatte, and then to fall upon its flank, in the space of three miles that lies between the hill of Barrosa and the position where Villatte had been posted. This plan would place the intercepting division in obvious danger, since, while attacked in front by the head of the allied army, it might find Zayas attempting once more to lay his bridge, and to take it in the rear. Such a movement by the garrison could not be stopped, because the end of the peninsula, by the bridge-place, was under the guns of several heavy batteries. But Victor directed Villatte not to fight to the last, but to be contented with holding the Allies in check long enough to enable the main body to fall on their flank. The sound of his guns would be the signal for the two striking divisions to move out from the wood of Chiclana, and dash at the long column whose head would be engaged with Villatte, while its tail would still be coming along the coast many miles to the rear. For 14,000 men had only the single line of communication along which to move.
General Map of the Barrosa Campaign

Enlarge  THE BARROSA CAMPAIGN

[p. 105]Meanwhile Cassagne, at Medina Sidonia, was sent orders to find out exactly what was in front of him, and if there was no solid force, to march to join the main body on the morning of the 5th. He must have received the order to do so somewhere in the afternoon of the 4th.

Victor’s force was not so large as he would have wished. Soult had taken from him six battalions of infantry and three cavalry regiments, reducing the total of the 1st Corps left at or near Cadiz to twenty-three battalions of infantry, three regiments of cavalry, and four or five field batteries, about 15,000 men in all. There were also present in the lines 3,500 men more not belonging to the corps, viz. about 1,000 artillery and 800 engineers and sappers belonging to the siege train, and 1,600 marine troops from the flotilla which had been constructed in Cadiz bay. These of course were useless for field operations; but they served to man the lines, with the addition of three battalions—2,000 men—from the fighting force, the least that Victor thought he could spare. For the garrison of Cadiz and the English fleet might attack in force any point of the Lines during the absence of the main body. This left 13,000 men available for field operations: but Cassagne was still absent at Medina Sidonia, with five battalions, a battery, and one of the three cavalry regiments, making 3,100 men in all. There were therefore only 10,000 men left to face La Pe?a and Graham, till Cassagne should come up. Victor, according to his own dispatch, much over-estimated the force of the Allies, which he states as 8,000 English and 18,000 Spaniards, so that he went to work in rather a desperate mood, thinking that he had to fight very superior numbers, and that his only chance was to make a sudden and resolute attack when he was not expected. As a matter of fact he overstated the enemy by nearly a half, since there were really marching from Vejer only 5,000 English and under 10,000 Spaniards altogether, and no help could come to them from Cadiz till Villatte should be driven off.

Each of the three divisions which Victor had under his hand was short of several battalions; Ruffin’s, the 1st Division, and Leval’s, the 2nd, had each a battalion in the Lines and another detached with Cassagne at Medina. Villatte’s, the 3rd, had one in the Lines and three with Cassagne. Hence they took the[p. 106] field, Ruffin and Leval with six battalions each, Villatte with five only. The respective forces were 3,000, 3,800, and 2,500 bayonets[145]: each unit had its divisional battery with it. Of the two cavalry regiments, the 1st Dragoons, 400 sabres, was with Ruffin, the 2nd Dragoons, 300 sabres, with Villatte. On the evening of the 4th Ruffin’s and Leval’s men were concentrated at Chiclana, hidden behind the woods which cover it; Villatte was on the ridge of the Torre Bermeja, between the Almanza creek and the sea, right across the track leading from Vejer to Cadiz, and looking both backward and forward, with his attention ready for Zayas as much as for La Pe?a.

Meanwhile the Allies were marching straight into the middle of the trap which Victor had prepared for them. After passing Conil, the road on which their army was moving turns inland towards Chiclana, while a mere track follows the beach towards the Santi Petri. It was along this that La Pe?a was intending to move. But in the dark the head of the column followed the main road, and went several miles along it. At dawn the error was discovered, and the army, cutting across an open heath, got down to the beach[146].

The point which the allies had now reached was a mile or so south-east of the coast-guard tower of Barrosa, where an isolated eminence called the Cerro del Puerco (Boar’s Hill), crowned by a ruined chapel, looks out upon the heathy plain of Chiclana to the north, and a scrubby pine wood (covering much of the ground towards the beach) to the west[147]. The advanced cavalry got upon the hill unhindered soon after daybreak, and met no enemy, nor did patrols sent into the wood discover him for some time. Presently, however, news came back from the front[p. 107] that a French force had been discerned, drawn up between the Almanza creek and the sea, and blocking the way to Cadiz. Being outside the wood it was very visible, and seemed to be about a strong brigade of infantry with a squadron or two of horse. This was, of course, Villatte, waiting for the advance of the Allies. No other hostile troops were to be seen.

La Pe?a now told Graham that, despite of the fact that the men had been under arms for fourteen hours, and had marched as many miles in the dark, he was about to thrust this French force out of the way without a moment’s delay. Lardizabal, with the vanguard division, was to attack it at once, while the rest of the army took up a position to cover him from any possible movement of the enemy from the direction of Chiclana.

About nine in the morning Lardizabal with his five battalions reached Villatte’s front, deployed and attacked him. The forces were about equal, and the attack was repulsed with some loss; La Pe?a then ordered up the leading brigade of Anglona’s division to support the vanguard. A sharp engagement was going on, when a new fire broke out behind Villatte. Zayas, from the Isle of Leon, had recast his bridge across the Santi Petri, and was advancing to take the French in the rear. Villatte saw his danger, gave up his position across the peninsula, and hastily fell back towards the passage of the shallow Almanza creek, near the mill of the same name. He recrossed it, not without some difficulty, and then drew up to defend the passage. Lardizabal was prevented by La Pe?a from pursuing him, and halted opposite. The skirmish had been hot: Villatte had lost 337 men, the Spaniards a few more. But they had achieved their purpose, and the connexion with Cadiz had been duly established.

About noon La Pe?a sent orders to Graham to evacuate the Barrosa position, and draw in closer to the Almanza creek, to join the rest of the army. Meanwhile he would be relieved on the hill by five battalions of Cruz Murgeon and Beguines[148], to which rearguard there was added one British battalion, Browne’s composite unit consisting of the six flank companies of the 9th,[p. 108] 28th, and 82nd. Whittingham and the cavalry were to flank this force on the coast track, somewhere near the tower of La Barrosa. This force was to move off in its turn, when Graham should have reached the main body, for the Spanish general had resolved not to hold the Cerro, considering that an army of 14,000 men should not be spread out over four miles of ground, but be kept more concentrated. Graham entirely disagreed with this movement; if the Allies came down and crammed themselves into the narrow peninsula between the sea and the Almanza creek, there was nothing to prevent Victor from seizing the Barrosa heights, and placing himself across their front, in a way which would block them into the cramped position which they had assumed. The move practically threw them back on Cadiz, and sacrificed all the results of the toilsome flank march in which they had been so long engaged. Graham had in the morning urged on La Pe?a the all-importance of retaining the hill, but now saw his advice rejected. Obeying orders, however, he set his column in march towards the Torre Bermeja and the Almanza creek, through the pine wood. At the same time the rearguard under Beguines and Cruz Murgeon ascended the Cerro, and took up the post which the British division had left.

The British column did not descend to the rough track along the coast, but used a fair wood path right through the middle of the pine forest, which saved them a couple of miles of détour, and was practicable for artillery. They were soon filing along between the pines, lost to sight, and themselves unable to see a hundred yards in any direction.

At this moment, about 12.30 p.m., Victor suddenly broke out of the woods in front of Chiclana with the 7,000 men of Ruffin’s and Leval’s divisions. He was tired of waiting for Cassagne, for he had now got news that the force at Medina had started late in the morning, instead of at dawn, and would not be up for two or three hours more. His cavalry had just reported to him that the Cerro seemed to be abandoned, and that the troops formerly holding it were marching across his front through the forest. Since the main body of the enemy had been located opposite Villatte, on the Almanza creek, there seemed to be a good chance of seizing the important Barrosa position unopposed, and of striking the rear division of the Allies while it was defiling,[p. 109] strung out helplessly in a wood road, across the front of the advancing French. The orders given by the Marshal sent his cavalry regiment (three squadrons of the 1st Dragoons) to turn the heights by their south-eastern flank, and seize the coast track, while Ruffin ascended the Cerro by its gently sloping northern front, and Leval struck at the troops known to be in the wood. The French, being quite fresh, came on at a great pace; the Marshal had explained to his subordinates that haste was everything. They were clearly visible to the rearguard left on the heights, partly visible to La Pe?a, who could see their flank up the trough of the Almanza creek, but wholly invisible to Graham and his troops in the wood.

A great responsibility now fell on the Spanish officers on the Cerro; they were under orders to evacuate the heights when Graham should have got away westward. What were they to do when it suddenly became clear that they were themselves about to be attacked? They might attempt to defend the hill with the one British and five Spanish battalions which lay, unseen to the French, under the seaward slope of the Cerro: or they might simply obey orders, and retire towards the main body, abandoning their dominating position. The latter course was the one taken. The five Spanish battalions streamed down the seaward face of the hill in no very good order, and fell in there with the baggage of the whole army. All together began to retire northward; there was a block on the beach, the baggage mules were driven right and left, and many got loose and bolted. Meanwhile Whittingham with the cavalry (three Spanish[149] and two K.G.L. squadrons) ranged himself across the track, where he was soon faced by the French dragoons, who had galloped round the south-eastern face of the heights with remarkable celerity.

Whittingham’s retreat was not made without a protest against it by Colonel Browne, who urged, firstly, that it was madness to abandon the height, secondly that he had Graham’s orders to stand there, and could obey no others. The cavalry general replied that, for his part, he had resolved to retire, and offered to lend Browne one of his squadrons to cover his retreat towards[p. 110] the British division, if he would not follow him to the coast track. The fiery colonel made no reply, but turned to his battalion and ordered it to occupy the ruined chapel on the top of the Cerro and the neighbouring thickets, and to prepare for action. But in half an hour, seeing Whittingham’s column far off at the foot of the hill, and six French battalions coming in upon him, Browne gave way and descended into the pine wood in search of Graham[150]. The French—Ruffin’s division—took possession of the heights, and planted a battery upon them.

Meanwhile we must return to Graham, concealed in the wood, and marching (as it were blindfold) across the front of Leval’s approaching column. He had no cavalry with him, but presently two mounted guerrilleros rode up in haste, and told him that the French were close on his flank. Riding back to the rear of his division, he saw from the edge of the forest Beguines’s troops pouring down the near side of the Cerro, and Ruffin’s mounting its northern ascent. Leval was also visible to the left.

Graham’s mind was made up in a moment: ‘A retreat in the face of the enemy,’ he writes, ‘who was already in reach of the easy communication by the sea-beach, must have involved the whole allied army in the danger of being attacked during the unavoidable confusion, while the different corps would be arriving on the narrow ridge of Bermeja at the same time,’ i. e. he saw that he himself coming out of the wood, Whittingham and Beguines from the shore track, and the main body returning from the Almanza creek bridge, would meet in disorder on the narrow neck of the peninsula by the Torre Bermeja, and would be unable to form an orderly line of battle. Even if they did, and then held their ground, the object of the whole expedition was lost, and the French, in possession of the Cerro del Puerco, once more blocked the army into Cadiz.

The alternative was to take the offensive before the two French columns had united, and to attack them while they were still coming upon the ground, and before they had drawn up in any regular order. It was evident that they were hurrying forward without any notion that they were liable to be thrown[p. 111] on the defensive at a moment’s notice. In three minutes Graham had made up his mind to attack himself, instead of allowing himself to be chased into the Bermeja position. The wood, in which his division lay concealed, enabled him to hide his movement, though it made that movement perilously disorderly. The orders given were simple: the leading brigade, that of Colonel Wheatley, was to push straight through the wood till it reached the northern edge, and then form there, and attack Leval. The rear brigade, that of General Dilkes, was to counter-march down the wood-path on which it was engaged, till it too cleared the wood, and then to form up and attack Ruffin on the slopes of the Cerro del Puerco. The ten guns, in the centre of the marching column, were to push up a side track which seemed passable, and to form on Wheatley’s right, in the centre between the two brigades. Meanwhile these movements would take some time to execute, and the French were coming closer to the wood every minute. It was necessary to hold them back at all costs till a line could be formed. With this object Graham resolved to throw forward on each front a light infantry force, which should engage the enemy, regardless of order and of losses, till the main body got up. On the left Barnard’s four companies of the 95th Rifles and the two companies of the 20th Portuguese under Colonel Bushe, about 700 men in all, were ordered to break through the wood directly before them, without any attempt at formation, and when they reached its edge, to sally straight out at Leval’s front, in the best skirmishing line they could make. On the right there was a force already to the front—Browne’s flank battalion, 536 muskets, which had just descended unwillingly from the Cerro, and was visible at its foot.

This last force was near Graham as he sat on his horse among the trees at the wood’s end. He cantered up to Browne, and asked him why the Cerro had been abandoned. ‘Because five battalions of Spaniards went off before the enemy came within cannon-shot,’ was the reply. ‘Well, it’s a bad business, Browne; you must instantly turn round again and attack.’ The flank battalion began to extend into skirmishing order, when Graham, after a moment’s reflection, said, ‘I must show something more serious than skirmishing. Close the men into[p. 112] compact battalion! And then attack in your front and immediately.’ Dilkes’s brigade was coming up, but was still a mile away in the wood, and Browne came out of the trees into the open absolutely isolated, to attack uphill six battalions and a battery with a two-deep line of just 536 men[151]. Blakeney says that his colonel rode into action singing the old naval song—

‘Now cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer,’

a tune to which he was much addicted at all times in and out of season.

About the same time, or a few minutes later, Barnard’s and Bushe’s scattered and uneven line burst out of the northern edge of the wood a mile away, and found themselves facing Leval’s division at the distance of only some 400 yards. This force, quite unaware that any enemy was yet near, was advancing in two columns each of three battalions, the right one composed of the 54th regiment and a battalion of grenadiers réunis, the left of the 8th regiment followed by a single battalion of the 45th. Their divisional battery was following on their left rear. Barnard, who got a little further to the front than the Portuguese, was facing the French 54th, Bushe, who was drawn back a little in échelon, was opposite the French 8th. They had hardly opened their fire, which had great effect because the enemy had no screen of voltigeurs out to cover him, and was caught unprepared for an infantry fight, when Duncan’s ten guns, which had made extraordinary good pace through the wood, appeared, and unlimbering at its edge began to fire shrapnel into the leading battalions of the French. Behind them the two companies of the 47th, which properly belonged to Barnard’s provisional battalion, took post as their supports.

Thus the battle was suddenly begun on both fronts, but Graham had only 500 men up on one side, and 900 with the guns on the other. The main body was coming on through the wood behind in an extraordinarily mixed order. When Graham gave orders to Wheatley’s brigade to face to their right flank and push through the wood northward, and to Dilkes’s brigade to turn about on the road and return to the[p. 113] Cerro by the way they had come, there was no small confusion. By some misunderstanding the rear companies of the 67th, which was the last battalion in Wheatley’s brigade, faced about and followed Dilkes, though the leading companies went off with their proper companions, the 28th and 87th. On the other hand, by a compensating mistake, the two companies of the Coldstream Guards, which belonged to Dilkes, turned north into the wood and followed Wheatley[152]. The brigades exchanged, as it were, 250 men with each other. In addition the battalions, owing to the sudden inversion of their column of march, were all out of their proper order in their brigades, and went into action ‘almost anyhow.’

But while a line of some sort was being formed, the screen of light troops which Graham had thrown forward, to detain the enemy, during the deployment of the main body, had done its duty by allowing itself to be knocked to pieces while attacking fivefold numbers. It had to be sacrificed to gain time, and carried out its orders completely. We will take the fortunes of the right-hand force first.

Browne’s composite battalion had started from a position close under the edge of the pine wood; it had first to cross a broad but shallow ravine, and then to climb the gentle slope of the Cerro, where it became fully visible to the enemy, though there was a little cover here and there upon the hillside, in the form of scattered bushes and slight dips in the ground. The French allowed the line to advance a little way up the ascent, and then opened upon it both with a field battery placed close to the chapel on the summit, and with the musketry fire of the three battalions which formed their right wing. Blakeney,[p. 114] our ever-useful authority for this side of the battle, says that the first salvo of the French knocked over more than 200 officers and men out of 536 forming the line. Browne ordered the men to close to the centre, and endeavoured to continue his climb; this was done with much difficulty, but, before the advance could be resumed, more than fifty men more were killed or wounded. All the exertions of the colonel could not form a third line—fourteen officers out of twenty-one were down, and more than half the rank and file. The remainder now scattered; the men did not retreat, but threw themselves down, and commenced independent firing from behind bushes, hillocks, and any other cover they could find. The French made no attempt to fall upon them by descending the hill, as would have seemed natural. The reason was that by the time that the flank battalion had been disposed of, the main body of Dilkes’s brigade had come out of the wood, and was visible forming up at the foot of the hill to deliver the real assault.

The Guards had obtained the necessary time to come up and choose their ground through the absolute martyrdom of the flank battalion. Dilkes did not repeat the attack on the same slope over which Browne had advanced, but pushed some distance to the right, where the hillside showed more cover in the way of scattered bushes and trees, and some dead ground hid the men by its steepness from the fire of the battery on the crest above. Blakeney describes them as strung out on a most irregular front, a confused mass rather than a formed line. The whole, while advancing, kept taking ground to their right, so as to come up the hillside opposite Ruffin’s left wing. Their extreme flank was covered by Norcott’s two companies of rifles in more extended order. Partly owing to the cover, partly to the difficulty found by the French guns in getting their fire to bear, Dilkes’s brigade got wellnigh to the top of the hill before it suffered any very serious losses. But on clearing the last underwood, and reaching smooth ground, it was charged by the four battalions of Ruffin’s left—two of the 24th Line supported by the two reserve battalions of grenadiers réunis. This was the crisis of the battle in the southern half of its progress. By all the rules of French military art four battalion columns, fresh and well ordered, charging down hill, should have[p. 115] been able to break through a disordered line of decidedly inferior strength pushing upwards against them. Dilkes had only 1,400 men, the four French battalions just over 2,000. Nevertheless, the impossible happened. When the two columns of the 24th Ligne came down, with drums beating and levelled bayonets, against the centre of the firm, if disorderly, line in front, they were checked by the furious fire that broke out against them from the semicircle into which they had pushed. This was one more example of the fact established at Maida five years before, and reaffirmed at Vimiero, Talavera, and Bussaco, that no column could break the British line by mere impetus. In this case the French had every advantage, since they were absolutely intact troops, and had the ground entirely in their favour, while the Guards and the wing of the 67th opposed to them had marched two miles in haste, had then climbed a steep 200-foot slope under fire, had lost their order, and were firing up hill. But the fire was delivered with astounding accuracy, considering that the men were blown with their climb and dreadfully exhausted. The whole head of each of the descending columns was blown to pieces. The rest came to a standstill, and crowding together in a disorderly clump, opened an irregular fire against the British line.

The Marshal, who was present in person on the top of the Cerro, then brought up his reserve, the two battalions of grenadiers under General Chaudron Rousseau. He himself and the brigadier were both distinctly seen leading on the column, the Marshal waving his large white-plumed hat over his head. This charge was delivered against the right of Dilkes’s line, where the 3rd Guards and wing of the 67th lay, that of the 24th Ligne had been more against the centre and the 1st Guards. But the result was the same, though the contest was more long and bloody. The grenadiers are said to have struggled forward, losing heavily at each step, till their front was within a very few yards of Dilkes’s line: it was only then that they halted and began to fire—a fatal step in such a contest, where impetus was the sole chance of the attacking mass, and superiority in musketry fire (owing to the longer front) was on the side of the English line. This of course was a terribly murderous business to both sides, as the figures presently to be quoted will show. But as in[p. 116] all similar contests during the Peninsular War, the line hit harder than the column. The four French battalions began at last to give way, and could not be kept together. Then Victor tried to bring in the two left battalions of his line to their aid, but these two units were pestered and impeded, when they began to move off from their first position, by the remains of Browne’s flank battalion, which (though reduced to under 300 muskets) began to press forward again, when the troops hitherto in their front commenced to move off to the right. ‘They darted from behind trees, briars, brakes, and out of hollows,’ says Blakeney. ‘I could imagine myself like Roderick Dhu upon Benledi’s side—it was a magic effect. We confidently advanced up the hill and, unlike most advances, in this one our numbers increased as we proceeded, soldiers of the flank battalion joining at every step.’ This scattered little force hung on to the flank of Victor’s right, and prevented it from rallying the broken force now recoiling from in front of Dilkes. The flankers had even the good fortune to capture a howitzer from the left of Victor’s battery placed by the chapel on the hilltop; another gun was taken by the 1st Guards in their forward progress.

It must have been just at this crisis that the whole French mass broke; up to this moment it had been recoiling sullenly, still keeping up some fire from its rear. But now the observer saw[153], ‘with loud and murmuring sounds, Ruffin’s division and Rousseau’s chosen grenadiers rolling with a whirling motion down into the valley below, leaving their two brave generals mortally wounded on the hill, which was left in possession of their bloodstained conquerors.’

The exhausted victors halted for a short time to re-form, and were in a more orderly line than they had hitherto shown when they commenced to follow the enemy down the slope. The casualties in this part of the field may now be stated, for neither party was to lose many more men in the last episode of the fight. Dilkes’s brigade and Browne’s flank battalion had gone up the hill with 76 officers and 1,873 men. They lost 25 officers and 588 men—about 10 men out of every 31 in the fight. The French loss was positively more, proportionately not quite so great. In the six battalions of Ruffin and Chaudron Rousseau[p. 117] there seem to have been about 108 officers and 3,000 men present; of these 36 officers and 840 men were left on the hill, i. e. 10 men in every 35. The trophies remaining with the victors were two guns and 107 unwounded prisoners, beside the multitude of disabled men left on the slope[154].

While this bloody business had been going on upon the Cerro del Puerco, it may be asked what were the Spaniards on the coast road doing—Whittingham’s squadrons and the five battalions of Cruz Murgeon and Beguines. The last named, with his three battalions, shepherding what was left of the baggage-train, quietly marched off along the sea, and joined La Pe?a by the Torre Bermeja. Whittingham was of a little positive use; he continued all through the fight to ‘contain’ and occasionally to bicker with the French cavalry regiment (1st Dragoons) that faced him near the Torre Barrosa. The two battalions of Cruz Murgeon supported him. This force certainly did not do its share—180 German Hussars, 300 Spanish horse, and 1,000 Spanish foot simply kept out of action 400 French horse. This was something, but not much, for the dragoons could not have interfered very effectively on the hill against Dilkes’s advance, because the south side of the Cerro is too precipitous for horsemen. In short, Whittingham’s statement in his report to La Pe?a, that ‘all the cavalry fulfilled its duty brilliantly’ is a sad overstatement of the case.

Let us turn now to the other half of the fight, where Wheatley’s brigade and Duncan’s guns were facing Leval on the open plain just outside the edge of the wood. At the moment when Browne attacked the Cerro, Barnard’s rifles and Bushe’s Portuguese were throwing themselves in a no less resolute fashion upon the six French battalions in their front. They had the advantage of being invisible to the enemy till they emerged from the wood, only 300 yards in his front, and of being supported, within a few minutes of their arrival, by Duncan’s ten guns, while Browne had no artillery assistance whatever, and was seen by the French for half a mile before he got near them.

The confusion in Leval’s division on being suddenly attacked[p. 118] by an unexpected swarm of skirmishers pouring out of the wood was extreme. So much were they taken aback, that Vigo-Roussillon of the 8th Line assures us in his memoirs that a false alarm of cavalry was raised, and that his regiment, and the first battalion of the 54th, formed square before the mistake was recognized, and caught some shells from Duncan’s guns in that uncomfortable situation, before they had time to deploy for action against infantry. This they had to do under a heavy fire from Barnard’s riflemen, who had advanced quite close to them. Leval’s fighting formation was the usual ‘column of divisions,’ i. e. a front of two companies and a depth of three in each battalion, or (since these units averaged 650 men each, and the companies over 100 bayonets) a front of seventy-two men and a depth of nine. The length of Barnard’s skirmishing line, with his 400 rifles, seems to have covered the front of the right battalion of the 54th and the left battalion of the 8th—some 1,300 men. The 95th did considerable execution on them while they were getting out of square formation: but when the columns advanced firing, the skirmishing line had to fall back. Its loss was heavy—sixty-five killed and wounded; among the latter Barnard, commanding the battalion. The next troops whom the French encountered were the flank companies of the 20th Portuguese—330 men only, who had advanced on the right rear of the 95th, supporting them in échelon. This was a new corps, which had been sent to Cadiz the moment it was raised in 1809, and had never been under fire before. Considering their hopeless position, alone in front of an advancing division, the Portuguese behaved very well; they held their ground for some time, while their colonel, Bushe, as is recorded by an eye-witness, rode slowly backward and forward behind them with his spectacles on, crying as the balls whistled past, ‘Que bella musica,’ to encourage his men. But he was soon mortally wounded[155], and after his fall the line melted away and[p. 119] drifted to the rear, after having kept a battalion of the French 8th engaged for some minutes: proportionately its loss was much the same as that of the Rifles—56 killed and wounded out of 332 present—one man in six.

The first act of the drama on this front was thus complete; the detaining force sent out by Graham had been, as he expected, driven in with loss, though not an appalling loss of 50 per cent., such as Browne’s gallant flankers had suffered on the Cerro. But the main body was now up, and had formed in the edge of the wood, to the left of Duncan’s guns, with no loss or interruption, since it had been well covered all the time. There were now some 1,400 men in line: the 28th, 450 strong, on the left, then the 211 bayonets of the Coldstreamers, the 87th, nearly 700 strong, in the centre; beyond them the right wing of the 67th, about 250 bayonets, next to the guns, which were still under the protection of the flank companies of the 47th which served as their escort throughout the fight. The broken screen of light troops which had just retired was by no means out of action; the 95th formed up again behind the 28th, the Portuguese behind the 87th, and both were used again before the battle was over.

The formation of the French at this moment was an uneven line of four battalion columns,—counting from their left, 1/8th, 2/8th, 2/54th, 1/54th; the other two battalions were in reserve, the 1/45th behind the French battery, which was now engaged with Duncan’s guns, the provisional battalion of grenadiers more to the right, and some distance behind the 54th regiment. The whole was advancing, but slowly: the battalions in the front line were firing; the centre was a little more to the front than the wings, the 2/8th being ahead of the other battalions because (as its chef de bataillon remarks in his memoir) he only allowed his men to fire volleys by order, while the units on his right and left were using independent fire. All had suffered in the previous fight with Barnard and the Portuguese, and much needed time to re-form, which was not granted them, because the English main line charged the moment that the light troops had cleared off from its front. It is curious to note in the French memoirs that the authors all write as if they had an oppressive feeling that the superiority of numbers was against them, and that they were being led to a forlorn hope. This was caused partly by the[p. 120] immense extent of the British line in proportion to its depth, still more by the happy existence of the wood behind Wheatley’s brigade. It had already vomited out two lively attacking lines, and the enemy presupposed a third in reserve; nearly all the French narratives definitely say that they were attacked by three lines, while really there was only one, with the screen of light troops, which had already been used up. As to the complaint concerning inferior numbers, it is certain that Leval’s division had 3,800 men, and Wheatley’s brigade only 2,500. The only superiority of the British was that, in the artillery duel now going on to the right of the line, they had ten guns to six, and soon crushed the French battery, so that it gave no effective support to its infantry. Only one of the French battalions attempted to deploy into line—this was the 2nd of the 54th, which lay opposite the British 28th—the others kept on from first to last in column of divisions. An eye-witness (Surtees of the 95th) remarks, ‘they never got into line, nor did they ever intend to do so, I believe, but advanced in solid bodies, firing from their front[156].’

The fight, owing to the French centre being slightly advanced, began a little earlier there than on the wings, the first clash being between the column of the French 2/8th, led by Vigo-Roussillon, and the line of the 2/87th, led by that enthusiastic fighter, Major Gough. We have narratives from both of them, and each insists that he kept down the fire of his men till they were within a very short distance of the enemy—sixty yards, says Vigo-Roussillon, twenty-five, says Gough. There was then a single volley exchanged, and the French column, much the harder hit of the two, broke up. ‘As they were in column when they broke,’ says Gough, ‘they could not get away. It was therefore a scene of most dreadful carnage, and I must own my weakness; as I was in front of the regiment I was in the very middle of them, and I could not cut down one, though I might have twenty, they seemed so confounded and confused[157].’ There was indeed a fearful crowding and mêlée here, for the 1st battalion of the French 8th, yielding before the fire of the British guns and the troops to the right of Gough, the wing of the 67th, fell[p. 121] back sideways against their own second battalion, and became mixed in one mass with them. Thus the 87th were sweeping before them, and ploughing through, a crowd of some 1,400, or allowing for previous losses, 1,200 men, while the companies of the 67th were firing into its flank and rear. The 8th Ligne suffered worse losses than any other troops on the field that day, save Browne’s heroic flank battalion, losing about 50 per cent. of the men who went into action—726 killed, wounded, and taken out of 1,468 present. The colonel, Autié, was killed, and one of the two battalion chiefs, Lanusse, while the other, Vigo-Roussillon, was wounded and taken prisoner. The eagle was captured from the middle of the 1st battalion after a desperate struggle with the colours-guard; Ensign Keogh of the 87th, who first got hold of it, was bayonetted twice and killed; Sergeant Masterson[158] then ran the aquilifère through with his pike, dragged the eagle away, and kept it during the rest of the mêlée. This was the first eagle captured by the British during the Peninsular War, and its arrival in London was rightly made an occasion of considerable pomp and ceremony. The eagle was presented to the Prince Regent in person, who granted to the 87th the right to bear an eagle and a laurel wreath above the harp on the regimental colours and appointments, and the title of the ‘Prince of Wales’s Own Irish Regiment.’ Gough was given a brevet lieutenant-colonelcy at once, and Sergeant Masterson, who had captured the eagle, received a commission in his own regiment; he and his descendants have served in it almost throughout the nineteenth century.

The rout of the 8th Ligne was not the last triumph of the 87th on that day; driving the remains of that unfortunate corps in front of them, they came upon the battalion of the 45th Ligne, which had hitherto been standing in reserve behind the French battery, and which Leval had just ordered up to support the broken first line. Gough, with the greatest difficulty, succeeded in forming about half his scattered though victorious regiment to face this new enemy. But there was hardly a collision: all the other French units were broken by this time, and the 45th hesitated. ‘After firing until we came within about[p. 122] fifty paces of them,’ writes Gough, ‘they (for us fortunately) broke and fled, for had they done their duty, fatigued as my men were at the moment, they might have cut us to pieces.’ That this battalion cannot have behaved well is sufficiently shown by the casualty list—out of 700 men present it only lost 55—far the smallest proportional loss in the whole French army that day. Probably the weakness of its resistance is partly to be accounted for by the fact that it was being outflanked by the wing of the 67th, who must have been extending in this direction at the moment, prolonging the line of the 87th eastward. In its double victory the 87th lost 173 men out of 700 in the field. There remains the left wing of this fight to be dealt with. Here the French 54th, in two battalion columns, was facing the British 1/28th and the 200 Coldstreamers on their right. This was the only part of the field in which the French tried at all to man?uvre: the right battalion of the 54th began to deploy and to turn the British flank, by moving westward into the edge of the pine wood, but with little effect. We have a short account of this fight in the memoirs of Cadell of the 28th.

‘We had formed line under cover of the 95th, and then advanced to meet their right wing, which was coming down in close column—a great advantage—and here the coolness of Colonel Belson was conspicuous: he moved us up without firing a shot, close to their right battalion, which just then began to deploy. The Colonel then gave orders to fire by platoons from centre to flanks, and low; “Fire at their legs and spoil their dancing.” This was kept up for a short time, with dreadful effect. The action being now general all along the line, we twice attempted to charge. But the enemy, being double our strength (since our flank companies were away), only retired a little on each occasion. Finally, giving three cheers, we charged a third time, and succeeded: the enemy gave way and fled in every direction.’ Of all Leval’s division there now remained unbroken only the single battalion of grenadiers réunis under Colonel Meunier behind the right rear. The routed 54th fled diagonally to take cover behind it. Belson did not pursue very rapidly, and this wing of the beaten division moved off to the flank, covered by the grenadiers, and presently met the wrecks of the 8th and the 45th not far north of the Laguna del Puerco, the pool[p. 123] which lies beyond the heath, to the east. It may not be out of place to give the losses: the 54th, with 1,300 men present, lost 323—about one man in four. The grenadiers hardly suffered at all, never having come into close action. Of the British opposite them, the 28th, with 450 men in the field, had 86 casualties; the Coldstream companies lost 58 out of 211[159].

Just as Leval’s division arrived near the Laguna, it was joined by the wrecks of Ruffin’s, descending in disorder from the northern slope of the Cerro. It says much for the resolution of Victor that he succeeded in halting the two disorganized masses, and deployed two or three comparatively intact battalions and the ten guns which remained to him, to cover the rallying of the rest. At the same moment his cavalry, the 1st Dragoons, which had galloped away round the east side of the Cerro when Ruffin was beaten off it, came in and drew up on the right and left of the whole. It was a bold bid to secure an unmolested retreat, for no more could be hoped. Some time was available for rallying the troops, for Graham had also to get his exhausted men into order. They came up at last, Wheatley’s brigade on the left, Dilkes’s on the right, the guns in the centre. The latter were set to play on the new front of the French, which they did with great effect, the enemy being in a cramped mass. The skirmishers went forward, and a third separate engagement seemed about to begin, when a small new force intervened. This was one of the two squadrons of German hussars, which had followed the French dragoons around the back of the Cerro, not on the orders of Whittingham, who made no haste to pursue, but on those of Graham’s aide-de-camp Ponsonby, who had carried them off on his own responsibility. Coming like a whirlwind across the lower slope of the hill, this squadron upset the French squadron of the 1st Dragoons which formed Victor’s flank guard on this side, and drove it in upon the infantry. Small though the shock was, it sufficed to upset the equilibrium of the demoralized French divisions. They went off in a sudden rush, leaving behind them two more guns, and streamed across the plain towards Chiclana.

The battle was over; there was no pursuit, for the cautious[p. 124] Whittingham came up ten minutes too late with the rest of the cavalry, in time to see the last of the enemy disappearing in the woods. With him came up also the two infantry battalions under Cruz Murgeon, and these were the only Spanish troops that Graham saw during the battle.

It may be noted that we have hitherto not had occasion to say one word of General La Pe?a or his two infantry divisions since the main action began. On being informed, at the same time as Graham, of the approach of Victor from Chiclana, La Pe?a had no thought save to defend the isthmus by the Torre Bermeja against the approaching enemy. He drew up his own eleven battalions across it in a double or treble line, while Zayas, with those which had come out of Cadiz, watched Villatte across the Almanza creek. When Beguines appeared from the Cerro by the coast-track, he was put into the same mass, which must have risen to something like 10,000 men. Presently news came from the wood that Graham had faced about and was fighting the French. La Pe?a, as his own dispatch shows, concluded that the English must inevitably be beaten, and refused to stir a man to support them or to bring them off. Zayas repeatedly asked leave to march up to join Wheatley’s flank, or to cross the Almanza and to attack Villatte, but was refused permission. The first report, to the effect that Graham was driving the French back, La Pe?a refused to credit. It was not till the fugitives of Leval’s division were seen retreating past the head of the Almanza creek, that he could be got to accept the idea that Graham was victorious. And when pressed to join in the pursuit by Zayas, he merely said that the men were tired, and the day far spent. The reaping of the fruits of victory might be left for the morrow.

When it is remembered that La Pe?a was only two miles from Wheatley’s fighting-ground, and three from the Cerro, his conduct seems astounding as well as selfish. Graham’s fight lasted nearly two hours. La Pe?a could have ridden over, to see what was going on, in a quarter of an hour. He refused to stir, and deliberately sacrificed his allies, because he had got a comfortable, almost an impregnable, position across the narrow isthmus, and would not move out of it, whatever might happen to Graham. This timid and selfish policy was an exact repetition of his betrayal of Casta?os at Tudela in 1808. With his 10,000[p. 125] men he could have crushed Villatte if he had advanced on one front, or have annihilated the remnants of Ruffin and Leval, if he had chosen to act on the other.
Map of the Battle of Barrosa

Enlarge  BARROSA

He had his reward: next morning Graham, after collecting his wounded and his trophies, recrossed into the Isle of Leon, formally giving notice that in consequence of yesterday’s proceedings, he was forced to withdraw his consent, given in February, to serve under La Pe?a, and to fall back on the discretional orders given by the British Government not to undertake any operations in which he was not himself in chief command. It is impossible to blame him; no one could deny, after what had happened on the 5th, that it was absolutely unsafe to go out in La Pe?a’s company. Wellington sent his complete approval to Graham, well remembering his own experiences with Cuesta in 1809. ‘I concur in the propriety of your withdrawing to the Isla on the 6th,’ he wrote, ‘as much as I admire the promptitude and determination of your attack on the 5th[160].’

The division marched back into the Isla with only 4,000 men in the ranks; 1,238 had fallen or been disabled at Barrosa—almost one casualty among every four men in the field. But Victor had been hit much harder; out of 7,300 men in the divisions of Leval and Ruffin much more than one in four, viz. no less than 2,062, were hors de combat; 262 had been killed, 1,694 wounded, 134 unwounded prisoners were taken, along with the eagle and five guns[161]. The units that had fought in the Cerro and on the heath by the wood were absolutely demoralized; it would have been impossible to put them in line again for several days.

If the slightest push forward had been made on the 6th, it is certain that the siege would have been raised. Victor had rallied the broken troops behind the wood of Chiclana on Villatte’s comparatively intact division, and had been joined in the late afternoon by Cassagne’s 3,000 men, who had at last come up from Medina Sidonia. But there was panic all along the Lines: while the battle had been going on, English and Spanish gunboats had threatened their garrison, and had made small disem[p. 126]barkations at one or two points; a battery had been captured near Santa Maria. If a more serious attack were made from the sea next morning, it was clear that the line would break at some point. ‘The sinister phrases “destruction of the forts” and “abandonment of the position” flew from mouth to mouth[162].’ Victor called a council of war, and proposed to offer a second battle behind Chiclana; but he found little support among the generals. It was finally decided that, if the Allies should come on in full force next morning, only such resistance should be made as would allow time to blow up most of the forts, and burn the stores and the flotilla. The 1st Corps would retreat on Seville. Victor proposed that one or two positions, where there were solid closed works, like Fort Sénarmont and the Trocadero, should be left garrisoned, and told to defend themselves until the army should return, strengthened by Soult and Sebastiani, to relieve them. It is doubtful whether he would really have risked this move, since the time of his return would have been most uncertain, and he might very probably have been making a present to the enemy of any troops left behind in isolated posts.

On the morning of the 6th the French retired behind the Saltillo river, leaving the 3rd Division (now commanded by Cassagne, for Villatte had been wounded) on the further side, with orders to retire when seriously attacked, and to issue a signal for the blowing up of all the forts of the south wing of the Lines, at the moment that the retreat should begin. Cassagne was then to rejoin the Marshal behind the Rio San Pedro, beyond Puerto Real, skirmishing as he went. But no trace of the Allies was to be seen on the morning of the 6th, and Cassagne was not forced to move back, though by mistake one battery was blown up without the signal being given[163]. The only sign of life on the part of the enemy was that a swarm of English gunboats and launches appeared at the north end of the lines, and threw ashore 600 seamen and marines, who occupied Puerto Santa Maria for some hours, and destroyed all the smaller batteries between that place and Rota unhindered. For the French had concentrated in[p. 127] the fort of Santa Catalina and abandoned all their minor posts. But the flotilla withdrew at dusk, leaving Victor much puzzled as to the purpose of his adversaries. On the morning of March 7th he sent out a cavalry reconnaissance of several squadrons, which brought back the astonishing news that it had explored the whole of the country between Chiclana and the sea, including the battlefield, and had seen no hostile troops, save a large encampment on the Bermeja isthmus, just above the bridge of boats leading into the Isla de Leon.

What had happened was that La Pe?a had determined to give up the expedition and retire to Cadiz. He had declined to listen to a proposition made by Graham and Admiral Keats that he should advance cautiously towards Chiclana, while the British naval and land forces made a combined attack upon the Trocadero[164]. He did not even send out cavalry patrols to discover what had become of Victor; if they had gone forth, they would have found that the Marshal had retired beyond the Saltillo, and would have discerned his preparations for a general retreat. But after remaining encamped by the Torre Bermeja during the whole of the 6th and the greater part of the 7th, the Spanish army crossed the bridge of boats into the Isla, and took it up behind them. Only Beguines and his three battalions were left on the continent, with orders to return to their old haunts in the Ronda mountains. This little force retired to Medina Sidonia on the 8th, and repulsed there a French column of 600 men which came up to occupy the town. But next day a whole brigade marched against them, whereupon Beguines evacuated Medina and went off towards San Roque and Algesiras.

Victor was therefore able on the 8th to reoccupy the evacuated southern wing of his lines, and to issue an absurd dispatch, in which he claimed that Barrosa had been a victory. But for the[p. 128] loss of 2,000 men, and a severe shock inflicted on the morale of his troops, he was in exactly the same position that he had held on the 4th. The whole fruits of the battle of Barrosa had been lost. What they might have been it is possible up to a certain point to foresee. Supposing that Graham and not La Pe?a had been in command, the army, raised to nearly 20,000 men by the junction of Zayas and of the 2,000 Anglo-Portuguese still in Cadiz, would have marched on Chiclana upon the 6th. Victor would have blown up the Lines and retired towards Seville, but there would have been no reinforcements for him there, and he could only have been brought up to fighting strength by the calling in of Sebastiani and Godinot. But, if these generals came up to his aid, Granada and Cordova would have had to be evacuated, and the insurgents would have swept all over Eastern Andalusia. The Allies could not have held the field, for even before Soult’s return from Badajoz there were still 50,000 French troops south of the Sierra Morena. The siege of Cadiz would ultimately, no doubt, have been recommenced, Granada and Cordova reoccupied. But meanwhile the immense work spent on the Lines would have had to be recommenced de novo, and the ascendancy of the French arms in the south would have received a rude shock. Possibly Soult might have blown up Badajoz after its fall on March 12th, instead of holding it, for he would have required all his strength to reconquer Andalusia. But further than the immediate result of the inevitable raising of the siege of Cadiz it is useless to make speculations.

The alarms of the French in Andalusia did not end with Victor’s reoccupation of the lines. Another episode was still to be played out before matters settled down. The indefatigable Ballasteros, having rested for a short time in Portugal, came back into the Condado de Niebla in the end of February with 4,000 men. He defeated on the Rio Tinto General Remond, whose weak column was the only French force left west of the Guadalquivir since Gazan’s departure (March 2). He then marched promptly on Seville, having good information of the weakness of the garrison that had been left there. On March 5th, the day of Barrosa, he was at San Lucar la Mayor, only twenty miles from the great city. The governor, Daricau, came out against him and joined Remond with 1,600 men and[p. 129] three guns, all that he could dispose of, leaving Seville in the hands of a miserable garrison, composed of convalescents and Juramentados of doubtful faith. If Daricau had been beaten, the city and all its establishments must have been lost in a day. But Ballasteros refused to fight, and retired behind the Rio Tinto, having had false news that a force sent from Estremadura by Soult was on his flank. Daricau returned to Seville on March 9th, leaving Remond to observe Ballasteros, and was joined by some detachments sent very tardily by Godinot to strengthen the garrison. But he had received such alarming accounts of the results of the battle of Barrosa, that he sent these troops on to Victor, and remained with a very weak force in the city. But on March 9th Ballasteros, suddenly coming back from the Rio Tinto, surprised Remond at La Palma, took two guns from him, and drove him back into Seville. On the 11th the Spanish general was back at San Lucar, and causing great dismay to Daricau, who sent urgent demands for help to Soult. Since Barrosa he could look for no help from elsewhere. He was saved by the rumour of the capitulation of Badajoz, which frightened Ballasteros away, for the Spaniard rightly judged that Soult could, and must, send a considerable force against him, now that his hands were freed.

When, therefore, the Marshal, as we have already seen[165], came back in haste to Andalusia with Gazan’s division, fearing that he might find Ballasteros in Seville, and Graham pursuing Victor from the evacuated lines of Cadiz, he was agreeably surprised to find that both dangers had been avoided, and that the crisis in Andalusia was at an end. His further movements belong to a different campaign, and will be related in their due place.

Meanwhile Graham and La Pe?a were engaged in a violent controversy. The British general had sent the most scathing comments on his colleague’s conduct to the ambassador, Henry Wellesley, and to Wellington, and made his complaints also to the Regency. La Pe?a on the other hand claimed the credit of the victory of Barrosa for his own skilful management; according to his magniloquent dispatches all had gone well, till Graham spoilt the campaign by taking his division back to Cadiz. The Regency seemed partly to believe him, as they[p. 130] conferred on him the Grand Cross of the Order of Charles III, though at the same time they offered Graham the title of a grandee of Spain, which he refused, for he would not be honoured in such company. But Spanish as well as British public opinion was so much against La Pe?a, that he was almost immediately deprived of his command, which was given to the Marquis Coupigny; while Graham, whose strong language had made it impossible for him to be left in contact with the Regency, was withdrawn to serve with Wellington in Portugal, and made over the charge of the Anglo-Portuguese troops at Cadiz to General Cooke. Summing up the results of the Barrosa campaign, we may say that all it had accomplished was so to alarm Soult that he came back in haste from Estremadura, leaving there under Mortier a force far too weak to threaten any harm to Wellington and Portugal. But even if Barrosa had never been fought, Soult would have been harmless in any case, because Masséna was gone from Santarem before Badajoz fell.
SECTION XXIV  MASSéNA’S RETREAT FROM PORTUGAL CHAPTER I
SANTAREM TO CELORICO. MARCH 9TH-22ND, 1811

On the 9th of March Wellington began at last to discover the real position of the various French corps; till their rear was well past Thomar, it had been difficult to divine the main trend of their movements, for the various columns had been crossing each other’s routes in a very puzzling fashion. But it now became clear that Masséna was intending to use all the three lines of communication which lead from the plain of the Tagus to the lower valley of the Mondego. Reynier and the 2nd Corps, after passing Thomar, had taken the bad mountain road by Caba?os and Espinhal, far to the east, and would come down on to the Mondego near the Ponte de Murcella, a little above Coimbra. The 8th Corps had taken the central road, that by Ch?o de Ma?ans and Ameiro, which joins the main Lisbon-Coimbra chaussée at Pombal. Loison and his division, having crossed the route of Reynier, fell into the Ch?o de Ma?ans road behind Junot. Ney, after holding Leiria till the 9th, with the divisions of Marchand and Mermet, fell back on that day a march along the great road in the plain (the Lisbon-Coimbra chaussée mentioned above), and then halted. In front of him was marching Drouet with Conroux’s division of the 9th Corps, escorting the main train of the army, such as it was; it reached Trava?o do Baixo, five miles south of Pombal, on the night of the 9th. Montbrun’s reserve cavalry was all with Ney. Of the three columns Reynier’s was 11,000 strong, that formed by Junot with Loison in his rear had about 16,000 men, that of Ney and Montbrun, with Conroux in front of them, comprised over 20,000 sabres and bayonets. The main fact to be borne in mind by the British general was that Reynier had been sent[p. 132] on an external road, separated by a very difficult mountain chain from those followed by the other two columns, but that Ney and Junot would undoubtedly unite at Pombal, where their roads met, so that a mass of 35,000 men would be collected at that important centre of communication on the 10th or the 11th. But Reynier could not join them till the columns should have got down to the Mondego, some days later[166]. Masséna was, rightly enough, trying to use as many roads as possible, both to avoid overcrowding of troops and trains on a single road, and also in order that wider foraging might be possible, when the army should get out of the devastated region north of Thomar, and descend into the valley of the Mondego, where it was hoped that food would be far more procurable. But the result of the disposition was that Reynier would not be available for several days, if the British threw their main force on to the rear of Ney and Junot and brought them to action.

The road Leiria-Coimbra was moreover both the best and the shortest of all those that led from the position now reached by Wellington’s marching columns to the valley of the Mondego. By following it, and hustling hard the French column that had taken it, the commander of the Allies might hope to reach Coimbra in time to prevent the French from taking up a secure position on the lower Mondego, and establishing themselves in cantonments on its banks. For it was his main object to turn them away from Coimbra and the coast-plain, and to force them up into the eastern mountains and towards the borders of Spain. At first he did not think that the line of the Mondego could be[p. 133] held against the retreating French by the trifling Portuguese militia force that lay behind it—Trant’s seven battalions at Coimbra, Wilson’s four at Pe?acova, which did not amount together to more than 5,000 or 6,000 troops of very inferior quality. He issued orders to those generals to retire, without committing themselves to an attempt to defend the line of the river—Trant had better go behind the Vouga, Wilson might retire on Vizeu; both would ultimately join the northern reserves under Baccelar, and co-operate with that general in defending the city of Oporto[167]. But Wellington hoped that matters would never reach the point at which the safety of Oporto came in question, for he thought that he would be pressing the rear of the French so hard in a few days, that they would be thinking of other things than taking the offensive against northern Portugal. He would do his best to thrust them north-eastward, towards the frontiers of Spain. As a matter of fact we shall see that he more than fulfilled his own forecast, for the French were so hotly pursued that they never succeeded in crossing the Mondego or seizing Coimbra. When they had reached its gates, Masséna refused to take the risk of passing the river at a moment when his rear was in such dire trouble that the whole army would have been in danger of destruction, if he had been attacked when the actual operation of passage was in progress.

Meanwhile the original movement of Reynier, Junot, and Loison towards Thomar had caused Wellington to spread his pursuing troops more towards the east than was convenient, when it turned out that only Reynier was taking the mountain road towards Espinhal, and that the other columns were going to join Ney on the Leiria-Coimbra road. Originally only the Light Division and Pack’s Portuguese had followed Ney, and they formed the only body of troops available for the pursuit of what was now detected to be the largest body of the enemy,[p. 134] until the other divisions should come up from the rear, or be marched westward from the Thomar region.

On the 9th Wellington’s total available force, minus the 2nd Division and Hamilton’s Portuguese, now halted about Abrantes and destined for Estremadura, and minus also the regiments just landed at Lisbon, was about 46,000 men[168]. Of these the Light Division and Pack’s Portuguese, with Anson’s cavalry brigade (now under Arentschildt), were at Leiria, in close touch with Ney’s retreating corps. But the 1st, 4th, and 6th Divisions and De Grey’s heavy dragoons were at Thomar, two full marches east of the Light Division; Picton with the 3rd Division was at Porto de Mos on the Santarem-Leiria chaussée, a day’s journey behind the vanguard. The 5th Division and the independent Portuguese brigade of Ashworth were a march behind Picton, about Alcanhede.

If Ney were to be joined by Junot and Loison, as now seemed probable, in the direction of Pombal, it would take one full day for the 3rd Division to join the vanguard, two full days for the rest of the army to come up. It would not be till the 11th[p. 135] that a mass of combatants would be collected sufficient to attack the enemy, if he held the Pombal position. And this concentration had to be carried out for safety’s sake; it would have been insane to bid the Light Division and Pack, the only troops immediately available, to fall upon Ney and Junot and their 35,000 men. Accordingly Wellington directed the 3rd and 5th Divisions to close up rapidly upon the vanguard along the chaussée, while the mass of troops around Thomar was to follow the Ch?o de Ma?ans road in Junot’s track and unite with the other column in front of Pombal on the 11th. Only Nightingale’s brigade of the 1st Division was detached, with one squadron of dragoons, to follow Reynier on his ‘eccentric’ line of retreat, along the rough mountain road to Espinhal. Forty-three thousand men out of the 46,000 which formed the disposable total of Wellington’s army were sent in pursuit of Masséna’s main body.

The bringing up of the rear divisions took time. Meanwhile the Light Division with Pack’s Portuguese and the attached cavalry, now united under the temporary control of Sir William Erskine (for Robert Craufurd, the natural commander of such a vanguard, was on leave in England), kept close to Ney’s heels, and on the 10th were at Venda Nova, immediately in front of his position at Pombal. The 4th Division were at Cacharia on the same night, the 1st and 6th at Acentis and other villages near Thomar, the 3rd at Leiria, the 5th at Porto de Mos. All these marches were executed through a country full of scenes of horror: Picton, not a man easily to be moved by sentiment, wrote, ‘Nothing can exceed the devastation and cruelties committed by the enemy during his retreat: he has set fire to all the villages and murdered all the peasantry for leagues on each flank of his march[169].’ The large town of Leiria was burning in five places when the Light Division reached it. The great historic monasteries of Alcoba?a and Batalha had been wrecked in mere spite—the former, according to Wellington, by direct order from the French head quarters. Every by-road and ravine was strewn with corpses; a note from Grattan’s interesting journal of the marches of the 88th gives an average picture of[p. 136] what the British army saw. ‘At the entrance of a cave,’ he writes, ‘lay an old man, a woman, and two young men, all dead. The cave, no doubt, had served them as an asylum in the preceding winter, and appearances warranted the supposition that these poor creatures, in a vain effort to save their little store of provisions, fell victims to the ferocity of their murderers. The clothes of the young peasants were torn to atoms, and bore testimony that they did not lose their lives without a struggle. The hands of one were dreadfully mangled, as if in his last efforts he had grasped the sword which ultimately dispatched him. Beside him lay his companion, his brother perhaps, covered with wounds. A little to the right was the old man: he lay on his back with his breast bare; two large wounds were over his heart, and the back of his head was beaten to pieces. Near him lay an old rusty bayonet lashed to a pole; one of his hands grasped a bunch of hair, torn no doubt from the head of his assassin; the old woman had probably been strangled, as no wound appeared on her body. At some distance from the spot were two wounded soldiers of the French 4th Léger, abandoned by their comrades. These poor wretches were surrounded by half a dozen Portuguese, who were taking on them the horrible vengeance common during this contest. On our approach they dispersed and fled: both the Frenchmen were still alive, and asked us to shoot them. We dared not, and when we had passed on, we could perceive the peasants descending from the hill, like vultures who have been scared from their prey, but return with redoubled voracity.’

Before the marching divisions came up from the rear, there was a cavalry skirmish in front of Pombal between Arentschildt’s Light Horse (16th and 1st Hussars of the K.G.L.) and some of Montbrun’s dragoons, which was of little importance as to results, but assumes such a different complexion in the narratives of the combatants on the opposite sides that it is hardly possible to believe that they are writing of the same event[170].

[p. 137]During the hours on the 10th of March, while the English columns were toiling up from the rear to join the Light Division, Ney’s and Junot’s corps remained stationary, the former at the town of Pombal, the latter at Venda da Cruz, five miles behind it, resting, and seeking (mostly in vain) for provisions. Masséna was determined not to move backward before he should be obliged. Montbrun’s dragoons reconnoitred as far as the bridge of Coimbra, which they found with two of its arches broken, and cannon visible on the further side. The small force in sight was the rearguard of Trant’s Militia brigade, which (in accordance with Wellington’s orders) was preparing to draw back towards the Vouga, but held on to Coimbra till a serious attack should be delivered. Masséna thereupon ordered his engineer, Colonel Valazé, to search for a convenient spot below the town, at which a flying bridge might be thrown across the[p. 138] Mondego. On this day Reynier and the 2nd Corps, far off on the eastern mountain road, reached Espinhal, the first village beyond the Serra da Estrella. As that place has a by-road leading to Coimbra, this detached body was getting nearer to a possible reunion with the main body.

On the morning of March 11th the 3rd Division joined Wellington’s vanguard after a toilsome march, and the 4th Division, heading the column which came from Thomar, was reported to be in supporting distance. Ney, apparently having detected the arrival of British reinforcements, then drew back one of his divisions, and left the other (Mermet) in position on the heights behind the town, with a single battalion holding the lofty but ruined castle which dominates the place. Wellington, on perceiving that the enemy was drawing back, ordered Elder’s battalion of Ca?adores[171], supported by two companies of the 95th Rifles, to charge across the bridge and occupy the town, while the rest of the Light Division advanced in support, and Picton moved to the left, to cross the stream lower down. The attacking force passed the narrow bridge under fire, cleared the nearer streets and assailed the castle and the small force left there. Seeing his rearguard in danger of being cut off, and noting that Elder’s force was small, Ney came down from the heights with four battalions of the 6th Léger and the 69th Ligne, thrust back the Ca?adores and the supporting rifle companies, and brought off the troops in the castle. He barricaded the main street, and set fire to the houses along it in several places before departing; these precautions detained for some minutes the main column of the Light Division, which was hurrying up to reinforce its van. The French were all retiring up the hill before they could be got at, and only suffered a little from Ross’s guns, which were hurried up to play upon the retreating column, as it re-formed in the position beyond Pombal. By the time that the Light Division had disentangled itself from the burning town, and Picton had crossed the stream on the left, the day was far spent; and Ney retired at his leisure after dark, without having been further incommoded. The British followed, and encamped on the further side of the water, ready for pursuit next morning. Ney was much praised for the[p. 139] tactical skill which he had shown in saving his rearguard, and Erskine was thought to have handled the Light Division clumsily. The French losses, trifling as they were, much exceeded those of the Allies—they lost four officers and fifty-nine men, all in the 6th and 69th. The Ca?adores lost ten rank and file killed, and an officer and twenty men wounded—the two companies of the 95th had an ensign and four men wounded—a total of thirty-seven, little more than half the French loss.

Late on this day the 4th Division came up, and the 5th, 6th, and 1st were reported to be close behind, so that Wellington had his main body at last collected. He started the decisive operations on the following morning at 5 o’clock, advancing in three columns towards Venda da Cruz, where Ney had been located on the previous night by the cavalry scouts. Picton and the 3rd Division were on the right, Pack’s Portuguese in the centre, the Light Division on the left, with the 4th Division supporting on the high-road, and the rest following behind. But the enemy had retired at an equally early hour, and was not to be found at Venda da Cruz. He had gone back to Redinha, where there is a bridge over the Souré river, forming a defile behind the village, and a high plateau flanked by woods in its front. Mermet’s division formed on the plateau, with Marchand’s in support, while the rest of the French were not far off, Loison’s division being at Raba?al, three miles to the east, and Junot’s corps at Condeixa, five miles behind Redinha. Drouet, with Conroux’s division, had started during the night on the road for Ponte de Murcella and the Spanish frontier, escorting a convoy of 800 sick and wounded and the small remains of the reserve park of the army. He had orders to clear the chaussée and to get into touch with Claparéde, who was now lying with the other division of the 9th Corps at Celorico. This detachment would have revealed to Wellington, had he known of it, that Masséna was more anxious to secure his line of communication with Spain than to seize Coimbra and establish himself on the line of the Mondego. For a good general, intending to take risks in a general action, does not detach 5,000 men on the eve of the decisive day. It is only second-rate commanders who (like King Joseph at Vittoria in 1813) commit such mistakes.

[p. 140]It is clear that if Masséna had intended to make a serious blow at Coimbra, he ought to have done so at latest on the 10th or 11th, before the English army was close enough to hinder him. Junot’s corps, which was entirely covered by Ney and the rearguard, was well placed for a blow at the city, as it was little more than ten miles from the Mondego and the broken bridge. But Masséna did not march Junot in this direction, but kept him in a position to support Ney, while only some squadrons of Montbrun’s cavalry were sent against Coimbra. That general’s proceedings showed great timidity and feebleness. On the afternoon of the 10th, according to Trant’s dispatch, his advanced guard appeared on the Monte de Esperan?a, the height opposite Coimbra, and was seen to send down reconnoitring parties towards the banks of the river, both above and below the city, leaving unmolested the broken bridge, behind which were the guns placed in the battery which Trant had thrown up to protect his retreat. Much rain had fallen on the preceding night, the river was full, and Montbrun’s scouts reported to him and to his companion the Engineer-colonel Valazé that they could not find the fords which, as they had been told, were situated at the spots that they had visited. On the following day (March 11th), while the skirmish of Pombal was going on, Montbrun moved in nearer to the city, showing artillery and a cavalry brigade at the Cruz dos Moroi?os, and occupying the convent of Santa Clara, which lies less than a mile from the bridge. One of his squadrons tried to pass at the ford of Pereira, five miles below the city, but owing to the strength of the current failed completely, the men who first tried the water regaining with difficulty the bank from which they had started. Nothing more was done by the French that day, and Montbrun reported to Masséna that he had received information that the whole of the brigades of Trant and Silveira were in Coimbra, and that he had seen artillery in position at the bridge[172]. The real force opposed to him was[p. 141] seven battalions of Militia, some 3,000 men, and six guns. This was the last day on which it would have been possible for the French to seize Coimbra, for from the 12th onward Wellington was pressing them so hard that, if they had set themselves to force the passage, and had succeeded, their rearguard, and probably a great portion of their main body, would have been destroyed. For Ney, with all his tactical skill, could not have shaken off his pursuers in such a way as to allow 30,000 men to file over a single bridge, hastily repaired, when the Allies were in hot pursuit. The French engineers, indeed, reported that it would take several days to mend the bridge, even when the Portuguese had been driven away from the further bank. The main comment suggested by all this is that, since Masséna was intending to hold out on the Mondego, and to occupy its northern bank, according to his own dispatch sent to Napoleon, he ought to have taken measures to secure a safe passage many days back—at the first moment when his retreat began on the 5th of March. Part of the mass of troops accumulated at Leiria ought to have marched for Coimbra on March 6th. It was altogether too late to send a mere flying cavalry force to appear in front of the place on March 10th.

On March 12th Montbrun was prowling ineffectively along the south bank of the Mondego, and setting his horse artillery to engage in a futile exchange of fire with Trant’s guns, while[p. 142] a battalion of infantry borrowed from Junot tried to creep upon the bridge, but was detected and driven off by grape. But Ney was already engaged in such sharp fighting at Redinha that he could not have drawn his troops off, or have escaped towards Coimbra, even if the passage of the Mondego had been forced. Wellington, it will be remembered, was advancing towards the 6th Corps in the morning, when he found that it had retired from Venda da Cruz on to another position. His cavalry discovered that not only was he in presence of the 6th Corps, but that another French column was on his flank at Raba?al (this was Loison’s division). Moreover, the 8th Corps was known to be not far off, for stragglers and sick from it had been picked up upon the preceding day. Seeing therefore that he might be called upon to face some 30,000 men, the British general resolved not to open the fight over hastily. When his three leading columns came up, Pack in the centre, Picton on the right, the Light Division on the left, they were halted in front of Mermet’s line, and deployed; but no attack was made till the 4th Division had reached the front line and joined Pack, while the 1st and 5th were close behind. Then, at two o’clock in the afternoon, an encircling attack was made on Mermet’s rearguard, the wings being thrown forward, while the centre was somewhat held back. The 3rd Division, entering the woods on the French left, the Light Division those on their right, advanced as quickly as they could through difficult ground. Pack and the 4th Division halted beyond musket-range of the centre, but suffered a little from artillery fire while waiting for the flank attacks to develop. After some twenty minutes of hot skirmishing among the trees, Mermet’s flanks were turned by Picton on the side of the hills, and by the Light Division on the side of the plain, and Ney hastily drew back his front line behind the stream and the defile, where Marchand’s division was waiting in support. The retreating battalions were somewhat jammed at the bridge, and lost heavily, while passing it only a few yards in front of the skirmishers of the Light Division. Picton tried to ford the stream higher up, in order to cut off the retreating force before it could reach its supports, but failed, the water turning out too deep and rapid for passage[173].

[p. 143]It took some time to file the Light and 3rd Divisions over the bridge, and to make a new line in face of Ney’s second position on the ridge two miles beyond the stream. But when the two divisions once more went forward, each turning, as before, the enemy’s flank opposed to it, while Pack and the 5th Division formed up again in the centre, Ney gave back without any very strenuous resistance, and, abandoning his second position, fell back upon Condeixa, a village with a defile in front of it, five miles north of Redinha on the great Coimbra chaussée.

The day’s work had been a very pretty piece of man?uvring on both sides. Ney hung on to his two successive positions just so long as was safe, and absconded on each occasion at the critical moment, when his flanks were turned. A quarter of an hour’s more delay would have been ruin, but the retreat was made just in time. The two stands had delayed Wellington for a day, and his army had only advanced ten miles in the twenty-four hours. Yet it is unjust to accuse the British general of over-caution, as Napier and all the French annalists have done. He was quite right not to attack with the first division that came up, and to wait till he had three and a half in line. For he was aware that great strength lay in front of him, and, for all he knew, the troops of Mermet might have been supported not only by Marchand, as was actually the case, but by the whole of Junot’s corps. In that case an early attack would have meant a bloody check, and an enforced wait, till the 3rd, 4th, 1st, and 5th Divisions should have come up. As it was, the French rearguard was dislodged with a very modest loss on the part of the Allies, 12 officers and 193 men, of whom the large majority were in the Light and 3rd Divisions, the[p. 144] troops which had done the work. But the 4th Division and Pack’s Portuguese suffered some casualties, while waiting under cannon-fire for the flanking movement to take effect[174]. The French loss was 14 officers and 213 men, nearly all from Mermet’s division, as that of Marchand was little engaged[175].

During this day the 6th Division, moving apart from the rest of the army, marched north-westward to Souré, and so got upon the western route to Coimbra. It was apparently Wellington’s intention to push this detachment round the western or seaward flank of the French army, so as to threaten with it the right wing of any position that the enemy might take up across the Coimbra chaussée. Indeed, having found no hostile force of any sort in front of it, the 6th Division was able to push in quite close to Coimbra on the next day, and to take up a position at Ega, which menaced Ney and Junot’s march across its front if they should still continue their retreat in the original direction. It was probably the movement of this division which caused the French to believe that Wellington had landed a detached force from ships at the mouth of the Mondego, and was pushing it forward towards Coimbra: an account of the march of this imaginary corps is to be found in several narratives[176].

Condeixa, to which Ney had retired on the evening of the combat of Redinha, is a most important strategical point, since here the chaussée leading to Coimbra is joined by the last crossroad which meets it south of the Mondego, that which runs eastward to the Ponte de Murcella and the Spanish frontier. As long as the French held Condeixa, they were in a position to choose between an attack on Coimbra and a retreat up the south bank of the river towards Almeida and their base. And[p. 145] with Wellington at his heels, Masséna had now to make his choice between the two courses. His dispatch of March 19th to Berthier informs us that he resolved for a moment to offer battle to the Allies at Condeixa, with the 6th and 8th Corps, calling in perhaps (though he does not mention it) the 2nd Corps from Espinhal, which is no more than twenty miles away. The reasons which he gives for not doing so are firstly, that, since the departure of Drouet and his division on the 11th, his whole force was no more than half that of Wellington; as a matter of fact he had still 45,000 men, his adversary just about the same number. Secondly, that the morale of the army was impaired by long privations and short rations. Thirdly, that the stock of ammunition was dangerously low, and the artillery horses could hardly move. Fourthly, that he was hampered by the fact that his lieutenants (he is alluding to Ney in especial) were set on abandoning Portugal, ‘which contributes in no small degree to a lack of that harmony which ought to reign in an army.’ Fifthly, that a defeat at Condeixa would mean the inevitable loss of all his artillery, train, wounded, and baggage, while a success would not seriously injure Wellington, who could always retire on to the Lines of Torres Vedras. Sixthly, that being in the midst of a population roused to fury by the ravages of his army, he found that he could gather in little or no food, and was fast using up the stock that he had brought with him. Taking all these points into consideration, and being informed by Montbrun that, even if he succeeded in seizing Coimbra, its bridge would take two days to repair, he had resolved to avoid a general action, to abandon any attempt to pass the Mondego, and to draw back towards the 9th Corps and the Spanish frontier, where he could find the food and the new equipment which the army needed.
Map of the combat of Redinha

Enlarge  REDINHA

Accordingly, on the early morning of March 13th the decisive step which committed Masséna to a retreat towards Celorico and the 9th Corps was taken. The 8th Corps was marched off, covering the train, along the road which leads by Miranda de Corvo to the Ponte de Murcella and the upper Mondego, instead of toward Coimbra, now only eight miles away. To cover its flank Loison’s division was moved from Raba?al, where it had lain on the day of the combat of Redinha, to Fonte Cuberta. Ney remained behind at Condeixa with his two old[p. 146] divisions, to cover the fork of the roads, and to detain the Allies as long as possible, while Junot and the trains were toiling along the bad and mountainous road towards Miranda de Corvo. The 2nd Corps was still kept at Espinhal, where it was observed by Nightingale’s brigade, which had dogged its steps at a cautious distance since the 9th.

These arrangements did not work very well, for Ney was turned out of the Condeixa position, much earlier than he or Masséna had expected, by Wellington’s skilful man?uvres. The movement used against him was much the same as at Redinha; the 3rd Division marched by a mountain path to turn his left, while the 6th Division, coming in from Souré by a wide sweep, appeared at Ega, almost behind his right wing, and threatened to get between him and Coimbra. Meanwhile the 4th and Light Divisions, with the rest of the army behind them, were halted on distant heights in his front, ready to attack when the turning movements should become pronounced. Ney was, very properly, anxious about his retreat, for he could not any longer (as at Pombal and Redinha) give back to his rear, but was forced to take a side direction, in order to follow the 8th Corps on the Miranda de Corvo road. The moment that he saw Picton making for this road, to cut him off from the rest of the French, he set fire to the town of Condeixa and moved off in great haste, just avoiding Picton, to Casal Novo, a village five miles east of his first position, where he formed up again at dusk. The day’s operations had been almost bloodless; nothing more than a few musket shots were exchanged by the skirmishers of the two sides. But they had been of the highest strategical importance, since they ended in the complete abandonment of the attempt to reach Coimbra by the French.

Incidentally, the rapid fashion in which Ney had been evicted from the cross-roads at Condeixa nearly led to disaster some of the outlying fractions of the French army. Masséna himself had halted at Fonte Cuberta, six miles to the south-east, with his staff and Loison’s division, which was escorting the reserve artillery of the 6th and 8th Corps. He was intending to cover Ney’s left from any wide turning movement by the British. The road on which this village lies falls into that from Condeixa to Miranda de Corvo about three miles from the first[p. 147]-named place. Ney, when preparing to evacuate Condeixa, sent an aide-de-camp to advise the Commander-in-Chief that he was about to retire. But the officer charged with the message lost his way, and only arrived at Fonte Cuberta late in the afternoon with the dispatch[177]. By this time Ney had already reached Casal Novo, some distance beyond the point at which the Fonte Cuberta road fell into his line of retreat. Masséna and the division in his company were therefore cut off from their proper route for retiring on to the main army. Within a few minutes after the arrival of Ney’s messenger, a patrol of the German hussars arrived at the village, and nearly rode into Masséna and his staff, who were dining in the open air under a tree outside its entrance. There was a mutual surprise; the Marshal’s escort of fifty men ran to their arms, while the hussars halted, not understanding what they had come upon. If they had charged, Masséna might have been taken or slain, as several French narrators assert. He mounted and galloped back in haste towards Loison’s infantry, who were camped in and beyond the village. The hussars went off to report to their squadron commander that Fonte Cuberta was still occupied—it had been with the object of obtaining information on this point that the reconnaissance had been sent out. Masséna hastened to put Loison’s men under march for Casal Novo, by a very rugged side-track, called up Clausel’s division to cover him, and got off in the dusk unhindered, save by a few flank skirmishers belonging to Picton’s division, who came upon him in the dark and were brushed away with ease[178].

[p. 148]This incident led to a furious quarrel between Masséna and Ney, for the former asserted, as it seems, that the latter had promised to hold Condeixa for a whole day or more, and had moved off at noon out of mere malice, so as to leave his chief in an exposed position. If we may believe the narrative of Masséna’s aide-de-camp, Fririon, he asserted that Ney had deliberately wished to get him captured, and had executed his retreat ‘clandestinement’[179]. It was impossible to persuade him to the contrary, and he saved up his wrath for the next occasion when he should be able to convict Ney of open disobedience, and not of mere errors of judgement. There can be no doubt that he was doing an injustice to his lieutenant in suspecting him of such a monstrous plot: Ney was a man of honour; Masséna had himself such a doubtful record for probity that we can well understand his suspicion of others. In truth, what happened was that the younger Marshal had promised to defend Condeixa longer than was really possible, when Wellington (as on this day) was in his happiest mood, and man?uvring with a skill which made a long resistance impracticable.

But Loison’s division was not the only French force which was in serious danger on March 13. Montbrun had lingered in front of Coimbra, till his retreat also was imperilled by the loss of Condeixa and its all-important bifurcation of roads. At eight o’clock in the morning he had made his last vain attempt to win his way into the city—this time by negotiation. He sent a parlementaire on to the broken bridge, with a demand that Trant should give up the place, and a promise that the citizens should suffer no harm, and the garrison should be allowed free[p. 149] egress. This last was really not his to grant, for during the night Trant had removed everything from the city except a battalion of Militia and the two guns at the bridge. The sergeant in command of these pieces (a certain José Correia Leal, whose name the Portuguese have very properly preserved) adroitly wasted time by detaining the French officer. He told him that he must wait till an answer came from Trant, whose absence he kept concealed, and then, after some hours, said that his commander had gone to visit a distant point of the river defences, from which he would not be back till the next morning[180]. Meanwhile, if any attempt were made to attack the bridge, he had orders to blow up several more arches, which were mined. Time drifted on, and meanwhile Montbrun received at noon the news that Ney was forced to give up Condeixa[181], i. e. that there was no more prospect of using Coimbra as a crossing-point. Moreover his own retreat was in danger, if an English detachment should march straight from Condeixa towards the bridge, a distance of only eight miles. The French general was obliged to abscond, and the only route open to him, since the chaussée was lost, was a rough path which, after coasting along the south bank of the Mondego for some time, turns up into the valley of the E?a[182], and so reaches Miranda de Corvo. After blowing up many of his wheeled vehicles, Montbrun hastened to take this track, and escaped by it, though he was discovered and pursued by some of Wellington’s cavalry patrols, who pressed his rearguard and made many prisoners. But the division of dragoons, with the infantry battalion attached, and the two horse artillery batteries—their caissons had to be destroyed because of the badness of the road—ultimately reached Miranda with no great loss.

This was a truly important day, the most critical in the whole campaign, since at its end Coimbra was safe, and the whole[p. 150] French army had been turned on to the road towards Spain. Wellington was satisfied, and had no reason to be otherwise. The accusation made against him by many critics of over-caution, which is said to have prevented him from destroying Loison’s and Montbrun’s detachments, seems unjustifiable. The cardinal fact that he was not superior in numerical strength to the army that he was pursuing is too often forgotten; indeed, the French writers from Masséna down to to-day have nearly always credited him with 50,000 or 60,000 men, whereas he had barely 45,000, of whom only 32,000 were British, and the Portuguese were still in great part untried troops; for though those of them who had passed the test of battle (Pack’s and Power’s[183] brigades, the Ca?adores in the Light Division, and the artillery) had done admirably hitherto, there were still four whole brigades which had never been in serious action since they were reorganized in 1809[184]. Nothing was to be risked, and partial attacks by unsupported vanguards were to be eschewed, when (as Wellington remarked in his dispatch of March 14) ‘the whole country affords advantageous positions to a retreating army, of which the enemy has shown that he knows how to avail himself. They are leaving the country, as they entered it, in one solid mass, covering their rear on every march by one (or sometimes two) corps d’armée, in the successive positions which the country affords, which corps d’armée are closely supported by the rest.’ A general action against equal or superior numbers ranged on a strong hill-position was clearly inadvisable, and the plan of man?uvring the enemy out of each line that he took up by a short flanking movement was infinitely preferable. Flanking movements take time, and unless the enemy is very slow or very rash, have effective rather than brilliant results. But Wellington never ‘played to the gallery’; he was no vendor of bulletins; he had a small army which it was difficult to reinforce, and he could not afford to waste his precious men in hazardous combats. It would have been of little profit to him if he had[p. 151] destroyed a division or two of the enemy, and had then arrived on the Spanish frontier with an army diminished by 10,000 men. The enemy had unlimited supports behind him; he had practically none. For when he had taken out his field army, and had detached Beresford to Estremadura, there were no regular troops left in Portugal save the newly formed 7th Division, which was coming up from Lisbon to join the main body.
Map of the combat of Casal Novo

Enlarge  CASAL NOVO

That Wellington’s system was sound was sufficiently proved by an incident of the next morning’s march, when the army suffered the only check which it was destined to meet during the campaign, and lost more men than on any other day of this eventful month. At early dawn on the 14th there was a dense fog; notwithstanding this, Sir William Erskine, who was commanding the vanguard, composed of the Light Division, Pack’s Portuguese, and Arentschildt’s cavalry brigade, thought fit to march straight at the enemy, his orders of the preceding night being to stick to Ney’s heels. The French rearguard, Marchand’s division, was holding the village of Casal Novo[185], a strong post on a rising ground, surrounded with stone walls and enclosures, while the rest of the 6th and 8th Corps were defiling along the road to Ch?o de Lamas and Miranda de Corvo. The Light Division, heading the advancing column, ran into the pickets of the French, whereupon Erskine ordered out three companies of the 52nd and sent them forward to clear the way. They were soon heavily engaged, for Marchand was in force. When the fog lifted daylight showed the five battalions of the Light Division clubbed on the road, under the front of the enemy’s line of a battery and eleven battalions, ranged on the height of Casal Novo. Pack’s Portuguese and the 3rd Division were some distance off, coming along the defile which leads from Condeixa. The Light Division had to extend and fight hard in order to keep its ground, while the main body was coming up and developing a flanking movement against the French. It lost heavily of necessity, and was only released from a dangerous position by the movement of Picton and the 3rd Division to the right, which forced the French to abscond. Marchand’s division then fell back behind[p. 152] Mermet’s, which was in position two miles to the rear, between the villages of Casal de Azan and Villa Seca[186]. This second position was properly turned, and carried without loss, if with some delay. Then the enemy was discovered in the afternoon in a third and still more formidable post, on the heights of Ch?o de Lamas. This was treated in the same fashion, the Light Division and Pack’s Portuguese turning its left, Picton its right, while the main body, coming up from the rear, halted opposite its centre. Ney then gave up his position, and fell back six miles down hill, towards Miranda de Corvo on the banks of the E?a river, where the 8th Corps and Montbrun’s cavalry were waiting for him. The pursuers, tired out by a running fight of twelve hours, during which they had gained fourteen miles of ground, halted in front of him. Their loss had been 11 officers and 119 men in the British, and 25 in the Portuguese ranks, a total of 155. More than half fell in the mismanaged business of the early morning, in which the 43rd, 52nd, and 95th lost 9 officers and over 80 men, in an utterly unnecessary combat. This was the first of two exhibitions of wrongheadedness by which the newly arrived general, William Erskine, lost Wellington’s confidence. The second, on April 3rd, was (as we shall see) to be a still more discreditable affair. The French loss at Casal Novo and in the succeeding skirmishes of the day was apparently much smaller than that of the British, though the official figure of 55 killed[p. 153] and wounded seems very low[187]. On this morning the British, for the first time during the retreat, began to take prisoners on a considerable scale; there were more than 100 captured between Casal Novo and Miranda de Corvo, partly skirmishers cut off during the long bickering in woods and enclosures which filled the day, partly stragglers and marauders, who were taken in the country-side while wandering away from their colours.

On this evening Reynier and the 2nd Corps, so long divided from the rest of the French army, joined the main column. From March 10th to March 13th they had lain at Espinhal, resting after the difficult passage of the mountains, and endeavouring, without much success, to scrape together food to fill their depleted stores. Being closely observed, though not attacked, by Nightingale’s brigade, they could not scatter very far for marauding. But on the 14th Wellington, during the Casal Novo fighting, threw out Cole’s 4th Division far to his right to Penella, where it got into touch with Nightingale. Seeing that there was now a serious force in front of Reynier, and that it might thrust itself between him and the rest of the army, Masséna bade his[p. 154] lieutenant break up without delay, and come in to Miranda de Corvo. This was easily done by a ten-mile march in the afternoon, and the 2nd Corps camped on the further side of the E?a river that night. Thus the whole French army, save Conroux’s division, was concentrated, and 44,000 men under arms, dragging behind them a baggage-train that was still considerable, and over 5,000 sick and wounded, were gathered in the defile and the little plain north of it, with a most forbidding mountain range in their front, and the pursuing columns of Wellington in their rear.

The situation appeared so grave to Masséna that he resolved to lighten his army so far as was possible, in order to allow it to march faster. On this night there was a general destruction not only of all wheeled vehicles, save a minimum of ammunition waggons, but of all the baggage of the army, regimental as well as personal. Ney set the example by burning his own carriages, and abandoning all that could not be carried on pack mules[188]. The sick and wounded were transferred from waggons on to beasts of burden—a change which caused the death or abandonment of many hundreds of them during the next two days. A strict inspection was made of all the surviving draught and pack animals, and when those still in a fair state had been set aside for the carriage of the sick and the ammunition, an order was issued that all the rest should be put to death. To avoid the noise which would have been caused by shooting them, the officer charged with this duty caused them all to be hamstrung, a cruel device which was surely unnecessary, for they could have been killed as easily as mutilated by the sword or knife. The horrid sight of more than 500 live horses, mules, and asses sprawling or hobbling in a bleeding mass, just outside the village of Miranda de Corvo, was never forgotten by those who witnessed it[189] in the pursuit of the following morning.

[p. 155]The sacrifice of the baggage was the preliminary to a desperate and fatiguing night march. The 2nd Corps started off first, then the 8th, leaving the 6th as usual to bring up the rear. After firing Miranda de Corvo, in order that the conflagration in the narrow street leading up from the bridge might delay the advance of the Allies, Ney followed the rest of the army at one in the morning. All marched slowly in the dark for ten miles of an uphill road, and before noon reached the long descent into the valley of the Ceira, at the village of Foz do Arouce[190]. The 2nd and 8th Corps crossed the stream with much delay, at a bridge which had been somewhat injured by the local Ordenan?a but was still serviceable. They deployed on a range of commanding heights on the further side, and encamped. Ney, always eager to carry on the detaining process which he had hitherto practised with such skill, only sent three of his six brigades across the river[191], though Masséna had ordered him to pass, and to destroy the bridge. He remained with the rest and Lamotte’s light cavalry, posted on two long hills with the village of Foz between them, on the hither side of the water. Though he had a good position, yet the defile to the rear was a dangerous thing for such a large body of troops, since the Ceira was in[p. 156] flood, and every man had to retire over the single damaged bridge. Moreover the troops, tired by the night march, guarded themselves badly; in especial the cavalry, which ought to have watched every road, with vedettes out for many miles to the front, huddled together near the river for the convenience of water and grazing: General Lamotte indeed crossed the Ceira with great part of his men, and seems to have kept no look-out whatever[192].

Wellington’s pursuit this morning started very late. The burning of the French baggage and of the town of Miranda had been noted in the last hours of the night. But at dawn a heavy fog arose, and Wellington refused to move his masses till it was certain that the French were not still in position on the heights beyond the river with all their 44,000 men. For if Masséna were seeking a battle, as was quite possible, now that he had concentrated all his three corps, it would be reckless to attack him when every man of the allied army had to file over a narrow bridge. It was not till reconnaissances had pushed across the E?a, and had explored the burning town, and the ground beyond for some miles, that orders were issued for the army to march on. Even then the fog had not lifted, and the morning was some hours old before the 3rd and Light Divisions were on their way. They followed the retreating French up the long ascent, picking up many sick and stragglers, and at about four o’clock in the afternoon came in sight of the enemy in their new position behind the Ceira, with a formidable front extending for several miles along the hills, and Ney’s rearguard visible on the lower eminences on the hither side of the stream. Picton and Erskine halted, thinking that it was too late in the afternoon to undertake a serious attack, and that Wellington would wait, as usual, for his supports to come up. They had directed their divisions to encamp and thrown out their pickets, when the Commander-in-Chief rode up, not long before dusk.[p. 157] Surveying the enemy, and seeing that few battalions were under arms, and that Ney was evidently expecting no fighting—his cavalry indeed had given him no proper warning of the approach of the Allies—Wellington resolved to strike at once, though his nearest reserve, the 6th Division, was still some way off. Picton was told to attack the French left, the Light Division their right. The first blow was very effective and partook of the nature of a surprise, for the enemy was caught unprepared. Some companies of the 95th Rifles, penetrating down a hollow road, arrived almost unopposed in the village of Foz, quite close to the bridge, while the rest of the Light Division was holding Marchand’s troops engaged in a frontal fight, and Picton was making good way against the brigade belonging to Mermet, which formed the French left. The noise of close combat breaking out almost in their rear, at a spot which seemed to indicate that the bridge was in danger, and their retreat cut off, caused a panic in the French right-centre, and the 39th regiment broke its ranks and hurried towards the bridge, where it met and became jammed against Lamotte’s cavalry, who were hastily returning to take up the position from which they had unwisely retired an hour or two before. Finding the passage impossible, the fugitives turned to a deep ford a little down-stream and plunged into it, where many were drowned and the regimental eagle was lost[193], while their colonel was taken prisoner. Ney saved the situation, which had arisen through his own disobedience to Masséna’s orders, by charging, with the third battalion of the 69th regiment[194] the rifle companies which had got into Foz do Arouce and were threatening the bridge. They were driven back on to their support, the 52nd regiment, and the passage having been cleared by the Marshal’s exertions, the troops to the left and right crossed it in some disorder, and took refuge on the opposite bank. They were shelled during[p. 158] their defile, not only by Ross’s and Bull’s horse artillery batteries, but by some guns belonging to their own 8th Corps, which in the deepening twilight failed to distinguish between pursuers and pursued. By the time that night had fully set in, the French rearguard was all over the river, and the bridge was blown up. If the attack had been delivered an hour earlier, it is probable that Ney would have suffered losses far greater than he actually endured—perhaps 250[195] men killed, wounded, drowned, or taken—for the British divisions were prevented by the failing light from acting as effectively as they otherwise might against the masses hastily recrossing the bridge. Wellington’s loss was trifling—4 officers and 67 men, nearly a third of them in the rifle companies which had broken the French centre for a moment, and had then been driven back by Ney. The small remainder of the baggage of Marchand and Mermet was captured on this occasion, including some biscuit, which proved most grateful to the Light Division, as it had, like the rest of the British army, outmarched its transport.

It may not be out of place to note that the combat of Foz do Arouce bore a singular resemblance to Craufurd’s combat on the Coa of July 24, 1810. In each case a rearguard was tempted to stay too long beyond an unfordable river and a narrow bridge, by the defensible nature of the position in which it found itself, and nearly suffered a complete disaster. The only difference was that Ney had at least double as strong a force as Craufurd, and had also a whole army in line beyond the river to support him, while the British general had no reserves near. In each case the endangered detachment got away by dint of hard fighting, with appreciable but by no means crushing losses. It is curious that the tables were exactly turned between pursuer and pursued in these two fights—in 1810 it was Ney who by a sudden assault hustled the Light Division over the Coa. In 1811 the Light Division was at the head of the striking force which thrust Ney over the Ceira, If Craufurd had been in command instead of[p. 159] the incapable Erskine, there can be little doubt that the matter would have been pushed to a more decisive conclusion, despite of the dusk.
Map of the combat of Foz Do Arouce

Enlarge  FOZ D’AROUCE

On the morning of March 16th, the hills beyond the Ceira, where a whole army had been visible on the preceding day, were now seen to be almost void of defenders—only a trifling rearguard was visible watching the broken bridge from a distance. Wellington sent scouts over the river to reconnoitre, but did not cross it in force. He had accomplished his main design of thrusting the French off the Coimbra road and into the mountains, and he had entirely outmarched his provisions. He had now got so far from his base at Lisbon that food sent up from thence had far to travel, and he had not yet succeeded in setting up an intermediate dép?t at Coimbra, though store-ships were already ordered from Lisbon to its port of Figueira[196], now that there was no danger of the enemy crossing the lower Mondego. During the last week the army had used up all that it carried with it, and the Portuguese brigades, badly supplied by the native commissariat, had run short even before the British. Pack’s and Ashworth’s men had received no regular rations for four days[197], and had only kept up to the front by gleaning in the deserted bivouacs of the French, and borrowing the little that the British commissariat could spare. Everything had run dry by the 16th, and Wellington considered that no great harm would be suffered by waiting a day on the Ceira, for the first convoy to come up from the rear, since the French were now in rugged ground, where they could not make any long attempt to stand for sheer want of food. They must continue their retreat or starve in a depopulated country. Accordingly Wellington settled down at Lous?o and took stock of the general position of affairs: the result of his halt was an immense discharge of arrears of correspondence—he had written only one dispatch between the 10th and 16th of March, but got off seventeen on[p. 160] the last-named day. Some of these are very important, as showing that he regarded the crisis as over, and the ultimate evacuation of Portugal by the French as certain. The most notable are two orders to Beresford[198], making over to him once more the 4th Division and De Grey’s heavy dragoons for the expedition into Estremadura, which now had as its object not the relief of Badajoz (whose capitulation was known) but the holding back of Soult from Campo Mayor and Elvas.

It will be remembered that the 2nd Division and Hamilton’s Portuguese had been left behind near Abrantes when Wellington determined, on March 9th, not to send an expedition against Soult, till he could make it up to a force sufficient to cope with the army that was beleaguering Badajoz. They were not to commit themselves to any offensive operations, or to cross the Portuguese frontier, till the reinforcements arrived, but were to move a stage on their way toward the south. Accordingly the head quarters of the 2nd Division were at Tramagal on the 14th, with its attached cavalry (the 13th Light Dragoons) at Crato in advance, while the Portuguese horse of Otway had been sent to watch the roads to Elvas by Portalegre and Estremos. Here there was a halt for a week, Beresford being absent with Wellington for five days, and it was not till the 17th that the movement towards Estremadura began again, on his return. Meanwhile Masséna, oddly enough, knowing of the existence of a considerable allied force at Abrantes, and not feeling it on his own flank, formed a theory that it must have been sent in a long sweep up by the Zezere, to drop into the upper Mondego valley and cut him off from Spain. Nervousness as to this imaginary movement had no small effect on his main operations[199].

[p. 161]By sending off Cole and De Grey to join the future Army of Estremadura, on the 16th March, Wellington reduced the force about him by 7,000 men, and had no more than 38,000 left on the Ceira. The newly formed 7th Division, which was marching up from Lisbon, and would ultimately replace Cole with the main army, was at this moment only reaching Santarem; it did not come up to the front till March was at its end. For the rest of his operations against Masséna, therefore, Wellington was more than ever in a state of numerical inferiority, and forced to be cautious. But he was in a confident mood, foreseeing that the enemy could not now stop in Portugal, and must be starved into a prompt retreat over the frontier.

His conviction that the crisis was over is shown by another dispatch of the 20th March, in which he directs that the whole of the Lisbon Militia and Ordenan?a be dismissed to their homes, the former on furlough, the latter for good. The Militia of the lower Beira (the Castello Branco country) and of northern Estremadura were also to return to their native districts, to be sent on leave or kept under arms according as further events might determine[200]. Thus the Lines of Torres Vedras were left ungarrisoned, there being no further danger to be feared in the direction of Lisbon.

There was still much work, however, for the Militia of the North, Trant’s and Wilson’s brigades, who were brought down to the middle Mondego, and sent successively to Pe?a Cova, Mortagoa, and Fornos, to guard the fords and restrain the French from endeavouring to raid the north bank of the river. It was unlikely that they would make a serious attempt to cross in force into the barren country under the Serra de Alcoba, when they were in such a desperate plight for food, and would have the allied army close behind them, for the troops were to march again on the 17th. The middle Mondego, it must be remembered, was bridgeless, and in flood from the spring rains: even if Masséna had driven off Trant and Wilson, it would have taken him a long time to build a bridge (since he had no pontoons)[p. 162] and Wellington would have been pressing him in the rear before he had got more than a vanguard over the water. The Marshal seems never to have contemplated at this date a movement on to Coimbra or Oporto by the north bank of the Mondego, such as is suggested as possible by some of the commentators on the campaign: after the day of Condeixa a retreat eastward was always in his mind[201]. His army was too dilapidated to make the least offensive stroke. ‘I think it necessary for the interests of his Imperial majesty,’ wrote Masséna on the 19th, ‘to bring the troops back nearer to our base of operations by our fortresses [Almeida and Rodrigo], in order to let them recover a little from their fatigues and long privations, and to allow me to replace so much equipment which is now entirely lacking[202].’

On the 16th, the day after the combat of Foz do Arouce, the 2nd and 8th Corps marched before dawn, in drenching rain, and retired as far as the Alva river, where the bridge of Ponte de Murcella, repaired for a moment by Drouet when he passed it a few days before, had again been broken by Wilson’s Militia. It took all the day to repair it, and by the evening only the artillery had been sent across. The divisions of Mermet and Loison followed at a distance, leaving behind the much-tried battalions of Marchand, which Ney had once more chosen to form his rearguard. He drew them up across the road a few miles from the Ceira, expecting to be attacked once more in the morning. But to his surprise Wellington did not cross the river, and only sent a few scouts to discover the position of the Marshal. Meanwhile his engineers mended the bridge at Foz.

On the 17th, at dawn, Masséna sent the 8th Corps across the repaired bridge of Ponte de Murcella, after which it halted at[p. 163] Corti?a, Moita, and other villages beyond the Alva river, whose passage it was prepared to defend. But the 2nd Corps was marched up-stream to Sarzedo, the next ford, and placed there in position, with a detachment beyond the river at the town of Arganil on its south bank. The 6th Corps, following the other two, crossed the Alva at Ponte de Murcella later in the day, and joined the 8th; it left a small detachment beyond the bridge to observe the expected arrival of the Allies. Of the horsemen, Montbrun’s heavy dragoons watched the lower course of the Alva, from Ponte de Murcella to its junction with the Mondego, while Junot’s corps-cavalry was sent up the Alva eastward, to hold the fords beyond Arganil.

These dispositions seemed to indicate an intention to make a serious stand behind the Alva, where the positions are very strong. The river is a fierce mountain torrent in a deep bed, with precipitous banks, and very few fords. Wellington had fixed on this line, during the Bussaco campaign in the preceding autumn, as the position where he should await the French if they advanced by the south bank of the Mondego, and had thrown up earthworks on each side of the Ponte de Murcella. These were, of course, useless to Masséna, since they looked the wrong way; but the river line was almost as defensible from the north bank as from the south, and presented a very formidable obstacle to the pursuing enemy.

By the evening of the 17th Wellington was once more in touch with the enemy. The cavalry brigades of Slade and Arentschildt had crossed the bridge of Foz do Arouce, and followed the 6th Corps to the Alva, with the 6th and Light Divisions behind them. The infantry, however, did not show themselves, but encamped in the hills, some miles from the Ponte de Murcella. They found the road strewn with dead or dying mules and horses, and took a certain number of French sick and stragglers.

But Wellington had no intention of forcing the Ponte de Murcella position; while two divisions took this road, the rest of the army (1st, 3rd, 5th Divisions, and the Portuguese independent brigades) were marched eastward by the steep road along the top of the watershed between the Ceira and the Alva, the route Furcado-Arganil, towards the fords of the upper[p. 164] Alva. They drove out of the last-named place Reynier’s observing detachment, which reported that it had seen the Allies in great force marching up-stream. This news convinced Masséna that his adversary was intending either to cross the ford of Sarzedo and attack Reynier, or to move still further up the valley, and to pass the Alva in its upper course, so throwing himself across the main road to Celorico, by which the Army of Portugal was intending to retreat. Nothing but cavalry scouts having been seen opposite the Ponte de Murcella, it was supposed that Wellington’s whole army was marching on Arganil.

Accordingly, on the afternoon of the 17th, Masséna ordered the 8th Corps to break up hastily from its camps and to march all night to Galliges, on the high road beyond Reynier’s left. This was done, and Junot hurried off, leaving hundreds of foragers scattered on the slopes towards the Mondego, whither they had been sent out in search of food during the day. Ney remained behind at the Ponte de Murcella, to keep the passage as long as possible; he was uncertain, as was Masséna, whether there was in his front only a cavalry screen or a serious force of all arms.

On the morning of the 18th this problem was solved, for the Light Division came down to the river, drove Ney’s rearguard across it, and opened a cannonade against the troops of the 6th Corps visible on the opposite bank. No serious attempt was made to pass, the intention being only to hold Ney to his ground as long as possible by demonstrations, while the real crossing was made far up-stream. This plan had the desired result. In the afternoon Ney received the news that the Allies had begun to cross the Alva at the ford of Pombeiro, from which they had driven off one of Reynier’s battalions. If any considerable force got over the river at this point, the 6th Corps was cut off from the rest of the army; accordingly the Marshal ordered his three divisions to march off without a moment’s delay; ‘I never saw Johnny go off in such confusion,’ says a Light Division diarist[203]. The cavalry brigade of Arentschildt sent out reconnoitring parties, who forded the river, while the engineers rigged up a temporary wooden bridge close to the Ponte de Mur[p. 165]cella[204], by which the 6th and Light Divisions were able to cross at dawn on the following day.

On the left the decisive crossing at Pombeiro had been made by the Guards’ brigade of the 1st Division[205]: Reynier made no attempt to support the single battalion at the ford, but called it in, and drew up in battle order on the Serra de Moita some distance above the river. There was no fighting here, and after dusk the 2nd Corps decamped, taking the road Galliges-Chamusca-Gouvea-Celorico, which runs parallel to and above the Alva; the 6th Corps fell in behind the 2nd; the 8th, which had already got further to the east during the march of the preceding night, led the column and was beyond Galliges in the afternoon[206].

On the night of the 18th-19th and the following morning the whole French army made a most protracted and fatiguing march, which cost them many stragglers and much material. This was the longest stage which Masséna made during the whole retreat, more than twenty miles of mountain road being covered in one stretch. On the evening of the 19th the head of the 8th Corps was at Pinhan?os, that of the 2nd at ?arago?a and Sandomil, that of the 6th at Chamusca. The British cavalry in pursuit picked up an immense number of prisoners this day, mainly small parties of foragers belonging to the 6th and 8th Corps, who had been marauding in the direction of the Mondego when their regiments received sudden orders to march: they returned towards their camps to fall into the hands of the British cavalry. Arentschildt’s brigade alone took 200 this day[207], and the total according to Wellington’s dispatch was 600 men[208]. Among them were an aide-de-camp of Loison’s and several other[p. 166] officers. Some droves of oxen were captured from the foragers and from the rear of the 6th Corps, and this was the only food which the British vanguard got that day, for once more, as several diarists ruefully note, ‘biscuit was out.’ The pursuers state that ‘quantities of tumbrils, carts, waggons and other articles were abandoned by the enemy’[209], and no doubt were right, though Masséna wrote that evening from Maceira, ‘Nous n’avons pas laissé en arrière un malade, un blessé, ni la moindre voiture d’artillerie ou de bagages’[210]. But his dispatches frequently contained what he knew that Napoleon would desire to see rather than the truth. Considering the difficulties of the retreat, and the skilful way in which he had conducted it, he might have been contented with his actual achievements, and need not have padded out his reports with ‘terminological inexactitudes’. It must be confessed that his aide-de-camp Fririon played a good second to him when he wrote in his journal that between the 15th and 31st of March the Army of Portugal left behind only twenty prisoners and fifty men lost while marauding[211].
Map of the Lower Mondego

Enlarge  THE LOWER MONDEGO.
To illustrate the First Stage of Masséna’s Retreat.

On the morning of the 20th March Wellington’s army was all across the Alva, but only the cavalry and the Light, 3rd, and 6th Divisions continued the pursuit. The small convoy received on the 17th was exhausted, and what little food remained was made over to the three divisions named above, while the 1st, 5th, and Pack’s and Ashworth’s Portuguese halted for five days at Moita and the neighbouring villages, till the first train of provisions sent up from Coimbra should arrive. Of the troops which could still be fed, the Light Division pushed on as far as Galliges that night, the 3rd and 6th were behind them. The French, thanks to their desperate night march, were already a long way ahead, and it was late on the 20th before the cavalry overtook, near Cea, their extreme rearguard, two battalions of Heudelet’s division and a hussar regiment. General Slade, whose brigade was leading, refused to attack them until infantry and guns came up to his aid, and the French slipped away before[p. 167] Elder’s Ca?adores and Bull’s battery reached him[212]. ‘This was the second day without bread, and the third without corn for the horses, and we had marched nearly five leagues,’ explains a cavalry diarist[213]. The pursuers were as harassed as the pursued, and could go no further, but Slade was thought to have shown weakness. He picked up a good many stragglers and sick, and found the road strewn with broken vehicles and dying mules.

Meanwhile Masséna had divided his army into two columns at the fork of the roads near Maceira. The 2nd Corps, taking, on the right hand, the southern and more hilly route, reached Gouvea. The 8th Corps, taking the northern fork, got to Villacortes, and sent its cavalry on ahead to the bridge of Fornos, which they found broken and guarded by Trant’s Militia. The 6th Corps, following the 8th, lay at Pinhan?os. Since leaving the Ponte de Murcella the French were a little less pressed for food: the district through which they were now passing was fertile, and had not been raided before; most of the peasantry had returned to it during the winter. Hasty plundering on both sides of the road brought in a certain amount of food, especially in the way of cattle, which had been sent up into the hills, but were often discovered by skilled marauders. There was continual bickering with the Ordenan?a, one party of whom, only 300 strong, tried, with more courage than discretion, to defend the village of Penalva against the advanced guard of the 2nd Corps. All along the road the pursuing Light Division found the dead bodies of peasantry, mixed with those of the French sick who had fallen by the way.

On the 21st the 8th Corps reached Celorico, where Drouet was found in position with Conroux’s division of the 9th Corps. The 6th Corps reached Carapichina and Corti?a. The 2nd, turning off at Villacortes on the Guarda road, had a most distressing mountain march to Villamonte. The pursuing infantry of the Light and 3rd Divisions reached Pinhan?os and Maceira, with the cavalry five miles in front, at the convent of Vinho. They had now dropped fifteen miles behind the French rear, and were[p. 168] quite out of touch with it, but continued to pick up stragglers—200 men are said to have been taken on that day[214]. Like the enemy, they were now commencing to get a little food from the country. ‘The peasants, who had all fled to the mountains on the enemy’s retreat, on seeing us come down, baked bread for the troops, and gave us whatever they had left. They had suffered a good deal, all the principal houses had been burnt, and those left a good deal destroyed, but the [French] troops had not been able to discover all the corn, &c., concealed[215].’

On the 22nd the French army had reached the end of the main retreat. Two corps were concentrated in and near Celorico[216], the other (Reynier) reached Guarda, where it found Claparéde’s division of Drouet’s corps, which had been there for some weeks. They were now only three marches from Almeida and four from Ciudad Rodrigo; communication with these two places was open, for Drouet and the 9th Corps had now come into touch again with the Commander-in-Chief, and were available for keeping the roads safe. The English had been outmarched, and Masséna might have retired to Almeida and Rodrigo practically unmolested, by a good chaussée. But this was not to be the end of the campaign, as every one in the French army, save its Commander-in-Chief, fervently desired. For generals and rank and file alike were tired out, and yearned for a cessation of mountain marches, and a rest in well-provisioned cantonments, before they should be called upon for another effort. But another and a most unexpected episode was to take place before the weary columns reached Rodrigo. Masséna made one more attempt to ‘save his face,’ and to avoid being thrust over the Spanish frontier, along the road on to which his adversary had forced him. This led to a fortnight more of man?uvres in the mountains, and to the combats of Guarda and Sabugal, after which the French Marshal had to pocket his pride and acquiesce in the inevitable. These operations are of a character so different from those which preceded them that[p. 169] they must be treated as a separate story. The retreat from Santarem really ended at Celorico. The events between March 22nd and April 4th must be dealt with apart, since they practically amounted to a belated attempt on the part of Masséna to seize the offensive once more, and to shift the scene of war without his adversary’s consent. The project failed, and (as we shall see) was hopeless from the first.

Before dealing with it, a few remarks on the general character of the operations that had taken place between March 9th and March 22nd must be made. When reading in succession two narratives of Masséna’s retreat from Santarem to Celorico, one by an English and one by a French eye-witness, it is often difficult to realize that the two writers are describing the same series of operations. Most of the French conceive the retreat to have been a series of triumphant rearguard actions, in which their army got off practically unmolested, under cover of the skilful operations of a small covering force. On the other hand, the English tell the tale as if the whole French army was easily hunted out of Portugal by inferior numbers, foiled in repeated attempts to occupy a permanent position in the valley of the Mondego, and finally thrust back in a direction which it did not intend to take. Where the French tell of nothing but an orderly retreat and small losses, the English speak of the capture of hundreds of prisoners, and the destruction of the whole baggage-train of the retiring army.

To a certain extent the mental attitudes of both sets of narrators can be understood and justified by the impartial student. When a rearguard action takes place, the covering force left behind by the retiring army always thinks of itself as being opposed to the whole pursuing host. It considers itself to be braving the assault of immensely superior forces, and if it holds its own for a time and gets off without crushing losses, is well satisfied with its own conduct. This is both justifiable and comprehensible. But to the pursuer the same rearguard action presents an entirely different moral aspect. The few squadrons and battalions forming the head of his advance find themselves suddenly brought to a check by a considerable hostile force arrayed in a formidable position. They are forced to halt till their supports begin to come up, from five, ten, or fifteen[p. 170] miles in the rear. Then, when a body of reserve has begun to accumulate behind them, they launch themselves upon the enemy, who gives ground after more or less fighting and retires. The leading brigade or division of the pursuers considers that it has victoriously driven the whole hostile army from its strong position, and is no less satisfied with itself than is the force to which it has been opposed. In short, all rearguard actions begin with a check to the pursuers; they all end with the retreat of the defenders. This is their necessary course; both parties, if their generals play the game properly, may be content with themselves; the one has gained time for the escape of the main body of the retreating host, the other has cleared the way for the progress of the pursuing army. The only method in which their relative merits can be tested, is by asking whether the rearguard detained the advanced guard as long as might have been expected, inflicted disproportionate losses upon it, and got away with the minimum of loss to itself, or whether, on the other hand, the advanced guard evicted its opponents from their position at a rapid rate, with small sacrifices, and with considerable punishment inflicted on the enemy. The mere facts that the rearguard held back the pursuers for some hours, and that the advanced guard ultimately carried the enemy’s position, are obligatory incidents of such fights. When we come to examine the details of the combats which took place between the 11th and 19th of March, we shall neither hold with the French narrators that for many days Ney and two divisions of the 6th Corps fought and held back Wellington’s whole army, nor with the English narrators that the Light and 3rd Divisions, unassisted by their comrades, hunted 40,000 French out of the valley of the lower Mondego. Yet it is true that of forty-four French infantry officers, who were killed or wounded in Portugal between these dates, no less than thirty-seven belonged to the divisions of Marchand and Mermet, while, similarly, of twenty-nine British and Portuguese officers hit in the same period, no less than nineteen belonged to the Light Division and eight more to the 3rd. Clearly therefore Ney did not contend with the whole British army, but only with its two leading divisions, and those two divisions did not contend with the whole French army, but only with the two[p. 171] units which formed its rearguard. Fine writing on both sides, as to struggles against overwhelming odds, must be disregarded. Still more so may the exaggerated estimates as to loss inflicted on the enemy which are to be found in the narratives of most of the first-hand writers. What they are worth may be guessed from Marbot’s statement that the British lost 1,000 men at Redinha—No?l raises this liberal estimate to 1,800[217]—the real casualty list being 240. Similarly Grattan tells us that the French had 1,000 men hors de combat at Foz do Arouce[218], when their actual loss seems to have been about 250.

The accusations of timidity and over-caution which these contemporary chroniclers lavish upon each other’s generals are equally absurd. Wellington is always rallied by the French for want of courage and enterprise, because he did not at once dash the first two or three battalions that came up against a division in position, but waited for his supports. And Ney is criticized by both English and French writers for having sometimes withdrawn from the fight over early, because at Condeixa and on the Alva he hastened to get out of a dangerous situation. Both generals, in reality, acted with perfect tactical correctness; armies do not meet for the purpose of putting in the maximum of fighting, without regard for ends or consequences, and the commander who attacks before he has a sufficient force collected is blameworthy just in the same degree as the commander who holds out too long in a hazardous position.

Most of the French criticism on Wellington is based on the false hypothesis that his army outnumbered Masséna’s during the whole retreat, and that he therefore should have achieved greater results. As a matter of fact, as we have seen, he was never stronger than the enemy, because he had been forced to detach Beresford’s two divisions against Soult before he started. And when, in the later stages of the retreat, the French were short of Conroux’s division of the 9th Corps, which had gone on to Celorico ahead of the main army, it must be remembered that Wellington from March 16th onwards was deprived of Cole’s division and the heavy dragoons, who had been[p. 172] sent off southward to join Beresford. A pursuing army dealing with a superior retreating army must act with the greatest caution, lest it should suddenly run up against the enemy’s whole force, and find itself committed to an offensive action against greater numbers in a strong position. Wellington never fell into this trap; he man?uvred the French out of every line which they took up, without incurring any danger, or allowing his adversary any chance of harming him. While giving all credit to Ney for the brilliant rearguard tactics by which he often held back the pursuers for half a day, it is necessary to give equal credit to Wellington for having fought his way through half a dozen formidable lines of defence, with a minimum of loss, and without once exposing himself to the chance of a serious check. After all, his object was to drive Masséna away from the Mondego and towards Spain, and that object he achieved in the most triumphant fashion.
SECTION XXIV: CHAPTER II
GUARDA AND SABUGAL.
MARCH 22nd-APRIL 12th, 1811

At noon on March 22nd, the day following that on which the French head quarters had reached Celorico, Masséna issued a new set of orders, entirely contradictory to those which he had been giving during the last fifteen days. Though on the 19th he had stated his intention of ‘falling back closer to his base of operations on the fortresses [Almeida and Rodrigo], and giving the army a rest after its fatigues and privations[220],’ he now proposed to plunge back once more into the mountains, and to swerve aside from his places of strength and his dép?ts. The commanders of the corps received the astounding news that it was the intention of the Commander-in-Chief to turn south-eastward, towards the Spanish frontier and the central Tagus, with the object of taking up a position in the Coria-Plasencia country, from which he would threaten central Portugal on a new front. This necessitated a march from Celorico through the mountains of Belmonte and Penamacor, and then across the Sierra de Meras, into the thinly-peopled plateau of northern Estremadura.

Supposing that the centre of the Iberian peninsula had been a fertile plain resembling Lombardy or Flanders, there would have been something to say for this plan. Still more might it have been advisable if the French army had been a fresh and intact force just opening a campaign. Pelet, Masséna’s chief aide-de-camp, tries to justify the proposal by saying that ‘it was more conformable to the general rules of strategy; we should have connected ourselves with the 5th Corps in Estremadura, with the Army of the Centre, and the general pivot of operations at Madrid; we should have brought Lord Wellington back to the position that he had quitted; we should have kept the results of the advantages recently won in Estremadura, which were so soon to be lost;[p. 174] we should also have had the means to menace once more Central Portugal and the Lines of Torres Vedras[221].’ This is all very plausible, but it omits the crucial facts that the Army of Portugal was tired out, destitute of munitions, and almost destitute of food, and that it was proposed to lead it across two difficult ranges of mountains full of gorges and defiles, into a region which was one of the most thinly peopled and desolate in all Spain, where there was not a single French soldier, much less a dép?t of any sort. This was the same district in which Victor had starved in 1809, and in passing through which Wellington had suffered so many privations on the way to Talavera. It had been visited in February by a flying column under Lahoussaye, sent out from Talavera, which had got as far as Plasencia and Alcantara, and then retired, because it was absolutely impossible for 3,000 men to live in it.

Masséna’s maps were very bad—the actual set used by his head-quarters staff is in existence, and can be seen at Belfast[222]. But his intelligence department must have been worse than his maps, if he was unaware of the character of the country on the border of Portugal and Spain, and of that lying beyond, in northern Estremadura. He might have asked information about it from Reynier and Ney, who had both crossed it, but he did not. Most striking of all, however, is the ignorance shown in these orders of the physical and moral state of the French army. If it had ever reached Plasencia, it would have got there without a gun or a baggage mule—the caissons and carriages were almost all gone already. A single set of figures may serve to show the situation: the artillery of the 8th Corps started from Almeida in September 1810 with 142 wheeled units—guns, caissons, waggons, &c., and 891 horses. It got back to Ciudad Rodrigo on April 4, 1811, with 49 guns and caissons drawn by 182 horses, having lost 93 vehicles and 709 horses. Forty-one of the caissons and waggons had been destroyed before the commencement of the retreat, the rest had been dropped between Thomar and Celorico[223]. There were left at the end of March only 24 guns[p. 175] with 25 caissons of ammunition, to draw which required all the horses remaining. How long could this artillery have fought with only one caisson of ammunition per gun left? How many horses would have been alive after another hundred miles of mountain roads? Even if some guns had got to Plasencia, how long would it have taken to get them ammunition from Salamanca or Madrid, the nearest dép?ts? The same question would be no less forcible with regard to infantry ammunition, which was depleted to an equal extent with that of the artillery.

But it is even more important to remember that the Army of Portugal was also in desperate straits for boots and clothing. In many regiments a third or a quarter of the men had no footgear but ‘rivlins,’ or mocassins made every few days from the hides of cattle. The uniforms were in rags; many soldiers had nothing that recalled the regulation attire but the capote that covered everything.

Yet the main thing of all was the moral aspect of affairs. The army would fight when it was its duty, as French armies always have done, but it was discontented, sulky, angry with the Marshal, to whom it attributed its miseries—though its indignation might have been more justly reserved for the Emperor, who had set his lieutenant an impossible task. The rank and file had sunk low in discipline, as must be always the case when troops have been living by daily plunder for six months. And this same want of discipline was most evident among the generals, who, now that Masséna had failed, openly criticized him before their staffs, and often neglected his orders. Masséna suspected Ney, Junot, and Reynier alike of intending to denounce him to the Emperor as a blunderer. It will be remembered that he had already detected Reynier in a trick of this description[224]. Ney had been girding at his orders with fury ever since the retreat began, and was telling all who cared to listen that a hasty return to Spain was the only possible policy, and that the dream of holding out on the Mondego or the Alva was absurd.

[p. 176]It was probably not on mere strategic grounds, but because he was determined to assert himself, to prove that he was master of his own movements, and that he was not yet a beaten man or a failure, that Masséna issued orders on the 22nd for the 2nd Corps to make ready to move southward, not northward, from Guarda, and for the 6th and 8th to prepare to follow on the same route. This provoked an explosion of wrath on the part of Ney, who in the course of four hours of the afternoon wrote three successive letters to his commander, in terms of growing irritation. In the first, which was sent off before receiving the detailed orders for the new movement, he merely set forth all the objections to it, and inquired whether Masséna had the Emperor’s leave for such a general change of plans. In the second, after he had received and read the orders, he protested formally against them, and said that, unless positive instructions from Paris authorizing the new scheme had been received, the 6th Corps should not march. He gave many arguments, and they were incontestably true. ‘The army has need to rest behind the shelter of Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo, in order to receive the clothing and shoes which are absolutely necessary, and which must be brought up from the magazines. Your Excellency is mistaken in thinking that food can be got in abundance in the region of Coria and Plasencia. I have marched through that country [during the attempt to cut off Wellington’s retreat from Talavera in 1809], and it is impossible to exaggerate its sterility or the badness of its roads. Your Excellency will not get one single gun so far, with the teams that we have brought out of Portugal. Moreover this man?uvre, so singular at this particular moment, would entirely uncover Old Castile, and compromise all our operations in Spain. I am fully aware of the responsibility which I take upon myself in making formal opposition to your intentions, but, even if I were destined to be cashiered or condemned to death, I could not execute the march on Coria and Plasencia directed by your Highness, unless (of course) it has been ordered by the Emperor[225].’

Within two hours of the second letter Ney sent in the third, which was no mere protest, nor even a mere refusal to move, but[p. 177] an open declaration of his intention to march back to Almeida. ‘I warn your Excellency that to-morrow I shall leave my positions of Carapichina and Corti?o, and échelon my troops from Celorico to Freixadas, and on the day after they will be between Freixadas and Almeida. This disposition is forced on me, in order to prevent the whole force from disbanding, under the pretext of searching for the food necessary for its subsistence, for food is now absolutely lacking.’

Unless he was to surrender his authority altogether, and obey his subordinate, Masséna had now to strike. Ney had put himself absolutely in the wrong in the way of military subordination, though he was as absolutely in the right in the way of strategy. And the Commander-in-Chief had every technical justification when he formally deposed him from the command of the 6th Corps, and directed him to leave for Valladolid without delay, and there await the orders of the Emperor. Loison, the senior of the three divisional generals of the 6th Corps, was ordered to take over its command next morning. Several of Ney’s partisans urged him to refuse obedience, to seize the person of Masséna, and to declare himself Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Portugal. We are assured that he would have been backed in the step by the whole of his own corps, and would have met no resistance from the others, for Masséna was universally disliked, and every man wished to continue the retreat on Almeida of which Ney was the advocate[226]. But he shrank from levying open war upon his chief, and departed among the tears of the whole 6th Corps, of which he knew every officer and many men by sight. It had been under him, without a break, since he first formed it at the camp of Montreuil, near Boulogne, in 1804.

Masséna started off his aide-de-camp Pelet for Paris next day, with orders to get to the Emperor without delay, and explain the situation before Ney could tell his tale. This his emissary succeeded in doing, and his representations to Napoleon were backed by those of Foy, who had borne Masséna’s earlier message[p. 178] of March 9, and was still in Paris. The Emperor seems to have approved of Masséna’s stringent dealing with his subordinate, and even to have expressed his satisfaction with the new plan for marching the Army of Portugal to the middle Tagus[227]. He also declared that corps-commanders of the type of Ney and Junot were a mistake, and that to avoid further friction he would cut up the whole army into divisions, and abolish the corps altogether. But at the same time he allowed Ney to return to Paris, gave him a mere formal reproof, and then continued to employ him in posts of the highest importance. Next year the Marshal was to win his last title of ‘Prince of the Moscowa’ under his master’s eye, on the field of Borodino.

Ney having been superseded and banished, Masséna could carry out his wild plan for a march towards northern Estremadura through the midst of the Portuguese mountains. On the 23rd the 6th Corps was brought into Celorico, and its artillery moved forward as far as Ratoeiro on the Guarda road. The 8th Corps left Celorico and moved in the same direction, with its cavalry at Ponte do Ladr?o in advance. Drouet with Conroux’s division had already gone back towards Almeida, with the sick and wounded of the whole army; he was ordered to[p. 179] take post at Val-de-Mula on the Turon, between Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo. His other division, that of Claparéde, was sent from Guarda to join him on the same day. Drouet, according to some versions of the events of this critical week, had moved back of his own accord without waiting for Masséna’s orders. But it is clear that there was absolute necessity to tell off some covering force for the frontiers of Leon, if the main army was to be drawn away to the central Tagus, lest Wellington should send off a detachment to attack Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo, and find nothing to hinder him.

For the next five days the march southward and eastward was continued. After a rest of only two nights at Guarda, the 2nd Corps moved on the 24th of March by two bad parallel roads through the hills, and encamped with its first division at Sortelha and its second at Aguas Bellas: a flanking detachment of cavalry occupied Belmonte, further to the west, in order to keep a look-out on the valley of the Zezere. The 8th Corps took up the position which the 2nd had evacuated at Guarda: it is recorded to have lost many of its already depleted stock of horses in climbing the steep ascent into that town, which stands on the very summit of the Serra da Estrella, at a height of over 3,400 feet above sea-level. No other town in Portugal lies so high. The 6th Corps followed the 8th, but halted short of Guarda, to cover the slow progress of its artillery, which had to be dragged up the defile with doubled teams, so that half the guns and vehicles had to wait at the bottom, while their beasts were assisting to draw the first section to its lofty destination.

The 25th saw the head of the 2nd Corps at Val de Lobos on the road to Penamacor; the main body painfully trailed along behind. Junot and the 8th Corps left Guarda, but took, not the path that Reynier had followed, but an equally difficult one leading to Belmonte. But the guns could not proceed with the infantry divisions. They had to be left at Guarda, the Belmonte road being pronounced absolutely impracticable for them: this was a serious check to Masséna, who had counted on using this route for the whole corps. Of the 6th Corps one division (Marchand) entered Guarda, a second (Loison’s old division, now commanded by Ferey) halted at Rapoulla, at the foot of the[p. 180] great mountain on which that town lies. The other division (Mermet) had taken a flanking turn, more in the plain, and lay at Goveias, fifteen miles north-east from Guarda, with a rearguard at Freixadas on the road to Almeida.

On the 26th, the last day on which it can be said that Masséna’s insane scheme for marching to Estremadura was still being carried out, the whole 6th Corps closed up on Guarda; the 8th Corps at Belmonte sent out reconnaissances towards Covilh?o, Manteigas, and the Zezere; but the 2nd, which was heading the column of march, was completely stuck in the mountains between Sortelha and Penamacor. It must have seemed a bitter piece of irony to Reynier when he received orders ‘to profit by his stay in his position to collect grain, and bake bread and biscuit[228],’ for he was in an almost entirely uninhabited country, on the watershed between the sources of the Coa and the Zezere, with the Sierra de Meras, the frontier-range between Spain and Portugal, in front of him.

Next morning (March 27) Reynier, though he had the example of Ney’s fate before him, was driven by sheer necessity into sending an argumentative dispatch to the Commander-in-Chief, who had now got as far as Guarda. He begged him to give up his great plan: ‘no food could be procured for the whole way from Guarda to Plasencia; if the corps ever got to the latter place, it would find no resources there, for the Coria-Plasencia country does not grow its own corn, but is fed in ordinary times from the valley of the Tietar and other distant regions.’ This Reynier knew from his own experiences in that region, when he had been observing Hill in the preceding summer. He also warned Masséna that he was taking the army into an impasse, for the Tagus is a complete barrier between northern and southern Estremadura, and could not be crossed save at the ferry of Alconetar, where there were now no boats, the bridge of Alcantara (now broken), and that of Almaraz, where there was only a flying bridge of pontoons[229].

At the same time Junot was writing from Belmonte to say that he could go no further; not only had he been forced to leave all his guns behind at Guarda, but ‘les troupes meurent[p. 181] de faim, et ne peuvent pas se présenter en ligne.’ He had scoured the country as far as Covilh?o with his cavalry, in search of food, with the sole result of ruining the few horses that were still in passable condition.

In short, the game was up—it ought never to have been begun—and Ney’s remonstrances (though not his insubordination) were completely vindicated. On March 28th Masséna reluctantly conceded that a prompt retreat into Spain was the only course possible. But he chose to base his change of plans not on the true ground, viz. that he had ordered the army to perform an impossibility, but on two other facts. A report had just been received from Drouet; that general, on reaching the neighbourhood of Almeida, had sent word that the fortress was in the utmost danger, for it had only fifteen days’ food[230], and, if the 9th Corps had to retire, it would fall from starvation in a fortnight. The state of Ciudad Rodrigo was little better. He therefore besought the Prince of Essling not to expose these two all-important places, by carrying the Army of Portugal off to the valley of the Tagus. This gave a strategical reason for surrendering the new scheme of campaign, but there was also a moral one. ‘Lassitude reigns in the Army of Portugal: many of its regiments were in the expeditions of the Duke of Dalmatia [Soult’s Oporto campaign of 1809] or that of the Duke of Abrantes [Junot’s Vimeiro campaign of 1808]. The officers murmur, and, as I must again repeat, the army must have two or three months of rest to recover itself. I was the only soul who was determined to hold on in Portugal, and unless I had set my will to it in the strongest fashion, we should not have stopped fifteen days therein.... The troops are good, but they need repose. Living by marauding, even though it was organized marauding, such as we have been compelled to authorize, has in no small degree weakened discipline, which is in the greatest need of restoration[231].’ All this was very true, but it had been equally true on March 22nd, when Masséna gave his orders for the march on Plasencia. The root of his failure lay[p. 182] neither in the state of Almeida, nor in the demoralized condition of the army, but in the fact that he had directed his troops to execute a movement which was impossible without magazines to live upon, or roads to march upon[232].

On March 29 Masséna gave the orders which marked the abandonment of his great plan, and commenced his retrograde movement towards Ciudad Rodrigo. Reynier and the 2nd Corps, abandoning the mountain roads, came down by a lateral march to Sabugal in the upper valley of the Coa: they were to stop there till Junot and the 8th Corps, coming in from Belmonte, should have reached them and passed behind them. The 6th Corps meanwhile was to halt at Guarda till the 8th Corps had extricated itself from the mountains, but it was ordered to throw back one division (Ferey’s) to Ad?o on the Sabugal road, eight miles to the south-east, as the first échelon of its forthcoming movement of retreat towards the Coa. Masséna himself and the head quarters of the army moved from Guarda on the morning of the 29th to Pega, a village some miles nearer the Coa than Ad?o.

On this morning the British army, of which Masséna had heard practically nothing for eight days, put in its appearance in the most forcible fashion, falling upon the enemy just as he was in the midst of a complicated movement, with his three corps separated from each other by distances of some twenty miles.

Wellington, it will be remembered, had halted about half of his army on the Alva upon March 20th, for sheer want of provisions, sending on only the two light cavalry brigades and the 3rd, 6th, and Light Divisions to pursue Masséna on the Celorico road. He had no doubt that the enemy was about to retire from Celorico and Guarda towards the Spanish frontier with the smallest delay—the policy of Ney and of every one else in the French army save Masséna himself. On the 24th, Slade’s dragoons occupied Celorico, and reported that the enemy had left it on the preceding day; two columns were traced: the larger [6th and 8th Corps] had gone towards Guarda, the smaller [Drouet with Conroux’s division of the 9th Corps] had taken the[p. 183] high-road towards Freixadas and Almeida. There was nothing yet to indicate to Wellington Masséna’s intention of proceeding in the direction of Estremadura and the middle Tagus. He wrote on the 25th to General Spencer, ‘The French have retired from Celorico, and appear to intend to take up a line on the Coa. Their left has gone by Guarda, apparently for Sabugal’—and to Beresford, ‘The French have gone towards the Coa: their left will cross at Sabugal, I should think, and their right about Pinhel and Almeida[233]’.

On this day (March 25) the first convoy of provisions from the new base established at Coimbra reached the camps on the Alva, and Wellington was at last able to set the 1st and 5th Divisions and Ashworth’s Portuguese in motion[234]. They started on the Celorico road, and reached Galliges that night. No news had yet come in of the southward movement of the French from Guarda, which had begun on the preceding day. The vanguard of the army had now established itself in Celorico, which was reached by the Light and 3rd Divisions on the 25th-26th: they had come up very slowly, being sadly distressed for food, and therefore forced to make very short stages. Only one ration of bread had been given out in the last four days.

On the 26th the cavalry pushed out from Celorico[235], Arentschildt’s brigade took the Almeida road, Hawker’s (this colonel was in temporary command of the 1st and 14th, while Slade managed the whole vanguard) pushed towards Guarda. Each swept the villages on the flanks of its route. The result of the exploration was to show that a very large body of the enemy had retired on Guarda, and a very small body on Almeida. A patrol of the 16th Light Dragoons hit on Mermet’s rearguard and took an officer and eighteen men from it. The reports of the following day came to much the same—it began to be clear that almost the whole French army must have gone to Guarda,[p. 184] and at last Wellington began to have the first news of Masséna’s southward movement, though he did not yet grasp its meaning. ‘The French appear to stick about Guarda,’ he wrote to Beresford, ‘and yesterday they had some people well on towards Manteigas: but I have heard nothing of them from Grant [the famous scout and intelligence officer] and I conclude they were only a patrol.’ Now Manteigas is at the source of the Zezere, near Covilh?o, and this ‘patrol’ was nothing less than Junot’s flank cavalry, exploring out from Belmonte, which the 8th Corps had reached on the preceding day. But so little did Wellington guess what was running in Masséna’s mind, that he wrote on this day that he was proposing to take a short turn to the Alemtejo to supervise Beresford’s operations (which were hanging fire in the most discouraging fashion), as soon as the French were over the frontier[236].

Meanwhile Wellington made up his mind that, since the enemy persisted in lingering at Guarda, he must man?uvre them out of that lofty city. But imagining that two, if not three, corps were concentrated in its neighbourhood, he would not attack till his rear had come up from the Alva to Celorico. This did not happen till the 29th, when the 1st Division reached that place, with the 5th close behind. But on the previous day he had already started off Picton to cross the Serra da Estrella by the mountain road by Prados, and the Light Division with Arentschildt’s cavalry to take the longer route on the other bank of the Mondego, which goes to Guarda via Baracal, Villa Franca, and Rapoulla. A flanking detachment, composed of a wing of the 95th Rifles, came upon a small rearguard left behind by Mermet at Freixadas, and turned them out of the village, taking a few prisoners (March 28).

On the 29th the Light Division and the two cavalry brigades moved in upon Guarda from Rapoulla, while Picton closed in from the west, on the side of the higher hills, and General Alexander Campbell, with the 6th Division, advanced between the other two columns, by the road on the east side of the Mondego which passes through Ramilhosa[237]. The three converg[p. 185]ing columns appeared upon the heights around Guarda within a few hours of each other, Picton being first on the spot. The French had hardly any warning, for the cavalry screen had kept the British hidden till the last. Picton found Mermet’s and Marchand’s divisions on the plateau of Guarda, with Ferey’s at its foot on the eastern side, already starting on its march for Ad?o, which was to be the commencement of the general retreat that Masséna contemplated on the next day. It seems clear, from French sources, that Loison was practically taken by surprise. Fririon, the chief of the staff of the Army of Portugal, says that, visiting Guarda to see how the 6th Corps was arranged, he found Maucune’s brigade encamped in a ravine dominated on all sides, with only one battalion on the hill on which Picton appeared a few minutes later, and the rest in a position where they were perfectly helpless. There was no other covering force at all out in front of the town. Hence, when the British closed in, Loison got flurried, and, seeing the Light Division threatening to press in on his rear, absconded at once without fighting. As his force was still nearly 15,000 strong, and Wellington had as yet only three divisions, of no greater numbers, in front of the formidable hill of Guarda, it seems that the flight of the 6th Corps from such a position was somewhat ignominious. Ney would undoubtedly have fought a brilliant detaining action with his rearguard[238].

Loison went off in great haste on the two roads open to him, both leading south-east towards the Coa: one by Ad?o and[p. 186] Pega towards Sabugal, the other by Villa Mendo and Marmeleiro to Rapoulla da Coa. The British infantry could never come up with him. The cavalry pressed his rear, and made many prisoners, mainly foraging parties which were straggling in to join the main body. A patrol of the 16th Light Dragoons captured 64 men in one party, and took 150 sheep and 20 oxen[239]. The total number of prisoners was between two and three hundred. But the French rearguard of three battalions of infantry kept well together, and was in too good order to be broken by unsupported squadrons of cavalry. The main body of the 6th Corps marched all day towards the fords of the Coa, but had not reached that river at nightfall. One of its columns encamped at Pega, the other at Marmeleiro.

On the next morning (March 30) Masséna was in a very dangerous situation: his three corps were still unconcentrated, and Junot was lingering at Belmonte, from which he only moved that morning towards Sabugal. If Wellington had known of the isolated position of the 8th Corps, he might, by pushing down a column from Celorico, have cut off its line of retreat towards the Coa, where the 2nd Corps was awaiting it. But by ill-luck no reports came to hand about Junot, and Wellington was under the impression that two, and not one, corps had been holding Guarda when he attacked it[240]. He was aware that Reynier was at Sabugal, but did not apparently receive any information which demonstrated that there was another heavy column in this direction, now commencing to move straight across the front of his own advanced guard. Junot was able to extricate himself by two painful marches over villainous cross-roads in the mountains, from Belmonte to Urgueira (March 30) and from Urgueira to Sabugal (March 31). He was only able to win salvation because he had left all his artillery behind him at Guarda, and was therefore able to go wherever infantry could[p. 187] climb. His guns had been given in charge to the 6th Corps, and formed part of the column under Ferey that marched by Pega to the Coa.

Meanwhile the 6th Corps had to complete its retreat to the line of the Coa, and reached it in the afternoon, harassed but not seriously damaged by the two British cavalry brigades, of which Hawker’s followed the column on the northern and Arentschildt’s that on the southern of the two parallel roads on which Loison was moving. All accounts agree that General Slade, who was directing both brigades, showed over-caution, and missed several fair opportunities of attacking the enemy’s rearguard, in open ground very favourable to cavalry and horse-artillery tactics[241]. He only picked up a few stragglers, and the enemy was safely across the Coa by nightfall, Marchand’s division at Ponte Sequeiro, Ferey’s and Mermet’s at Bismula, seven miles further to the south, where they were now only eight miles from Reynier’s right wing at Sabugal. The British had not yet detected Junot’s flank march, which was hourly bringing him nearer to safety.

On the 31st the 8th Corps escaped from its dangers, reached Sabugal, and, passing behind Reynier, pushed on ten miles further to Alfayates, where it halted for a much-needed rest. The troops were reduced to the last extreme by exhaustion and hunger. At Alfayates, within three miles of the Spanish frontier, and only two marches from Ciudad Rodrigo, they at last began to receive regular provisions, and had nearly got out of the mountains into the rolling upland of southern Leon.

Why Masséna, the moment that he knew that Junot was safe, did not continue to retreat on to his magazines it is hard to say. But he remained for two days more behind the upper Coa, and thereby exposed himself to continued danger, for his army was strung out on too thin a line, watching twenty miles of the river.[p. 188] Apparently he thought, from seeing no British infantry on the 30th and 31st, that Wellington had halted at Guarda, and did not intend to continue the pursuit on Sabugal. His own forces continued in their old positions throughout the 1st and 2nd of April, save that all Montbrun’s reserve cavalry was sent to the rear, to the valleys of the Agueda and the Azava, to rest and recover itself, the larger proportion of the surviving horses being quite unserviceable. The corps-cavalry of Reynier, Junot, and Loison also sent back many dismounted men, and hundreds more whose mounts were incapable of use for the present, so that the brigade of light horse attached to each was reduced to a few hundred sabres, many of the regiments having only one efficient squadron left, and none more than two[242]. The retreat from Santarem had practically disabled the French cavalry.

Wellington, meanwhile, having discovered by the explorations of his horse, that the enemy was standing firm on the Coa, resolved to dislodge them from their last hold on Portugal. To do this he required his whole force, and the 1st and 5th Divisions moved onward from Celorico to Freixadas on the 31st, to come up into line with the 3rd, 6th, and Light Divisions. With them there was now present the long-expected 7th Division, which reached the front at the end of the month, though incomplete. For the light brigade of the German Legion had arrived at Lisbon more than a fortnight late, and only four battalions in the British service[243] and five of Portuguese[244] were at present allotted to the newly formed unit. But in addition several newly landed battalions[245] came up and joined the old divisions, so that nearly 6,000 infantry in all were added to the army. After deducting many men left behind from sickness or exhaustion[246], during his advance over the wasted regions of Beira, Wellington had now about 38,000 men with him, a force very[p. 189] nearly equal to that of the enemy, which on the 1st of April had sunk to 39,905 including officers, if the 9th Corps, now in the vicinity of Almeida, be omitted.

The plan which Wellington evolved for the final eviction of the French from Portugal was to turn their left wing on the side of Sabugal, while containing their right wing (the 6th Corps) on the central Coa. Occupation was at the same time found for the 9th Corps, as Wilson’s and Trant’s Militia brigades were directed to cross the Coa near its confluence with the Douro, and to threaten Almeida from the north side, a move which could not fail to have the effect of keeping Drouet pinned down to his present position, since his special task was the protection of that place. It is a little difficult to make out why Wellington chose to break in upon the French left rather than their right. From the strategical point of view it would have been preferable to cross the Coa north of the flank of the 6th Corps, and to throw the whole weight of the British army so as to drive the French southward, towards Sabugal and Alfayates. For they would thus be separated from the 9th Corps, thrust into the barren and nearly roadless mountain district of the Sierra de Gata and the Sierra de Meras, and cut off from Almeida and even from Ciudad Rodrigo, which they were desirous of covering. Whereas to turn their left wing would only have the effect of pushing them back on their natural line of retreat towards Rodrigo, and would press them towards rather than away from the 9th Corps. The British general’s course seems, however, to have been guided by tactical rather than by strategical considerations. He thought that he had a good opportunity of catching the 2nd Corps at Sabugal in an isolated position, and crushing it, before the 6th or the 8th could come up to its help. And but for a chance of the weather it seems that he might have accomplished this design with complete success.

Sabugal, a little walled place with a ruined Moorish castle, lies in a projecting bend or hook of the Coa, which turns back just above the town at right angles to its original course, which is directly from east to west. The river is not far from its source, and though its banks are steep its waters are narrow, and there are many fords both above and below Sabugal. If a[p. 190] strong turning column, concealing itself in the hills, passed along the south bank of the Coa, and crossed the river some miles above the town, it could throw itself upon the rear of the 2nd Corps and cut it off from its retreat on Alfayates. Meanwhile a general attack by Wellington’s main body would drive it from its position straight into the arms of the turning column, and there would be a good chance of inflicting a crushing defeat upon the corps, perhaps of capturing it wholesale. If the attack were delivered by surprise at dawn, the whole matter ought to be completed before either the 6th or the 8th Corps could get up to the support of Reynier. When at last they could appear on the field, the 2nd Corps would be already demolished, and Wellington was prepared to risk a general action.

It was with this design that his movements of the 1st and 2nd of April were planned. The 1st, 5th, and 7th Divisions were brought up from Celorico to Guarda, and from thence to join the Light, 3rd, and 6th Divisions which were already lying along the Coa over against the French lines. The 6th Division was left at Rapoulla de Coa, facing Loison’s centre, and a single battalion of the 7th Division observed the bridge of Sequeiro opposite his northern flank. These troops showed themselves freely, and kept Loison anxious, for nothing seemed more likely than that the general attack would be directed against him. Meanwhile the whole of the rest of the army, five divisions and two cavalry brigades, over 30,000 men, was launched against Reynier. The turning column was to be formed by the Light Division and the two cavalry brigades, who were to ford the Coa at two separate points two and three miles respectively above Sabugal. If Erskine, who was to command it, so decided, the column might cross even higher up: it was intended that it should appear far beyond Reynier’s left wing, and should strike over the hills of Quadraseis to the village of Torre on the Alfayates road, where it would be placed across his line of retreat. The ground in that direction was open and favourable for cavalry. Meanwhile the enemy was to be given no chance of falling upon this detachment, since he was to be attacked in front with very superior forces. Picton and his division were to cross an easy ford a mile south of Sabugal, the 5th Division was to assail the town-bridge at the same moment. The 1st and[p. 191] 7th Divisions were a few miles behind, ready to support the two leading columns in the front attack. It was intended that the turning force should cross the Coa first, but only so far ahead of the frontal attacking force as to make it certain that it should not get engaged with the main body of the enemy, before the 3rd and 5th Divisions were coming into action. The French pickets having been pushed close back to the river on the preceding day by the cavalry, it was certain that they would see nothing of the movements till they were well developed.

Unfortunately the morning of the 3rd of April was one of dense fog—good for concealing the march of the troops, but bad in that it prevented the troops from discovering their objective. Both Picton and Dunlop (who was commanding the 5th Division in Leith’s absence on leave) resolved not to move, and sent to Wellington, who was hard by, for orders. Not so the rash and presumptuous Erskine, who repeated this day the precise mistake that he had made at Casal Novo three weeks back. Without coming himself to the front, he sent an aide-de-camp to the Light Division, to bid it descend to the river and cross at the ford which had been assigned to it in the general scheme. The cavalry were also ordered to move forward and take the other ford, more to the right, by which they were to get into the enemy’s rear.[247]

Beckwith’s brigade, the leading one of the Light Division, consisted of the 1/43rd, Elder’s Ca?adores (the 3rd of that arm), and four companies of the 1/95th Rifles. It was waiting in column, on the road above the river, when Erskine’s aide-de-camp rode up, and asked the brigadier in a peremptory tone ‘why he did not cross.’ Beckwith at once struck off in the direction where he supposed the ford to be, but, missing his line in the fog, did not march sufficiently far to the right, and reached the Coa not at the true ford but at a hazardous passage nearly a mile nearer to Sabugal[248], where the water came up to the men’s arm-pits. Drummond’s brigade followed at a distance, and used the same wrong path. The cavalry, to whom Sir William Erskine[p. 192] had joined himself, taking their bearings from the Light Division, came down to the river not very far to its right, at a point some two miles more to the west than was intended. They lost much time in searching for a ford; by the time that they found one, the Light Division was already heavily engaged, and the passage ultimately discovered was so close to that force that the Dragoons came up almost in Drummond’s rear, instead of far out on his flank.

Reynier’s pickets were close to the water’s edge, and opened a scattering fire on the head of Beckwith’s column while it was still struggling across the river. But they were easily driven off, and the brigade formed up on the further side, in the usual order of the Light Division, with a very strong skirmishing screen, composed of four companies of the 95th and three of Elder’s Ca?adores. The 43rd and the other half-battalion of the Portuguese came on in line, a few hundred yards behind the riflemen. They were still smothered in the fog, and could discover nothing more than that they were pursuing the French pickets up a gentle slope, mostly unenclosed waste ground, but cut up by a few fields with low stone walls. Pushing forward briskly, they presently came upon a French regiment, which was already under arms, and preparing to show a front against them. What had happened in the mist was that the Light Division, instead of getting round the flank of Reynier’s position, had struck directly against it. The 2nd Corps had been established on the long hill behind Sabugal and above the Coa, ready to resist a frontal attack, with Merle’s division on the left and Heudelet’s on the right, above the town. Beckwith had struck upon the 4th Léger, the left regiment of the left-hand division of the corps. Merle, warned by the fire of the pickets, was making a new front, en potence to the general line of the French army, and had just got the four battalions of the extreme flank regiment drawn out. They were, as usual, in column of divisions, (double companies), with a weak skirmishing line in front, which was at once driven in by the Rifles and Ca?adores. Merle then led down his four columns against the screen of light troops which covered Beckwith’s line, and drove them back with considerable loss to himself, and little to his opponents, since he had only skirmishers to shoot at, while his own compact battalion[p. 193] columns were very vulnerable. The light troops fell back to each flank of the line presented by the 43rd and the formed companies of the Ca?adores, and then halted and turned upon the enemy. The balance of numbers was now in favour of Beckwith’s brigade, for though he had only two and a half battalions and the enemy four, the French units were very weak, the 4th Léger having only 1,100 men, while the 43rd alone was a strong battalion of 750 bayonets and its auxiliary light troops were at least 600 more. It was not surprising, therefore, that the French regiment soon went to the rear, badly hit, after a short sharp exchange of volleys. Beckwith followed, pushing the enemy through a small chestnut wood, till he arrived at the southern summit of the ridge on which the French line had been drawn out. Here he found himself confronted by the seven battalions of the 36th of the Line, and the 2nd Léger, the remaining regiments of Merle’s division, which were hurrying along the crest to the assistance of their comrades of the 4th Léger.

Blinding rain came on at this moment, and much diminished the efficacy of the British fire. Attacked by double numbers of fresh troops, Beckwith’s brigade was thrust back for some distance. But they rallied behind some stone walls of enclosures, just as the shower ceased, and after an obstinate contest of musketry, stopped the French regiments, who, falling into disorder, retired up the slope to re-form. Though conscious that he was now engaged against hopeless odds, and though he could see nothing of Drummond’s brigade or the British cavalry, which ought by this time to have come up to his support, Beckwith went up the hill a second time in pursuit. When he reached the crest he came upon the divisional battery of Merle, drove it off, and captured one howitzer. Immediately after, he was outflanked on his left by infantry, apparently the rallied 4th Léger, while on the right he was charged by two squadrons of chasseurs and hussars, all that the depleted cavalry brigade of Pierre Soult could put in line that day. The 43rd and their comrades were hardly pressed, and had to give ground, but sheltering once more among the enclosures, refused to relinquish their position on the slope. The captured howitzer lay out in their front, in an open space swept by the musketry of both parties. Desperate attempts were made by groups on each side to rush out and[p. 194] bring it in, but to no effect, as the cross-fire was too heavy. Beckwith’s brigade was in a most dangerous position, only preserved from annihilation by the fact that the mist and rain prevented the enemy from recognizing the smallness of the force opposed to him—two and a half battalions against eleven, or 1,500 men against 3,500.

At this moment assistance at last arrived—the 2nd Brigade of the Light Division under Drummond appeared on the scene. It consisted of the two battalions of the 52nd, the 1st Ca?adores, and four companies of the 95th, about 2,000 bayonets. Having lost touch of the 1st Brigade at the ford, it had taken a route much more like that originally intended by Wellington to be employed, and had come up the back slope of the heights, far to the right of Beckwith, without meeting any enemy. The noise of the combat attracted Drummond to his left; he changed his direction, and was coming over the hillside and approaching Beckwith when he received a most ill-advised order from Erskine—who was with the cavalry some way to his right rear—directing him not to advance or engage[249]. But to have held back would have meant to allow the 1st Brigade to be destroyed. Disregarding the order, Drummond deployed the 1/52nd, the Ca?adores, and the 95th on the right of the enclosures where Beckwith was fighting, with the 2/52nd in reserve, and advanced firing. This attack by a fresh force was too much for the French 2nd and 36th, who had suffered severely in the earlier fighting. They gave way, and Drummond, with Beckwith following in échelon on his left, regained the crest of the heights and recaptured the French howitzer. The two brigades were still engaged in a fierce struggle with Merle’s division when Reynier brought up the 2nd Brigade of Heudelet’s division, the seven battalions of the 17th Léger and 70th Ligne, which had formed the centre of his original line of battle. These troops attacked[p. 195] the left flank of the Light Division, Beckwith’s men, and put them in grave danger, for the much-tried 43rd and 3rd Ca?adores were in great disorder. At the same time the two French squadrons charged again upon the flank of the 52nd. Fortunately a stray squadron of the 16th Light Dragoons came up and assisted in repulsing them. This was the only aid given by the cavalry this day; Erskine contrived to keep them useless, countermarching in the mist, some way from the fighting front.

At this moment the fog suddenly lifted, and both Wellington and Reynier were able to make out the face of the battle. The sight was not altogether comforting to either of them: Wellington could see the Light Division on the crest, opposed by a very superior enemy (the proportion was about five to three at this moment) and with their left flank turned by the column which had just come up. Reynier, on the other hand, saw the masses of Picton’s and Dunlop’s divisions halted close above the fords, at and below Sabugal, and just preparing to cross. He had so stripped his centre and right, while bringing up troops to crush the Light Division, that only the two regiments forming Heudelet’s 1st Brigade, the eight weak battalions of the 31st Léger and 47th Ligne, about 3,300 bayonets, were left to occupy two miles of slope on each side of the town of Sabugal. Reynier saw that they must be scattered by the approaching onset, for 10,000 men were hurrying down towards the fords, and gave instant orders for a general retreat. The intact brigade was to abandon Sabugal and the heights, concentrate, and go off at the double, to take up a position a mile to the rear, on the road to Alfayates. Merle’s shattered troops on the crest, facing the Light Division, were directed to make off in such order as they might, taking the artillery with them, and to seek refuge behind this reserve. To prevent Beckwith and Drummond from pursuing them, the 2nd Brigade of Heudelet, the 17th Léger and 70th, were ordered to keep up a defensive fight upon the heights where they had just come into action.

This brigade was thereby exposed to grave danger, for while it was doing its best to ‘contain’ the Light Division, Picton, coming up from the river at a furious pace, with the 5th Fusiliers deployed in his front, rushed in upon its flank, and drove its battalions one upon another. The 17th and 70th were[p. 196] overwhelmed and thrust down the back of the hill with a loss of 400 men, of whom 120 were unwounded prisoners. Their wrecks took refuge with the other brigades, which retired as rapidly as they could along the Alfayates road, with the 31st Léger and 47th Ligne, the only intact body, covering the flight of the rest. The British 5th Division had crossed at Sabugal without meeting opposition or losing a man, but was too far to the left to be of any use in urging the pursuit. That duty fell to Picton, who was pressing the French rearguard when the rain, which had been falling for almost the whole morning, became absolutely torrential, and hid the face of the country-side so thoroughly that Wellington commanded the whole army to halt. It is said that this order was given on the false intelligence that the 8th Corps was visible coming up from Alfayates to join Reynier[250], a report for which there was no foundation whatever. Erskine and the cavalry never touched the retreating force, save one squadron of the German hussars, who happed upon the French transport column, and captured the private baggage of Reynier himself and General Pierre Soult[251].

So ended, in comparative disappointment, an operation which would have had glorious results if the fog had not intervened, and which might, even with that drawback, have been much more decisive if Sir William Erskine had shown ordinary prudence and ability. The actual combat, as Wellington truly observed, ‘was one of the most glorious that British troops were ever engaged in,’ for the Light Division, with its 3,500 bayonets, had fought the whole of the 2nd Corps save one brigade, and had punished its adversaries in the most exemplary style, without suffering any corresponding loss. ‘Really these attacks in column against our line are very contemptible,’ wrote Wellington to Beresford next morning. The chief glory lay with the 43rd, who fought three separate contests with three successive bodies of opponents, and counted very nearly half[p. 197] of the total British loss in their ranks. Beckwith, their brigadier, was the admired of all beholders; eye-witnesses relate with pride how he rode first in the advance and last in the retreat, with blood streaming from a wound on his temple, keeping the men in rank, checking those who showed a tendency to quicken the pace, and directing the fire with perfect coolness. It was in a great degree the confidence inspired by his cheerful and resourceful leading which enabled the brigade to keep up the fight against impossible odds, down to the moment of the arrival of Drummond and the supports upon the scene.
Map of the combat of Sabugal

Enlarge  SABUGAL

The total loss of the French was 61 officers and 689 men; this fearful proportion of losses in the commissioned ranks was due to the gallantry with which they threw away their lives in bringing up to the front the shaken and demoralized soldiers, who could not face the English musketry. One gun and 186 unwounded prisoners were taken. The British loss was only 169—that of their Portuguese companions no more than 10. Of the total of 179 no less than 143 were men of the Light Division, of whom 80 belonged to the 43rd; Picton’s troops, only engaged for a few minutes at the end of the combat, had twenty-five casualties. The horse artillery lost one, the German hussars two men wounded. It is sufficiently clear from these figures who had done the fighting that day[252].

On the afternoon following the combat of Sabugal, Masséna abandoned the line of the Coa, drawing back the 6th Corps to join the other two at Alfayates. Next morning (April 4) at early dawn the whole army made a forced march to the rear, for there seemed every probability that Wellington would appear, to force on a general action, during the course of the day, and it was necessary to avoid the chance of being thrust against the Sierra de Gata, and cut off from Ciudad Rodrigo. Accordingly the 2nd Corps covered more than twenty miles, and did not halt till it had reached Fuentes de O?oro; the[p. 198] 6th Corps, marching a less distance, halted at Fuente Guinaldo on the direct road to Ciudad Rodrigo. The 8th Corps, on a road between the other two, stopped at Campillo; the reserve cavalry of Montbrun, which was in such bad condition that it had to be covered by the infantry, instead of acting as their screen, drew back to El Bodon, and other villages in the immediate vicinity of Rodrigo. By this movement Masséna recovered his communication with the 9th Corps, which still lay on the Turon near Almeida, for the 2nd Corps was now within fifteen miles of Drouet’s head quarters at Val de Mula, while the 6th and 8th Corps covered the roads to Ciudad Rodrigo. On the following day (April 5) the two last-named corps drew back to Carpio, Marialva, and other places within a few miles of that fortress, but the 2nd Corps remained at Fuentes de O?oro, in order to keep touch with the 9th till the latter should have evacuated a position which had now become dangerous and over-advanced. For if Masséna went back to the Agueda, Drouet could not linger near Almeida, lest he should be cut off from the main army.

Meanwhile Wellington had occupied on the 4th Masséna’s old head quarters at Alfayates, and sent forward his cavalry to Albergaria, Alamedilla, and other villages, where they came in touch with the outposts of the 2nd and 8th Corps. The Light Division felt for any traces of the French at Val de Espinha and Quadraseis, and finding none pushed on to Alfayates. The 1st and 3rd Divisions came to that place also on the next day. By that evening (April 5) it was certain that Masséna was falling back to Ciudad Rodrigo, perhaps even further to the rear. The state of his army, of which Wellington had ample evidence from the capture of more sick, stragglers, and baggage during this and the two next days[253], rendered it extremely likely that the French would not be able to halt till they reached their magazines at Salamanca. The British general had no intention of following the enemy far into Spain; he had again outmarched[p. 199] his supplies, for the new base at Coimbra had only just been established, and convoys from it were coming in slowly and with great delays, since they had to be brought up over the wasted and depopulated region which the French had just evacuated. Till he had some magazines accumulated nearer the frontier, he could not dream of a serious offensive movement into Leon. His letters at this time are full of laments as to the state of the Portuguese troops, especially of the brigades which were fed by their own commissariat. They had dropped so many sick and stragglers in the advance, that on April 8th they were 2,500 short of the number with which they had started from the Lines of Torres Vedras: the brigade in the 5th Division had fallen to 1,061 rank and file from 1,400 with which it had set out—that in the 3rd Division to 1,190 from 1,319. Pack’s brigade had been left behind on the Mondego from sheer inability to march, and had not been able to join in the Guarda and Sabugal operations[254]. It was necessary to wait till the ranks were fuller—the men were not lost but left behind exhausted, and could be collected when a systematic supply of food was procurable. The allied army could not dream of entering Spain with the intention of living by plunder and requisitions, as the French habitually did.

Wellington’s ambition at the moment did not go beyond the hope of recovering Almeida, which he conceived to be doomed to fall, and possibly Ciudad Rodrigo also, if the enemy should be forced to fall back towards Salamanca. But Almeida, at least, he was determined to make his own, and the first necessity was to clear away the 9th Corps from its neighbourhood. He was convinced that Drouet would retreat when he heard that Masséna had retired to the Agueda, and thought that his motions might be quickened by a demonstration. The 6th Division and Pack’s Portuguese were destined for the blockade of Almeida, but they would not be up for some days, and meanwhile Trant’s Militia, which was already on the lower Coa, was directed to push in boldly upon the place, and promised the support of Slade’s cavalry brigade on the 7th. Trant, always daring and full of enterprise, pressed forward to Val de Mula, on[p. 200] the further side of Almeida, and met there Claparéde’s division on its way towards the Agueda—Conroux had already departed. The Militia engaged in an irregular fight with the French, who turned promptly round upon them, and seemed likely to make havoc of them near the village of Aldea do Obispo. But just as the attack grew threatening Slade’s dragoons appeared from the south, with Bull’s horse artillery battery, and drew up on the flank of the enemy’s troops. The artillery were already beginning to enfilade them, when Claparéde, forming his division into battalion squares, made a hasty retreat towards the Agueda, and passed it at the bridge of Barba del Puerco. Erskine, who was in command of the expedition, did not press him hard, and the French, according to their own account, only lost 7 killed and 4 officers and 24 men wounded, all by cannon shot, for the dragoons were not allowed to charge home[255]. Slade captured, however, some baggage and a good many stragglers, marauders, and guards of small convoys, who were surprised in the open rolling country before they could get over the Agueda.

Wellington could now surround and blockade Almeida; he had been nourishing some hopes that the French might evacuate it, when Drouet departed from its neighbourhood, for he was aware that its stores had run very low. But when it became evident that the place was not to be abandoned, he realized that it would take some weeks to reduce it, for he had no battering-train whatever, indeed there were no heavy guns nearer than Oporto and Abrantes. It was not till the following autumn that a proper siege-train was organized for the Anglo-Portuguese army. Almeida could only be attacked by the weapon of famine; Badajoz, which was beleaguered at the same time, had to be battered with a few guns borrowed from the ramparts of the neighbouring fortress of Elvas. The British army had now been two years in Portugal, yet Wellington still lacked the materials for conducting the smallest offensive operation against strongholds in the hands of the French.
Map of Masséna’s retreat. Celorico to Ciudad Rodrigo

Enlarge  map to illustrate the LAST STAGE of MASSéNA’S RETREAT
and the CAMPAIGN of FUENTES de O?ORO

[p. 201]It was known, however, that the stores in Almeida had run low, for the 9th Corps had been consuming them while it lay close by, in spite of Masséna’s strict directions to the contrary. But starvation knows no laws. As a matter of fact there were still over thirty days’ rations in the magazines, though it had been reported both to Wellington and to Masséna that the stock had run down much lower;[256] Drouet had falsely stated on one occasion that there was only enough to last for fifteen days. The British general fancied that four weeks’ blockade might reduce the place, and thought that he was quit of the Army of Portugal for a much longer space of time. He even hoped to effect something against Ciudad Rodrigo[257], which was also under-victualled, for on reaching the frontier Masséna had been forced to indent upon it for supplies for his broken host. If the French retired to Salamanca, as seemed quite probable, Wellington had hopes that he might be able to starve out Rodrigo. But he was not intending to throw his troops around it; they were to remain on the Dos Casas and the Azava, covering the siege of Almeida, but only observing the Spanish fortress with cavalry. For the cutting of the road between it and Salamanca only irregular forces were to be used: Wellington would not send any of his own divisions forward beyond Rodrigo, but requested the daring and resourceful guerrillero chief Julian Sanchez to throw his bands in this direction, the moment that the French army should have retired from the Agueda. Sanchez had been for many months already occupied in similar work, having spent all the winter in raids to cut off convoys and small parties passing from Salamanca to Ciudad Rodrigo, or from that place to Almeida. He had been hunted, often but vainly, by General Thiébault, the governor of the province, whose columns he had usually succeeded in avoiding, while he was always at hand to fall on weak or incautious detachments on the march[258].

[p. 202]On April 8th, as Wellington had expected, the Army of Portugal resumed its march into the interior of the kingdom of Leon, all the three corps passing the Agueda, and retiring, Reynier to San Felices el Grande, Junot to Santi Espiritus, Loison to Alba de Yeltes. Junot, while passing, had been ordered to send into Rodrigo a reinforcement for the garrison; he detached a battalion of the 15th and another of the Irish Legion, which brought up the troops in the place to 3,000 men. From the 8th to the 11th the retreat continued, till at last the 6th Corps went into cantonments at Salamanca, Alba de Tormes, and other neighbouring places, the 2nd at and about Ledesma, and the 8th at Toro, behind the others. Drouet and his two divisions held the line of observation against the Anglo-Portuguese, with head quarters at San Mu?oz. So ended, fifty miles within the borders of Spain, the movement that had begun at Santarem and Punhete.

The effective of Masséna’s army, was on April 15th 39,546 sabres and bayonets. It had started in September 1810 with 65,050 officers and men, and had numbered 44,407 on March 15th. The exact loss, however, was not the mere difference between its force of September 15, 1810, and of April 15, 1811 (25,504), for it had received at midwinter two drafts under Gardanne and Foy, amounting to 3,225 men in all[259]. On the other hand, the figures of April 15th do not include two convoys of sick sent back into Spain, one of 82 officers and 833 men dispatched under the charge of Drouet from the Alva on March 11, and a second and larger one sent back from Celorico to Almeida on March 22, along with which went some dismounted cavalry, and some artillery which could no longer follow the army. The whole may have amounted to 3,000 men. Both of these convoys dropped large numbers of dead and stragglers by the way, but it is impossible to ascertain their total. We must also deduct the escort of an officer, Major Casabianca, sent from the front to Ciudad Rodrigo[p. 203] on 21st January, who took 400 men[260] with him and never returned. Deducting the 4,315 thus sent back to Spain, and setting them against the 3,225 received from thence, it appears that Masséna’s total loss must have been just under 25,000 men, or 38 per cent. of his original force. Of these Wellington had some 8,000 as prisoners, including the 4,000 captured in the hospital of Coimbra on October 7th, 1810. The remainder had perished—not more than 2,000 in action, the rest by the sword of famine. Wellington’s scheme had justified itself, though its working out had taken many more weeks than he expected. Nor was the mere loss in men all that the Army of Portugal had suffered. It returned to Leon stripped of everything—without munitions, uniforms, or train. It had lost 5,872 horses of the 14,000 which it had brought into Portugal, and practically all its wheeled vehicles; there were precisely 36 waggons left with the army. The men were still ready to fight fiercely when they saw the necessity for it, but were sulky, discontented, and perpetually carping against the Commander-in-Chief, whose last unhappy inspiration—the projected march from Guarda to Plasencia—had filled up the measure of their wrath. And indeed they had good reason to be disgusted at it, for it was wholly insane and impracticable. But every misfortune of the last six months—the bloody repulse at Bussaco, the loss of the hospitals and magazines at Coimbra, the long starvation at Santarem, the slow and circuitous course of the retreat, was imputed to Masséna’s account by his chief subordinates as well as by his rank and file. What the generals muttered in the morning was loudly discussed around every camp-fire at night. The whole army had lost in morale from six months of systematic marauding, was quite out of hand in the way of discipline, and had no confidence in its leader, who was absolutely detested. The departure of Ney, who was liked and admired by all ranks, had been a great discouragement, because his skilful handling of the rearguard during the retreat had been understood and appreciated, while Masséna was cried down as a tactician no less than as a strategist on the general results of the campaign. A general whose[p. 204] troops no longer rely on him cannot get the best out of his army, and for this reason alone Napoleon was justified in removing the old Marshal from his command in April, when the full tale of the retreat had reached him.

Yet there can be no doubt that Masséna was hardly treated. That the expedition of Portugal failed was, in the main, no fault of his. Neither he nor his master, nor any one else on the French side, had foreseen Wellington’s plans—the devastation of the country-side, which rendered it impossible for the invader to live long by marauding, and the systematic fortification of the long front of the Lisbon Peninsula. For the actual game that was set before him, Masséna had not been given sufficient pieces by the Emperor. As Wellington had said more than a year before[261], the French could not turn him out of Portugal with less than 100,000 men, and Napoleon had only provided 65,000. Moreover, as the British general had added, he should so manage affairs that 100,000 French could not live in the country if they did appear; and this was no vain boast.

Masséna, then, was sent to accomplish an impossible task, and his merit was that he came nearer to his end than Wellington had believed possible, before he was forced to recoil. Many of the French marshals would never have got to Coimbra: certainly none of them would have succeeded in holding on at Santarem for three months. There can be no doubt that the Prince of Essling did not exaggerate when he wrote to Berthier[262], on March 31st, that it was his own iron will alone which had kept the army so long and so far to the front—that but for him it would have recoiled on to Spain many weeks earlier. His heroic obstinacy gave his adversary many an uneasy day, while it seemed in January and February as if the calculation for famishing the French had failed. Masséna, in short, had done all that was possible, and the general failure of the campaign was not his fault, any more than it was that of Soult, on whom the blame has always been laid by the elder marshal’s advocates. We have shown in an earlier chapter[263] that Soult did all and more than all that Napoleon had directed him to accomplish. If he[p. 205] had literally obeyed the tardy orders that reached him from Paris he would only have exposed the 5th Corps to defeat, if not to destruction. The ex post facto rebukes that the Emperor sent him were unjust. We are once more driven back to our old conclusion that the determining factors in the failure of the campaign of Portugal were firstly that Napoleon refused to appoint a single commander-in-chief in the Peninsula, to whose orders all the other marshals should be strictly subordinate, and secondly that he persisted in sending plans and directions from Paris founded on facts that were seven weeks late, or more, when his dispatches reached the front. On this we have enlarged at sufficient length on an earlier page.

SECTION XXV  EVENTS IN NORTHERN, EASTERN, AND CENTRAL SPAIN CHAPTER I
KING JOSEPH AND HIS TROUBLES

While following the fortunes of Wellington and Masséna, during the first four months of 1811, we have been compelled to leave almost untouched the sequence of events in the rest of Spain; not only the doings of Suchet and Macdonald in the far east, which had no practical connexion with the campaign of Portugal, but also the minor affairs of the southern and central provinces. Only Soult’s expedition to Estremadura, which came into close touch with Wellington, has been dealt with. It is time to explain the general posture of the war in the Peninsula, during the time when its critical point lay between Lisbon and Abrantes, where Masséna and Wellington stood face to face, each waiting for the other to move.

What was going on in Portugal was, as we have already seen, practically a secret to the French in Spain. For the Portuguese Ordenan?a and the Spanish guerrilleros had done their work of blocking the roads so well, that no accurate information penetrated to Madrid, Valladolid, or Seville from Santarem. It was only at rare intervals, when Foy and other officers cut their way through this ‘fog of war’ that the condition of affairs on the Tagus became known for a moment. The fog descended again when they had passed through on their way to Paris, and given their information as to the fortunes of the Army of Portugal during the weeks that preceded their departure. The gaps in the narrative were very long—nothing got through between the departure of Masséna from Almeida on September 15, 1810, and Foy’s first arrival at Ciudad Rodrigo on November 8th.[p. 207] There was another lacuna in the knowledge of the situation between that date and the passage of Masséna’s second successful messenger, Casabianca, from Santarem to Rodrigo in the earliest days of February. And after Casabianca had passed by, the next news came out through Foy’s second mission, when he started to announce the oncoming retreat on March 5, and got to the borders of Leon on March 13. The only way in which King Joseph at Madrid, or the generals of the ‘military governments’ of Old Castile, or Soult in Andalusia, felt the course of the war on its most important theatre, was that they were for many months freed from any anxiety about the movements of Wellington. He was ‘contained’ by Masséna, and, however he might be faring, he had no power to interfere by armed force in the affairs of Spain. The French for all this time had to deal only with the armies of the Cortes, and with their old and irrepressible enemies the guerrilleros of the mountains.

While the fate of the Portuguese expedition was still uncertain, while it seemed possible to Napoleon that Masséna might cling to his position at Santarem till Soult came up to join him on the Tagus, a considerable change was made with regard to the French troops in northern Spain. Convinced at last there was little to be said in favour of that system of many small ‘military governments’, in Old Castile and the neighbouring provinces, which he had created in 1810, the Emperor resolved to put them all under a single commander. This would give him six less independent generals to communicate with, and would ensure for the future a much better co-operation between the divisions which occupied the valley of the Douro and the Pyrenean regions. The six military governors had been each playing his own game, and taking little notice of that of his neighbours. Their enemies were mostly the guerrillero bands of the Cantabrian hills and of Navarre. Each general did his best to hunt these elusive enemies out of his own department, but took little heed of their trespasses on his neighbours’ territory. Evasive and indomitable partisans like Mina in Navarre, Julian Sanchez in Old Castile, and Porlier and Longa in the Cantabrian sierras, found it comparatively easy to shift their positions when the pressure on one region was too great for them, and to move on into another—they were sure that the hunt would soon slacken, and that they[p. 208] could return at their leisure to their old haunts. The Emperor thought that it would be possible to make an end of them, if all his garrisons and movable columns in northern Spain were put under a single commander and moved in unison under a single will. Hence came the decree of January 8, 1811, creating the ‘Army of the North,’ and handing it over to Marshal Bessières, whose name was still remembered in those regions owing to his old victory of Medina de Rio Seco. His authority extended over the troops stationed in Navarre, Biscay, Burgos, Valladolid, Salamanca, the Asturias, and Santander, including not only the regular garrisons of those provinces but the two divisions of the Young Guard, which had replaced Drouet’s corps in Old Castile, and the division under Serras which watched Galicia from the direction of Benavente and Astorga. The total of the forces placed under his orders amounted to 70,000 men, of whom 59,000 were ‘présents sous les armes,’ the rest being in hospital, or detached outside the limits of the territory assigned to the Army of the North.

Considerable as was this force, it did not accomplish all that the Emperor hoped, even when directed by a single commander of solid military talents. Bessières, though a capable officer, was not a genius, and the tasks assigned to him were so multifarious that after a short time he began to grow harassed and worried, and to cavil at every order that was sent him. He was directed to ‘suppress brigandage,’ i. e. to put down the guerrilleros, to support the Army of Portugal against Wellington whenever necessary, to keep an eye upon the Spanish regular forces in Galicia and the Asturias. This, he declared, was more than could be accomplished with the forces at his disposal. ‘If I concentrate 20,000 men all communications are lost, and the insurgents will make enormous progress. The coast would be lost as far as Bilbao. We are without resources, because it is only with the greatest pains that the troops can be fed from day to day. The spirit of the population is abominably bad: the retreat of the Army of Portugal has turned their heads. The bands of insurgents grow larger, and recruit themselves actively on every side.... The Emperor is deceived about Spain: the pacification of Spain does not depend on a battle with the English, who will accept it or refuse it as they please, and who have Portugal[p. 209] behind them for retreat. Every one knows the vicious system of our operations. Every one allows that we are too widely scattered. We occupy too much territory, we use up our resources without profit and without necessity: we are clinging on to dreams. Cadiz and Badajoz absorb all our means—Cadiz because we cannot take it, Badajoz because it requires a whole army to support it. We ought to blow up Badajoz, and to abandon the siege of Cadiz for the present. We ought to draw in, get solid bases for our magazines and hospitals, and regard two-thirds of Spain as a vast battlefield, which a battle may give us or cause us to lose, till the moment that we change our system and take in hand the real conquest and pacification of the country,’ &c.[264]

All this means that Bessières found it impossible to pacify the North, and concluded that it was useless to try to complete the conquest of Andalusia or Portugal, when that of Navarre and Santander was so far from being secure that no small party could go two miles from a garrison town, without a large probability of being cut off by the insurgents. He would have had his master abandon Andalusia and Estremadura, in order to concentrate such masses of troops in the north that the guerrilleros should be smothered by mere numbers, that every mountain village should have its garrison. There was small likelihood that his views would find favour at Paris; the Emperor knew well enough the effect on his prestige that would result from the abandonment of the siege of Cadiz, following upon the retreat of Masséna from Santarem. It would look like a confession of defeat, a renunciation of the great game of conquest; if the French armies retired beyond the Sierra Morena, the results of eighteen months of victorious campaigning in the south would be lost, and the Cortes at Cadiz would once more have a realm to administer. Hence all that Napoleon did for Bessières was to send him in June two new divisions for the strengthening of the garrisons of the North[265], and to bid him fortify every important station on the high-road to Madrid, and even the main bridges of the upper Ebro. A few months later he recalled him, partly[p. 210] because he considered him a pessimist, partly because Bessières quarrelled with King Joseph, who was continually soliciting his removal. But before the Duke of Istria departed he had many more troubles to go through, as will be seen.

The main difficulties of the Army of the North arose from geographical facts. While the plains of Leon and Old Castile could be scoured by cavalry, and easily traversed by flying columns, so that it was not impossible to keep some sort of order in them, this flat upland was bordered on the north by the long chain of the Cantabrian sierras and their foot-hills, broad, rugged, and nearly roadless. Behind these again lay the narrow and difficult coast-land of Asturias and Santander, cut up into countless petty valleys each drained by its own small river, and parted from its neighbours by spurs of the great sierras. How was this mountain region, seventy miles broad and two hundred long, to be dealt with? The French had no permanent garrisons on the coast between Gijon, the port of Oviedo, which was generally occupied by a detachment of Bonnet’s division, and Santander, not far from the borders of Biscay[266]. This last Bessières describes as ‘a bad post from every point of view, only to be defended by covering it with large bodies of troops,’ and only accessible by a series of difficult defiles. In the Cantabrian highlands dwelt Longa and Porlier, with bands which had assumed the proportions of small armies; they could communicate with the sea at any one of a dozen petty ports, and draw arms and supplies from the British cruisers of the Bay of Biscay. Even Mina would occasionally get in touch with the sea through this coast-land, though his main sphere of operations was in Navarre. There were dozens of smaller bands, each based on its own valley, but capable of joining its neighbours for a sudden stroke. Again and again French columns worked up into these sierras from the plain of the Douro, and went on a hunt after the patriots. Sometimes they caught them and inflicted severe loss; more often they were eluded by their enemies, who fled by paths that regular troops could not follow, into some distant corner of the mountains. It was impossible to garrison each upland valley with a force that could resist a general levy of the insur[p. 211]gents. Even little towns like Potes, in the Liebana, Longa’s usual head quarters, which were repeatedly taken, could not be kept. The ‘Army of the North’ would have required 150,000 men instead of the 70,000 whom Bessières actually commanded, if it was to master the whole of this difficult region. Indeed, Cantabria could only have been conquered by an enemy possessing a sea force to attack it in the rear, and occupy all its little ports, as well as an overwhelming land army operating from all sides. To the end of the war Longa and Porlier, often hunted but never destroyed, maintained themselves without any great difficulty in their fastnesses. Nothing but the general despair and demoralization that might have followed the extinction of the patriotic cause in the whole of the rest of Spain, could have brought the war in this region to an end. Nothing of the kind occurred: the Cantabrians kept a high spirit; they won many small successes, and they were perpetually helped by the British from the side of the sea. Bessières had a hopeless problem before him in this quarter, considering the size of his army.

But this was not his only trouble; Bonnet in Asturias was holding Oviedo and the district immediately round it with a strong division, which varied at one time and another from 6,000 to 8,000 men. He was very useful in his present position, because he cut the Spanish line of defence along the north coast in two, and because he seemed to threaten Galicia from the north-east. The threat was not a very real one, for he had not enough men to deliver an attack on eastern Galicia and at the same time to hold Oviedo and its neighbourhood. But he was a source of trouble as well as of strength to his superiors, for it was very difficult to keep in touch with him through the pass of Pajares, and if he were to be attacked at once by the Galicians and by a British landing-force, his position would be a very dangerous one. He had been put to great trouble by Renovales’s naval expedition in October 1810[267], though this was but a small force and had not received any real help from Galicia along the land side. Bessières, after he had been a few months in authority, was inclined to withdraw Bonnet to the south side of the sierras, and to abandon Oviedo, but was warned against such a move by his master, who said that this would be ‘a detestable opera[p. 212]tion,’ as it would relieve Galicia from the threat of invasion, allow of the re-formation of a Junta and an army in Asturias, and necessitate a heavy concentration at Santander[268]. Nevertheless the Marshal did at one crisis withdraw the division from Oviedo.

Between Bonnet in the Asturias and Ciudad Rodrigo, the long front against Galicia was occupied by a single weak French division, that of Serras, whose head quarters were at Benavente, his advanced post at Astorga, and his flank-guards at Leon and Zamora[269]. If the army of Galicia had been in good order this force would have been in great danger, for it was not strong enough to hold the ground allotted to it. But when Del Parque in 1809 drew off to Estremadura the old Army of the North, he had left behind him only a few skeleton corps, and the best of these had been destroyed in defending Astorga in the following year. The formation of a new Galician army of 20,000 men had been decreed, and the cadres left behind in the country had been filled up in 1810, but the results were not satisfactory. The Captain-General, Mahy, was a man of little energy, and spent most of it in quarrels with the local Junta, whom he accused of conspiracy against him, and charged with secret correspondence with La Romana and his party. He seized their letters in the post and imprisoned two members, whereupon riots broke out, and complaints were sent to the Regency at Cadiz. This led to Mahy’s recall, and the captain-generalship was given to the Duke of Albuquerque, then on his mission to London. He died without having returned to Spain, so that the appointment was nugatory, and the Regency then gave it to Casta?os, who was at the same time made Captain-General of Estremadura, after the death of La Romana and the disaster at the Gebora. Casta?os went to the Tagus, to rally the poor remnants of the Estremaduran army, and while retaining the nominal command in Galicia never visited that province, but deputed the command in it to Santocildes, the young general who had so bravely defended Astorga in the preceding spring. He had been sent prisoner to France, but was adroit enough to escape[p. 213] from his captivity, and to make his way back to Corunna. His appointment was popular, but he got no great service out of the Galician army, which was in a deplorable condition, and hopelessly scattered. The Junta kept many battalions to garrison the harbour-fortresses of Corunna, Vigo, and Ferrol, and the main body, whose head quarters lay at Villafranca in the Vierzo, did not amount to more than 7,000 men, destitute of cavalry (which Galicia could never produce) and very poorly provided with artillery. There was another division, under General Cabrera, some 4,000 strong, at Puebla de Senabria, and a third under Barcena and Losada on the borders of the Asturias, opposite Bonnet. The whole did not amount to 16,000 raw troops—yet this was sufficient to hold Serras in observation and to watch Bonnet, who was too much distracted by the Cantabrian bands to be really dangerous. But in the spring of 1811 the Galicians could do no more, and Wellington was much chagrined to find that he could get no effective assistance from them, after he had driven Masséna behind the Agueda, and so shaken the hold of the French on the whole kingdom of Leon. It was not till June that Santocildes found it possible to descend from the hills and threaten Serras. This led to a petty campaign about Astorga and on the Orbigo river, which will be narrated in its due place.

While affairs stood thus in the north, King Joseph and his ‘Army of the Centre’ were profiting for many months from the absence of any danger upon the side of Portugal. Indeed, the period between September 1810 and April 1811 were the least disturbed of any in the short and troublous reign of the Rey Intruso, so far as regular military affairs went. There was no enemy to face save the guerrilleros, yet these bold partisans, of whom the best known were the Empecinado and El Medico (Dr. Juan Palarea) on the side of the eastern mountains, and Julian Sanchez more to the west, on the borders of Leon, sufficed to keep the 20,000 men of whom King Joseph could dispose[270][p. 214] in constant employment. Such a force was not too much when every small town, almost every village, of New Castile had to be provided with a garrison. Roughly speaking, each province absorbed a division: the Germans of the Rheinbund occupied La Mancha, Lahoussaye’s dragoons and the incomplete division of Dessolles[271] held Toledo and its district, the King’s Spaniards the Guadalajara country, leaving only the Royal Guards and some drafts and detachments to garrison the capital. It was with considerable difficulty that Joseph collected in January 1811 a small expeditionary force of not over 3,500 men[272], with which Lahoussaye went out, partly to open up communications with Soult in Estremadura, but more especially to search for any traces of the vanished army of Masséna in the direction of the Portuguese frontier. Lahoussaye started from Talavera on February 1, communicated by means of his cavalry with Soult’s outposts between Truxillo and Merida, and then went northward across the Tagus to Plasencia, from which his cavalry searched in vain, as far as Coria and Alcantara, for any news of the Army of Portugal. From Plasencia he was soon driven back to Toledo by want of supplies. Joseph had directed him to seize Alcantara, re-establish its broken bridge, and place a garrison there; but this turned out to be absolutely impossible, for it would have been useless to leave a small force in this remote spot, when it was certain that it must ere long retire for lack of food, and might well be cut off by the guerrilleros before it could reach Talavera, the nearest occupied point[273].

The Army of the Centre just sufficed to occupy the kingdom of New Castile, and was unable to do more. At least, however, it could maintain its position, and was in no danger. The King was even able to make state visits to places in the close neighbourhood of Madrid, such as Alcala and Guadalajara[274], and[p. 215] seems to have regarded the possibility of such a modest tour as a sign of the approaching pacification of this region.

But just at the moment when Joseph Bonaparte’s military situation was safe, if not satisfactory, he was passing through a diplomatic crisis which absorbed all his attention and reduced him to the verge of despair. We have already alluded, in an earlier chapter, to Napoleon’s insane resolve to annex all Spain beyond the Ebro to the French Empire[275], in return for which he was proposing to hand over Portugal, when it should be conquered, to his brother. The proclamation announcing this strange resolve, which was to make Frenchmen of Mina and all the guerrilleros of Navarre, no less than of the Catalan armies which were still striving so hard against Macdonald, was delayed in publication. For the Emperor wished to wait till Lisbon was in the hands of Masséna, before he made known his purpose. But Joseph was aware that the proclamation had been drawn up, and had been sent out to the governors of the northern provinces, who were only waiting for orders to issue it. The news that the English had evacuated Portugal might any day arrive, and would be the signal for the dismemberment of Spain. He had sent in succession to Paris his two most trusted Spanish adherents, the Duke of Santa-Fé and the Marquis of Almenara, to beg the Emperor to forgo his purpose; all was to no effect. Santa-Fé came back in December absolutely crushed by the reception that he had been given; the Emperor had delivered to him an angry diatribe, in which he complained that his brother forgot that he was a French prince, and remarked that ‘many other European sovereigns, who had received much harder measure, did not make nearly so much noise about it as the King of Spain[276].’ Almenara reached Madrid about a week later to report an equally characteristic interview with Napoleon. He had been directed to inform his master that he should be given one more chance. Let him open negotiations with the Cortes at Cadiz, making them the offer that if they would recognize him as King of Spain, he would recognize them as lawful representatives of the nation, and rule them according to the[p. 216] constitution drawn up at Bayonne. Cadiz and the other fortresses held by the troops of the Regency must open their gates, and Napoleon would then promise to make no annexations of Spanish soil; he would even guarantee the integrity of the kingdom. If the Cortes refused to treat, the Emperor would regard himself as free from any previous engagements made with his brother or the Spanish nation. The provinces beyond the Ebro would become part of France. He added that if affairs in Portugal went badly, it would not be wise to open negotiations with Cadiz at all, for fear that the Spaniards might take the mere fact that proposals had been made to them as a token of growing fear and depression on the part of Joseph.

The King and his ministers knew well the impracticability of making any offer to the government of Cadiz, which (with all its faults and internal dissensions) was determined to fight to the death, and had never shown the least intention of recognizing Napoleon’s nominee as King of Spain. They looked upon the scheme as merely a preliminary to the publication of the edict for the annexation of the provinces beyond the Ebro. King Joseph was to be made to demonstrate his own futility, since he would receive an angry and contemptuous reply, or no reply at all, and it would then be open to his brother to declare that the attempt to govern a united Spain by a king had failed, and that it was necessary to dismember it—perhaps to cut it up into a number of French military governments. This seems to have been Joseph’s own impression; in the council at which the Emperor’s proposal was discussed, he broke out into violent reproaches and bitter complaints against his brother, and explained with tears to his ministers that he and they were betrayed. He was now for abdicating, and this would have been the most dignified course to take. He talked of buying an estate in France, and settling down, far from Paris, as a private person. He had indeed charged his wife’s nephew, Marius Clary, to cross the Pyrenees, and purchase a castle and lands for him in Touraine or the South, where he might hide his disgrace and disappointment.

This move provoked Napoleon’s wrath. He signified his displeasure. ‘The members of the Imperial family could not legally make any acquisition of land in France without the[p. 217] formal consent of the Emperor. In addition, it was impossible for the King of Spain, or the commander of the Army of the Centre, to quit his post without having received the Imperial authorization. Painful as the declaration must be, if the King took such a hazardous step, he should be arrested at Bayonne on crossing the frontier. There must be no more talk about the constitution of Bayonne: the Emperor could dispose of Spain at his good pleasure, and in the interests of the French Empire alone.’ If Joseph persisted in the idea of abdication, he must first make a formal statement to that effect to the French ambassador at Madrid, and, provided that it was considered that the step would cause no dangerous results, nor give rise to any slanderous reports, he might come to his estate of Morfontaine near Paris and ‘finish the matter en règle[277].’

Joseph at first seemed inclined to accept any terms by which he might emerge from his present ignominious position, and actually had several interviews with Laforest, in which they discussed the drafting of a deed of abdication. But it seemed that Napoleon would prefer the prolongation of the present state of affairs, and for his own purposes intended that a puppet king should continue at Madrid. By the ambassador’s advice the document ultimately took the shape of a letter in which Joseph, instead of abdicating in definitive form, merely stated his wish to do so, and referred it to his brother. His confidant, Miot de Melito, with whom he talked over the whole matter, expresses his opinion that at the last moment the fascination of the crown overpowered his master’s full sense of resentment. ‘The King’s note was a good piece of writing, but I consider that it did not state clearly enough that the course to which he inclined, and which he preferred to all others, was abdication. I wished that he had made a stronger affirmation of this, and told him so, but to no effect. It was easy to see that the name of King had still a powerful attraction, from which Joseph could[p. 218] not escape, and I wondered at the glamour and intoxication which (as it seems) hangs about supreme power, since the mere shadow of that power could overweigh with him so many rebuffs and so much resentment[278].’

Napoleon made no reply to his brother’s declaration; he had no intention of taking over the formal responsibility for the government of Spain, and preferred to leave another to answer for all its obvious injustices and oppressions. Affairs were at a standstill for some months, till in April Joseph, taking the opportunity of a formal invitation to become one of the godfathers of the newly-born King of Rome, the heir of the Empire, made a sudden and unauthorized sally to Paris. He started from Madrid on April 23, accompanied by nine of his courtiers and ministers, and crossed the Bidassoa into France on May 10. He made no halt at Bayonne, lest he should be stopped there by orders from his brother, and when, at Dax in Gascony, he received an Imperial dispatch forbidding him to quit Spain, he was able to plead that it was too late to act upon it. Pursuing his journey night and day, he presented himself at Paris on May 15th, and announced to Napoleon that he was come to discharge in person the honourable duties of god-parent at the approaching baptism of his nephew.

Though annoyed at the King’s arrival, for refusals and evasions of a brother’s petitions are transacted more easily by letter than face to face, the Emperor thought it well to make no open show of displeasure, and accepted all the explanations given to him. There followed a series of interviews at Rambouillet, in which Joseph allowed himself to be talked out of his project of abdication: for the Emperor declared that he found him useful in his present position, and informed him that it was his duty, as a brother and a French prince, to obey the directions of the head of his house. In return Napoleon promised to make many arrangements which would render the King’s position less intolerable than it had been for the last year. He would provide him with a monthly subsidy of a million francs from the French treasury, of which half would be for the sustenance of his court and ministers, and the other half for the pay of the Army of the[p. 219] Centre. Orders were issued to Soult, commanding the Army of Andalusia, Bessières, commanding the newly-formed Army of the North, and Suchet, so far as the Army of Aragon was concerned (but not for Catalonia), by which they were directed to pay over to a commissary appointed by Joseph one quarter of the gross revenues which they were raising in the districts which they occupied. They were also directed to leave the law courts in the King’s hands, and not to allow judgements to be given in the name of the Emperor. It was this last practice, frequently adopted by Kellermann in Castile, which had irritated Joseph more than any other misdemeanour of the local commandants.

What Joseph most desired, a real directing power over the movements of all the French troops in Spain, was not given him. But he was granted a sort of illusory superintending authority: if he was at the head quarters of any of the armies, he was to be given the honours of supreme command; all the marshals and generals commanding armies were to send him frequent reports, and not to undertake any operations without informing him of them. ‘The King must have reports of everything that happens; he must know everything, and be able to act in his central position as a sort of agency for transmitting information to the generals. This communication of intelligence, observations, and advice may even take place through his Spanish Minister of War[279],’ wrote the Emperor. The King flattered himself that this meagre concession gave him something like a directing authority over the armies. He told his courtiers that he was given the position of General-in-Chief[280], and used his brother’s permission to send advice in reams to each of the local commanders. Unfortunately there was no way of making them take this advice; they answered more or less politely, showing reasons why they could not follow it, and went on their own ways as before. It was to no effect that Joseph got leave to have his old friend Marshal Jourdan sent back to him, first as governor of Madrid, and later as chief of the staff. He flattered himself[p. 220] that his dispatches would be taken more seriously by Soult or Suchet when they came countersigned by a marshal of France. But he erred, for the younger commanders looked upon Jourdan as effete and past his prime—nor were they altogether wrong.

Nothing can be more curious than the Emperor’s memorandum to Berthier, which directs him to lay these conditions before Joseph. ‘I am thus,’ he writes, ‘satisfying the desires which the King expressed to me, save on the single point of the supreme command over my troops. I cannot give away that supreme command, because I do not see any man capable of managing the troops, and yet the command ought to be one and indivisible. In the note which the King gave me, all the arrangements were complex and confused. It is in the nature of things that if one marshal were placed at Madrid, and directed all operations, he would want to have all the glory along with all the responsibility. The commanders of the Armies of the South and of Portugal would think themselves under the orders not so much of the King as of that marshal, and in consequence would not give him obedience.... My intention is to make no change whatever in the military command, neither with the Army of the North, nor the Army of Aragon, nor the Army of the South, nor the Army of Portugal, save so much as is necessary to secure for the King reports from them all.... I want to do all that I can to give the King a new prestige on his return to Spain, but nothing that may in any way disorganize the Army of Andalusia, or any of the other armies[281].’

It is clear that we have in these few sentences the key to all Napoleon’s difficulties in conducting the Spanish war. He did not wish to ‘have a marshal at Madrid who would want to have all the glory along with all the responsibility,’ i. e. he refused to make one of his servants dangerously great. Soult’s intrigues for kingship at Oporto in 1809 were not forgotten, and Soult would have been the obvious candidate for supreme command, now that Masséna had been tried and found wanting. The Emperor preferred to go on with the hopeless system that was already working, by which he himself directed operations from[p. 221] Paris, basing his orders on facts that were often a month old when he learnt of them, and sending out those orders to reach their destination another month later. He was aware of the evils of this arrangement, but anything was better than to hand over supreme power over 300,000 soldiers to a single lieutenant. It is strange that he did not resolve to descend into Spain himself during the summer of 1811, for European politics were at the moment so quiet that he was actually thinking of concentrating 80,000 men at Boulogne, for a real or a threatened descent on the British Isles[282], a project which he had not been able to dream of since Trafalgar. The tension between France and Russia, which was to increase in a dangerous fashion during the autumn, was not so great in May or June as to make the idea of a Spanish campaign impossible. If it was possible to think of an invasion of England at this moment, it was surely equally feasible to consider the advantages of a descent on Lisbon or Cadiz. But apparently it was the physical distance between Paris and the further end of the Peninsula which deterred the Emperor from seizing what turned out to be the last available opportunity for a sally beyond the Pyrenees. As he himself observed on another occasion, he would be at the end of the world in Portugal, and a crisis might arise behind his back before he got any adequate news of it[283]. This was different from campaigning in central Europe; when at Vienna or Berlin he was still in touch with Paris. The only parallel to an invasion of Portugal would be an invasion of Russia, and it will be remembered that Napoleon’s apprehensions were absolutely justified by what occurred in the autumn of 1812 during his absence at Moscow. The astounding conspiracy of General Malet was within an ace of succeeding,[p. 222] because it was possible to put about all manner of false rumours, when the Emperor was lost to sight on the steppes. A handful of plotters—we might almost say a single plotter, Malet himself—with no assets save impudence and reckless courage, seized the imperial ministers, mustered an armed force, and almost established a provisional government and mastered Paris. This was only possible because the Emperor and the grand army had got so far off that the touch between them and France had been lost, and absence of news for many days had set the tongue of rumour loose[284]. Under such circumstances almost anything might happen, for imposing as was the Colossus of the French Empire, it stood on no firm base, its feet were of clay. Napoleon hoped to build a permanent structure, but there can be no doubt that all through his reign its stability depended on his own life and strength. If he had been cut off suddenly by a cannon-ball at Jena or Wagram, or by the knife of a fanatic such as Staps—Spain could have produced such enthusiasts by the score—chaos would have supervened in France. When once the rumour was set about that the Emperor was dead, anything became possible in Paris. No one knew this better than himself; in his cynical moments he would remark to his confidants that he was well aware that if sudden death came to him the public feeling would be one of relief rather than of sorrow. It was the constraining force of his own indomitable will alone which kept everything together, and if he removed himself to some very remote corner of Europe, from which his orders could not be transmitted continuously and at short intervals, there was grave danger that the machine might run down.

Hence it may perhaps be said that the Peninsula was saved from the presence of the Emperor in 1811 because of the necessary limitations of a one-man power. He dared not remove himself from the centre of affairs; he would not make one of his jealous and ambitious lieutenants over-great, by giving him supreme command. This being so, the bad old system had to go on, and that system of over-late orders grounded on over-late information[285], and followed (or not followed) by over-late[p. 223] execution, was bound to fail, when the enemy’s movements were guided by the cool and resolute brain of Wellington. More than once Napoleon wrote in a petulant mood to complain that it was absurd that all his Spanish armies should be detained and kept in check by a mere 30,000 British troops[286]; he refused for a long time to take the Portuguese seriously, and would only reckon the Spanish guerrilleros as ‘brigands’ or ‘canaille.’ What he failed to see was that a small army worked by a general on the spot, who had minute local knowledge and admirable foresight, was necessarily superior to a much larger force directed by orders from a distance, and commanded by several marshals who were bitterly jealous of each other. Moreover he never thoroughly comprehended the way in which the movements of his armies were delayed by the fact that they were moving in a country where every peasant was their enemy, where provisions could only be collected by armed force, and where no dispatch would reach its destination unless it were guarded by an escort of from 50 to 250 men. And he refused to see that a division or an army corps was in Spain practically no more than the garrison of the province which it occupied—that, if it moved, that province immediately became hostile soil again, and would have to be reconquered. He was always prescribing the concentration of large bodies of men, by means of the evacuation of places or regions of secondary importance[287]. His marshals, knowing the[p. 224] practical inconveniences of such evacuations, were loth to carry them out. To disgarrison a region meant that all communications were cut off, and that the nearest posts were at once blockaded by guerrillero bands. Whenever the Army of Andalusia concentrated, it ceased to receive its dispatches or its convoys from Madrid, and soon learned that Granada and Seville were being menaced. Whenever the Army of the North concentrated, the road between Vittoria and Burgos was cut, and the partidas descended from the Cantabrian mountains to threaten all the posts in Old Castile. And the concentration, when made, could only continue for a few days for lack of food, for there is hardly a region in Spain where a very large army, 80,000 or 100,000 men, can live on the country for a week. It was this, and no mere jealousy of rival generals, which forced Soult and Marmont to part, as we shall see, in June 1811, and Marmont and Dorsenne in September of the same year, and which in November 1812 prevented the immense body formed by the united Armies of the South, Centre, North, and Portugal, from pursuing Wellington to Ciudad Rodrigo. If such a force as 80,000 men were concentrated, it had to be fed; after a few days of living on the country it would be forced to ask for convoys. But convoys coming from long distances were the destined prey of the guerrilleros; if not captured they were at least delayed ad infinitum. Meanwhile the army in front would run out of provisions, and be forced to scatter itself once more in order to live. After Masséna’s venture no French marshal ever dared to think of plunging into Portugal, where he knew that he would find before him a country systematically devastated. No one was better aware of this limitation of the French power than Wellington. He had written as early as 1809 that the enemy could not turn him out of the Peninsula with anything less than 100,000 men, and that he could make such arrangements that an army of that number could not live in the country. The prophecy was fulfilled over and over again. With the enormous strength of the imperial armies it was not impossible to collect 80,000 or 100,000 men—but it was impossible to feed them. All concentrations must be but temporary. When the enemy was massed, the Anglo-Portuguese army might have to give ground, or only to accept an action under the most favourable conditions. But the[p. 225] French would soon have to scatter, and then Wellington regained his freedom of action.

It was useless, therefore, for the Emperor to reiterate his orders that his marshals were to join their armies and ‘livrer enfin une belle bataille’ against Wellington[288]. It takes two sides to fight a battle, and Wellington was determined never to accept a general action, when the numbers were hopelessly against him. He would give back into Portugal, and the enemy could not follow him for more than a march or two.

Meanwhile, though he could not undertake to descend himself into Portugal, Napoleon did not cease to pour troops across the Pyrenees. It is often said that after Masséna’s expedition of 1810 he began to neglect the Peninsula, and to turn all his thoughts towards the growing tension with Russia. This is not correct; it ignores the fact that the French armies in Spain rose to their highest numbers during the year 1811. While not ceasing to send their regular drafts to all the corps there engaged, the Emperor dispatched three new divisions of his best troops to the front during the summer. These were no collections of newly-raised fourth battalions or régiments de marche, but old units of high reputation, drawn partly from the Army of Italy, partly from the garrisons of the coasts of France. One division, under General Souham, ultimately went to join the Army of Portugal, the second, under General Caffarelli, was absorbed in the Army of the North, the third, under General Reille, was sent to reinforce the garrison of Navarre and Aragon, where Suchet wanted fresh troops to occupy the land behind him, when he was pushing forward towards Catalonia and Valencia. In addition, two fresh regiments of Italian troops were requisitioned from the Viceroy Eugène Beauharnais for service in eastern Spain[289]. The total reinforcement to the armies beyond[p. 226] the Pyrenees amounted to some 25,000 men, in addition to the regular annual draft of conscripts. The deficit in the strength of the French forces caused by Masséna’s losses in Portugal was more than made up, and the gross total in October 1811 amounted to no less than 368,000 men. Nothing was withdrawn from the Peninsula till the following winter.

SECTION XXV: CHAPTER II
SUCHET ON THE EBRO. THE FALL OF TORTOSA.
DECEMBER 1810-MARCH 1811

In the last pages of the third volume of this work we brought the history of the campaigns of Suchet and Macdonald in Aragon and Catalonia as far as December 12th, 1810, the day on which the Marshal came down to the lower Ebro at the head of the field-divisions of the 7th Corps, in order to cover the long-delayed siege of Tortosa, which his colleague, the commander of the Army of Aragon, was about to take in hand.

For five months, ever since August 1810, as it will be remembered, Suchet had been waiting to commence the attack on Tortosa, which he was not strong enough to conduct with his own resources, since the besieger would have not only to execute his own operations, but to fend off at the same time all attempts by the Spanish armies of Catalonia and Valencia to relieve a fortress which was equally important to each of them. For Tortosa commanded the one land route by which Catalonia and Valencia were still able to communicate with each other; no other bridge on the Ebro was in Spanish hands. It was highly desirable to keep the line of defence in eastern Spain unbroken, and Tortosa lay at its narrowest and most dangerous point. The Emperor Napoleon attached an immense importance to its capture, and considered that after its fall, and that of Tarragona, the conquest of Valencia and the termination of the war on this side of the Peninsula would be at hand. Already in September 1810 he was looking forward to all these events as matters of the near future[290]. But though Tortosa was actually to be captured in January 1811, Tarragona in June, and Valencia in December, the long-foreseen consummation was never to come to pass. For two years more, down to the very end of[p. 228] the war, the indomitable Catalans were destined to maintain their independence, despite of all the successes of the French arms.

Tortosa was not quite so indispensable in reality as it looked on the map. For though it would have been a point of absolutely vital importance to the Spaniards, if they had been compelled to conduct all their operations by land, it must not be forgotten that the British command of the Mediterranean gave an alternative route for communication between north and south, which the French could never touch. Long after Tortosa had fallen, troops were repeatedly and easily transferred from Catalonia to Valencia, and vice versa, despite of the fact that Suchet had completely mastered all the land routes. Indeed it may be said that the sea passage from one to the other was always preferable to the route through Tortosa, for the country about both banks of the lower Ebro was rugged, barren, and thinly peopled, and Tortosa itself—a decayed city of 10,000 inhabitants—was the only place in this region which presented resources of any kind for an army on the march. It is, moreover, twenty miles from the sea, and not a port; strange to say, there is no decent harbour at the mouth of the Ebro. Though the river is intermittently navigable for a good many miles in its lower course, its estuary has never been a point through which trade discharges itself to the sea. The commerce of southern Catalonia goes to Tarragona, sixty miles to the north of the Ebro mouth, that of Northern Valencia to Peniscola, thirty miles to its south. Tortosa, indeed, was more important to the French than to the Spaniards, since Napoleon’s armies were tied down to land routes, and, if ever they were to make a lodgement in Valencia, would find the possession of that city and its bridge absolutely necessary, if they were to keep in touch with the troops left in Catalonia.

At last, in December 1810, Macdonald had accomplished the preliminary duties which rendered it possible for him to move on Tortosa. He had revictualled Barcelona, so that it would be safe for some months from famine, and he had repaired the gap in the French lines in northern Catalonia, which had been caused by Henry O’Donnell’s daring expedition to La Bispal in the preceding September. Though the Spanish army had not been[p. 229] crushed, nor indeed seriously injured, it had been thrust aside for the moment: Macdonald had brought down three divisions, over 15,000 men, to Mora on the Ebro, some twenty-five miles to the north of Tortosa, and with them he was prepared to act as a covering force to the projected siege. He was strong enough to render any attempt at relief by the Catalan army impossible, for a force sufficient to beat him could not be collected by the enemy, unless they abandoned all their outlying posts; and this was practically impossible, for local feeling in the Principality was too strong to allow of the withdrawal of the smaller Spanish detachments from the various valleys and small towns which they covered. There was still the Valencian army to be considered; but Suchet considered that he could himself deal with that unfortunate and oft-defeated force; he had already proved its weakness at the series of engagements in August[291] in which he had so effectually scattered the levies of the dictator José Caro. One division would probably suffice to keep the Valencians at bay, while with two others the actual siege of Tortosa could be taken in hand. It was the Catalan army alone which had made Suchet anxious, and he was now to be relieved of all care on that side by Macdonald.

The preparations for the siege, it will be remembered, had long been in progress; ever since August magazines and material had been accumulating at Xerta. They had been brought down the Ebro from Mequinenza, whenever the water was high enough to allow of navigation—not without much difficulty, and occasional petty disasters when the Catalan miqueletes made a pounce upon an exposed convoy[292]. Fifty-two heavy guns were now lying ready at Xerta, with 30,000 rounds of ammunition for them, and 90,000 lb. more of powder. To set in motion the besieging army and this very large battering-train, it only required that the covering forces on each side of the Ebro should take up their positions. When Macdonald had brought up his troops to Mora, and undertaken to move them to Perello, the junction point of the two roads from Tortosa to Tarragona, nothing more remained to be settled. If the Catalan army should try to attack him it would certainly be beaten, being far too weak[p. 230] to face 15,000 French troops concentrated in one body. For the restraining of the Valencians, on the other side of the Ebro, General Musnier with 7,000 men was placed at Uldecona, twelve miles beyond Tortosa on the great road to the south.

These arrangements being made, Suchet crossed the Ebro at Xerta by his pontoon bridge on December 15th with twelve battalions, and made a sweeping circular march to shut in Tortosa on the northern side, while five battalions more, under General Abbé, moved by the other bank to block the bridge-head, by which the city communicates with Valencia and the south. The operation was completed without resistance, save at the Col de Alba, where a post of 600 Catalans, placed to cover the road between Tortosa and the pass of Balaguer, was discovered. This small force was driven into Tortosa after a skirmish; two small convoys on their way from Tarragona by sea had to turn back, because the way into the city was closed.

The siege of Tortosa was remarkable for its swift progress and complete success—it can only be compared with Wellington’s capture of Ciudad Rodrigo, just a year later, in this respect. The Army of Aragon arrived in front of the city on December 16th—the surrender took place on January 2nd. At first sight the problem set before Suchet appeared by no means likely to receive such a rapid solution, for Tortosa as a fortress had many strong points. The city lies on and around the end of a spur of the Sierra de Alba, which runs down to the bank of the Ebro. This spur at its termination is many-headed: three ravines divide it into four separate hills, of which the highest is that crowned by the castle. The other three die down into undulations, and leave between them and the Ebro a comparatively flat space, on which the lower part of the town is built. Its higher quarters lie on the slopes where the various hills begin to rise from the level. The old enceinte of Tortosa had consisted of a mediaeval wall running across the hills and down the ravines between them, so as to enclose nothing but the inhabited parts of the city. But after a famous siege during the War of the Spanish Succession (1708), a number of outer works had been constructed to crown the culminating summit of each hill, and keep future besiegers at a distance, while part of the inner ancient fortifications had been transformed into a series of bastions, so far as the ground allowed.

[p. 231]The outer works were: (1) Starting from the river, on the extreme north-east front, a large hornwork called Las Tenazas[293], crowning the hill which lies most to the left, protecting the suburb of Remolinos, and commanding the flat ground as far as the river, from which it is only 400 yards distant. (2) A second hornwork covered the outer side of the castle hill: this was called El Bonete; there was a deep ravine on each side of it. (3) A sort of outer enceinte with three bastions (La Victoria, El Cristo, and Cruces) runs along the summit of the fourth hill, which is broader than the rest and expands into a plateau; the old town wall formed a second line in rear of this advanced front. (4) The last hill, that most towards the south-east, was crowned by a strong closed fort, named after the Duke of Orleans, the general who had captured the city for Philip V in the year 1708. Between the Orleans hill and the river there was no high ground; this was the only open front of the city which was approachable on a level without any natural hindrances. Here the enceinte had no outer works; it consisted of two large bastions, San Pedro and San Juan, with a demi-lune named El Temple projecting between them. This last was a low work of no great strength: the curtain behind it, which joined San Pedro and San Juan, was a mere shell with no terrace or room for guns. The other (south-western) side of the city was sufficiently protected by the broad and swift river, 300 yards in width; behind it was only the ancient wall, but, as this was wholly inaccessible, its weakness did not matter. In the middle of the river front, which was 1,200 yards long, was a gate leading to the great bridge of boats. This was protected on the further bank by a little tête-du-pont, built in the form of a ravelin and well armed with artillery.

The garrison consisted, when the siege began, of 7,179 men, including 600 artillery and a weak battalion of Urban Guards. The regiments were drawn partly from the Catalonian and partly from the Valencian army, there being seven battalions from the former and four from the latter[294]. The governor was[p. 232] Major-General Lilli, Conde de Alacha, an old officer who had won some credit, two years back, by bringing off his small corps intact after the battle of Tudela, when he had been cut off by the French in the mountains[295]. Unfortunately it is impossible to argue that because an officer has made a skilful retreat he is a good fighting-man. Lilli, indeed, proved the reverse on this occasion—all that can be said in his defence is that he was old and in bad health. His conduct during the siege was vacillating and inexplicable; he more than once declared that he would give over charge of the defence to the second in command, Brigadier-General Yriarte. But he would then appear again, and countermand all Yriarte’s orders. In the end he capitulated on his own account, against the wishes and without the knowledge of the brigadier.

The problem in poliorcetics set before Suchet and his engineers at Tortosa had some resemblance to that which was to confront Wellington at Badajoz a few months later. Given a town to besiege which is partly built on heights crowned by forts and partly in the flat, is it better to attack one of the forts, which if taken commands the whole town, or to start against the lower front? The latter will be easier to assail, but after its fall the strongholds on the heights may hold out as independent fortresses. Whereas if a dominating work on a high-lying hill is taken in hand, it may make a very hard and long resistance, but, if once it is captured, the whole city is overlooked by it and must surrender. The answer to the problem seems to be that all depends on the governor and the garrison; if he and they are weak, it will suffice to attack the easier front, for when the lower town has fallen the morale will be so shaken that they will surrender, without attempting to hold the upper works. But if they are active and obstinate, it may be worth while to aim[p. 233] at the most commanding position, which, if captured, absolutely compels the capitulation of the whole place. Yet there remains the danger that the crucial fort may be so strong that no effort can take it from a determined defender. This happened to Wellington at the two earlier sieges of Badajoz; the fall of San Cristobal would have brought about most inevitably the surrender of the city. But it proved too hard a nut to crack, in the time and with the means at the English general’s disposal. Suchet at Tortosa struck at the easiest front, taking the risk that he might have to conduct a second siege of the upper works (as he had to do at Tarragona, his next leaguer). When he had breached the weakest point, but before a storm had been tried, the imbecile governor capitulated.

The weak front of Tortosa was the bastion of San Pedro and the demi-lune of El Temple on its flank. They were not properly supported or flanked by any works on higher ground, for Fort Orleans (on the nearest hill) did not command all the flats in front of San Pedro, and moreover Suchet intended to give this fort so much business on its own account that its gunners would have little attention to spare for the attack on the lower ground to their right. There were two additional advantages: the soil in front of San Pedro was soft river mould, very easy to dig; and moreover this bastion could be enfiladed by batteries on the other side of the Ebro. Such batteries had nothing to fear, if properly constructed, from the guns of the little tête-du-pont; while on the river front of the city there were no cannon at all—they could not be mounted on the mediaeval walls.

On the 16th, 17th, and 18th Suchet was employed in bringing up his siege-guns, choosing the emplacements of his camps, and constructing flying-bridges across the river, both above and below the fortress. On the 19th active operations started, with the development of a false attack on Fort Orleans, whose attention it was necessary to distract. The construction of a first parallel against this work was begun with some ostentation, and had to be carried out under a furious fire from its artillery. On the night of the 20th-21st the real business commenced: 2,300 men crept across the flat ground by the river opposite San Pedro, and threw up an entrenchment within 160 yards of its ditch. They were undiscovered and unopposed, for the night[p. 234] was dark and windy, and the Spaniards had no outposts beyond the walls, and kept bad watch. At dawn 500 paces of trench had been constructed, and a safe access to the parallel had been contrived, by connecting one of its ends with a ravine which cuts across the flat a little to the rear, and whose bottom could not be searched by the guns of the place. The trench was sloped away on the right, so as not to be enfiladed by downward fire from Fort Orleans, which would have commanded it supposing it had been drawn exactly parallel to the front of San Pedro. This was a tremendously advantageous start; seldom has a besieger been able to begin his works at such a short distance from his objective.

Next morning the new trench became visible to the Spaniards, who turned all the artillery of the neighbouring front upon it, but to little effect, for the soil was soft and the French had dug deep. A sortie was made from the demi-lune of El Temple, but was driven off with loss. The only successful effort of the Spaniards on this day was that the guns of Fort Orleans succeeded in destroying part of the trenches of the false attack in front of them, and drove out the workers. This was of little consequence, as Suchet was not really aiming at the fort. On the 22nd and 23rd December the main attack was urged with a celerity that seemed appalling to the defenders; despite of a heavy fire of musketry as well as of artillery, approaches were pushed forward from the first parallel, to within 80 yards of the bastion of San Pedro and 110 yards of the Temple demi-lune. The works opposite Fort Orleans were repaired and extended. On the 24th the two approaches in the plain were connected by a long trench, which formed the second parallel, only 60 yards from the walls. On the 25th new zigzags, thrown out from this line, reached the glacis of San Pedro. The garrison made two sorties in the night to hinder this advance at all hazards, but failed, being driven off by the musketry from the second parallel without much difficulty: the force employed, 300 men, was too small. Meanwhile the artillery and sappers were constructing ten batteries, four—and these the largest—in the main frontal attack, but four others on the heights over against Fort Orleans, and two beyond the river, whose special purpose was to enfilade the front of San Pedro,[p. 235] and also to play upon the bridge of boats which joined the city to the tête-du-pont. The trenches on the heights before Fort Orleans were also strengthened, and a second parallel constructed in front of the first, at some loss of life; but it was necessary to keep the enemy on this front employed, or he would have interfered too much with the real attack in the plain.

All this had been accomplished before the French had fired a single gun; there is hardly another instance to be quoted of a siege in which the assailants got up to the glacis, and crowned the covered way, without any assistance from their artillery. It seems that the gunnery of the defence must have been exceptionally bad, and the sorties hitherto had been small and feeble—quite insufficient to interfere with, much less to destroy, the approaches. Noting batteries sketched out on several points and approaching completion, Yriarte saw that he must at all costs try to delay the opening of the adversary’s fire, and on the night of the 27th-28th made two sallies in considerable force—600 men came out of the Rastro gate, beyond Fort Orleans, to attack the upper trenches, as many more issued from San Pedro against the main attack. The first-named sortie was an entire failure—most of the men lay down and began to skirmish with the trench-guard before they had got near the works; a very few reached them, and were killed on the parapet. But the attack in the plain was a serious one, and pressed home. The lodgement in the covered way was captured and destroyed, and the Spaniards penetrated to the second parallel, and captured part of it for a time. They were finally driven out by a reserve of four battalions commanded by General Abbé, but not before they had done considerable damage. The besiegers had to spend the following day and night (28-29 December) in repairing the trenches and parapets, and getting a fresh lodgement in the covered way. On the morning of the latter day the ten siege-batteries opened simultaneously with 45 guns, and very soon gained a marked superiority over the fire of the defence. The cannon of Fort Orleans and the bastion of San Juan were silenced, as were also those of the Temple demi-lune and San Pedro. The bridge of boats was nearly destroyed. Next night, the Spanish fire being crushed, the third parallel was[p. 236] constructed on the very brink of the ditch of San Pedro, and within 25 yards of the wall of the bastion. The mortar batteries were employed in distributing a rain of projectiles in the streets behind the attacked front, to prevent the besieged from constructing defences and barricades on which they might fall back when the wall was breached. Though not altogether successful—for the Spaniards succeeded in building some traverses and in blocking and loopholing many houses—the bombardment caused many casualties, and cowed the population, who evacuated this quarter and sought refuge in the interior of the town. The interior of Fort Orleans was also shelled with some effect: its garrison retired to their bomb-proofs, and kept very quiet, making little attempt to repair the injuries to its outer wall, or to replace the injured cannon.

On the night of the 30th the French succeeded in getting down from the third parallel into the ditch of San Pedro, with the object of mining the scarp and blowing down sufficient debris to fill the ditch. Their first party was driven out again by the fire of two guns which had been brought up to enfilade the ditch from the extreme flank of the bastion. But on the following morning all the siege-batteries were turned on to these guns, and destroyed them. Meanwhile the Spaniards had abandoned the tête-du-pont, taking the men away by boat, and throwing the guns into the water, except three injured and spiked pieces. The ditch was occupied during the day (December 31st) and the miners got to work, so little incommoded by the fire of the defenders, who were hardly visible on the wall, that they lost only two men killed while establishing themselves in their dangerous position. Their most serious hindrance came from the good quality of the masonry which they were attacking—it was mediaeval work and as hard as iron. The decisive stroke at this point, however, was to be given by the artillery, and on the night of the 31st a battery for four 24-pounders was commenced in the third parallel—only 25 yards away from the ramparts of San Pedro. It had not yet opened when, at ten o’clock on the morning of January 1st, 1811, the governor hoisted the white flag, and sent a Colonel Veyan into Suchet’s camp, to treat for surrender. The proposals, however, were quite inadmissible, as Alacha only covenanted to evacuate[p. 237] Tortosa if it were not relieved in fifteen days, and demanded that the garrison should not be prisoners of war, but should be allowed to march to Tarragona with arms and baggage. Suchet refused to treat (as was natural) but was delighted with the aspect of affairs—a garrison which begins to parley before there is a practicable breach in its walls is obviously demoralized, and needs only a little further persuasion by the strong arm. He sent back with the Spanish parlementaire his own chief of the staff, Colonel Saint Cyr-Nugues, with orders to impress on the governor the futility of further demands such as those he had just made. He announced that he should storm the place next morning unless one of the upper forts were placed in his hands as a pledge of complete submission. The governor therefore called and consulted a council of war: some of the officers and notables assembled voted that an attempt must be made to defend the breach, others that the garrison should retire into the castle and forts, and abandon the town as untenable. But there were some despairing voices raised: the representatives of the municipality spoke with terror of the bombardment of the last few days; some of the officers complained that their troops were completely demoralized, and were leaving their posts to hide in the town. Suchet’s proposals, nevertheless, were rejected.

Only a little more persuasion, however, was required to break down Alacha’s nerve. On the morning of the 2nd of January the 4-gun battery opposite San Pedro opened with the best effect; by the afternoon there was a breach 15 yards broad, and the miners reported that they had got deep enough into the lower walls to make an explosion profitable. The curtain at the back of the Temple demi-lune had also been much battered, and was crumbling—but an assault here was not practicable, as the intervening work was still in the hands of the Spaniards. For a second time the governor hoisted the white flag, but Suchet ordered the fire to continue at the breach, and began to collect his storming columns in the shelter of the parallels, while his mortar batteries played on the town at large. He was afraid that the enemy was scheming for a suspension of arms, during which they would clandestinely repair and retrench the broken wall. The answer that he sent back, when a second parlementaire came out to him, was that he must have a simple[p. 238] and complete capitulation, and that one of the upper forts must be placed in his hands before he would allow the bombardment to cease.
Map of the siege of Tortosa

Enlarge  TORTOSA

Alacha continued to keep the white flag flying on the citadel and to exchange messages with Suchet, while the fire was still going on at the breach of San Pedro, where Yriarte was doing his best to keep his men together, though he had his doubts as to the result of the threatened assault. Meanwhile the French general took an extraordinary resolution: gathering from the confused and wavering replies of the governor that the old man was at his wit’s end, and ready to yield to pressure, he came to the castle gate himself, with his staff and a company of grenadiers, and sent for the officer on guard—who did not order his men to fire because the white flag was flying, and messengers continually passing to and fro. Suchet told the astonished subaltern that hostilities were at an end, and that he must see the governor without delay. When Alacha came down to him, he assumed a peremptory tone, said that further resistance was criminal, that the assault was about to take place at once, and that the garrison would be put to the sword if resistance continued. He bade the governor ratify on the spot the terms of capitulation which had been sent in upon the previous afternoon. Utterly cowed, the old man obeyed at once, called for a pen, and signed the document upon the carriage of a gun. The company of grenadiers which had accompanied Suchet occupied the castle, and orders were sent down to the city to cease all resistance. The first notice that Yriarte got of what had happened was by hearing French drums beating in the streets behind him, as a column descended from the citadel to force the defenders of the breach to lay down their arms[296]. When they had withdrawn, the storming column ran into the gap, and sacked the quarter adjoining, despite of the cries and[p. 239] remonstrances of their officers. They would not be cheated out of what they considered their lawful prey[297].

In this disgraceful way fell Tortosa, after only eighteen days of siege, twelve of open trenches, and four of bombardment. The French lost no more than 400 men, nearly half of them among the sappers and artillerymen[298], for the infantry only suffered in repelling the sorties. The Spaniards had about 1,400 killed and wounded, but as the garrison marched out only 3,974 strong and had started with 7,179, it is clear that there had been other wastage. During the last days of the siege the Urban Guard disappeared, and the commanders of the regular troops were complaining bitterly of desertion among their men. Indeed, from the governor downwards, there seems to have been too much demoralization in all ranks. The second in command, Yriarte, and many other officers did their duty, but the defence was not what might have been expected from Catalans, with the example of Gerona before their eyes. From the start Suchet had the mastery, and largely owing to the mismanagement of his adversaries; if (for example) they had kept proper watch, he would never have been able to start his first parallel at the distance of only 160 yards from the walls—this piece of luck saved him many days of work. But if the defence was unskilful, and anything rather than resolute, the main responsibility falls on the governor, whose conduct was calculated to discourage even the most zealous subordinates. For he sometimes pleaded his age and infirmity, and declared that he handed over all responsibility to the second in command, shutting himself up in the castle for whole days at a time; but on other occasions he interfered in details, countermanded orders, and practically resumed charge of the defence. But to call a council of war, to receive its opinion in favour of protracted defence, and then to capitulate behind its back was worst of all. Such con[p. 240]duct was absolutely ignominious, and it was not without reason that the Catalan Junta ordered him to be tried (in his absence) for cowardice and treason. He was condemned to death, and the sentence (grotesquely enough) carried out upon his effigy, while he was safe in France, a prisoner on parole.

That nothing was done from outside to save Tortosa was mainly due to the rapidity of Suchet’s operations. The Junta of Catalonia was busily engaged in concerting measures for concentrating a relieving army, had sent to Cadiz for arms and (if possible) reinforcements, and had opened negotiations with the Valencians and with the irregular forces of Carbajal and Villa Campa in the Aragonese mountains. But who could calculate that the defence would last only eighteen days? Before any general scheme had been worked out the place had fallen[299]. The only organized force in the neighbourhood was the section of the Catalan army which lay in and about Tarragona. The responsibility here lay no longer with the active Henry O’Donnell, who had thrown up the command in December, and sailed to the Balearic Islands to give his gangrened wounds time to heal. General Yranzo, as the senior officer in the principality, ought to have taken over the charge of operations; but he called a council of war at Tarragona, and declared himself unwilling to assume the position that had fallen to him. He was unpopular, and the Catalans were holding violent meetings in favour of the Marquis of Campoverde, who enjoyed much local popularity at the moment. This ambitious officer finally obtained the interim command, owing to the abnegation of his seniors; but Tortosa had fallen before he was seated in the saddle, for he was finally recognized as chief only upon January 6th, four days after the capitulation.

But even a capable officer, enjoying undisputed control over all the Catalan forces, could have done little during the few days that the siege of Tortosa lasted. The covering army under Macdonald was too strong to be meddled with by the two divisions based on Tarragona. On the first day of the siege (as we have already seen) he marched from Mora with his 15,000 men: on the 18th he came up to Perello, where meet the two[p. 241] roads from Tortosa to the north, thus absolutely barring any attempt to approach the place. After some days he found it impossible to feed his troops in this rugged spot, and divided them, placing one division of 6,000 men under Frère on the Tarragona-Amposta road, in the direct rear of the besieging army, while with the other two he retired to Ginestar on the Ebro, twenty miles due north of Tortosa, from whence he could reinforce Suchet in a single march if the Spaniards made any movement. But no one came against him: the existence of his army in this quarter sufficed to paralyse the modest force then lying in the neighbourhood of Tarragona. Campoverde took one division to the Fort of Balaguer, covering the coast road, from which he observed Frère at a distance; while Yranzo with the other occupied Macdonald’s old head quarters at Momblanch. But they knew that they were too weak to risk an advance from these points, and while they remained quiet Tortosa fell. The only diversions carried out during the siege were in corners of Catalonia, where even a considerable success would have had no effect on the course of affairs on the lower Ebro. A French foraging party of 650 cavalry was cut up at Tarrega, near Lerida, on January 1, by a detachment from Momblanch. On December 25, a landing party from the British frigates on the Catalan station surprised the post of Palamos, and destroyed there two gunboats and eight transports which were coasting down from Cette towards Barcelona. But remaining on shore too long they were surprised by a French flying column, and driven back to their boats with a loss of over 200 men, including Captain Fane of the Cambrian, the officer in command.

On the news of the fall of Tortosa the Spanish divisions drew back towards Tarragona. Suchet left General Habert in charge of the captured city, dispersed Musnier’s troops to Morella, Alca?iz and Mequinenza, and left the Neapolitan brigade lent him by Macdonald at Mora. Harispe’s division escorted the Spanish prisoners to Saragossa, and was accompanied by Suchet himself, who had much to settle in Aragon before he took in hand the siege of Tarragona, the next task imposed upon him by the Emperor, who had informed him that ‘he would find his Marshal’s baton within its walls’. Before leaving the neighbourhood of Tortosa Suchet ordered four[p. 242] battalions of Habert’s division to execute a coup de main upon the little fort of San Felipe de Balaguer, on the coast defile of the Col de Balaguer so often mentioned of late. It was completely successful—after a short bombardment, part of the garrison escaped along the Tarragona road; the governor with ninety men surrendered [January 8, 1811]. The fort was a trifling work, but its strategic position was eminently important, as it blocks the only road along the sea from Tarragona to the regions of the Ebro mouth.

Macdonald, being no longer needed in the direction of Tortosa, resolved to return to Lerida, at the same time that Suchet went off to Saragossa. They were to meet again in the spring for the great enterprise against Tarragona. For reasons not easy to fathom, the Marshal made his march to his base not by the direct road, but past Tarragona via Reus and Valls. Probably he was desirous of clearing the country-side of the outlying Spanish troops as a preliminary to the siege, and perhaps he had some idea of destroying any magazines that might lie in this direction. That he could have no serious intention of blockading Tarragona was shown by the fact that he had sent back all his cavalry, save one regiment, and most of his guns, to Lerida. Since he had also lent his Neapolitan brigade to Suchet, his column was not much over 12,000 strong.

Macdonald was usually unlucky in his Catalonian campaigning; though he had won great reputation in mountain warfare against the Austrians in his early days, he does not seem to have been able to apply his knowledge of it to Spain. Marching from Ginestar by Falset, he reached and occupied the large town of Reus, only ten miles from Tarragona, on January 12th. From thence he set his army in motion for Valls on the 15th, marching across the front of the fortress, with which he clearly had no intention of interfering. His vanguard was formed by the Italian division, which was followed at a distance of three miles by his three French brigades and his single regiment of cavalry. Meanwhile Campoverde, now in command at Tarragona, had detached General Sarsfield with a division of 3,000 foot and 800 horse—all that the Army of Catalonia possessed—to observe the march of the French, while he himself remained just outside Tarragona with the remainder of his troops—some 8,000 men.[p. 243] Sarsfield had taken post at Pla, some five miles north of Valls, which town he had evacuated on the approach of the enemy. When Macdonald’s leading brigade reached Valls, information was received that there was a Spanish force close in its front. Without waiting for orders from the Marshal, who had merely directed that Valls should be occupied, the commander of the vanguard, General Eugenio[300], resolved to bring the enemy to action. Marching with five Italian battalions and only thirty chasseurs—about 2,500 men in all—he ran headlong into Sarsfield’s forces drawn up in a well-masked position, the infantry occupying a ridge, the 800 cavalry hidden in a wood to the left. Unable to estimate the enemy’s strength, and thinking that a brisk attack might drive them off the ground, Eugenio—a man of reckless courage—made a direct frontal charge against the enemy’s position in column of battalions. He was completely beaten, his brigade fell back still fighting, and he was himself mortally wounded. The recoiling mass was saved from annihilation by the arrival on the field of the other Italian brigade, that of Palombini, on which it rallied. But Sarsfield’s troops were determined to finish appropriately the day that they had begun so well. They fell on the newly formed line and broke it, the cavalry turning Palombini’s right and sweeping it away. The whole Italian division would have been annihilated but for the arrival of two squadrons of the 24th Dragoons under Colonel Delort, who charged the victorious cavalry, and, though hopelessly outnumbered, gave the Spaniards so much trouble that the routed infantry of Eugenio and Palombini escaped into Valls, without much further loss. Macdonald had refrained from bringing up the French brigades to help his vanguard, because he had discovered a column under Campoverde coming out of Tarragona to threaten his rear. This demonstration kept him occupied while the Italians were being cut up by Sarsfield, whose operations were extremely well managed and resolute. The Italian division and the dragoons lost 600 men including a few prisoners[301]—the Spaniards only 160.

[p. 244]Next day (January 16th) Macdonald was in order of battle at Valls, with two fronts, one facing towards Sarsfield and the north, the other towards Campoverde and Tarragona. But the Spaniards wisely refused to commit themselves to a general engagement, and Macdonald would not divide his army by marching to assail one or the other of the two hostile columns. In the night he retreated to Momblanch by a forced march, leaving the enemy encouraged by the results of the combat of the 15th, and no less by the fact that the Marshal had not tried to avenge his check by an attack on the following day. The French retired to Lerida unmolested, and the Duke of Tarentum began to make preparations for his approaching return to Tarragona in company with Suchet’s corps, as had been ordered by the Emperor. It is difficult to see that Macdonald gained anything by his curious flank march, and he certainly lost heavily in prestige. Campoverde, exultant at the good fortune of his first venture in arms, recovered from the despondency caused by the fall of Tortosa, and dreamed of making a great blow against the French by no less an achievement than the recapture of Barcelona.

Ever since the commencement of the war plots and conspiracies had been rife in that great city—it will be remembered that Duhesme had been forced to punish the most important of them by a series of executions[302]. Discontent was as keen as ever, and a knot of patriots had formed a scheme for opening to their friends without the gates of the fortress of Monjuich, which dominates the whole place. This was to be done by the assistance of a repentant ‘Juramentado,’ a Spanish commissary in the French service named Alcina, who had access to the stronghold, and imagined that he had corrupted the fort-major, a certain Captain Sunier, who for a great sum of money undertook to leave one of its posterns open on the night of March 19th. Campoverde, who loved plots and intrigues, arranged to have his men ready outside the ditch on the appointed night. Unfortunately the officer who was supposed to be a traitor was only[p. 245] feigning discontent and treason, and kept informing Maurice Mathieu, the governor of Barcelona, of all the details of the plot. It was allowed to proceed, in order that a sharp blow might be inflicted on the Spaniards. Before the appointed night Campoverde suddenly marched the divisions of Sarsfield and Courten to the immediate vicinity of Barcelona, and sent forward from them a body of 800 grenadiers, who were to execute the actual coup de main. They were allowed to descend into the ditch of Monjuich, and to approach the postern, when the whole of the ramparts were lighted up with cressets and fire-balls, and a furious fire was opened upon them. The head of the column was blown to pieces, a hundred men were killed and wounded at the first volley, and four officers and many of the rank and file taken prisoners, before the remainder could scramble off in the darkness. The supports hurriedly retired, and the business was over—save that Maurice Mathieu caused the commissary Alcina to be shot in public next morning as a warning to traitors. Such plots seldom succeed, but that they must not be too much disregarded as a source of danger was shown only a few weeks later, when Figueras, the second fortress of Catalonia, was successfully surprised by the Spaniards, as the result of a conspiracy exactly similar to that which failed at Barcelona[303].

The unfortunate affair at Monjuich was not the only sign of the revived activity of the Catalans under the leadership of Campoverde, a busy and active man, but (as subsequent events showed) one lacking both resolution and true strategic instinct. He was one of those who take many schemes in hand, but fail for want of determination at the critical moment, and was a very poor substitute for that hard fighter Henry O’Donnell, whose place he had been so eager to seize. On March 3rd he made a vain attack to recover the fort of San Felipe de Balaguer—marching with Courten’s division of 4,000 men he beat the French 117th out of Perello, where it was covering Tortosa, and laid siege to the fort. But General Habert came up with a force from the garrison to reinforce the 117th, and the attack had to be given up almost as soon as it was begun. More fruitful were some attacks of the somatenes of northern Catalonia on convoys passing between Gerona and Hostalrich. And[p. 246] Sarsfield, pushing forward to Cervera, usefully restrained the foraging of Macdonald’s cavalry in the region east of Lerida. But all this came to little, and Campoverde’s efforts seemed to have no very visible results, and certainly did nothing decisive to prevent Suchet and Macdonald from completing their preparations for the siege of Tarragona.

It was much the same in Aragon, where Villacampa and Carbajal were contending in the mountains of the south with the garrisons which held Daroca, Alca?iz, Teruel, and the other chief towns of this rugged and thinly peopled district. The fall of Tortosa had set free for the moment many troops of the 3rd Corps, and Suchet employed them in scouring the country between these posts, and endeavouring to clear away the partidas from their chief rallying-places. Flying columns under Generals Paris and Abbé marched up and down the sierras in the vile weather of February, expelled the insurrectionary Junta of Aragon from Cuenca, which was at that time its head quarters, and chased Carbajal to Moya, where the frontiers of Castile, Aragon, and Valencia meet. The Empecinado came over the mountains, from his usual beat in the Guadalajara country, to help the Aragonese, but had small success. Yet the net result of all this hunting was little. ‘This expedition,’ says Suchet himself, ‘which took two brigades over the border into Castile for twelve days, procured us a few hundred prisoners; a more useful thing was the destruction of some small manufactures of arms. But we were to see ten times, nay a hundred times more, these partisans appearing once again in the plains; they always surrounded us, were always dispersed rather than defeated, and never grew discouraged[304].’
SECTION XXVI  FUENTES DE O?ORO AND ALBUERA CHAPTER I
BERESFORD’S CAMPAIGN IN ESTREMADURA. THE FIRST SIEGE OF BADAJOZ. MARCH-APRIL 1811

On the 11th of March, as it will be remembered, Imaz—the deplorable successor of the gallant Menacho—surrendered Badajoz to Marshal Soult, despite of the messages which he had received that an Anglo-Portuguese corps was on its way for his relief. On the 14th the conqueror, appalled at the news of the battle of Barrosa and the danger of Seville, marched back to Andalusia, taking with him a brigade of dragoons and the greater part of Gazan’s infantry division. He left behind him in Estremadura Mortier with a force of some 11,000 men, composed of fifteen battalions of the 5th Corps[305], five cavalry regiments[306], and a heavy proportion of artillerymen and engineers, who were required for the garrisoning of the fortress of Badajoz no less than for the siege of the small places in its vicinity, whose capture Soult had delegated to Mortier as his parting legacy.

This was a small force to leave behind, charged not only with the occupation of an extensive province, but with the duty of continuing the offensive, by attacking Campo Mayor and Albuquerque. Elvas the Marshal can hardly have hoped to assail—it was a fortress as large and in some ways stronger than Badajoz, with a garrison composed of Portuguese troops of the line. Any idea of an invasion of the Alemtejo was useless, now that it was known that Masséna had departed from his old position on the Tagus. The Emperor had ordered Soult to undertake it[p. 248] merely for Masséna’s assistance, and the ‘Army of Portugal’ was no longer needing such help: for good or for ill it had moved away on its own business. It remained to be seen whether Mortier would be able to carry out the orders given him, for no one in the French camp could tell whether the British relieving force for Badajoz, whose existence had been known since March 8th, had actually started for Estremadura, or had joined in the pursuit of Masséna, when it received the news that Imaz had made his disgraceful capitulation. If this force were on its way, and proved to be strong in numbers, Mortier would be thrown at once on the defensive. His duty would be to hold off the Allies till Badajoz was in a state of defence: and the repairing of the fortress would take some time, even though the greater part of its fortifications were intact, and only the Pardaleras Fort and the ruined bastions behind it required reconstruction. If the Allies came on in great force, and without delaying for a moment, it was even possible that Mortier would have to blow up Badajoz and withdraw its garrison, for it would be absurd to leave behind, in an untenable post, such a large body of men as would be required for the holding of its extensive enceinte.

The actual course of affairs in Estremadura followed logically from Wellington’s orders to Beresford on the 9th and the 15th of March. On the 8th, as it will be remembered, Beresford had been directed to march to the relief of Badajoz with the 2nd and 4th Divisions and Hamilton’s Portuguese, some 18,000 men. On the 9th these orders had been countermanded, on a false report that Masséna had concentrated and was offering battle behind Thomar. The 4th Division and one brigade (Hoghton’s) of the 2nd were called off, and marched to join Wellington’s main body. The rest of the 2nd Division and Hamilton’s Portuguese stood halted, in or near Abrantes, till the intentions of the French should be discovered. It was not till March 12th that Wellington, reassured as to his adversaries’ intentions, thought it possible once more to take the relief of Badajoz in hand[307].[p. 249] The troops about Abrantes were ordered to prepare to march for the Guadiana in successive brigades; the absent brigade of the 2nd Division, which had reached Thomar, was directed to retrace its steps and join the main body of that unit. But the 4th Division had gone on much further; it was well on its way towards Coimbra, and was engaged in the Pombal-Redinha operations. It was not till the 15th that Wellington thought himself able to dispatch it, along with De Grey’s brigade of dragoons, to cross the Tagus in the wake of the 2nd Division. Beresford himself, who had joined the main army for a few days by Wellington’s own orders, was not given his final instructions and sent off to the south till the following morning.

But before the moment at which Beresford started, the whole face of affairs had been changed by the news, received on the 14th, that Badajoz had surrendered on the 11th. Wellington was not prepared for this blow. ‘I had received on the 9th,’ he wrote to Lord Liverpool, ‘accounts of a most favourable nature, from which I was induced to believe not only that the place was in no danger, but that it was in fact untouched: that its fire was superior to that of the enemy, that it was in no want of provisions and ammunition, had sustained no loss, excepting that of the governor Menacho, and was able and likely to hold out for a month. General Imaz, a person of equally good reputation, had succeeded to the command, and great confidence was reposed in him.... I had called up to the army the 4th Division of infantry and the brigade of heavy cavalry, under the conviction that Badajoz would hold out for the time during which it would be necessary to employ them. Experience has shown that I could not have done without these troops, and it is also clear that, if I had left them behind, they could not have saved Badajoz, which the governor surrendered on the day after he received my assurances[p. 250] that he should be relieved, and my entreaties that he would hold out to the last moment[308].’

As far as the argument from time goes, it is clear that Wellington is stating indisputable facts. Supposing that he had not countermanded on the 9th of March the orders to Beresford which he had given on the previous night, and that the three divisions designated for service in Estremadura had marched with unrelaxing vigour, the head of their column could not have been further forward than Arronches (if they took the Portalegre road) or Estremos (if they took the Elvas road) at the moment when Imaz surrendered. As the former of these points is about twenty-five and the latter about thirty miles from Badajoz, the capitulation would not have been prevented. For the governor was determined to surrender, and did so in full knowledge of the fact, transmitted by semaphore from Elvas[309], that a relieving expedition was in hand. Whether the nearest allied troops were (as was actually the case) at Abrantes or (as might have been the case) at Estremos, would not have affected him. For, as the proceedings recorded at his council of war show, he concealed from his officers the news that succour was promised, and allowed one of them to put down in the procès verbal of the proceedings the statement that ‘there was no official news whatever that any army of succour was in movement.’ Such official news Imaz possessed, through the semaphore messages sent on by General Leite at Elvas, so that it is evident that he kept them from the knowledge of his subordinates.

If Badajoz had held out for a fortnight after March 9th,—and Wellington supposed that it was well able to defend itself for a whole month—the relieving column would have been in good time. The dispatch of March 12th set in motion two divisions from near Abrantes, that of the 15th sent on the third from the banks of the Ceira. Steady marches of twenty miles a day, or a little less, would have brought Stewart and Hamilton to the neighbourhood of Badajoz on the 17th, and Cole with the 4th Division and the dragoon brigade on the[p. 251] 24th[310]. If, as is probable, Beresford had waited for the arrival of the last-named force before presenting himself in front of the French lines, the 24th of March would have been the critical day. It is hard to believe that Soult could have fought to advantage, since he must have left so many men to blockade Badajoz that he could not have faced Beresford with more than 12,000 sabres and bayonets, numbers inadequate to hold off the 18,000 Anglo-Portuguese who formed the allied Army of Estremadura. It is quite probable that he might have raised the siege, and offered battle with his whole army, somewhere south of Badajoz. But into these possibilities it is profitless to inquire.

Since, however, Wellington and Beresford knew on the night of the 14th that Imaz had surrendered, there was no longer the same need for haste that existed down to this moment, and the advance of the Anglo-Portuguese army was made at a moderate pace. Hamilton’s Portuguese were at Portalegre by the 17th, the 2nd Division came in on the 19th and 20th. Beresford himself appeared on the latter day, having ridden through from the neighbourhood of Coimbra in four days. The 4th Division, which had made an admirable march, a hundred and ten miles of mountain road in six days, came up on the 22nd. On this day, therefore, the whole 18,000 men of the expeditionary force were collected within forty miles of Badajoz, and Beresford had to make up his mind as to the course of his campaign. The orders given to him by Wellington had been to concentrate at Portalegre and attack the French, who (as it had now been ascertained) were moving out to besiege the little Portuguese fortress of Campo Mayor, just across the frontier. The small Spanish force under Casta?os at Estremos—the wrecks of the old Army of Estremadura—was to be called up to assist[311]. Wellington, who did not know of Soult’s departure for Seville,[p. 252] thought that he could not possibly collect enough men, after garrisoning Badajoz and Olivenza, to enable him to face Beresford. In a supplementary dispatch he told his colleague that he thought it most likely that the Marshal would go south of the Guadiana without accepting battle. In that case the allied army must be careful, when following him, not to trust its communications and line of advance or retreat to any temporary bridge, but must use the Portuguese riverside fortress of Jerumenha as its base, and construct there a bridge composed of twenty Spanish pontoon-boats, which (as Wellington was informed) had been floated down from Badajoz before the siege of that place began. Beresford was to construct a strong tête-du-pont on the Spanish bank to cover this bridge[312], and might then move forward and invest Badajoz if he were able.

A most prescient note occurs in this dispatch, which seems as if it were written in prophetical foresight of what was to happen at Campo Mayor five days later. ‘The cavalry is the most delicate arm we possess. We have few officers who have practical knowledge of the mode of using it, or who have ever seen more than two regiments together. To these circumstances add that the defeat of, or any great loss sustained by, our cavalry in these open grounds would be a misfortune, amounting almost to a defeat of the whole; you will therefore see the necessity of keeping your cavalry as much as possible en masse, and in reserve, to be thrown in at the moment when opportunity offers for striking a decisive blow.’ It looks almost as if Wellington knew that General Long, who commanded Beresford’s cavalry, was going to make the very mistakes that he actually committed on the first collision with the enemy.

The moment that the 4th Division and De Grey’s dragoons reached Portalegre, Beresford began his march on Campo Mayor (March 22) sending out Colborne’s and Lumley’s brigades of the 2nd Division to Arronches, and the Portuguese cavalry brigade of Otway to Azumar. This last-named unit had been watching the frontier between the Tagus and the Guadiana ever since Masséna’s retreat from Santarem, and joined the 2nd Divi[p. 253]sion on the 20th of March. Hamilton’s Portuguese infantry division was to follow next day, the 4th Division was to be allowed two days’ rest after its fatiguing march from the Ceira, and was only to start on the 24th[313]. On the 25th the whole army was to be in front of Campo Mayor.

It remains to speak of the position in which the enemy was found. Between the 14th of March, when Soult departed from Seville, and the 25th, when Beresford’s army made its sudden and quite unexpected descent into the middle of the French forces, only eleven days elapsed; but Mortier had turned them to good account, and had more than fulfilled all that had been expected of him. On the very day that Soult started for Seville he marched against Campo Mayor, with nine battalions of infantry, a cavalry brigade, and part of the siege-train which had just captured Badajoz. One other battalion was left as garrison in Olivenza, the six that remained from the corps were told off for Badajoz, where General Phillipon had been appointed governor. With the aid of three companies of sappers they were already busily engaged in levelling their own old siege-works, and commencing the repairs to the battered front of the walls. Mortier conceived that there could not be any danger in carrying out the orders that Soult had left, for he could find no traces of any hostile force in his vicinity, save the Portuguese garrison of Elvas, and the 4,000 men who formed the wrecks of Mendizabal’s army. This demoralized force had rallied at Campo Mayor, but on receiving the news of the fall of Badajoz retired in haste to Estremos, twenty miles within the Portuguese frontier. Their presence there was a danger rather than a defence to the Alemtejo, for not only did they consume some magazines collected there by Wellington’s orders for the use of the expeditionary force, but they plundered recklessly in the neighbouring villages, and committed such outrages that the Portuguese Government was almost forced to take military measures against them[314]. Mortier had nothing to fear from this quarter, while he could hear no news of the approach of any British force from the direction of the Tagus. The 2nd Division and Hamilton’s Portuguese, it will be remembered, had only been ordered to resume their movement towards Estremadura on the 13th, by Wellington’s dispatch of the 12th, and when Mortier started from Badajoz they were only just commencing their advance from the neighbourhood of Abrantes towards Crato and Portalegre, and were very nearly a hundred miles away, so that it was impossible that he should get any information concerning them.

[p. 254]Campo Mayor was an old-fashioned fortress, which had not been remodelled since the War of the Spanish Succession, its greatest weakness was that an outlying fort (S?o Jo?o), only 200 yards from the walls in a commanding position, had been dismantled, but not blown up and levelled to the ground. It overlooked one of the bastions of the place, and had only to be seized in order to provide an admirable starting-place for operations against the enceinte. No serious attention had been paid to Campo Mayor of late, the much stronger place of Elvas, only eleven miles away, having absorbed all the attention of the Portuguese government. The Spaniards had been garrisoning it for the last six months, but when they hastily departed the Governor of Elvas threw into it half a battalion of the Portalegre Militia (about 300 men) and a company of artillery. This handful of men, aided by the Ordenan?a of the place, were all that were at the disposition of the very gallant and resourceful old engineer officer, Major José Joaquim Talaya, who was left in charge of the place. As the population was under 3,000 souls, the levy of the Ordenan?a cannot have amounted to more than 300 men, and many of these (as was still the case in most parts of Portugal) had no firearms, but only pikes. But the chief[p. 255] magistrate (juiz de fora), José Carvalho, served at the head of them with great energy, and we are assured that (contrary to what might have been expected) the citizens took a more creditable part than the militiamen in the defence[315].

With no regulars save the company of artillery, and no more than 800 men in all to protect a long enceinte, it might have been expected that Talaya could make no defence at all—indeed he might have evacuated the place without any blame. But being a man of fine resolution, and recognizing the fact that he was doing the greatest possible service by detaining 7,000 French before his walls, and thereby covering Elvas and allowing time for Beresford to arrive, he resolved to hold out as long as possible. The French seized Fort S?o Jo?o on the night of their arrival (March 14th) and opened trenches on each side of it, commencing at the same time three batteries, of which two were sheltered by the dismantled work. Next morning two of these works were in a position to open fire on the town, since the heavy guns for them had only to come from Badajoz, a mere nine miles away.

Despite of this Talaya held out for seven days of bombardment and open trenches (15th-21st March). He concentrated all his artillery on the approaches and the breaching-batteries, and for some time held his own. On the 19th a breach was opened in the projecting bastion (de Concelho), but the Governor refused a summons to surrender, and actually beat off an assault that night. On the following day the whole face of the bastion began to crumble, and, since further resistance was hopeless, Talaya accepted the terms offered him by Mortier—viz. that the garrison should lay down its arms if not relieved within twenty-four hours, the Militia and Ordenan?a not to be regarded as prisoners of war, but to be allowed to stay in or retire to their homes, on condition that they should not again bear arms against the French. A similar favour was extended to the Governor himself, who was allowed, ‘on account of his great age,’ says the capitulation, to retire to his own residence on giving his word of honour not to serve again[316]. As the whole[p. 256] garrison, save the artillery, were irregular troops, Mortier took over less than 100 prisoners. Some fifty guns, many of them of very antique and useless fabric, and 10,000 rations of biscuit were captured. The delay of twenty-four hours in the surrender of the town turned out very unluckily for Mortier, as it just gave time for Beresford and his army to arrive, only four days after the surrender, before the place had been dismantled or injured.

The eight-day defence of the absolutely untenable Campo Mayor contrasts in the strongest fashion with that of the neighbouring Spanish fortress of Albuquerque. This, too, was a very neglected and antiquated place, but it possessed a citadel on a high crag, which might have been held for some days against anything but heavy artillery, and it would have taken some time to erect batteries which could effectively reach it. When, however, Latour-Maubourg, with two cavalry regiments, summoned it, on March 15, the Governor at once began to parley, and on being told that infantry and guns were coming forward, actually opened his gates next day, before the two battalions and two guns sent by Mortier arrived. This demoralized officer was Major-General José Cagigal; his garrison consisted of two battalions of the Estremaduran regiment of Fernando VII, about 800 men, and a few artillerymen with seventeen brass guns of position. This was, on the whole, the most disgraceful surrender made during the whole Peninsular War—it can only be compared to the celebrated capitulation of Stettin in 1806, when the Prussian general, in an exactly similar fashion, yielded a fortress to a brigade of hussars who were impudent enough to summon it. But Stettin was a far worse case than Albuquerque—since it was a modern stronghold with a garrison of no less than 6,000 men.

After the surrender of Albuquerque, Latour-Maubourg sent on a regiment of dragoons to Valencia de Alcantara, the last fortified place in Spanish hands between the Guadiana and the Tagus. The small garrison evacuated it, and the dragoons, after bursting seven guns found within its walls, and blowing up its gates (March 17), returned to Badajoz.

[p. 257]The news of the loss of the one Portuguese and the two Spanish fortresses did not detain Beresford a moment in his advance, indeed he was only anxious to attack the enemy before he should have either repaired and garrisoned, or else dismantled and destroyed, Campo Mayor. On the 24th, Cole’s 4th Division, having had its two prescribed days of rest, marched from Portalegre to Arronches, where it caught up the cavalry and the other two divisions. Nothing had been discovered of the French, save some hussar vedettes only three miles north of Campo Mayor. It seems that Beresford’s approach came as a complete surprise to Mortier, who had made no preparations to meet it. He had withdrawn the greater part of the troops who had formed the siege corps to Badajoz, and had left Latour-Maubourg to dismantle the place—for he had made up his mind not to hold it. The cavalry general retained three of his own regiments (26th Dragoons and 2nd and 10th Hussars), one infantry regiment (the 100th of the Line), a half-battery of horse artillery, with a large detachment of the military train, who were in charge not only of the siege-guns lately used, but of thirty pieces from the walls of Campo Mayor, which it was intended to bring over to Badajoz. The rest of the Portuguese guns were to be burst, as useless and antiquated. The engineers were selecting sections of the enceinte, which were to be mined and blown up. The whole French force was about 900 sabres and 1,200 bayonets, plus the detachments of the auxiliary arms—perhaps 2,400 men in all[317]. There was a very fair chance of capturing it entire, owing to the careless way in which Latour-Maubourg kept watch. The presence of scouting parties of Portuguese dragoons had been reported to him[318]. But probably he attached little importance to their presence in this direction. There had been cavalry of that nation on the Estremaduran frontier ever since January.

[p. 258]At half-past ten o’clock on the very rainy morning of the 25th, Beresford’s army was advancing on Campo Mayor in three converging columns, the bulk of the 2nd Division preceded by De Grey’s dragoons on the high-road, Hamilton’s Portuguese division on a by-path over a ridge to the east of the road, with the 13th Light Dragoons and two Portuguese squadrons in their front, Colborne’s brigade and the remaining Portuguese horse on a corresponding ridge, some way to the western or right side of the chaussée. Cole followed a mile in the rear as reserve. The French outposts were found as on the preceding day, only three miles outside the town. General Latour-Maubourg chanced to be visiting them, probably in tardy consequence of the reports of the previous day. When attacked they retired skirmishing, to delay as far as possible the advance of Beresford’s leading squadrons. Latour-Maubourg, seeing that the Allies were coming up on a broad front, and at least 15,000 strong, rode back hastily into the town, ordered the drums to beat, and directed infantry and cavalry alike to abandon their baggage, and to form up without a moment’s delay on the glacis outside the southern gate for a retreat. A column of sixteen heavy guns from the walls of Campo Mayor and the siege-train, with practically no escort, had started some little time back, and was on its way to Badajoz along the high-road before the alarm was given[319]. The allied cavalry, on coming in sight of the town from the ridge to its north, discovered the enemy just moving off, the infantry regiment in column of route on the road, with one hussar regiment in front of it and another in rear, while the 26th Dragoons, some little way ahead, was covering the rest from being intercepted on the high-road, for Latour-Maubourg had seen that his danger lay in the probability that Beresford would strike in, with the horse of his van, between him and Badajoz, and so force him to fight his way through, under pain of being surrounded and captured if he failed. This indeed was Beresford’s intention, but being impressed with Wellington’s warning not to risk or lose his cavalry, he had[p. 259] ordered General Long, who was in command of the division of that arm, not to commit himself against a superior force, and ‘to wait for the infantry to come up if he were in any doubt; yet if the opportunity to strike a blow occurs he must avail himself of it[320].’ The whole cavalry force with the army was only eleven British squadrons and five Portuguese, the latter very weak, and the total number of sabres was about 1,500, a very small allowance for an army of over 18,000 men, and therefore very precious.

When Latour-Maubourg saw the British divisions coming on in the distance, he marched off with all possible speed, and had such a start that his column, whose pace was set by the quick step of the infantry, had got nearly three miles from Campo Mayor before it was seriously threatened. General Long had, by Beresford’s orders, directed his squadrons to sweep east of the walls of the town, out of gunshot, in case there should chance to have been a garrison left behind. The sweep was a long one, because a ravine was discovered which forced the regiments to turn further eastward than was at first intended. They came up in two detachments, one formed by the 13th Light Dragoons and Otway’s Portuguese, more to the left (east), the other of De Grey’s dragoons further to the right (west). The first body was nearly level with the dragoon regiment which was moving ahead of the French column, the other was not so far to the front, being 400 or 500 yards away from the rear flank of the French. The nearest British infantry and guns, Colborne’s brigade and Cleeves’s German battery accompanying it, were out of sight, two miles to the rear, hidden by undulations of the ground; so was Beresford himself and his staff, who were riding ahead of the main body.

Seeing a fight forced on him, Latour-Maubourg resolved to accept it. He had a force of all arms, and thought himself strong enough to beat off cavalry unsupported by infantry or guns, even though they outnumbered his own horsemen in the proportion of five to three. Accordingly he suddenly halted[p. 260] and formed his infantry in battalion squares on the high-road, with the hussars flanking them in deep order, while the dragoon regiment, with its right wing drawn back and its left wing not far from the leading hussars, formed a line at an obtuse angle to the main body, ready to deliver a flanking charge on the British and Portuguese if they should attack the infantry.

Long, considering, as he says, that he was strong enough to attempt the ‘blow’ of which Beresford had spoken, resolved first to drive off the French dragoon regiment which threatened his flank, and then to fall upon the hussars and infantry. He sent orders to De Grey and the heavy dragoons to close in upon the rear and left flank of the French, from whom they were still separated by a ridge, but to hold off till the rest of the troops had disposed of the covering cavalry. He then advanced with the light squadrons, English and Portuguese, to get beyond the French dragoons—his line was formed with two Portuguese squadrons (7th regiment) on the extreme left, then the two and a half squadrons of the 13th British Light Dragoons[321], and to the right the three remaining Portuguese squadrons (1st regiment).

Seeing that Long was man?uvring to outflank him, Latour-Maubourg ordered the 26th Dragoons to charge before the movement was far advanced. The British 13th formed to their front, and started to meet them; the two lines met with a tremendous crash, neither giving way, and were mingled for a few moments in desperate hand to hand fighting[322], in which Colonel Chamorin, the French brigadier, was slain in a personal combat with a corporal named Logan of the 13th. Presently the French broke, and fled in disorder along and beside the Badajoz road. Then followed one of those wild and senseless pursuits which always provoked Wellington’s wrath, and induced him to say in bitterness that the ordinary British cavalry[p. 261] regiment was ‘good for nothing but galloping[323].’ General Long says in his account of the affair that he found it impossible to stop or rally the Light Dragoons, and therefore sent after them the two squadrons of the 7th Portuguese, to act as a support. But the Portuguese put on a great pace to come up with the 13th, got excited in pursuing stray knots of French dragoons, broke their order, and finally joined in the headlong chase as recklessly as their comrades.
Portrait of Marshal Beresford

Enlarge  Field Marshal Sir William Carr Beresford

The ride was incredibly long and disorderly, quite in the style of Prince Rupert at Edgehill. It was continued for no less than seven miles; four miles from the place where it had started, the Light Dragoons came on the artillery convoy of sixteen heavy guns which had left Campo Mayor in the early morning, and had crawled on almost to the gates of Badajoz; the small escort was dispersed, and the drivers were cut down or chased off the road. Many of the Portuguese stopped to make prize of the horses—most valuable personal plunder—and went off with them in small parties towards the allied camp. The pursuers should have stopped here. There was no object in chasing any further the few surviving French dragoons, who were scattered broadcast. The guns, with a long train of caissons and carts, were left standing beside the road, but little attention was paid to these valuable trophies. One or two were rehorsed and turned towards the British lines by some officers of the 13th. The main body of the pursuers, however, did not stop with the convoy, but, still sabring at the routed French, rode two miles and a half further, till they hurtled against the bridge-head fortifications of Badajoz. They were only stopped by being shelled from Fort San Cristobal, and fired on by the garrison of the tête-du-pont. It is said by one French authority[324] that the leading dragoons actually reached the barrier-gate of the covered way of the latter work, and were shot there. Marshal Mortier, learning what had happened, sallied out of the fortress with a cavalry regiment and four battalions, captured quite a number of straggling dragoons, whose horses had fallen or given out in the wild ride, and found the bulk of the artillery convoy standing lonely and teamless by the wayside. It was dragged[p. 262] along into Badajoz, save one howitzer and six caissons, which were left behind on the approach of Beresford’s main body. Mortier also picked up near the place where the convoy was lying, and brought into Badajoz, Latour-Maubourg’s column, whose further fortunes need to be detailed.

When the 13th Light Dragoons and the 7th Portuguese went off on their mad escapade, General Long found himself left in front of the main French force, with only the three squadrons of the 1st Portuguese cavalry, which had formed his reserve, and the Heavy Brigade, distant half a mile from him, and on the other side of the French line. It was apparently his intention to charge the enemy with these troops, a most hazardous experiment, for the French with a regiment of 1,200 infantry in square, flanked by four squadrons of hussars, were dangerous to deal with. In all the Peninsular War there was only one occasion (at Garcia Hernandez in 1812) where formed squares of either side were broken by the cavalry of the other, and the 100th Ligne on this occasion had 500 hussars to support them. There was some delay while Long was sending an aide-de-camp to the Heavy Brigade to bid them prepare to attack[325], and, seeing him holding back, Latour-Maubourg started off his column once more along the high-road, the infantry marching in square, with two squadrons of hussars in front and two behind. To stop him from moving on, Long brought forward the 1st Portuguese to check the hussars. But when they advanced toward them, and were about to engage, the front side of the leading French battalion square opened a distant fire against their flank. Surprised by this, for they had not realized that they were within effective range of the hostile infantry, the three Portuguese squadrons broke and galloped off, pursued by the hussars for some little way[326].

[p. 263]At this moment Marshal Beresford and his staff came upon the scene, on the ridge near De Grey’s brigade, and saw the three Portuguese squadrons rallying at a distance, and still in disorder, while the heavy dragoons were preparing to attack. On inquiring what had become of the 13th and the rest of the Portuguese, Beresford was told by one of his staff[327] that they had been cut off and were believed to have been captured. Horrified at this news, which brought to his mind all Wellington’s warnings, Beresford forbade the Heavy Brigade to charge, and bade them hold off, till some infantry and guns should come up. He was indubitably right in so doing, for, as all previous and later experience proved, it was most unlikely that they would have broken the French squares.

He sent back for the nearest infantry, which was Colborne’s brigade, and some guns. Meanwhile the enemy continued moving off at a great pace, followed at a distance by the heavy dragoons, while Long and the three rallied Portuguese squadrons marched parallel with their flank. The two parties had proceeded several miles in this way, when the 13th Light Dragoons came in sight, returning from the direction of Badajoz, and their Portuguese companions with them. Soon after, two guns of Cleeves’s battery got up, unlimbered, and opened a fire at long range against the rear of the French. It had some effect, but the enemy kept his ranks and continued to move on as fast as possible, leaving his dead and wounded in the road. The artillery horses were exhausted and unable to keep up, wherefore Beresford ordered the whole force to halt, saying that without infantry there was nothing more to be done. At this moment Colborne’s brigade was no more than half a mile behind according to Long and certain other witnesses[328]. But on the[p. 264] other hand, Mortier with 2,000 infantry and a cavalry regiment from Badajoz was visible, waiting for Latour-Maubourg near the spot where the dismantled convoy was standing. The two French forces joined, and retired into the fortress with nearly all the recaptured guns—only one and some caissons remained to be picked up by Beresford’s advance.

The loss of the British on this occasion, all in the 13th Light Dragoons[329], was 10 killed, 3 officers and 24 men wounded, and 22 prisoners; among the Portuguese 1st and 7th cavalry an officer and 13 men killed, 40 wounded, and 55 prisoners—a total of over 150. The French suffered more—the 26th Dragoons alone had 8 officers[330] and over 100 men killed, wounded, and taken, the train and artillery had been dreadfully cut up at the capture of the convoy, and the infantry had lost 3 officers and many men by the fire of Cleeves’s guns. The total casualties were over 200[331]. But the moral effect of a combat is not judged by a mere comparison of losses, and the British officers were much disappointed. Beresford and his friends held that Long had by mismanagement wasted 150 precious cavalrymen—Long declared that if Beresford had not taken the command out of his hands he would have captured the whole French column. This last claim was absolutely unreasonable: it is far more likely that he would merely have caused severe loss to the two heavy dragoon regiments by persisting. The Marshal and the General were on bad terms from this moment onward, and the former took the next opportunity given him to remove the latter from the chief command of the allied cavalry. The most curious comment on the combat of Campo Mayor is Napier’s statement that ‘the 13th Light Dragoons were severely reprimanded for pursuing so eagerly. But the unsparing admiration of the whole army consoled them!’ Pursuing eagerly is a mild expression for riding seven[p. 265] miles off the battlefield, and on to the glacis of a hostile fortress. Wellington’s comment was that ‘the undisciplined ardour of the 13th Dragoons and the 7th regiment of Portuguese cavalry is not of the description of the determined bravery of soldiers confident in their discipline and their officers. Their conduct was that of a rabble galloping as fast as their horses could carry them, after an enemy to whom they could do no further mischief when they were broken: the pursuit was continued for an unlimited distance, and sacrificed substantial advantages, and all the objects of the operation, by want of discipline[332].’ A similar reproof was published in a General Order, to be read to the cavalry.

The only really satisfactory result of the combat of Campo Mayor was that Beresford recovered the town intact, with some guns which had not yet been sent off to Badajoz, and a considerable amount of stores, including 8,000 rations of biscuit. The place was at once re-garrisoned with the Faro regiment of militia from Elvas, who rapidly repaired the breach. It was tenable again in a few days.

On the 26th Beresford discovered that the French had withdrawn entirely beyond the Guadiana, keeping nothing north of it save the bridge-head and Fort San Cristobal at Badajoz. All accounts agreed that after deducting the garrison of that place Mortier could not have more than 8,000, or at the most 10,000, men available for the field, so that there was no reason why Wellington’s orders to thrust him out of Estremadura, and besiege Badajoz, should not be carried out. It was particularly directed in those orders that the expeditionary force should cross the Guadiana at Jerumenha, and make a bridge at that place, only a few miles from the strong fortress of Elvas, the base of its line of communications[333]. Accordingly the 2nd Division and[p. 266] Hamilton’s Portuguese marched to Elvas on the 26th, leaving Cole and the 4th Division (still much fatigued by their long march) for a day at Campo Mayor. There can be no doubt that if Beresford had been able to cross at Jerumenha on the 27th or 28th he would have compelled the French to retire southward at once, and might have invested Badajoz, then not yet fully repaired, as soon as he chose. But a most tiresome series of hindrances, for which it seems unjust to blame the Anglo-Portuguese commander, now began to crop up. The first and most fatal was that the stock of Spanish pontoon boats which, as he had been told by Wellington, would be found at Elvas or Jerumenha, was not forthcoming. Only five were discovered: two complete bridge-equipages had been kept by Imaz at Badajoz, and were now in the hands of the French. But twenty large pontoons, as the engineers declared, was the least number which would suffice to bridge the Guadiana. An attempt was made to seek for river-craft to eke out the pontoons. But by Wellington’s orders all the boats on the river for many miles had been destroyed, when Soult entered Estremadura in January. Some Portuguese pontoons were ordered from Lisbon, but it would be a week or so before they could be carted across the Alemtejo. Meanwhile Captain Squire, the engineer charged with the bridge-building, offered to lay trestles across the shallower part of the bed of the Guadiana on either bank, and to moor the five pontoons in the deep channel in the middle to join them. To this Beresford assented, and the bridge-place was selected on the 30th: Squire promised that the whole should be completed on the 3rd of April; he could not finish it earlier, as the wood for the trestles had to be found, cut down, and shaped ab initio.

The delay of a week thus caused was of the less importance, however, because of another contretemps. There were no stores ready to feed the army when it should cross the Guadiana. The 200,000 rations at Estremos which Wellington (as it will be remembered) had promised to Beresford, were found to have been entirely consumed by the wreck of Mendizabal’s army,[p. 267] who had been lying there for the last three weeks. There was nothing to lade upon the mules and carts of the expeditionary force; the troops were in great difficulties from day to day, ate the 8,000 rations at Campo Mayor, and were finally forced to indent upon the stores of the garrison of Elvas, which ought to have been sacred to the defence of the town.

Lastly, and this was perhaps the most important of all, the shoes of the 4th Division, which had marched continuously from the 6th to the 22nd of March, first from the Lines to Espinhal, and then from Espinhal to Portalegre, were completely worn out. Cole protested against the division being moved till it was reshod. No footgear could be found at Elvas, and though an immediate requisition was sent to Lisbon, the convoy bringing the shoes would obviously take a week or so to get up[334]. From the 26th of March to the 3rd of April Beresford was perforce immovable. This loss of eight days was apparently the reason why Badajoz did not fall into his hands a little later, for the fortifications, which were still in a dangerous state of disrepair on the 25th, were practically tenable by the second week in April. The stores in the fortress were a less important matter. Imaz when he surrendered had over a month’s rations for 9,000 men, which, even when a certain amount had been consumed by Soult’s field army, left a nucleus sufficient to keep the garrison of 3,000 men placed in the town by Mortier out of need for many weeks. In addition, cattle had been requisitioned all over Estremadura. The small movable force of 8,000 men which was available for observing Beresford, was now living entirely on the country-side, in order to spare the stores of Badajoz.

Beresford’s delay in crossing the Guadiana, therefore, was unfortunate, but apparently inevitable, and there seems no reason to blame him for it. On April 3rd the engineers reported that the bridge at Jerumenha would be ready that evening, and[p. 268] the three divisions concentrated on the left bank: the water was low, and a difficult ford for cavalry had been found above the bridge, by which a squadron of dragoons passed, and established a chain of pickets on the Spanish side. No French were seen abroad, though it was discovered that they still had a garrison in Olivenza, only six miles away. It is difficult to make out why no attempt was made to obstruct the building of Beresford’s bridge—the enemy had five regiments of cavalry in Estremadura, and 6,000 infantry of Girard’s division were available for field service. Even a small detachment with some guns would have made it impossible for the British engineers to complete their work. But the Allies found a great advantage in the fact that Mortier had just received orders to return to Paris, and had on March 26th handed over the command of all the troops on the Guadiana to Latour-Maubourg, who was a good divisional general on the battlefield, but a very indifferent strategist. All his man?uvres during the following month were weak and confused. How it came that from the 30th of March to the 7th of April no French cavalry were seen opposite Jerumenha, much less any serious force sent to disturb the bridge-building, it is impossible to conceive. By all accounts the horsemen who should have been in front of Olivenza were at this time mainly employed in scouring the villages of Central Estremadura for cattle and corn, and escorting what they could seize into Badajoz and the camp of Girard’s division.

On the morning of March 4th, when the allied troops should have crossed the Guadiana, Beresford was brought the untoward news that the river had risen three feet in the night, had swept away the trestles, and forced the engineers to draw back the five pontoon boats in the central stream to the Portuguese bank. The squadron beyond the river was cut off from the army, and communication with it was only restored during the day, by rigging up a flying bridge composed of a raft and a rope. The cavalry ford above the destroyed bridge was of course impassable. Throughout the 4th and 5th the water continued to rise, from storms higher up the river apparently, for there was no rain at Jerumenha.

The position was exasperating to the highest degree. ‘Establishing a permanent bridge is out of the question,’ writes[p. 269] D’Urban, the chief of the staff, in his journal. ‘The means are anything but secure either for passing the army (tedious beyond measure, too, no doubt), or for establishing a communication afterwards for supplies and other purposes. Nevertheless the general state of things, and above all Lord Wellington’s reiterated orders received this morning, render it necessary to pass[335].’ The engineers, put upon their mettle, finally made the five Spanish pontoon boats into two flying bridges worked by ropes. On these a battalion of infantry was passed across the river, and stockaded itself on the other side. Later in the day (April 5) some small tin pontoons arrived from Lisbon, and out of these, helped by all the wine-casks of the neighbouring villages, collected in haste, a floating bridge was constructed, ‘not very substantial, but, upon trial, found capable of admitting infantry to pass in file[336].’ It was not ready till noon on the 6th, but by the two flying bridges the whole 2nd Division and three squadrons of cavalry were passed on the night of the 5th-6th. What might have happened it Latour-Maubourg had concentrated at Olivenza, and fallen on the first two or three battalions that crossed with a force of all arms, we had better not inquire[337]. A disaster on a small scale might very possibly have occurred. But not a Frenchman was seen.

During the 6th Hamilton’s Portuguese passed with infinite slowness on the flying bridges, and the cask and pontoon bridge being at last completed, Cole’s 4th Division and Long’s cavalry began to file over it at dusk, an operation so tedious that the last of them were not over till the following dawn. Ere they were all across a ‘regrettable incident’ occurred: the advanced cavalry pickets were formed on the night of the 6th-7th by[p. 270] Major Morris’s squadron of the 13th Light Dragoons. Owing to bad staff work in the placing of them (as D’Urban and General Long both assert), the main guard of this squadron was surprised by French cavalry in the dusk of the morning, and captured almost entire, two officers and fifty men being taken. The assailants found that they had run into the camp of a whole army, and promptly retired before they could be touched.

At last Latour-Maubourg had given signs of life; this reconnaissance had been conducted by a flying column of two cavalry regiments and four battalions, under General Veilland, sent out to Olivenza from the camp of Girard’s division, with the very tardy purpose of hindering Beresford’s passage. Veilland reported to his chief that the enemy was across in such strength that he could do nothing. The appearance of 20,000 men on the Spanish bank of the Guadiana, so far to the south of Badajoz, placed Latour-Maubourg in a very delicate position: if he stayed twenty-four hours longer in his present camp close to Badajoz, he lost his communications with Andalusia, and might be pushed eastward up the Guadiana, out of touch with Soult, and having no retreat save towards the distant Army of the Centre. It was even possible that a rapid advance of the Allies might drive him into Badajoz, the last thing that he would desire. Accordingly he concentrated at Albuera, twelve miles south of that fortress, as a preliminary move, and prepared to fall back from thence by the great southern chaussée, towards Llerena and the Sierra Morena, where he would preserve, and shorten, his line of communication with Soult. Phillipon was left with 3,000 men in Badajoz, which was now quite beyond danger from a coup de main, and able to take care of itself for some weeks, till reinforcements should come up from Andalusia for its relief. With great unwisdom Latour-Maubourg left Olivenza garrisoned also; it was, as had been shown in January, contemptible as a fortress, even when held by a large force, and the French general placed in it only a single weak battalion of under 400 men. There were still on the walls the few guns that had been taken from the Spaniards—no more than fifteen were mounted, and several of these only on makeshift carriages. Why Latour-Maubourg chose to sacrifice a battalion it is hard to see; Napoleon wrote to Soult a month later to condemn the[p. 271] policy of small garrisons in the strongest terms[338]. At the best Olivenza, when so weakly held, could not hold out for more than a few days, and if Beresford had tried to rush it by escalade, when first he arrived before its walls, he must undoubtedly have succeeded, for 400 men cannot defend three miles of enceinte against a serious assault. There were some magazines in the place, and a small hospital of sick, who could not be removed[339]. But it was obviously absurd to throw away a battalion of sound men to keep them from capture for a few days. It has been suggested that Latour-Maubourg merely wanted to gain time[340]; but the time gained was trifling—Olivenza only held out five days—and might have fallen much sooner.

Beresford’s train and guns having joined him beyond the river on March 8th, he moved to Olivenza on the 9th, in an order of march ready to deploy into an order of battle in case Latour-Maubourg should turn up with his small field force. The town was summoned on the same afternoon, and when the governor refused to surrender, the 4th Division, still almost unable to move for want of the shoes which were daily expected from Lisbon, was left to besiege it, with the aid of heavy guns to be brought from Elvas, only fifteen miles away. The extreme weakness of the garrison was not known, or the Marshal would not have wasted time by ordering regular approaches to be made. The rest of the army bivouacked on the Badajoz road a few miles beyond Olivenza, and on the following day occupied Valverde, and pushed its cavalry to Albuera, cutting the chaussée between Badajoz and Seville. No enemy could be found, and it was ascertained that Latour-Maubourg’s rearguard was at Santa Marta, ten miles to the south, and the rest of his troops far beyond it. On the 11th the infantry, minus the 4th Division,[p. 272] were at Albuera, while the bulk of the cavalry marched to find out how far southward the enemy was ready to withdraw.

Central Estremadura, at any rate, was now in Beresford’s hands, and he was in a position to carry out Wellington’s orders to drive the 5th Corps over the Sierra Morena and invest Badajoz. In accordance with his instructions he had seen Casta?os on March 30th, and settled with him that the wrecks of the old Army of Estremadura—now about 1,000 horse and 3,000 foot—should join in the campaign. Casta?os, who showed himself both eager and obliging, had promised that his infantry should seize the bridge of Merida, and that, when it was occupied, his cavalry, under Penne Villemur, should join in the movement to sweep Latour-Maubourg over the mountains, operating on the eastern road (Merida-Ribera-Usagre-Llerena), while the allied cavalry took the western one (Albuera-Los Santos-Fuente Cantos-Monasterio). These promises were carried out: Morillo’s infantry division occupied Merida on the 10th, and next day Penne Villemur’s cavalry had reached Almendralejo.

The siege of Olivenza gave little trouble. The only difficulty was the improvising of a siege-train, even on the very modest scale required to deal with such a weak place. It was invested, as we have seen, on the 9th. On the 10th Major Alexander Dickson of the Portuguese artillery, and Captain Squire of the Engineers reconnoitred the place, and determined that the proper starting-point for the attack was the same ruined lunette, outside the walls, which the French had chosen as their first base in January. On the night of the 11th this point was occupied with the loss of one man only, killed by the enemy’s ill-directed fire. A battery for six guns was constructed in the gorge of the ruined work, but the pieces themselves, which Dickson went to choose from Elvas, did not arrive till the 14th; the cask-bridge at Jerumenha being too weak to bear them, they and their ammunition had to be ferried over on the flying bridges. The six 24-pounders were placed in position that same night. At daybreak they opened, and by the time that they had fired seventy rounds each, long ere noon, a practicable breach was made in the nearest bastion. Thereupon the governor, seeing that to have stood an assault with his handful of men would have been madness, surrendered at discretion. He marched out[p. 273] with only 9 officers and 357 men under arms, giving up also 96 sick, and some commissaries and medical officers. Several of his miserable stock of fifteen guns were found to be practically useless save to make a noise, for (as has already been mentioned) they were fixed not on proper carriages, but on the main timbers and wheels of ox-carts, and could not be elevated or depressed. The governor deserves some credit for having held out five days; if the Allies had been aware of the weakness of the garrison, they would have swamped it at once by an escalade.

On the next morning (April 16th) Cole and the 4th Division, who had at last received their much-needed supply of shoes, marched to join the rest of the army. A Portuguese garrison was thrown into Olivenza, but there was no intention to hold it, if the enemy should come up again. It was only a man-trap. Beresford might now have invested Badajoz, if it had pleased him so to do. But he thought it better to drive Latour-Maubourg completely out of Estremadura, and across the Sierra Morena, before taking the siege in hand. The main reason for his resolve was that it was clear that a week or ten days at least would be required to organize a battering-train at Elvas, for the bombardment and breaching of the fortress, and he thought it more profitable to spend this interval in pushing the French as far from Badajoz as possible, rather than in sitting down before it to no purpose, and waiting for the appearance of the siege-train. It was apparently an omission on Wellington’s part not to have ordered General Leite, the governor of Elvas, to begin making preparations for the gathering of a park and the collection of a large body of artillerymen, on the same day that he finally launched Beresford’s[341] force into Estremadura (March 16). But this had not been done, and it was not till April 18th that Major Alexander Dickson, who had already learnt what was available in Elvas while organizing the little train required for the capture of Olivenza, was directed to take in hand the much larger and more difficult task of collecting the[p. 274] men and material destined for the siege of a first-class fortress[342]. This delay seems extraordinary: did Wellington think on March 16th that Badajoz, only five days in the hands of the French at the moment, would be incapable of defence when Beresford should appear in front of it about the 25th of that same month? It is quite possible that this would have been the case, and that the French would have blown it up, if the Jerumenha bridge had been standing ready for the passage of the army on the next day, as Wellington had supposed. The Dispatches give us no help on this point; Wellington speaks of investing Badajoz, but gives no hint as to how the investment was to be followed up, till March 27th, when he observes to Beresford that ‘Elvas must supply the means for the attack on Badajoz, if possible; if it has them not, I must send them there; this will take time, but that cannot be avoided[343].’

Elvas, as matters turned out, did ‘supply the means,’ but the resources to be found there were so limited that, as was wittily said at the time by Picton, Wellington, both in May and in June 1811, ‘sued Badajoz in forma pauperis,’ and if the place had fallen it would have been almost a miracle, for no sufficient material to ensure its capture had been collected even by the month of June. The main difficulty arose from the fact that Wellington had never been provided by his Government with a siege-train. Looking upon the war in Portugal as essentially defensive in character, the Home authorities had forgotten that it might have offensive episodes, and that a great siege might not impossibly be one of them. The British army in Portugal possessed nothing in the way of artillery save the ordinary horse and field batteries (or ‘troops’ and ‘companies’ as they were then called), with their 3, 6, and 9-pounder guns. If a few hundred men were told off to heavy pieces in the Lisbon lines during the preceding autumn, it was not that they were intended for such service—they were parts of incomplete or unhorsed batteries, which had not taken the field when the campaign of 1810 began, and were waiting to complete their equipment. The British army in Portugal was absolutely destitute of artillery destined for and trained to the working of siege-guns.[p. 275] The only British pieces of heavy calibre used in the spring of 1811 were ships’ cannon lent by the commander of the squadron in the Tagus.

For such work as was now before them, therefore, the Allies had to depend entirely on what the Portuguese arsenals could supply. But all that could be found in them was now mounted on the interminable redoubts of the Lisbon lines, save such as had been sent to strengthen Elvas, Abrantes, and Peniche. Practically every gun in Portugal was defending some work, small or great; they had all been requisitioned down to the most antique and imperfect pieces. The walls of Elvas were a perfect museum of ancient artillery: among the heaviest pieces, carefully sorted out because of their calibre, and chosen for the siege-train that was to batter Badajoz, were to be seen not only many 24-pounders bearing the arms and cyphers of the earliest kings of the house of Braganza, Jo?o and Affonso, but still older brass guns of enormous length, showing the names of Philip III and IV of Spain, and dating back to the years before 1640, when Portugal was a discontented province of the Hapsburg kings[344]. It seems almost incredible, but is actually a fact, that some of the cannon used by Wellington’s men against Badajoz were just two hundred years old. Those that were not quite so antique were mainly pieces of early eighteenth-century pattern, without the later improvements invented by the French scientific artillerymen of the days of Louis XV and Louis XVI: for the Lisbon arsenal had persisted in using old models long after they had been dropped in the larger countries of Europe.

The gunners for the siege were of course mainly Portuguese, though a few were afterwards drawn from the imperfect British companies at Lisbon[345]. Those first employed were borrowed from the garrison of Elvas; they comprised a great number of recruits only partially trained, but did their best. It was the guns, not the men, that were at fault—or rather, both the guns[p. 276] and the ammunition, for the Portuguese cannon-balls in store, dating from all ages, varied much in size, and Dickson had to sort each convoy of 24 lb. or 12 lb. shot into batches, some of which were rather small and some rather large, and to apportion them to particular pieces. The old brass seventeenth-century guns, being generally worn from long use, needed the biggest shot, and even these were so large in the bore that the balls fitted loosely, and the discharge suffered from ‘windage.’ The impact of such shot was not half what it should have been[346]. With such tools to employ, it is not wonderful that the Anglo-Portuguese artillery made a poor show at the first siege of Badajoz. But worst of all was the fact that the number of pieces was at first far too small—Elvas could only spare a certain part of the armament of its walls, and it was not till some weeks had passed that guns, British and Portuguese, could be brought up from Lisbon, and with them drafts of artillerymen of both nations. But twenty-three guns and 400 artillerymen were all that Dickson could collect for the first siege, and these were not ready till April was out; indeed, it was no small achievement to organize a siege-train of any sort between April 18th and May 6th, from the sole resources of the fortress of Elvas. Of the additional hindrance caused by the small numbers and the inexperience of the engineer officers, and the total lack of trained sappers, we shall speak in the proper place.

The space of time before the siege-train for Badajoz could be got ready was employed by Beresford in clearing southern Estremadura of the enemy. Having left a brigade of the 2nd Division at Talavera Real, a battalion of the Lusitanian Legion (from Cole’s division) in Olivenza, and some squadrons of Portuguese cavalry round the southern front of Badajoz, to watch the garrison, the army marched for Santa Marta and Zafra, on the high-road to Seville, with its own cavalry in front, and Penne Villemur’s Spanish squadrons on the left (April 16th-18th). The bulk of the infantry went no further forward, because Latour-Maubourg withdrew into the Sierra Morena on the rumour of its approach. The cavalry continued the pursuit—at Los Santos on the 16th its leading regiment, the 13th Light[p. 277] Dragoons, had a smart affair with the French rearguard (2nd Hussars), and routed it with the loss of three officers and many men[347]. After this Latour-Maubourg never stopped till he had reached Guadalcanal, on the borders of Andalusia, evacuating Llerena and the other towns on the Estremaduran slope of the mountains (April 19th). Beresford thereupon left his British cavalry at Zafra, and Penne Villemur at Llerena, to watch the passes, while he drew back his infantry divisions to take in hand the siege of Badajoz (April 20th), with the exception of the brigade of Colborne, which was sent out with some Spanish horse to demonstrate against Latour-Maubourg, and to drive him still further southward if he showed signs of irresolution.

While these operations were in progress, there was a short and unexpected diversion in the extreme south-west corner of Estremadura, caused by the appearance of an outlying French column in that quarter, which had no connexion with Latour-Maubourg. A word as to this is necessary, since its result was to bring a new Spanish force into Beresford’s sphere of operations. When Soult returned to Andalusia in the middle of March, his first care was to drive off Ballasteros and the other detachments which had been threatening Seville in his absence. They gave back into the Condado de Niebla, as has already been mentioned. But at the end of the month the situation was complicated by the news that an expedition from Cadiz, the division of Zayas, had landed at Moguer, in the estuary of the Rio Tinto, and seemed about to join Ballasteros. If this junction had been made, the force collected in the west would have been too large to be safely neglected. Wherefore Soult sent out General Maransin and the Prince of Aremberg, the former with seven battalions of Gazan’s division, and the latter with two cavalry regiments, to attack the Spaniards. At the approach of this column of 4,500 men Zayas re-embarked, losing 300 men from his rearguard in so doing (April 1). Ballasteros retired into the mountains. Maransin thought it his duty to endeavour to make an end of this active and elusive adversary, whose constant appearances and reappearances on the flank of Seville had[p. 278] caused so much trouble. Sending back his cavalry and guns, he plunged into the hills with his infantry, and for twelve days hunted Ballasteros up and down the rugged upper valleys of the Odiel and the Rio Tinto. On April 12th Ballasteros, gradually pushed northward, came down to Fregenal, on the borders of Estremadura, where he offered battle, but was beaten, and fled to Xeres de los Caballeros. Maransin pursued, and reached that place on the 11th, while Ballasteros retired to Salvatierra de los Barros, not far from Santa Marta, and close on the flank of Beresford’s army. Maransin, who had long been cut off from touch with other French detachments, was wholly unaware that he had run into the neighbourhood of a British force, and would have been captured, or defeated, if he had stayed a day longer at Xeres, for Ballasteros had called for help to Beresford, and the latter was preparing to throw two divisions upon his flank and rear[348]. Letters from Latour-Maubourg to Maransin, to warn him of his danger, were intercepted by the guerrilleros and sent to the British camp[349]. But an Afrancesado, one of the principal inhabitants of Xeres, warned the French general just before it was too late: and, hastily leaving his position at night, Maransin retired into Andalusia via Fregenal and Aracena, and ultimately joined Latour-Maubourg by a circuitous route.

Ballasteros stayed behind in Estremadura, and the allied force in that province was strengthened by his 3,500 men. But this was not all: the Regency at Cadiz resolved to place a considerable army in this direction, their own city being more than amply garrisoned, and expeditions to the south being unpopular since the fiasco that followed Barrosa. On April 25th General Blake took the two divisions of Zayas and Lardizabal (both of which had fought at Barrosa), and landed with them at Ayamonte, the port in the mouth of the Guadiana. From thence he moved up along the Portuguese frontier, and joined[p. 279] Ballasteros near Xeres de los Caballeros about a fortnight later. Between them they had over 10,000 infantry and about 800 cavalry, but few guns, for Blake found it difficult to horse the batteries that he had brought with him, and left all save six pieces behind, at Ayamonte, to follow when they could procure teams. They had not rejoined him four weeks later, when the battle of Albuera was fought. The presence of Blake was not altogether an unmixed benefit, for he was independent of Casta?os, who commanded the ‘5th Army’ or old Estremaduran force, and the two generals were ancient rivals and did not seem likely to co-operate with any cordiality. But if Soult was to make his appearance for the relief of Badajoz, it was as well that the Allies should be as strong as possible on the front by which he must attack.

Before, however, Blake had arrived in Estremadura, the investment of Badajoz had begun. It was directed by Wellington himself, who dropped suddenly into the middle of the campaign on the 20th, when he arrived at Elvas. Having seen Masséna retreat to Salamanca, and break up his army into cantonments, he now considered that it was safe for him to pay the visit to the south which he had always projected. Leaving Sabugal on April 16th, he rode across country by Castello Branco and Niza, and reached Elvas on the fifth night. The next day but one he conducted a reconnaissance of Badajoz, escorted by a brigade newly landed at Lisbon, which he had ordered to join Beresford—Alten’s two light battalions of the King’s German Legion. The examination of the defences of the fortress was made under some difficulties, for at the moment when Wellington was riding round the walls a large working party of the garrison, which had been dispatched to cut timber in the woods to the south, was returning into the place. Phillipon, the governor, thinking that Wellington’s escort was a detachment sent to cut off his workmen, came hastily out of the fortress with three battalions, and swept off the high-road two companies of the Germans who were accompanying the head-quarters’ staff, with the loss of fifty or sixty men. The working party hurried to join their friends, and got into the gate before the main body of Alten’s brigade could come up. This interruption being over, Wellington completed his survey of the whole circuit of Badajoz, and on the[p. 280] next day (April 23rd) issued elaborate orders to Beresford, concerning the policy to be observed in Estremadura during the siege. He had never intended to stay more than a few days in the south, to supervise affairs, and on the 25th a dispatch received from Sir Brent Spencer, the senior officer left with the main army in the north, reported such activity of the French in that direction that he rode hard for the frontiers of Leon, where he arrived on the 29th.

The orders dictated to Beresford governed the whole course of the campaign in Estremadura during the next month, and were of the highest importance. Wellington directed that the siege of Badajoz should be begun the moment that the guns and material were ready, but warned his colleague that its commencement would infallibly bring Soult to the relief of the place, with every available man that he could scrape together from Andalusia. It was impossible to calculate what the strength of his army would be: if he raised the siege of Cadiz or evacuated Granada, so that he could bring a very large force with him, Beresford was to retire behind the Guadiana, and assume a defensive position on the Caya river in front of Elvas. If forced from thence, he must retire even as far as Portalegre should it be necessary. But if Soult (as was more likely) came up with a force which was not absolutely overwhelming in numbers, ‘Marshal Beresford will consider of and decide upon the chance of success, according to a view of the relative number of both armies, and making a reasonable allowance for the number of Spanish troops which will co-operate with him.... If he should think his strength sufficient to fight a general action to save the siege of Badajoz, he will collect his troops to fight it. I believe that, upon the whole, the most central and advantageous place to collect the troops will be at Albuera.... All this must of course be left to the decision of Sir William Beresford. I authorize him to fight the action if he should think proper, or to retire if he should not[350].’

The co-operation of the Spaniards was the crucial point. Unless it were assured, Wellington considered that Beresford must assume the more cautious and defensive attitude. If it were secured, the bolder policy might be pursued. The lines which[p. 281] Wellington laid down were in the main those which had already been suggested by Beresford: (1) Casta?os must undertake to keep the horse of Villemur in the Sierra Morena, closely observing Latour-Maubourg, but forbid him to engage in any fighting; he must retire if pressed; the infantry of the 5th army must stay at Merida, as at present, but be ready to join Beresford if Soult invaded Estremadura. (2) Ballasteros was to take a similar position on the other flank, with his head quarters at Burguillos (near Zafra)[351] and his advanced posts at Fregenal and Monasterio; if Soult moved forward, he was to join Beresford without attempting to fight. (3) When Blake’s army had landed, it was to pass up the Guadiana, and take post at Xeres de los Caballeros; on any alarm from Soult, it was (like the other Spanish troops) to join Beresford at once. If these arrangements worked, at least 15,000 Spaniards would be in line at Albuera, the chosen position, to assist in holding back Soult. And, as we shall see, the scheme did work exactly as Wellington had designed, and the whole force was collected. (4) Lastly, and this was all-important, when the allied forces were concentrated, they must be placed under a single commander, and not worked with divided authority and divided responsibility, as had been the case in the Talavera campaign of 1809. Concerning Blake there could be no difficulty, as he was junior to Casta?os, and the latter had consented to place himself at Beresford’s disposition when they met at Jerumenha on March 30th. Too much praise cannot be given to his reasonable and conciliatory conduct, which alone rendered possible the co-operation of all the allied forces during the ensuing campaign.

Wellington therefore, as is clear, foresaw the whole course of subsequent operations, and even fixed the exact battle-spot on which the fate of Soult’s attempt to relieve Badajoz would be decided. The only point left to Beresford’s decision was whether the strength of the French army was such as to render a successful resistance possible. And when we come to consider the respective forces at the disposition of the two parties, it can hardly be urged that Beresford was wrong to accept battle. That his victory was a hard-fought and costly one came[p. 282] from minor tactical circumstances, which will be explained in their due place.

As to the details of the projected siege of Badajoz, Wellington laid down an equally clear policy. All guns and material were to be collected in Elvas, Campo Mayor, and Olivenza, and not to move till everything was ready. The main communications of the army were to be across a floating bridge to be constructed at the junction of the Caya and the Guadiana, five miles below Badajoz and six from Elvas. The permanent bridge of Merida and the temporary bridges at Jerumenha would be subsidiary resources. Lastly, and here was the most important point, the general scheme to be pursued was that the besiegers should first reduce the outlying defences of Badajoz, Fort San Cristobal on the north bank of the Guadiana, the Pardaleras and the Picurina on the south bank. Only when all these were taken would operations against the city itself be begun. To quote the concluding paragraph of Wellington’s memorandum: ‘When the British army shall be in possession of San Cristobal, Picurina and Pardaleras, Marshal Beresford will determine upon the point at which he will attack the body of the place. It is believed that, upon the whole, one of the south faces will be the most advantageous.’

There can be no doubt that all the mishaps of the two first British sieges of Badajoz had their origin in these original orders of Wellington, which were drawn up on the advice of his chief engineer, Colonel Fletcher. The great mistake was the choosing of the almost impregnable fort of San Cristobal as one of the three first points of attack, and the making all subsequent operations depend upon its capture. No doubt the possession of this lofty and commanding work would render the fall of Badajoz certain, since it overlooked the castle and all the northern end of the city. But it was the strongest part of the whole defences, and when the miserable and antiquated train of artillery at Beresford’s disposition is taken into consideration, and it is remembered that the siege was to be conducted ‘against time’ as it were, i. e. with the hope that it might be concluded before Soult could collect a relieving force, it is clear that San Cristobal ought to have been left alone. The other points designated by Wellington, the Pardaleras and Picurina,[p. 283] were much more accessible, and the capture of one or other of them would have brought the besiegers close to the walls, though neither of them commanded the whole city in the same fashion as San Cristobal. The best commentary on the sieges of 1811 is that a year later, at the third and successful leaguer, Wellington left the high-lying fort on the other side of the Guadiana entirely alone. The original orders of 1811 gave three separate and distinct objectives, and none of these were to be mere ‘false attacks,’ since it is distinctly said that operations against the enceinte were only to begin when all three of the forts were in British hands. Wellington was not a trained engineer; he was dependent on the advice of the officers of that arm, and it seems that they gave him bad counsel, as they certainly did to Beresford during the subsequent weeks. The most puzzling thing is to make out why Colonel Fletcher and his colleagues ignored Soult’s precedent; the French engineers had concentrated their attack on the Pardaleras front as their sole objective, for their other operations were false attacks. The English engineers, instead of concentrating their efforts in the same way, wasted their work on three separate points, which was all the more inexcusable because they knew that the resources which their comrades of the artillery arm had at their disposition were most inadequate for a great siege. Hence came a very costly and deplorable series of failures.

On the day of Wellington’s departure from Elvas heavy rain fell, and the Guadiana rose high, not merely washing away the cask-bridge at Jerumenha, but rendering the working of the flying bridges impossible. This was a serious matter; not only did it put a temporary stop to the communications between Elvas and the army, but it raised the question as to what might happen if a similar mischance were to occur when Soult was invading Estremadura. For if the Jerumenha bridges should break when the Allies were concentrated at Albuera, they would have no line of retreat and an impassable river behind. Beresford, with this possibility in his eye, ordered an alternative line of communication to be established via Merida, and sent a brigade of the 2nd Division thither to reinforce the Spaniards of Morillo, and a day later the whole 4th Division. His anxiety on this point did not cease till, on the 5th of May, a strong pontoon[p. 284] bridge had been built at the point selected by Wellington, the place where the Caya falls into the Guadiana. By this time the Jerumenha bridges were again in working order, but it was clear that it would be a mistake to trust the whole safety of the army to them.

It was only on this same day (May 5) that Colonel Fletcher and Major Alexander Dickson reported to Beresford that they were ready to produce the means for the attack on Badajoz: the former had his stock of platforms, fascines, and gabions prepared; the latter had organized the first convoy of artillery and ammunition from Elvas. On the 6th, therefore, the investment of Badajoz on the south side of the Guadiana was completed by the British brigades of Lumley and Alten and the Portuguese brigade of Fonseca, while on the following day the brigade of Kemmis and the 17th Portuguese (part of the garrison of Elvas) appeared opposite San Cristobal, and shut in the place on the northern bank of the river. The rest of the infantry[352] encamped as a support of the besieging force in the woods between Badajoz and Albuera, but the cavalry still remained in southern Estremadura, and Colborne’s brigade had been for some days (April 30th-May 11th) executing a demonstration in the Sierra Morena, with the object of keeping Latour-Maubourg employed. This last operation, owing to Colborne’s skilful management of his column of 2,000 infantry and two squadrons each of Spanish and Portuguese horse, had been very successful. On hearing of British infantry in his front, the French general evacuated his posts on the crest of the mountains, Guadalcanal, Fuente Ovejuna, Azuaga, and Monasterio, and fell back south-eastward towards Constantina on the Cordova road, abandoning the direct line of retreat on Seville, which he had hitherto covered. Colborne, after clearing all these places, extended his march eastward into a very wild and unexplored country, and summoned the isolated castle of Benalcazar, the only French garrison left north of the Sierra Morena. When it refused to listen to a summons, he had to leave it, having neither guns to batter it nor time to waste. From thence he returned by a circular sweep through Campanario to Almendralejo, where he once more was in touch with the British army (May 11th).

[p. 285]The first episodes of the siege of Badajoz were not very encouraging to the besiegers. On the 8th trenches were opened opposite all the three points of attack designated by Wellington, the Picurina and Pardaleras forts on the south side, and San Cristobal on the north. In each case the first parallel was started at about 400 yards from the walls; Dickson had told off fourteen 24-pounders and two 8-inch howitzers for the work on the left bank, five 24-pounders and two other howitzers for the attack on San Cristobal. More energy was displayed in this last quarter than in the others, apparently from the notion that if this commanding work could be subdued the rest of the siege would be an easy matter. But the results were disappointing: on the stony slopes of San Cristobal there was little earth to throw up, and the spade gritted against rock at three inches from the surface. At the end of the first night’s digging the trench was but a seam, and there was only one section at which about ten men could work under cover. The rest had to be abandoned during daylight, for the enemy kept up a furious fire, not merely from the fort, but from the citadel on the other side of the river, whose flank battery enfiladed the projected trench. Three out of nine engineer officers present on this front were killed or wounded in the first twenty-four hours, and many of the workers from Kemmis’s brigade and the 17th Portuguese. It soon became obvious that the trenches would have to be built with earth from a distance and gabions, rather than excavated. Nevertheless, a battery for Dickson’s five 24-pounders was sketched out, and began to be visible to the enemy. On the night of the 10th Phillipon sent up a reserve battalion into San Cristobal, and executed a sortie upon the British works. It penetrated into the trenches, but was driven out after a sharp struggle by the covering party. But, pursuing too far, the British came under the guns of San Cristobal, and had to retire to their trenches with lamentably heavy loss[353]. Next day the battery was completed, despite of a deadly fire both from the[p. 286] fort and the castle, and opened upon its objective. But it was completely overmastered, and before night four of its five guns had been damaged or dismounted; three more engineer officers were hurt, leaving only three surviving of the original nine. It is said that the battery opened before it had been intended—a fault of over-zeal on the part of the Portuguese major in command. Beresford’s purpose had been to wait till the other attacks, on the Picurina and Pardaleras, were ready, before beginning to batter San Cristobal. These attacks had met with less difficulty, the ground being easier to dig, and on the evening of the 11th the trenches in front of the Picurina were well advanced, and the battery of ten guns there opened upon the fort with some, but not great, effect.

Seeing the San Cristobal attack faring so badly, the engineers got leave to erect a second battery on that side, further down the hill, which was intended to check the enfilading fire from the other side of the Guadiana. More guns were brought up to the original battery, to replace those that had been damaged. But both batteries were overpowered and badly maltreated on the morning of the 12th. A few hours later news arrived from the south, sent by Ballasteros, to the effect that the French were in motion from Seville with a large relieving army, and were marching hard across the Sierra Morena, just as Wellington had expected; they had reached Santa Olalla on the 11th, and were already in touch with Latour-Maubourg. Since their force was estimated at only 23,000 men—not far from the real amount—Beresford resolved to fight, and sent requests to Casta?os, Ballasteros, and Blake to concentrate on Albuera, the battle-ground selected by Wellington. It was fortunate that Blake was now in close touch and available—he had reached Fregenal on the 9th and Barcarrota on the 12th, so that his arrival was certain, unless some unforeseen accident should occur. Without his aid it would have been doubtful policy to wait for Soult and risk a general action: but with his 10,000 men in line the Allies would have wellnigh 35,000 men available, if every unit came complete to the field.
Map of the British Sieges of Badajoz in May and June 1811

Enlarge  BADAJOZ The Two British Sieges (May & June 1811)

Meanwhile, pending the confirmation of the news of the French advance, Beresford’s engineers asked leave to open another parallel, and 1,400 men had been paraded for the[p. 287] purpose of starting it, when complete details as to Soult’s progress came to hand. It had been so rapid that the Marshal at once ordered all the siege operations to be discontinued, though the engineers tried to persuade him to risk two days’ more work, by the vain promise that they would undertake to produce two practicable breaches in that space of time. Beresford wisely refused to listen to them, and ordered that all the guns and ammunition should be returned at once to Elvas, with such of the siege stores as could be readily moved. But the mass of gabions and fascines had to be burnt, as these would be profitable to the garrison, and would certainly be carried into the town if they were left intact. The troops, English, Portuguese, and Spanish (three battalions of Casta?os’s infantry had come up from Merida), were ordered to prepare to march for Albuera in successive detachments, the 4th Division and the Spaniards being left to the last in the trenches, to cover the removal of the guns and stores.

Beresford’s total casualties in this mismanaged fragment of a siege, from May 6th to May 12th, had been 533 British and 200 Portuguese, or 733 in all, lost in the trenches and in the sortie. It will be seen that the sortie cost far more lives than the actual beleaguering work. All the British loss save seven casualties was in Kemmis’s brigade of the 4th Division[354], which lay on the Cristobal side, and suffered both in the trench-building and in the sortie. The Portuguese loss was partly in the 17th Line, which acted with Kemmis, partly among the artillery.
SECTION XXVI: CHAPTER II
FUENTES DE O?ORO: PRELIMINARY OPERATIONS.
APRIL 12nd-MAY 3rd, 1811

The Army of Portugal, sullenly retiring far within the frontiers of Spain, had been lost to Wellington’s sight on April 8th, when it passed the Agueda and fell back in diverging columns towards various towns of the kingdom of Leon—Salamanca, Toro, and Zamora—where it went into cantonments. Only Drouet with the two divisions of Conroux and Claparéde remained in observation of the Allies, with his head quarters at San Mu?oz. The British general was well aware of the dilapidated state in which the enemy had reached his base, and calculated that it would take many weeks for Masséna to get his army into fighting trim again. He considered that he might even hope to gain possession of Almeida before the French would be in a position to attempt its relief, though it could only fall by famine, since there were no heavy guns to form a battering-train for its siege nearer than Oporto, Abrantes, or Lisbon. He had already inspected the place, and saw that it had been put in such a good state of defence by the governor, Brennier, that all external traces of the great explosion of August 1810 had disappeared. That the town within was still a mass of ruins, with nearly every house cut off sheer at the first story, was of no military importance, when the enceinte and the bomb-proofs were in good order.

There was a short moment during which Wellington had some hopes of being able to lay hands on Ciudad Rodrigo as well as Almeida. He had learnt that the Spanish fortress was almost as depleted of food as the Portuguese, and that Masséna’s troops had consumed 200,000 rations from its stores when they reached the frontier; he thought that the extra garrison which Junot had thrown into it, before he passed onward, would only serve to exhaust the magazines so much the earlier. Accordingly he not[p. 289] only requested that active and enterprising partisan Julian Sanchez, to beset the roads between Salamanca and Rodrigo, in order that no provisions might get through, but made preparations to throw some British light troops across the Agueda to co-operate with him, when the approach of a convoy should be reported. With this object he moved up the Light Division and Arentschildt’s brigade of cavalry close to the Agueda and within a few miles of Rodrigo. Their head quarters were at Gallegos, their outposts extended from the bridge of Barba del Puerco on the north as far as El Bodon on the south. It was intended that, when Don Julian signalled the approach of the French, the Light Division should make a dash across the fords of the Agueda, and endeavour to intercept the convoy. This plan failed on the 13th of April, owing, as Wellington held, to the slowness of Sir William Erskine[355], who was still in command of the division, though news had just arrived—to the great satisfaction of all the battalions—that its old general, Craufurd, was daily expected at Lisbon on his way to the front.

Rodrigo having been revictualled, Wellington abandoned all hope of molesting it further; to have invested it would have been useless, when he had no siege-train. But Almeida he intended to reduce at his leisure, being of the opinion that it would be starved out before Masséna was in a position to take the field to relieve it. Nothing short of his whole army would suffice for that operation—if that even were enough. And knowing that the troops had just reached Salamanca in a demoralized and discontented condition, without shoes, without train, almost without ammunition, and with the remnant of their cavalry and artillery horses dying off at the rate of several hundreds a day, Wellington doubted if his adversary would be able to come out of his cantonments before the summer was far spent. At any rate, he calculated that he had a good many weeks before him, in which he was not likely to find the Army of Portugal a serious danger. Accordingly he resolved to put[p. 290] his own host into cantonments also, in such a position as to block the road to Almeida, and to give it a well-earned rest while that fortress was being starved out. He had, as we observed in a previous chapter, no intention of assuming the offensive against the French in Leon till he had organized his line of communication with his new base at Coimbra, and established large intermediate dép?ts at Lamego, Celorico, and other conveniently placed localities. The army was living from hand to mouth,—all the country about Almeida, Guarda, and Sabugal having been thoroughly devastated,—on convoys which were only struggling up at irregular intervals from the lower Mondego. The horses especially were in very poor order, from want of proper forage. ‘The regiments subsisted on the green corn, which was dreadful to the inhabitants, and of little use to the horses, when they had to work. There was nothing else, and we had to cut their rye.... How our army has been carried though this desolate abandoned country is astonishing[356].’ Till there were dép?ts and a regular service established, it was impossible to concentrate the army, much less to send it forward into Spain.

Accordingly the allied troops were spread broadcast in the villages between the Coa and the Agueda. The Light Division and two cavalry regiments[357] were in front, holding the outposts facing Ciudad Rodrigo, and in touch with Drouet’s corps, which lay along the Yeltes, a stream that runs roughly parallel with the Agueda, at a distance of from seven to fifteen miles to the north-east. The 5th Division was in the villages around Fort Concepcion, in support of the Light Division. The 6th Division, with Pack’s Portuguese, who had lately come up from the Mondego, where they had been dropped during the pursuit of Masséna[358], were blockading Almeida. The main body of the army, the 1st, 3rd, and 7th Divisions, with Ashworth’s independent Portuguese brigade[359], were cantoned in the valleys of[p. 291] the Dos Casas and the Turon, tributaries of the Agueda, being distributed between Nava de Aver, Fuentes de O?oro, Pozo Bello, and other small places in the neighbourhood. The cavalry, save that detached to the front, was trying to keep its horses alive in the poor villages along the Coa, from Castello Rodrigo to Alfayates[360]. The whole army, distributed in a square of not more than twenty miles, was so placed that it could concentrate at any point in one march. Wellington, even though he judged Masséna unable to molest him, was determined not to be caught with his troops in a state of dispersion.

But considering that things were at present at a standstill on the northern frontier, and that nothing serious could be undertaken there, till the line of supplies was organized and Almeida captured, Wellington now resolved to pay the long-deferred visit to Estremadura which he projected as far back as the commencement of Masséna’s retreat. ‘At this moment,’ he wrote to Lord Liverpool, ‘the first object is certainly Badajoz.’ Till that place should have been recovered and regarrisoned, he could never feel quite safe on his southern flank. A diversion on the part of Soult in the Alemtejo, threatening Lisbon from the south, would always be a dangerous and tiresome possibility, until Badajoz was once more in the hands of the Allies, and all Estremadura recovered and held by a competent force. The future was inscrutable—for all Wellington knew the Emperor might appear in person, before the summer was over, to take up the Spanish problem; or, on the other hand, the affairs of Eastern Europe might cause him to shut off all reinforcements from the Peninsula, and to turn his attention to a Russian war. But whatever might happen, it was well to have the Portuguese frontier properly covered in the south. Supposing the French made another march on Lisbon, it was necessary to be free of danger in the rear. Supposing that they showed weakness, and dropped the offensive, the possession of Badajoz and Estremadura gave facilities for disquieting the Army of Andalusia, perhaps for raising the siege of Cadiz, which could not be secured in any other fashion.

[p. 292]Meanwhile Wellington formulated three possible courses[361] which the French might pursue during the next two months, before new reinforcements could reach them from France, or the Emperor make his appearance—if so he should decide to do. These three possible courses were: (a) Masséna might call on Bessières, and induce him to join the Army of Portugal at once with all his disposable troops, in order that they might save Almeida by driving off the British army. (b) Masséna might allow his troops a long repose in cantonments, relieving the Army of the North in its present charge of Old Castile, while Bessières, with such part of his corps as he could collect, might invade Galicia, to clear the French right flank. (c) Masséna might give his troops the repose that they needed, and, after some interval, might pass south into Estremadura, to join Soult in operations on the Guadiana, while leaving Bessières in charge of the defence of the frontiers of Leon. It will be seen that the French actually adopted first plan (a), the endeavour to save Almeida by a junction of the Armies of Portugal and the North, and then, a month later, plan (c), a concentration in Estremadura to save Badajoz. Oddly enough, Wellington conceived that the first plan was the least likely of the three, apparently because he over-estimated the time which it would take Masséna to reorganize his army and resume active operations. He did not make enough allowance for the old Marshal’s obstinacy, and for the pride which forbade him to allow Almeida to fall without any effort being made to relieve it. But though he thought this scheme the least likely for the French to adopt, he made full provisions for dealing with it, in case it should be the one they selected. His second suggestion, that Bessières might hand over the charge of Old Castile to Masséna, and[p. 293] proceed to invade Galicia, was founded on an insufficient knowledge of the present situation and difficulties of the Army of the North. Bessières, though the gross amount of his forces was large (over 70,000 men), was much too obsessed and worried by the guerrilleros to dream of concentrating a force large enough to make a serious invasion of Galicia. We shall find him, three weeks after the date of Wellington’s dispatch, declaring that he could only collect 1,600 cavalry and one battery to form a field force, because any movement of his infantry would imperil the whole fabric of the French supremacy in northern Spain. If the objection be raised that this plea of his was only put forth in order to disoblige Masséna, and to save himself from responsibility, no such objection can be made to his statement of June 6th—made after Masséna’s recall—to the effect that if he were forced to concentrate 20,000 men for any purpose, all communications with France and Madrid would be lost, and the whole of the country-side, from the Guadiana to the Bay of Biscay, would blaze up in one general insurrection[362]. Supposing that Masséna and Bessières had been on the best of terms, and that the former had proposed to take over the charge of the region occupied by the latter, in order to set the Army of the North free for field operations, Bessières must have replied that he would not be able to produce enough men to ‘contain’ the British army, and at the same time to attack Galicia. Wellington’s hypothesis therefore was faulty; he undervalued the work of the guerrilleros, who were occupying, for his benefit, the attention of a much greater part of the French army than he supposed. The idea that the enemy might make a blow at Galicia was inspired by his knowledge of the weakness of that province, where Mahy had put everything out of gear, and Santocildes had not yet begun the process of reorganization. Knowing how disastrous the appearance of a French corps in this quarter might prove, he feared it more than was necessary[363].

[p. 294]If it be asked what were Napoleon’s views as to the proper scheme for the French marshals to adopt, under the circumstances that existed on April 15, we must not look (of course) to orders issued about that time, when he was still working on data three weeks old. As late as March 30th he had been sending instructions to Soult and other commanders on the hypothesis that Masséna’s head quarters were at Coimbra, and that Oporto was very possibly in French hands![364] On April 9 he was telling the Prince of Essling to devote his energy to the armament of Almeida, and to place himself so as to cover both that place and Ciudad Rodrigo[365]—orders exquisitely inapplicable when Almeida was already blockaded by Wellington, and Masséna’s troops had just crawled past Ciudad Rodrigo, in a state of hopeless dilapidation, on their retreat to Salamanca. The next advice sent to the Army of Portugal was almost equally inappropriate: having heard of Wellington’s flying visit to Estremadura by intelligence dated April 18th (the trip had begun upon the 15th), he jumped to the conclusion that the English general must have taken many troops with him. On May 7th he wrote, ‘the translations from English newspapers herewith enclosed show that Lord Wellington had crossed the Tagus on April 18th. So it seems that on the side of Castile there can now be only half the English army left. The events which must already have taken place on the side of Almeida will have shown the generals that this is the case, and will have enabled them to make the proper corresponding move (de prendre le parti convenable), viz. to begin to move towards the Tagus[366].’ On the day when this was written, Wellington, who had not taken a man to Estremadura,[p. 295] had been back on the frontier of Leon since April 28, and had, at the head of the whole of his original army, defeated Masséna and Bessières at Fuentes de O?oro, on May 5th. As always, the imperial orders, founded on data that had long ceased to be correct, or had never been correct at all, arrived too late to direct the course of the campaign.

One most important measure, however, was taken at this time, by which the Emperor did succeed in affecting the general course of affairs on the frontier of Portugal. On April 20th he made up his mind to recall Masséna, and to send a new chief to the Army of Portugal. Five days before, Marshal Marmont, newly returned from commanding in Dalmatia, had received orders to start at once for Spain, where he was to replace Ney at the head of the 6th Corps. Whether the Emperor had already made up his mind on the 15th that Marmont was to replace Masséna, not to serve under him, it is impossible to say. But he at any rate concealed his purpose from the younger Marshal, who had been some days in Spain before he received on May 10th the dispatch of April 20th which made him commander of the Army of Portugal[367]. Probably the news that Masséna had failed in his design to hold Coimbra, which Foy had elaborately explained to the Emperor, and had fallen back behind Ciudad Rodrigo, had provoked his master to dismiss him from command. Foy’s report had caused Napoleon to believe that Masséna could stop on the Mondego and hold Wellington in check. The imperial dispatch of March 30 (as we have already seen) speaks of Masséna’s stay at Coimbra as a settled fact, and states that Oporto is or will soon be in his hands. On April 9 Napoleon knew that the Marshal had lost Coimbra and fallen back on Guarda[368], but continued to send him elaborate instructions. It was apparently the receipt of Masséna’s dispatch of March 31st from Alfayates, confessing that he was completely foiled, and that he must retire beyond the Agueda, as far as Zamora and Toro, since the spirit of the army was so broken that he dared not risk a general[p. 296] action[369], which determined the Emperor to supersede him. This document must have reached Paris about the 15th or 16th, and would suffice to explain Napoleon’s anger. For a Commander-in-Chief who confesses that he has lost the confidence of his army is a dangerous person to retain in power. There was ample evidence from Masséna’s earlier letters that he had quarrelled not only with Ney but with most of his other superior officers; if the general feeling of the army was also against him, he was not likely to get much good service out of it. Possibly there may have been also a feeling of wounded amour propre in the Emperor’s breast, when he reflected how, relying on Masséna’s assurances, he had informed Soult, King Joseph, and Bessières that the Army of Portugal had its head quarters at Coimbra, and would attack Lisbon in the autumn[370], so that ‘a hundred thousand men, using Coimbra and Badajoz as their bases, would complete the conquest of Portugal, a conquest which would drag England into a crisis that would be of the highest interest.’ Napoleon did not like to be made ridiculous before his subordinates, by having been induced to publish an absurd misstatement of fact, leading up to a vainglorious prophecy which appeared most unlikely to be realized.

But though Masséna’s death-warrant, as commander-in-chief was signed on April 20, and may have been decided upon as early as April 16, there were still three weeks during which he was to make his last stroke for revenge, and to lose his last battle, for it was not till May 12th that Marmont presented his lettres de service and took over the command.

Wellington, meanwhile, convinced that he had nothing to fear for some little time from the Army of Portugal and its commander, left Villar Formoso on the morning of April 15th, reached Sabugal that night, Castello Branco on the 17th, and Elvas by the noon of the 20th. This was marvellous travelling, considering the mountain roads that had to be traversed, but Wellington was a mighty horseman, and accompanied by only[p. 297] a few well-mounted staff officers flew like the wind over hill and dale. He remained only four days in Estremadura; during that short time he surveyed Badajoz, and issued compendious directions for the siege[371]; he drew up a plan of campaign for the united armies of Beresford, Blake, and Casta?os, and then, returning as rapidly as he had come, retraced his route to the frontiers of Leon, and was back at Alameda on the 29th, having been less than a fortnight absent from his army. This rapidity of movement, as we have already seen, completely puzzled Napoleon, who, on receiving the intelligence that Wellington was over the Tagus on the 18th, thought that he had gone with a strong force to establish himself in Estremadura, and sent orders for the Army of Portugal to move at once towards the south[372], a movement which at that moment could not have been executed for want of train, transport, and provisions.

During Wellington’s absence the command of the troops cantoned between the Agueda and the Coa had been given over to Sir Brent Spencer, as the senior division-commander present. Wellington did not think it probable that Spencer would be much troubled by the enemy during his short spell of responsibility, but left him directions that covered every possible contingency. If, contrary to all expectation, Masséna should make an effort to relieve Almeida within the fortnight for which the Commander-in-Chief intended to be absent[373], Spencer was directed to make a careful estimate of the force of the enemy; if it were but small the line of the Agueda might be held; if it were great—it was conceivable that Bessières might succour Masséna—Spencer was to concentrate, not in front of Almeida, nor across the road from Rodrigo to that place, but in a defensive position to the south of it, parallel to the French line of advance and threatening it in flank. Only Pack’s Portuguese infantry brigade, and Barba?ena’s cavalry brigade of the same[p. 298] nation, were to keep up the investment of Almeida till the last possible moment. The designated position was that in front of Rendo, Alfayates, and Aldea Velha, which Wellington took up himself later in the same year, during a subsequent movement of the French to relieve Ciudad Rodrigo. No leave to fight a battle was given to Spencer, though it was given to Beresford when the latter was placed in a similar responsible position. Instead, he was ordered to send constant information to his absent chief, who gave him a tabular statement of the mileage of his journey and the place at which he was to be heard of each day[374]. Wellington intended to return with his own peculiar swiftness on the first threatening news, and thought that he could reckon on being back in time, if he was properly advised of the first ominous movements of the enemy. He apparently calculated that, if Masséna came on in great force, and found the British army massed in a strong mountain position, upon the flank of the route that he must take towards Almeida, he would be unlikely to attack it—Bussaco being an unpleasant memory. If the Marshal began to man?uvre he would lose time, and he himself would be back before the crisis came.

As a matter of fact it was only towards the end of Spencer’s short period of responsibility that matters began to grow interesting upon the frontiers of Leon. There was, however, a slight alarm on the 15th-16th, just after Wellington’s departure. Masséna, not contented with having passed a first convoy into Rodrigo on the 13th, had followed it up with a second, which was escorted by Marchand’s division of the 6th Corps—a unit which had seen more severe service during March than any other part of the French army, yet was considered to be in better order than its fellows. The same phenomenon, it will be remembered, had been noted with Paget’s rearguard division during Moore’s retreat to Corunna. Marchand was ordered, when he should have lodged the convoy in Rodrigo, to make a reconnaissance toward the Azava, and try to discover what was the force of the British in that direction. He got into the fortress without hindrance, owing to Erskine’s usual talent for bungling—on the approach of the convoy the Light[p. 299] Division was concentrated at Molino de Flores, but Erskine refused to send it over the fords, and watched Marchand defile into the town. Some cavalry went across the Agueda, and cut off a flanking party of three hundred French, who took shelter in a ruined village and refused to surrender. Erskine sent no one to support the British horse, and presently a French column came out of Rodrigo and released the blockaded party. All this took place under the eyes of the disgusted Light Division on the other side of the water[375] (April 16th).

Some days later Marchand came out of Rodrigo with a regiment of infantry and a squadron, to make the reconnaissance which he had been directed to execute. At Marialva, five miles outside the fortress, he ran into the pickets of the 95th and 52nd, and received such a warm reception that he turned back at once, and sent the report to Masséna that the British were established in strong force close above the Agueda (April 22[376]). After this there were no further alarms at the front till the 28th, the day on which Wellington returned from Elvas. But Spencer’s account of the reconnaissance of the 22nd, which reached Wellington at Portalegre on the 25th, undoubtedly contributed to hurry the return journey of the Commander-in-Chief, for it was accompanied by a report—which was perfectly correct—that information from the side of Salamanca seemed to make it certain that Masséna was reconcentrating his troops for a dash at Almeida, and that Bessières had been asked to give help. The Salamanca secret correspondents (of whom the chief was Doctor Curtis, the head of the Irish College in the University) had always proved trustworthy, so that their reports could not be ignored, and Wellington was glad that the French movement was reported at the end, and not at the commencement, of his trip to Estremadura.

The fact was that Masséna was making a last desperate effort to save the military reputation of which he was so proud, and to justify himself to his master. If Almeida and Rodrigo were both to be lost, as the final sequel to his retreat from Portugal,[p. 300] his whole year’s command must be written down as a failure; if these early conquests of 1810 could be saved, he might yet claim to have added somewhat to the French dominions in the Peninsula. His troops had not been a fortnight in their cantonments before he was making preparations to reassemble them for a last effort. In some respects that fortnight had made a great difference in their condition: Salamanca and Valladolid, at the moment of his arrival, were full of drafts of men, and accumulation of stores, belonging to the Army of Portugal, which had been gathering there for many months while the communications with that army were cut. At one moment in the late winter, Thiébault, the governor of Salamanca, had no less than 18,000 men of detachments belonging to Masséna’s troops in his government[377]—partly convalescents, partly small parties which had come up from the French dép?ts to join their regiments, and had been unable to do so. Though some of them had ultimately gone forward with Foy and Gardanne, many still remained to be absorbed. The numbers of ‘present under arms’ in the 2nd, 6th, and 8th Corps went up at once, the mass of sick and exhausted men which they discharged into hospital being replaced by the drafts and convalescents. Masséna also took out of the 9th Corps the battalions belonging to regiments of which the main bodies were already in the old Army of Portugal, and sent them to join their comrades[378]. The cadres of one battalion in each regiment were then sent home to France, and the other three raised to something like their original war strength. This redistribution brought up the divisions of Reynier and Loison to a figure which they had not known for many months, though it depleted Drouet’s corps to a corresponding extent: his troops now consisted of only[p. 301] eighteen battalions, or 10,000 infantry, all consisting of fourth battalions belonging to regiments serving in Andalusia. He had received orders that when the crisis on the frontiers of Leon was over, he was to conduct these units to join their eagles in Soult’s army. Drouet was anxious to get away from Masséna as soon as possible, and would gladly have marched for Seville without delay; but it was obvious that this was as yet impossible, and, as he was technically under the command of the Marshal, he was compelled to play his part in the ensuing campaign.

The net result of all the transferences of battalions and the picking up of drafts was that on May 1, the 2nd Corps had in the ranks 1,200 more men than it had possessed on March 15, the 6th Corps 2,000 more, Solignac’s division of the 8th Corps 800 more. On the other hand, Clausel’s division of the last-named corps, originally composed almost entirely of isolated ‘fourth battalions’ was practically ruined[379]. Masséna left it behind, when he mobilized the other divisions of the old Army of Portugal for the May campaign. But the men available for the field in the remaining divisions, including those of Drouet, now amounted to 42,000 bayonets. Their ammunition had been replenished, they had been reshod, though only to a small extent reclothed, and they had received at the last moment several months’ arrears of pay. Their morale still left much to be desired, for confidence in their Commander-in-Chief had not been restored, and Ney was still regretted. But a French army, however discontented, could always be trusted to fight when duty called, and the Prince of Essling still hoped to redeem his lost reputation.

But the weak points in the Army of Portugal were the cavalry and artillery. The greater part of the horses which had survived the retreat from Santarem had only reached the plains of Leon to die. A third of the troopers lacked horses altogether, the remainder had in many cases mounts which must perish if asked to do another week’s work. When the cavalry brigadiers of the 2nd and 6th Corps were directed to send to the front all mounted men fit for service, Lamotte could only show 319[p. 302] sabres from a brigade which had counted 800 in March; Pierre Soult (decidedly more fortunate) had 600 out of 900, though one of his regiments (the 1st Hussars) could put only 103 men in the saddle. Montbrun’s division of reserve dragoons, which had 2,400 sabres a few weeks back, came to the front with 1,187. The most effective cavalry unit in the army was the brigade of Fournier[380], belonging to Drouet’s corps, which, not having shared in the winter campaign in Portugal, could show 794 men in good state. Thus Masséna could bring forward for the new campaign no more than 3,000 horsemen, and these not in the best condition[381].

With the artillery the case was even worse, for the class of horse had been weaker, and the mortality proportionately greater. As we have seen in a previous chapter, the batteries had for the most part just succeeded in dragging back their guns to the Agueda, after destroying nearly all their carts and caissons. It was doubtful whether for an offensive campaign the whole army could now provide twenty guns with the full complement of auxiliary vehicles, adequately horsed. Masséna, in stating his difficulties to Berthier, went so far as to say that each of the four corps could put about half a battery into the field in proper order[382]. The state of the military train was quite as bad—regimental and corps transport was reduced to such a state of nullity, that when the army took the field it would have to be for a few days at most, since, after loading the men with as many rations as each could carry, the only extra supply was what could be drawn by a few store carts found in Rodrigo and Salamanca. During the short campaign that was imminent, the troops lived from hand to mouth, on food daily brought up from the magazines of Rodrigo, after having been compelled to eat the convoy[p. 303] that they had brought with them for the supply of Almeida. There was nothing to be got from the country-side, which was exhausted, by the constant passing to and fro of armies and detachments, all the way from Salamanca to the frontier.

Food at the base existed; when Masséna reached Salamanca he had found there considerable accumulations, though not nearly so much as he expected or required[383]. It was on this particular point that he had started a lively dispute with Bessières the moment that he reached Spain. The Duke of Istria had been for some months in charge of the whole of Old Castile and Leon, and had come to look upon their resources as so much his own private property that he greatly resented the intrusion of 40,000 starving men into his governorship. Masséna complained that he was fed with promises, and that when statistics of food placed at his disposal were compared with what was actually handed over, there was a lamentable discrepancy. He had been told that he would find at Salamanca 10,000 fanegas of wheat, and that 8,000 more and 200,000 rations of biscuit for the garrison of Rodrigo would appear in a few days; he stated that he could only discover 6,000 fanegas and 39,000 rations of biscuit, and that the convoy sent to Rodrigo on the 13th had only carried 20,000 rations at most. Bessières replied that he was doing his best, that he had his own corps to feed, that the arrival of the Army of Portugal was wholly unexpected—had he not been told only a few weeks back, first that it was to stay at Coimbra, and then that it was going off by a cross march to Plasencia and the Tagus? For so Masséna had written from Guarda at the end of March. Moreover, Old Castile was dreadfully exhausted, and the guerrilleros so active that every convoy required an immense escort to guard it. All this was perfectly true, yet it is probable that he might have done more if he had chosen, and he presently received virulent rebukes from the Emperor for lack of zeal.

But when recriminatory letters were already passing between the two marshals on the food question, Bessières began to receive additional demands for military help. On April 20th Masséna wrote that he was bound in honour to march to the relief of Almeida, that he would have his infantry reorganized by the[p. 304] 26th, but that his cavalry and artillery were in such a hopeless state that he was forced to make a formal request for aid to the Army of the North. The Duke of Istria replied that his troops were so scattered, and the guerrilleros so active, that he doubted if he could give any help at all. On the 22nd, however, he wrote that by making a great effort he could collect some cavalry and guns, and would be at Salamanca on the 26th. But on the 27th nothing had arrived from the Army of the North at that city. Masséna replied in high wrath: ‘Vos lettres sont inconcevables. Je vous ai demandé de l’artillerie et des attelages, et encore plus positivement de la cavalerie—vous avez sous différents prétextes éludé ma demande. Toutes les troupes qui sont en Espagne sont de la même famille. Vous êtes, jusqu’à ce qu’il y ait de nouveaux ordres, chargé de la défense et de l’approvisionnement des places de Rodrigo et d’Almeida,’ &c.

Bessières, however, did not break his promise, as Masséna had for a moment feared, he merely executed it a little late, and on the smallest possible scale. He brought with him two small brigades of cavalry, making between 1,600 and 1,700 sabres, that of Wathier (11th, 12th, 24th Chasseurs à cheval, and 5th Hussars), and that of Lepic, which consisted of two squadrons each of the grenadiers, lancers, and chasseurs of the Imperial Guard. He had also a horse artillery battery of the Guard, and had brought thirty teams of gun-horses, which, when distributed to the Army of Portugal, enabled it to put thirty-two pieces and the corresponding caissons in the field. Masséna had asked for Bessières’s cavalry and guns, but had not been at all anxious to see his colleague in person appearing. ‘He would have done better,’ said the Prince to his staff, ‘to have sent me a few thousand men more, and more food and ammunition, and to have stopped at his own head quarters, instead of coming here to examine and criticize all my movements[384].’ He got a cool reception, which did not prevent him from following Masséna about during the whole campaign, volunteering frequent advice, and expressing a polite curiosity at his colleague’s smallest actions. Apparently he wanted to have credit for being present at a victory—if one[p. 305] should occur—but was anxious to risk as few of his own troops as possible, and not to take any responsibility. The Emperor, three weeks later, wrote him a letter of bitter rebuke, saying that he could well have brought up 10,000 men without disgarnishing any important posts; an infantry division of the Guard and four batteries might have been added to the 1,700 horse that he actually produced, without leaving Valladolid, Burgos, or the frontier opposite Galicia in any danger[385]. If the two marshals had collected some 55,000 men, it is certain that Wellington would not have fought, and would have allowed Almeida to be revictualled.

Masséna had reached Ciudad Rodrigo on April 26th, his four corps concentrated there by the 29th, and Bessières came up with his cavalry on the 1st of May. The whole force assembled consisted of 42,000 infantry, 4,500 cavalry, and 38 guns, a total, counting the auxiliary arms, of about 48,000 men[386]. On the 30th Marchand was sent out with six squadrons and his own infantry to make a reconnaissance in force of the allied lines. He found the Light Division still in position at Gallegos, with outposts along the Azava, and withdrew to Rodrigo after having stayed for some hours opposite the height of Marialva. On the next day but one (May 2) the French army began to pour in an interminable stream across the Agueda, by the bridge of Ciudad Rodrigo, dividing into two columns when it had passed—the 2nd Corps on the Marialva road, more to the north, the 8th and 9th Corps on the Carpio road, more to the south. The 6th Corps, forming the reserve and crossing late, also took the left-hand Carpio road. Each column was preceded by its corps-cavalry.

Wellington was perfectly well prepared to meet the movement. He had been back with his army since the 29th of April, and had been informed on his arrival that Masséna had[p. 306] come to Ciudad Rodrigo in person two days before, and that the roads from Salamanca westward were black with French columns[387]. He had made up his mind to fight, though he had denied Spencer the power to do so in his absence. The battle position was already chosen, and the army was concentrated upon it, all save the covering screen formed by the Light Division and the cavalry, which was to hold its ground as long as possible before falling back on the main body. The two cavalry regiments which had been sent to the rear in the middle of the month had been brought up again to the Azava on the 28th, so that the whole of the small force of that arm was available for holding back the French advance.

Wellington had less troops in line than he desired, mainly owing to the dreadful depletion in the ranks of the Portuguese infantry, caused by the inefficient way in which it was fed by its government, and the slowness with which convalescents and detached parties rejoined their colours[388]. Some of the regiments which ought to have shown 1,200 men in the ranks had only 500 or 700 men, and the twenty-five battalions with the field army amounted in all to no more than 11,000 bayonets on May 1st, though they had shown 13,000 in the preceding December, and had absorbed many drafts since that date. The single Portuguese cavalry brigade with the army was in even worse state, the two regiments showing but 312 sabres in line, though they had mustered nearly 800 during the winter. The men were alive, but the chargers had disappeared, owing (as[p. 307] Wellington maintained) to bad horse-mastership on the part of the men and slack supervision on the part of the regimental officers. As the four British cavalry corps, which had seen the same service during the last two months, were only 200 horses weaker in May than they were in March, the explanation is probably correct.

The total force available for a general action on May 1st was 34,000 infantry, of which 23,000 were British, 1,850 cavalry, including the 312 Portuguese, and 1,250 artillery, sappers, &c. There were four British and four Portuguese batteries, with 48 guns. This total does not include the detachment blockading Almeida, which consisted of Pack’s brigade and one British battalion. While only 8,000 weaker than Masséna in infantry, it will be seen that Wellington’s army had hardly more than a third of the number of his cavalry—1,850 to 4,500; in guns there was a slight superiority—48 pieces to 38. In a mountain position, such as that of Bussaco, the deficiency of cavalry would have been of no importance. But the country-side between Almeida and Rodrigo is mostly undulating plateau, practicable in most parts for cavalry operations on a large scale. The only obstacles of importance are the courses of the three small streams which cross the high-road, the Azava, Dos Casas, and Turon, minor tributaries of the Agueda. All three are insignificant brooks save after heavy rain, and though there had been a downfall in the end of April, they were now going down and resuming their usual proportions. Their waters were now a negligible quantity, but in some parts of their course they flow in deep-cut ravines, many feet below the general level of the plateau, and present a serious hindrance to the movement of troops. This is especially the case in their lower course; nearer the hills to the south, where they rise, the ravines as well as the streams grow smaller, and can be crossed anywhere.

The particular position which Wellington had selected as his fighting-ground was the line of the Dos Casas, from the ruined Fort Concepcion to the village of Fuentes de O?oro. The ravine of the Dos Casas is both wide and steep in the neighbourhood of the fort—perhaps 150 feet deep—but grows decidedly shallower towards Fuentes, and above that place is no longer a notable feature in the country-side. The stream itself is nowhere more[p. 308] than ten yards broad nor three feet deep, so that, when its banks cease to be high and scarped, it can be crossed anywhere by infantry, cavalry, or guns. Its valley above Fuentes is partly arable, partly meadow-land in gentle grassy slopes, much more like an English than a typical Spanish landscape. Standing on the higher ground behind the village, the observer sees a marked contrast between the rocky ravine down-stream, and the broad undulating bottom to his right. The ridge, however, on which he is standing does not entirely disappear to the south; it still remains as the watershed between the little basin of the Dos Casas and that of its twin-stream the Turon, which flows exactly parallel with it less than two miles to the west. Up-stream the view is closed by woods surrounding the village of Pozo Bello (or Posovelho as the neighbouring Portuguese call it) on the right or further bank of the Dos Casas, and by the rounded hill of Nava de Aver, below which the river is flanked on both sides by a stretch of boggy ground, only to be crossed by some invisible paths. There are five miles from Fort Concepcion to Fuentes de O?oro village, and this was Wellington’s original position, entirely covered in front by a well-marked ravine. But the two further miles from Fuentes to Pozo Bello, which he proceeded to take in for defence when the enemy showed signs of turning his right, may be described as open ground, with no protection on its flank save the morass by Nava de Aver, which could obviously be turned by any enemy who chose to make a sufficiently wide circuit, and might be crossed by infantry at some points, after careful exploration of its depths.

Fuentes de O?oro itself stands on the western bank of the Dos Casas, at the point where the heights begin to sink and the ravine ceases. Its lower houses are almost level with the stream, but the village slopes uphill to two points a little higher than the general summit of the plateau, one of which is crowned by its church, the other by a cross on a large rock. On the opposite side of the stream there are no buildings but a chapel and a single farm-steading. Past these the high-road from Ciudad Rodrigo ascends on a gentle slope, commanded for some hundred yards by the heights on which the village stands, so that any force advancing to attack Fuentes comes under fire early, and has no cover whatever. The eligibility of the place[p. 309] as a post is much increased by the fact that the houses are surrounded by numerous stone walls, making crofts and gardens, which are of a height and strength suitable for giving excellent cover to infantry in skirmishing order. Nor can it easily be turned, since to the left it is protected by the ravine of the Dos Casas, ever growing deeper down-stream, while on the right the houses trend back for a long distance up the slopes, and the stone walls continue their line for some distance. In short, it is an admirable point on which to rest the flank of an army in battle order, and Wellington had well marked its strength, and was serene and content, so long as the French ranged their forces parallel to his own. The trouble only came when, on the second day of battle, they extended their southern wing to Pozo Bello, so that Fuentes became the right centre instead of the right flank-guard of the allied army.

The general position behind the Dos Casas has only one serious defect: it has in its rear, at a distance of some six or seven miles, the ravine of the Coa, passable at only a limited number of points for artillery and wheeled vehicles, though there are many more at which infantry or cavalry can get across. Of bridges within a reasonable distance from the position there are only those of (1) Ponte Sequeiro, ten miles to the right rear; (2) of Castello Bom, six miles to the direct rear of Fuentes village; and (3) of Almeida, eight miles to the left rear[389]. If the army should be constrained by any misfortune to retreat, its transport and artillery would have to pass over one or more of these three defiles, of which the first is inconveniently placed because it is too far off to the flank, while the third had been broken by the French and only hastily repaired. It may be added also that it was dangerously close to Almeida, though out of sight of that fortress, and completely beyond the range of its cannon. But to have sent baggage or guns across it might have appeared a little hazardous. The only really convenient line of retreat from the Fuentes position was that across the bridge of Castello Bom, a structure of no great breadth, and liable to become congested or blocked in a moment of hurry. It was only wheeled traffic, however, that might become difficult; above[p. 310] and below the Castello Bom bridge are good fords for infantry and cavalry at San Miguel and Algeirenos, besides numerous other points where troops could get across at a pinch. Evidently, however, if Wellington failed to hold his chosen position, he ran the risk of losing some or all of his impedimenta, supposing that he were vigorously pursued and compelled to retreat in haste. A caisson overturned on the descent towards the bridge might force him to abandon whole batteries, jammed in the narrow road. Of this danger he was well aware, but judged it worth risking, in view of the importance of holding the best possible position for covering the siege of Almeida. No battle-ground that was ever chosen is destitute of some fault. And, at the worst, the infantry and cavalry would not be endangered, since the fords could not fail them, and the Coa (though its ravine is often steep) is by no means a large river. But Wellington did not believe that he could be beaten by the force which Masséna was able to bring against him, and though he thought over orders for a retreat, was strongly under the impression that he would never have to issue them.

On May 2nd, as we have already mentioned, the whole French army advanced from Ciudad Rodrigo, one column on the Marialva-Gallegos road, the other on the southern or Carpio road. The Light Division, and the four cavalry regiments accompanying it, began to retire, according to their directions, not making more haste than was necessary, and turning to bay occasionally to fight a small rearguard action. The country-side was somewhat dangerous for a small ‘detaining force,’ being passable for cavalry in many directions and thickly wooded. It had to be remembered that the enemy, using the cover of the woods, and hiding himself behind the undulations of the ground, might easily break through the screen of cavalry and light troops unless great care and caution were shown. Fortunately the Light Division was well skilled in keeping touch along the line, and in avoiding risks, and a whole day of skirmishing in retreat led to no regrettable incidents. On the night of the 2nd of May the covering force bivouacked behind Gallegos and Espeja, both of which villages were occupied by the advanced guards of the enemy.

On the 3rd Masséna resumed his advance, and drove in the[p. 311] Light Division and the cavalry upon Wellington’s chosen position. They retired skirmishing, till they came to the main body, when the four cavalry regiments wheeled into line on the right rear of the village of Fuentes de O?oro, while the Light Division, crossing the bridge at that place, placed itself in reserve on the heights, behind the front crest. In the afternoon the whole French army became more or less visible from the Allies’ position. It was now in three columns: the right column was formed by the 2nd Corps, which had taken the route Gallegos-Alameda, and displayed itself on the heights opposite Wellington’s left, facing towards Fort Concepcion and San Pedro, with the deepest part of the ravine of the Dos Casas in front of it. The centre column was formed by the single division of the 8th Corps (Solignac), which posted itself to the left of the 2nd, south of Alameda. The heaviest and most important mass of the enemy, however, was on the left, where Montbrun’s cavalry, which had been engaged all the morning in pushing back the British horse, came up directly opposite Fuentes de O?oro, and on finding that village occupied in force by the Allies took ground to its left, facing the squadrons which it had been pursuing, on the other side of the Dos Casas. When the cavalry had wheeled aside, the front of the infantry of the 6th Corps became visible on the high-road, division behind division. The 9th Corps, still out of sight in the rear, was behind the 6th, so that five of the eight infantry divisions forming Masséna’s army were concentrated opposite Fuentes de O?oro. The front of the French did not extend for more than a short distance south of that village, so that it looked as if Wellington was to be assailed precisely in the strong position that he had selected.

The allied army had been arrayed at leisure on the ground chosen by its chief, who had ample time to make all his dispositions while the covering force was being driven in. His line was formed as follows: the 5th Division (Erskine) was posted just to the south of Fort Concepcion, with Barba?ena’s handful of Portuguese cavalry (only 300 sabres) watching its flank. Next to the south of Erskine lay the 6th Division (Campbell), in front of San Pedro. These two units faced Reynier and Junot respectively, with the deep ravine protecting their front. The 1st, 3rd, and 7th Divisions and Ashworth’s Portu[p. 312]guese brigade were arrayed on the heights behind Fuentes de O?oro, and the Light Division had taken post in their reserve. The houses and crofts of the village were occupied by a strong force of picked troops, composed of the light companies of Nightingale’s, Howard’s, and L?we’s brigades of the 1st Division, and of Mackinnon’s, Colville’s, and Power’s (Portuguese) brigades of the 3rd Division—28 companies in all[390]—with the 2/83rd from Colville’s brigade in support. The senior officer in the village was Lieut.-Colonel Williams, of the 5/60th. He had under him about 1,800 men of the light companies, all chosen shots, besides the 460 of the 2/83rd. To the south and rear of Fuentes, some way behind the village, were the four British cavalry regiments, only 1,500 sabres in gross, and reduced to a somewhat lower figure by detachments[391]. It will thus be seen that Wellington, like Masséna, had strengthened his southern wing. He had four and a half divisions of infantry—24,000 men—facing the 6th and 9th Corps, with their 27,000 bayonets and 3,500 horse, in and about Fuentes, while the 2nd Corps was observed by Erskine’s 5,000 men, and the 8th Corps by Campbell with a similar number[392]. In the northern end of the field the immense strength of the position behind the ravine enabled Wellington to be economical of troops; if it should chance that the French made a serious attack in that direction, there were ample reserves to be spared from the mass of infantry behind the right wing.

Masséna, having surveyed Wellington’s position in the early afternoon, recognized without difficulty that the village of Fuentes was the key of the whole, and that the northern front was too formidable, from the nature of the ground, to be lightly meddled with. It was impossible to make out the disposition[p. 313] of the allied troops, for (in accordance with his usual practice) their general had placed his battle-line behind the crest, so that nothing could be made out save the skirmishers all along the heights, and the garrison of Fuentes itself, which was sufficiently visible on the slope. In a manner which somewhat suggests his old method of Bussaco[393], Masséna ordered the leading division of the 6th Corps, Ferey’s ten battalions, to storm the village by direct frontal attack, while Reynier made a mere demonstration against the 5th Division on the extreme northern end of the position. The latter movement led to nothing, save that, when it seemed threatening, Wellington sent off the Light Division to strengthen his right wing—but, since the 2nd Corps never closed, it was not needed there, and halted behind the crest till nightfall.

In Fuentes village, however, there was a sharp conflict: the first brigade of Ferey’s division charged across the easily fordable brook under heavy fire, and got possession of some of the houses on the lower slope. From these the French were dislodged by the charge of the reserves of which Colonel Williams could dispose. The second brigade was then thrown into action by Ferey, and, coming on to the British while they were in the disorder caused by a charge among houses and walls, beat them back, and pursued them up to the top of the village. Here the light companies rallied, by the church and among the rocks, but the enemy remained for a moment master of all that part of Fuentes which lies on the slope and in the bottom by the brook. Wellington was determined that the French should make no lodgement in his line, and late in the afternoon sent three fresh battalions of the 1st Division to clear the village. Cadogan with the 1/71st, supported by the 1/79th and 2/24th, made a determined advance through the tangle of houses, lanes, and walls, and at considerable cost drove Ferey’s men right over the brook and up their own slope. Masséna then ordered the defeated troops to be supported by four battalions from Mar[p. 314]chand’s division, and with this aid they once more advanced and got possession of the chapel and the few other buildings on the east side of Dos Casas, but could not make their way across the water again, or into the main body of the village.

The combat only stopped with the fall of night, though the fusillade across the brook was of course objectless, when neither side made any further definite attack. It had cost the French 652 men—mostly in Ferey’s division[394], of whom 3 officers and 164 men were prisoners, taken when the village was re-stormed by Cadogan. The Allies, being on the defensive, and under cover, save at the moment of their counter-attack, only had 259 killed and hurt, of whom 48 were Portuguese. Colonel Williams, the original commander of the village, was severely wounded, but no other officer above the rank of captain was hit[395].
SECTION XXVI: CHAPTER III
THE BATTLE OF FUENTES DE O?ORO.
MAY 5th, 1811

Masséna’s attempt to ‘take the bull by the horns’—for the phrase used at Bussaco may well be repeated for the attack on Fuentes village—had failed with loss. It was clear that he had hit upon a strong point in Wellington’s well-hidden line, and he had paid dearly for his brutal methods. It remained to be seen whether he might not also find, as at Bussaco, some way of turning his adversary’s position by a wide flank movement. Down-stream the ground looked very impracticable, and the ravine of the Dos Casas seemed to grow more and more formidable as it neared its junction with the Agueda. The Marshal therefore ordered Montbrun to make reconnaissances in every direction towards the right, on the side of Pozo Bello and Nava de Aver, and to report on the roads and the character of the ground, as well as on the disposition of the flank-guards of the enemy. The whole of the 4th of May was taken up in this fashion—there being no shots fired save in Fuentes de O?oro itself, when Ferey’s troops in the morning exchanged a lively fusillade across the brook with the British regiments occupying the main block of the village. The firing died down before noon, neither side being inclined to take the offensive[396].

Montbrun’s reports came in during the afternoon, and were very important. The enemy, he said, had no more than a screen of cavalry pickets to the south of Fuentes, with a single detached battalion in the village of Pozo Bello. The end of his line had been found at Nava de Aver; it was composed only of the[p. 316] guerrilla band of Julian Sanchez. There was nothing to prevent a frontal attack on Pozo Bello by infantry, though the place was enclosed in woods and somewhat difficult to approach. There was accessible ground between Pozo Bello and Nava where cavalry might act, nor was the morass by the latter village, on which the extreme right of the Allies rested, impassable.

On this report Masséna based his new scheme of operations[397]. He resolved to turn Wellington’s right with three infantry divisions and nearly the whole of his cavalry, while detaining him in his present position by attacks more or less pressed home. The striking-force was to be composed of Marchand’s and Mermet’s divisions of the 6th Corps with Solignac’s division of the 8th Corps in support, and of all the horsemen save the skeleton squadrons attached to the 2nd and 6th Corps, viz. Montbrun’s division of dragoons and the cavalry brigades of Fournier, Wathier, and Lepic, a mass of 17,000 infantry and 3,500 sabres. Reynier, opposite Wellington’s left, was to make demonstrations, which were to be turned into a serious attack only if the Allies showed weakness in this direction. But in the centre there was to be a vigorous onslaught launched against Fuentes de O?oro, when the turning movement was seen to be in progress to the south. For this, not only Ferey’s division, already in position opposite the village, was told off, but also Drouet’s two divisions of the 9th Corps. The place was to be carried at all costs, while Wellington was busy on his right, and a breach was thus to be made in the line of the Allies at the same moment that their wing was turned. Fourteen thousand infantry were concentrated opposite Fuentes for this purpose.

After dusk had fallen the French army made the preliminary movements required by the new plan. Montbrun’s cavalry rode out far to the south, one brigade to the foot of the hill of Nava de Aver, the others to the ground east of Pozo Bello. To this latter point Marchand’s and Mermet’s infantry proceeded, with Solignac’s division following them. Drouet brought the 9th Corps to the ground formerly occupied by the 6th Corps, while Reynier drew in a little southward, leaving one division opposite Fort Concepcion, but moving the other to the position in front of Alameda lately occupied by Solignac. A large detachment[p. 317] of sappers went out with Montbrun, to mend the paths across the morass which his flanking brigade had to cross.
Map of the battle of Fuentes De O?oro, first day.

Enlarge  FUENTES de O?ORO.
Positions on the first day (May 3rd. 1811).

Wellington had not been unaware that the want of movement on Masséna’s part during the 4th probably covered some design against his flanks, and since his left flank was practically impregnable, he suspected that his right might be in danger, a suspicion which was made into certainty by reconnaissances which detected the French stirring among the marshy woods. The whole of his cavalry was thrown out in this direction, but the four regiments could only cover the ground inadequately, and being scattered in squadrons along three miles of front were weak everywhere. The most serious movement that he made was to detach the 7th Division as an outlying force to cover his right: two battalions were put into the village of Pozo Bello[398] and the wood in front of it; the remaining seven occupied a position on the slope to the west of that little place. This was a somewhat dangerous expedient—the 7th Division was the smallest and weakest unit in Wellington’s army—it only contained two British battalions[399], and these were new-comers just landed at Lisbon. It was thrown out two miles from the main position, and on open ground not presenting any particular advantage for defence—indeed, if the enemy should attack in strength, it would be compelled to act as a mere detaining and observing rather than a fighting force. For though it was well placed for foiling a mere attempt to turn the Fuentes position by a small detachment and a short lateral movement[400], yet if the enemy’s flanking man?uvre were made by a large body and far afield, it was clear that the 7th Division would have to retreat in haste towards the main position. This being so, one wonders that Wellington did not select one of his best divisions—the 3rd or the Light—for such a responsible post. But he apparently did not foresee the whole plan of Masséna. ‘Imagining,’ he writes in his dispatch describing the battle, ‘that the enemy would endeavour to obtain possession of Fuentes de O?oro and of the ground occupied by the troops[p. 318] behind that village, by crossing the Dos Casas at Pozo Velho, I moved the 7th Division under Major-General Houston to the right, in order to protect, if possible, that passage.’ But Masséna was set not only on attacking Pozo Bello, but on turning it, and taking it in the rear by a wide sweep of his whole disposable cavalry force. Over 20,000 men were on the move, and Houston had but 4,000 infantry, with 1,400 horse to guard his flank.

The other preparation which Wellington made for a possible battle on the 5th was to draw back the Light Division at dusk from the left wing to its original position behind Fuentes village in reserve. He also withdrew the numerous light companies which had formed the original garrison of that place, and left there only two battalions, the 1/71st and 1/79th, with the 2/24th to support them at the top of the hill.

The fighting on the 5th of May began very early. Just at daybreak the extreme right flank of Wellington’s cavalry screen was attacked by the outermost of the enemy’s turning columns, composed of two regiments of Montbrun’s dragoons[401]. This took place under the hill of Nava de Aver, where Julian Sanchez with his guerrilleros had been posted on the 3rd, while two squadrons of the 14th Light Dragoons had been moved up to his support on the night of the 4th. The guerrilleros kept a bad look-out, and in the dusk of the morning were surprised by the enemy—they drew off hastily to the south without making any resistance. Not so the two British squadrons under Major Brotherton[p. 319] of the 14th, who fought a running fight for two miles, showing front repeatedly, till their flank was on each occasion turned by the vastly superior numbers of the enemy. They were driven in at last upon Pozo Bello, where lay two battalions of the 7th Division, whose extreme right picket, placed in a wood, stopped the enemy’s pursuit by a volley. The main body of the French cavalry seems to have started a little later than the flanking force which assailed Nava de Aver, as its leading regiments only attacked the British cavalry screen to the right of that village some time after Brotherton’s squadrons had begun to be driven in. Here the line of observation was furnished by a squadron of the 16th Light Dragoons and another of the 1st Hussars of the King’s German Legion, who drew together, and gallantly, but rather rashly, attempted to stop the enemy’s advance at a defile between two woods. The squadron of the 16th, charging into a mass of the enemy, suffered heavily and had its commanding officer captured[402]. The Germans then took their turn, but were also driven back with loss. The broken troops had to fall back in all haste till, like Brotherton’s detachment, they came in upon the flank of the village of Pozo Bello, and formed up there. The French cavalry, extending over the slopes when they were clear of the woods, appeared in overpowering numbers, and showed an evident intention to turn the right flank of the British force, which they were strong enough to do even when the whole twelve squadrons of Wellington’s cavalry, falling back from various points of the line which they had been observing, were concentrated on the flank of the woods and enclosures of Pozo Bello.

Up to this moment, an hour after daybreak, only French cavalry had been seen, but the infantry now joined in. The two divisions of Marchand and Mermet had been moved in the night to a point opposite Pozo Bello: when the skirmishing to the right of that place was growing hot, the leading division, that of Marchand, charged in upon the wood in front of the[p. 320] village, cleared out of it the skirmishers of the 85th regiment and the 2nd Ca?adores, and then stormed the village also, driving out of it the two battalions, which vainly tried to maintain themselves there against the crushing superiority of the attack. As they were emerging from among the houses in great disorder, they were fallen upon and ridden over by a French light cavalry regiment, which had pushed round their flank unobserved. Both battalions suffered heavily: between them they lost over 150 men, of whom 85 were killed and wounded and some 70 unwounded prisoners. It is marvellous that the two corps were not entirely destroyed—but they were saved by a charge of two squadrons of the German Hussars, and succeeded in forming up with promptness and moving away in the direction of the main body of the 7th Division, which was visible a mile to the west, on the opposite slope of the bottom in which Pozo Bello lies.

The next hour was a very dangerous one: the French infantry divisions, emerging from the captured village and the woods, began to form up in heavy columns, threatening both to attack the Fuentes de O?oro position on its right flank, and to cut in between the isolated 7th Division and the rest of the army. Montbrun’s cavalry, displaying regiment after regiment, came on in hot pursuit of the troops that had escaped from Pozo Bello and of the British squadrons that were covering them. They were already outflanking the 7th Division on the right, by means of the detachment which had come from Nava de Aver.

Wellington was surprised at the strength of the turning force—its numbers were far greater than he had foreseen, and he was forced to take a new resolution and form a fresh battle-order. The most important thing was to save the 7th Division from being cut off, and to bring it back into line with the rest of the army. Accordingly he directed a chosen unit—the Light Division, now once more under the indomitable Craufurd, who had joined on the preceding night—to advance from its position in reserve behind Fuentes, and to move out along the slope of the low heights to the right, so as to come into touch with Houston and the cavalry, and to help them to get home. Meanwhile the rest of the centre of the army—the 1st and 3rd[p. 321] Divisions and Ashworth’s Portuguese[403], formed a new line of battle, en potence to the original right flank of the British position. They were drawn up along the dominating ground between the rocky hillocks that overhang the village of Fuentes and the descent into the valley of the Turon brook. This is the last of the high ground—to the right of it (as has been before mentioned) the watershed between the Dos Casas and the Turon ceases to be composed of a commanding ridge, and sinks into gentle slopes[404]. Thus Fuentes de O?oro became the projecting point of a battle-order thrown back at right angles to the original position—where the 5th and 6th Divisions still continued to occupy their old post opposite Reynier. Formations en potence are proverbially dangerous, because of the liability of the angle to be enfiladed and crushed by artillery fire. But in this case the danger was less than usual, since Wellington for once in his life had more guns than the French, and the lie of the plateau was such that the lower parts of Fuentes village might be enfiladed, but not the ground above it by the church and rocks, nor the plateau behind it, where the ground occupied by the 3rd Division was out of sight of the French on the lesser heights. Indeed, the holding of the houses in the bottom was of comparatively little importance to Wellington, so long as he kept his grip on the upper end of the straggling village. Here, on the double-headed height crowned by the church and the rocks, was the real pivot of the position.

Wellington had ample time to move the 1st and 3rd Divisions with Ashworth’s Portuguese into the new position—none of them had much over a mile to march, since all had been concentrated behind Fuentes when the alarm came. The enemy’s approach was slow, partly because his infantry had to disentangle itself from the houses of Pozo Bello and the surrounding wood, and to form in a fresh front, partly because his cavalry became wholly absorbed in a running fight with the Light and[p. 322] 7th Divisions, and had no attention to spare for any other direction.

Masséna’s plan, when he had got his left wing out of the woods, soon became clear. He was intending to break in with his cavalry between the 7th Division and the rest of the army, while Marchand and Mermet were to attack the new front of the 1st and 3rd Divisions, and the 9th Corps, with Ferey’s division, was to smash in the projecting point of Wellington’s position, by storming Fuentes village and the height behind it. Reynier, as on the 3rd of May, was to demonstrate against the allied left, but not to attack till success in the centre seemed assured. From the course of the action it is evident that the Marshal’s main intention was to beat Wellington by hard fighting, and to break up his army—not merely to man?uvre him into a bad strategical position and to cut his more available lines of communication, so as to force him into a difficult and dangerous retreat. If the last had been Masséna’s intention—as some authors suggest—the course of the battle would have been different. But he made no attempt to send cavalry to intercept the roads to Castello Bom, still less to detach infantry against Wellington’s rear. Having turned his enemy’s flank, and forced him to make a new front, he showed no further desire to man?uvre, but proceeded to batter away at the troops in front of him, trusting that numbers and impetus would secure him the victory.

The fight fell for some time into two absolutely distinct sections—an attempt by Drouet’s and Ferey’s three divisions to carry Fuentes de O?oro village and break Wellington’s centre, and an attempt to cut up, by the cavalry arm alone, the 7th Division and its attendant squadrons, before they could be succoured and drawn back into Wellington’s new line of defence. It was only after some time that these two combats became joined, by an attempt—which was never pressed home—to attack that part of the British position which lay to the right rear of Fuentes de O?oro.

The fighting west of Pozo Bello may be taken first, as it was a logical continuation of the engagement in the early morning. Here Montbrun had under his hand four cavalry brigades—those of Wathier, Fournier, Cavrois, and Ornano—about 2,700 sabres,[p. 323] with Lepic’s 800 guard cavalry as his reserve—though, as it turned out in the end, the use of that reserve was to be denied him. In front of him were the two battalions recently evicted from Pozo Bello, with the British cavalry brigades of Slade and Arentschildt (about 1,400 sabres) and Bull’s horse-artillery troop, which had drawn up to protect the retreat of the routed battalions towards the main body of the 7th Division. General Houston with that force (one British battalion, two foreign, and four Portuguese battalions[405]) was engaged in taking up new ground, on the slope which is separated from Pozo Bello by the shallow trough forming the valley of the Dos Casas brook. Montbrun’s object was, of course, to break the British horsemen, and then to fall upon and destroy the shaken infantry which they were protecting, before they could cross the valley. There resulted a very fierce and long-sustained cavalry combat, infinitely creditable to the four British regiments, who had to fight a detaining action against numbers about double their own. They were bound to retire in the end—and indeed had no other intention—but it was their duty to hold off the enemy till the infantry behind them had got into order. This was done, though at great cost, the regiments retiring by alternate squadrons, while the rear squadron at each change of front charged, often winning a temporary and partial success over the enemy in its immediate front, but always forced to give back as the French reserve came up. ‘When we charged,’ wrote a participant in this long combat, ‘they would often turn their horses, and our men shouted in the pursuit—but go which way they might, we were but scattered drops amid their host, and could not possibly arrest their progress. We had again to go about and retire[406].’ The British cavalry, though losing heavily, never got out of hand, and could be still used as efficient units down to the end of this phase of the battle. Of their total casualty list of 157 nearly all must have been lost in this hard work; it is noticeable that only one officer and four men were taken prisoners, a sufficient proof that there was no such rout as[p. 324] French accounts describe—for a rout always implies a serious loss in ‘missing.’

After a running fight, the British cavalry was driven back on to the 7th Division, which (now joined by the two detached battalions) was drawn up on the best position that Houston could select on the slope above the valley: his centre was in a projecting angle among some rocks which crop up in the generally bare hillside—his wings thrown back, and partly covered by stone walls forming the boundaries of meadows. The much-tried British squadrons, clearing off to the side, took position on the left rear of the infantry, leaving the 7th Division in face of the now rather confused mass of Montbrun’s horsemen, whose order was none the better for the long and well-contested combat in which they had been engaged. The French general made a serious attempt to break into the 7th Division: while skirmishers demonstrated against its front, and a light battery just sent forward by Masséna shelled its centre, a brigade of dragoons turned its right wing and tried to roll it up. This attack was foiled by the Chasseurs Britanniques, who, drawn up behind a long stone wall, had apparently escaped Montbrun’s notice; receiving a staggering volley at close range, just when they supposed that they had come upon an unprotected flank, the advancing squadrons fell back in confusion. Another charge, made against the 51st, was also beaten off by musketry[407]. The French then came to a stand—it was clear that they wanted infantry if they were to get any advantage over the 7th Division, which was now well settled down into its position. But Marchand’s and Mermet’s battalions had not followed Montbrun across the valley, but had begun to march straight against the centre of Wellington’s new line, west of Fuentes de O?oro.

At this moment a new force came upon the scene; Craufurd and the Light Division were at hand, marching along the higher slope of the watershed between the Turon and the Dos Casas, in order to connect with the 7th Division. But Craufurd had not come to form up and hold the ground where Houston was already engaged. Wellington’s orders were that the 7th Division should move to its rear, cross the Turon, and prolong, to the[p. 325] west of that stream, the new line already formed by the 1st and 3rd Divisions. It was to make this movement covered by the Light Division and the cavalry, who were to hold the slope till Houston was well on his way and out of danger. They were then to retire behind the 1st Division. This was a dangerous task for Craufurd and his men, but Wellington had selected them precisely because he knew that they were to be trusted. While Montbrun was busy rearranging his disordered brigades, Houston slipped down the reverse slope of the hillside where he had been lying, crossed the Turon, and finally drew up with one brigade (Sontag’s) on the well-marked heights west of that stream, and the other (Doyle’s Portuguese) in the village of Freneda, a mile further to the right. Thus Wellington had once more an outlying flank-guard, covering the roads which lead to the Coa and the Bridge of Castello Bom. With the exception of the two battalions cut up at the opening of the fight, the 7th Division had suffered very slightly—apparently the French cavalry had not harmed it, but their attached battery had caused some casualties, which came in all to no more than 90 men[408] out of the 3,800 in the seven battalions which had not fought at Pozo Bello.

On the departure of the 7th Division all the peril and responsibility now fell on Craufurd and the already much-tried cavalry, who had to make their way back for a full mile along the open slope of the hillside, to join their comrades in the new position south of Fuentes. Montbrun, though he had failed in his attack on infantry in position, thought that he ought to have better fortune against men retreating over a rolling upland, so urged the pursuit with great energy. Craufurd formed his men in battalion squares, save a few companies of the rifles and Ca?adores, whom he threw into thickets and enclosures to the right and left, where he thought them safe against horsemen.[p. 326] The main body retreated in a line of squares, with the cavalry and the battery of horse artillery in the intervals. Whenever the French came forward, the guns played upon them, and the British cavalry charged by squadrons to check the onslaught. So beautifully was the retreat managed, that Montbrun never got a chance to charge the infantry at advantage. ‘The steadiness and regularity with which the troops performed their movement, the whole time exposed to a cannonade, and followed across a plain by a numerous cavalry, ready to pounce on the squares if the least disorder should be detected, was acknowledged by hundreds of unprejudiced spectators (who witnessed it from the heights) to have been a masterpiece of military evolution. ‘We sustained a very trifling loss from the cannonade[409],’ writes one Light Division officer. Another (Napier himself) in more stirring phrases tells how ‘many times Montbrun threatened to charge Craufurd’s squares, but always found them too dangerous to meddle with. They appeared but as specks, with close behind them 5,000 [read 3,500] horsemen, trampling, bounding, shouting for the word to charge. Fifteen guns were up with the French cavalry, the eighth corps[410] was in order of battle behind them, the woods on their right were filled with Loison’s skirmishers, and if that general, pivoting upon Fuentes, had come forth with the 6th Corps, while Drouet assailed the village and the cavalry made a general charge, the loose crowd of non-combatants and broken troops would have been violently dashed against the 1st Division, to intercept its fire and break its ranks, and the battle might have been lost[411].’ But Montbrun knew as well as Craufurd that intact infantry of good quality cannot be broken when it is securely formed in square, and any attempt to molest the Light Division by artillery fire was checked by the self-sacrificing efforts of the British cavalry and guns, who fought their best to keep off the enemy. Bull’s guns were incessantly unlimbering and firing a few rounds in the intervals of the squares, and then retreating rapidly to a new position. On the only occasion when a French battery[p. 327] got close up it was charged in front, with desperate gallantry, by a squadron of the 14th Light Dragoons, who suffered terribly, but won the necessary minutes for the square to which it was neighbour to get out of range[412]. At last the whole retiring force, horse and foot, came into Wellington’s lines, with the French close in their rear, and found safety with the 1st Division. Two incidents marked the last moments of the retreat: at one point occurred an episode which Napier has immortalized, with some inaccuracy of detail, in one of his most brilliant ‘purple passages.’ Captain Norman Ramsay, with two guns of Bull’s troop, had halted, not for the first time, for a shot or two at the pursuing cavalry; lingering a moment too long, he found himself cut off, just as he had limbered up, by a swarm of chasseurs, who rode in from the flank. But he put his guns to the gallop, and, charging himself in front of them with the mounted gunners, was cutting his way through the French when he was brought off by friends. On one side a squadron of the 14th Light Dragoons under Brotherton, on the other a squadron of the Royals, had turned back when they saw the artillery in danger. They fell upon the chasseurs before Ramsay had suffered any hurt, and saved him and his guns, which were brought into the lines of the 1st Division amid loud cheers from all who had seen the affair[413].

[p. 328]A little to the left of the point where this happy escape took place there was an episode of a less fortunate kind. The skirmishing line of the 1st Division was extended along the foot of the slope on which its brigades were arrayed. When the rolling mass composed of the Light Division squares, their attendant cavalry, and the French in hot pursuit, drew near to the position, the officer in charge of the pickets of the Guards’ brigade (Lieutenant-Colonel Hill of the 3rd Guards) directed them to close up into solid order, for safety’s sake: this they did, forming a small square. In this formation they beat off the rather disorderly charge of the French horse; but Colonel Hill then very unwisely extended them again, and thus exposed them in the most dangerous order to a second charge of a French regiment (13th Chasseurs) which came in from the side after the main attack was over. The three companies were taken in flank, rolled up, and very badly mauled, sixty or eighty men being killed or wounded, and Hill himself with another officer and nineteen men being taken prisoners[414]. The rest had time to club together and defend themselves, till they were rescued by the charge of a[p. 329] squadron of the Royals under Colonel Clifton and a troop of the 14th Light Dragoons, which brought off most of the survivors. The total loss was about 100 men[415].

This was only one of several partial attacks made by the French cavalry against the front of Wellington’s new position[416]. Montbrun seems to have thought that he could continue to press the Allies—not recognizing that he had hitherto had to do with troops voluntarily retiring, but had now run against a battle-line which intended to stand. Indeed, he wished to try the effect of a general charge against the front of the 1st Division, and with that object sent orders to his reserve, Lepic’s brigade of Guard cavalry, to come to the front, and head an advance, which the rallied squadrons of his main body would support. Lepic, however, refused to move, saying that personally he was only too ready to attack, but that he had received specific orders not to use his brigade save at the direct command of his immediate superior, Marshal Bessières[417]. While the Marshal was being sought (he was ultimately found, after much delay, behind Pozo Bello), the moment which Montbrun supposed suitable for a charge passed away.

With this episode the advance of Montbrun’s cavalry ended, frittering itself away on the edge of the new position of the Allies. Its total effect had been to roll in the flanking force which Wellington had thrown out, and to gain some three miles of ground. The loss of the British had been appreciable, but can[p. 330] hardly be called severe—under 250 in the 7th Division, about 150 in the cavalry, and 200 in the 1st Division. Montbrun’s squadrons on their side had 359 casualties, to which may be added perhaps a hundred in Marchand’s division of the 6th Corps, which fought in the attack on Pozo Bello. The strategical advantage obtained by forcing Wellington to throw back his right wing, and to leave the roads towards Castello Bom exposed to the possibility of flanking cavalry raids, was considerable. But it was less important than it appeared, since the mere threatening of his communications was useless, unless he could be forced or man?uvred out of his position; and this was not to be done. He himself saw this clearly, writing in his dispatch which describes the battle: ‘I had occupied Po?o Velho and that neighbourhood, in hopes that I should be able to maintain the communication across the Coa by Sabugal, &c., as well as to provide for the blockade of Almeida, which objects, as was now obvious, were become incompatible with each other. I therefore abandoned that which was the less important[418].’ He then proceeds to show how his new position still covered the blockade of Almeida, and (by means of the troops placed beyond the Turon) rendered it hard for the enemy to make any real attempt towards Castello Bom—since this could not be done save by an isolated detachment. Indeed, Masséna had still to beat the allied army, and the preliminary operations now ended had done nothing more than thrust it back into its fighting position.

That, according to Masséna’s design, the second act of the battle was to consist in a vigorous attempt to break Wellington’s new line, is clear from his own dispatch. And the point to be pierced was the projecting angle of its centre, in, and to the right of, Fuentes village. Here the attack was to be concentric and enveloping, Ferey’s division and the two divisions of the 9th Corps being intended to storm the village, after which Marchand’s and Mermet’s divisions, supported by Solignac’s, were to assail the heights to its south-west, where Picton and Spencer were now in line. Six of the eight infantry divisions of the French army were to attack on a front of not much over a mile. This was a powerful combination, but the position which it was to assail was also[p. 331] very strong. The village, with its barricaded streets and its tiers of houses trending up the hill, was susceptible of indefinite defence. The hillside above it and to its right was a perfect fighting-ground—with the ravine in its front, fine artillery emplacements along the sky-line, and a flat plateau behind, on which the main line and the reserves could stand sheltered, till the moment when they were required to deal with an infantry attack.

Masséna’s plan was to storm the village first, and then, when Ferey and Drouet should have pushed through it, and have got a lodgement on the plateau, to deliver the frontal attack with the other three divisions. He did not intend Marchand and Mermet to move till the projecting angle of Wellington’s line was turned and broken in by the success of the other attack. For to send forward these two divisions of the 6th Corps for an assault on the fine position opposite them, while it was held by intact troops with their flanks properly covered, would have been to invite a repetition of Bussaco. The plateau was held by a perfectly adequate force, the four brigades of the 1st Division (minus three battalions detached to hold Fuentes de O?oro[419]), Ashworth’s Portuguese brigade, and the whole 3rd Division, over 13,000 men, on a short front, while the Light Division had now returned to take its place in reserve. Wellington had these troops drawn up in a double line, the 1st Division next the Turon, Ashworth’s brigade in the centre, and the 3rd Division above Fuentes, whose defence it was to feed, if necessary, by detaching battalions from its second line, which was formed by Mackinnon’s brigade. Owing to the numerical inferiority of the French artillery, Wellington had also been able to concentrate a larger number of guns (six batteries) on the critical point of the battlefield than his enemy could bring against him, so that the ‘artillery preparation,’ to maul his line before a general attack, was bound to fail. The French guns were overpowered in the contest.

[p. 332]It must not be supposed that Masséna waited for the arrival of Marchand’s and Mermet’s infantry in front of the position before commencing his attack. The troops opposite Fuentes had been ordered to storm the village when Montbrun’s operations had begun to develop successfully, but ‘sans rien hasarder[420],’ i. e. they were not to move if the attempt to turn the British right failed. But when the cavalry were seen sweeping the hillsides beyond Pozo Bello, and driving the enemy before them, the attack on Fuentes was begun by Ferey’s division, which was already in possession of the few houses on the east side of the Dos Casas brook. The assault commenced at about two hours after dawn, when the combat was already in full progress to the south, by a brisk attack which drove the defenders of the village (the 71st and 79th) out of its lower portion. Two companies of the latter regiment, barricaded in some buildings near the water, were completely surrounded and forced to surrender, after all their officers had been wounded. Ninety-four men were taken prisoners. The remainder of this Highland battalion and of its countrymen of the 71st rallied in the upper end of the village, and when joined by the regiment in reserve (the 2/24th) came forward again, and drove the French into the lower houses by the river. The fight came to a standstill for a moment, Ferey’s division (which had already suffered so severely on the 3rd) being now a spent force so far as initiative went.

[p. 333]But Drouet, who had been told to give Ferey his best support, then fed the fight with three bataillons d’élite, composed of the eighteen grenadier companies of his two divisions[421]. These picked troops, who were mistaken for men of the Imperial Guard by their opponents because of their bearskins and tall plumes, came on with great courage, and cleared all the middle slopes of the village, driving the garrison up to the summit of the double-headed hill, near the church and the rocks. The fighting was very deadly to both sides, but more so to the French, who had to dislodge an obstinate foe from barricaded houses and lines of stone walls. It ended in the establishment of the attacking force on the brink of the summit, but further the grenadiers could not go—the head of the village and the plateau above it was still maintained by the 71st, 79th, and 24th, and Wellington began to feed the defending force by drafting into the upper end of Fuentes, one after another, the light companies of several brigades of the 1st and 3rd Divisions—the same detachments who had defended the village upon May 3—in succession those of L?we’s German brigade, of Howard’s brigade, of Ashworth’s and Power’s Portuguese, were sent to the critical point. The whole of the 6th Ca?adores followed.

But the progress of the attack had been so far encouraging that at this moment—about noon—Drouet resolved to finish the affair by putting in heavy supports from Conroux’s and Claparéde’s divisions for a final blow[422], which should heave the French line up on to the plateau, clear the allied troops out of the last few houses of the village, and definitively break Wellington’s line at its projecting point. Eight or ten fresh battalions charged across the brook in column, through the narrow streets encumbered by dead and wounded, and, ascending the slope, drove their enemies out of the church and the rocks beside it. This was the critical moment of the day—the only one at which Wellington lost possession of the whole of the advanced post which so perfectly defended his centre.

‘Such a series of attacks,’ writes an eye-witness[423], ‘constantly supported by fresh troops, required exertions more than human[p. 334] to withstand: every effort had been made to maintain the post, but efforts, however great, have their limits. Our soldiers had now been engaged in this unequal contest for upwards of eight hours; the heat was excessive, and their ammunition was nearly expended. The town presented a shocking sight: our Highlanders lay dead in heaps, while the other regiments, though less remarkable in dress, were scarcely so in the number of their slain. The French grenadiers, with their immense caps and gaudy plumes, lay in piles of ten and twenty together—some dead, others wounded, with barely strength sufficient to move, their exhausted state and the weight of their cumbrous accoutrements making it impossible for them to crawl out of the dreadful fire of grape and round shot which the enemy poured into the town. The Highlanders had been driven to the churchyard at the very top of the village, and were fighting with the French grenadiers across the graves and tombstones. The 9th French Light Infantry (the leading battalion of Conroux’s division) had penetrated as far as the church, and were preparing to debouch upon the rear of our centre.’

This part of the British army, the second or reserve line of the 3rd Division—whose front line was nearer the edge of the position, facing Marchand—was composed of Mackinnon’s brigade, the 1/45th, 74th, and 1/88th. On these troops devolved the responsibility of stopping the gap, by recovering the church and the head of the village. The moment for their action had evidently come. Mackinnon sent for leave to charge to Wellington by Sir Edward Pakenham, who galloped back in a few minutes, for he had found his chief only a few yards away, watching for the crisis. ‘He says you may go—come along[424],’ was the prompt reply, and Mackinnon moved down with the 74th and 88th in column of sections, left in front, leaving the 45th in reserve on his old position.

There was a fearful clash by the church at the mouth of the village street, between the 88th, the leading British regiment, and the 4th battalion of the 9th Léger at the head of Conroux’s column. They met front to front, both in column, and are said[p. 335] to have fought with the bayonet for some moments—the rarest thing in war; it was only in a street combat like this that such a chance could happen. After a sharp bicker the French battalion gave way and turned back. At the same moment the 74th charged down another lane which led into the village, and all the broken remnants of the Highland regiments and the light companies cheered and advanced among the lanes and houses. The enemy yielded at every point, seeing their main column beaten back, and the advance of the British line swept the whole village as far as the brook: some of the pursuers, going too far, were killed even on its further side. It was impossible to maintain the houses near the water, which were too much exposed to the fire of the French artillery on the opposite bank. But the 74th and 88th made a firm lodgement in the middle and upper parts of the village, and were not molested by any further attempt on the part of Drouet to expel them, though his guns made their position sufficiently uncomfortable. The commander of the 9th Corps contented himself with bringing forward his last intact battalions to the front, to cover the routed masses, while they were getting into order again to the rear of their original position.

The attempt to storm Fuentes had failed with loss, and by about two o’clock the decisive fighting was over. The 9th Corps had lost 835 men in the street-fighting, Ferey’s division at least 400 more[425]. On the part of the defenders, the 71st and 79th, the original garrison of the village, had 458 casualties, including 119 prisoners taken at the moment of the first storm—this was a loss of 30 per cent., as they had 1,419 officers and men on the field. Cameron, the colonel of the 79th, was shot from a house during the last victorious charge. The 74th and 88th, who finally recovered Fuentes by their decisive charge, lost[p. 336] only 116 men in doing so. The 2/24th, with the light companies and Ca?adores who had formed the earlier reinforcements, seem to have had about 160 casualties, but it is impossible to separate the losses of the light companies in the village from those of the battalions to which they belonged, who were drawn up in the main position and suffered certain casualties there. On the whole the defenders of Fuentes seem to have lost about 800 men, its assailants about 1,300, out of the 4,000 and the 7,000 men whom they respectively engaged within it: such is the value of the defensive, even when the fighting comes to close quarters among houses and enclosures.

Masséna had evidently considered the capture of the village of Fuentes as the necessary preliminary for a general attack upon Wellington’s line. While Ferey and Drouet had been making their last efforts, Marchand’s and Mermet’s divisions had been halted before the position of Picton’s and Ashworth’s troops, while Montbrun’s cavalry was facing the 1st Division. Solignac was visible more to the rear, in front of Pozo Bello, acting as general reserve. The twenty-four guns belonging to these units[426] were all brought to the front, and cannonaded so much of the British line as was visible, doing some little harm. But they were gradually overpowered by the six batteries[427] which Wellington had brought up to his front, and finally ceased to fire. The infantry columns of Marchand and Mermet also suffered appreciably from the shot and shell, for they were well within range, though too far off for infantry fire to tell upon them[428]. It is clear that Masséna refused to attack the front of the 3rd and 1st Divisions till their flank should be turned on the Fuentes side, and since that necessary preliminary was never accomplished, the frontal assault was never delivered,[p. 337] though three divisions stood ready to make it. The only move on this side, during the hours after noon, was that on the extreme left of the French line some voltigeurs, apparently from Mermet’s division, were sent down into the ravine of the Turon, and tried to push up it, as if to turn the right flank of the Guards brigade. They were, however, soon stopped by five companies of the 95th Rifles, whom Craufurd had left to block the passage up this low-lying part of the British position; no serious attempt was made to reinforce the attack, which soon died down into a mere tiraillade.

Masséna’s account of his reasons for refusing to commit himself to the decisive attack runs as follows in his dispatch to the Emperor: ‘The English general had united in his centre very large forces and much artillery. I wished to try to pierce his centre, and to drive the English army towards the lower Coa. The spirit of the troops was admirable; but I had to assure myself, before making this vigorous blow, as to the state of my ammunition, for during the course of this campaign I had seen myself checked repeatedly by insurmountable difficulties. It resulted from the report which the officer commanding the artillery submitted to me, that there only remained in the reserve park four cartridges per man, which might give thirty shots, counting what was still in the men’s cartridge-boxes. I did not think myself in a situation to recommence the attack with such a meagre supply, and decided to send all the empty caissons back to Rodrigo, in order to bring up more ammunition. Meanwhile I took the necessary measures to preserve the advantage already gained over the enemy[429].’

It is clear that we have not here the whole of the Marshal’s motives explained. Granting that the reserve of cartridges had run low, the troops with which he had to deliver the decisive blow were precisely those who had still plenty of ammunition. Mermet’s[430] and Solignac’s divisions had not fired a shot; Marchand’s had only been engaged for a few minutes in Pozo Bello, with the two battalions of the 7th Division which it had evicted[p. 338] from that village. It is true that Ferey’s, Claparéde’s, and Conroux’s troops, which had made the successive attacks on Fuentes, must have been not only exhausted in morale but very short of ammunition by this moment. But why had not the attack by the three intact divisions been made before the troops to their right had been completely used up? Clearly because Masséna refused to deliver the frontal assault till the flanking movement had been successful, and Wellington’s left-centre had been driven from the village. There were several hours about noon during which the troops of Marchand, Mermet, and Solignac remained halted in front of the allied line, while furious fighting was going on in Fuentes. If the Marshal did not let them loose upon the enemy during that long space of time, it was because he thought the attack hopeless. The explanation appears clearly enough in the narrative of his aide-de-camp Pelet: ‘The Marshal came to the front when this sort of defile had become already impregnable; a tiraillade was already established; he threw himself off his horse, and, accompanied only by myself, walked several times up and down the front of the line, to look for a point where he could break in. But the whole position seemed equally strong; the fire of the enemy upon Fuentes, and the reinforcements which he had sent into the village, drew in that direction the bulk of the French divisions. Everything had come to turn upon the affaire de poste in that direction. It was necessary to force the village and the ravine at its back, where all the ground was in favour of the enemy. The day slipped by in vain attacks[431].’

If Masséna did not move his main body at noon, when the British were waging a doubtful contest in Fuentes, it would have been idle to strike after two o’clock, when the attack on the village had utterly failed. The fact was that he had staked everything on the capture of Fuentes, and had seen at an early hour that he dared not send forward Marchand, Mermet, and Solignac, till the village should have been taken and Wellington’s flank turned. But though three divisions had been used up one after another against that strong post, they had failed to master it. The game was up; for to deliver the front attack when the flank attack had failed would have been hopeless.[p. 339] The only chance that the Marshal had of success was to make the two attacks simultaneous: but he had such a respect for Wellington’s main position that he would not assail it till it was turned. It never was turned, and so he never engaged the three divisions that were so long facing it. As a subsidiary reason for his refusal to strike home, we must undoubtedly add the fact that he had discovered that he was too weak in guns to make any proper artillery preparation for an attack on the British centre. In the course of a long duel his twenty-four pieces had been overpowered by the thirty-six which Wellington had placed over against them. They were badly mauled, and largely out of action, by the moment that the fighting in Fuentes village was over. If the infantry had advanced, it would have been shot to pieces by the victorious British artillery, before it could reach the crest of the strong position where the Anglo-Portuguese battalions lay ranged behind the sky-line.
Map of the battle of Fuentes De O?oro, May 5, 1811.

Enlarge  FUENTES de O?ORO.
May 5th 1811.

On the northern flank of the British position, where the 5th Division, about Fort Concepcion, and the 6th Division in front of San Pedro, watched Reynier’s corps across the steep ravine of the Dos Casas, nothing of importance happened throughout the day. The opposing forces were almost equal, each about 10,000 strong, and Reynier had been ordered to make no more than ‘a general demonstration all along his line, to support the attack of the main army.’ It was true that he was also directed to make a parallel movement along the river, if Wellington should draw in towards Fuentes de O?oro the troops immediately opposed to him[432]. But this was never done: Wellington kept the 5th and 6th Divisions almost in their original positions throughout the day. A regiment from the latter (the 53rd)[433] was moved to the edge of the plateau at the north end of Fuentes village, to keep back any attempt to turn the place on that side—but such an attempt was not made, and[p. 340] the rest of the division kept its original place opposite Reynier. The ‘demonstration’ which that general had been ordered to make was duly carried out, but amounted to nothing more than the sending of the 31st Léger and two guns from Heudelet’s division to skirmish, at the edge of the ravine, with the light troops of the 5th Division on the other side[434]. Some more of the French regiments deployed, but never came within gunshot. The figures of the losses on the two sides show how little serious was the engagement: the 31st Léger lost 4 officers and 48 men killed or wounded; the light companies of the British 3/1st, 1/9th, 2/30th, and 2/44th, and of the Portuguese 8th Ca?adores lost 27 men. The 6th Division had no losses at all in its British brigades, and only four men in the 12th Portuguese line. Reynier has been blamed by some French critics for not pushing forward a pronounced attack, but it is hard to see how he could have done more. He was ordered to demonstrate only, not to commit himself to a real action, unless the British should withdraw from his front and go towards Fuentes. And as Wellington kept 10,000 men in his front all day, covered by a difficult ravine, he would only have lost lives, and gained nothing, by engaging. The two divisions opposite him were numerically as strong as himself, and lay in a most formidable position. An attack would have been beaten off, while if he had man?uvred towards Fuentes to join Drouet, the 5th Division could have crossed the ravine and taken him in the rear. Such a movement would also have exposed the convoy intended for Almeida, which lay at Gallegos, to Reynier’s left rear.

Thus ended the battle of Fuentes de O?oro: the fight, which had been hot and well contested down to two o’clock, dying down into a mere skirmishing between outposts before dusk. The total losses of the 5th had been, on the part of the Allies, 1,452 officers and men, of whom 192 were killed, 958 wounded, and 255 taken prisoners. That of the French was 2,192, of whom 267 were killed, 1,878 wounded, and 47 prisoners. On[p. 341] both sides the larger half of the casualties was incurred in the street fighting that raged up and down the village of Fuentes for so many hours; as has been already explained, the Allies lost here 800 men, the French about 1,300. The remaining losses among Wellington’s men are mainly accounted for by the hustling of the 7th Division about Pozo Bello, which cost 237 men, by the cutting up of the light troops of the Guards brigade, where about 100 casualties took place, and by the hard fighting of the cavalry during the early part of the day, while they were covering the retreat of the Light and 7th Divisions, in which they lost 160 men. On the other side the French, besides their casualties in Fuentes village, had 359 officers and men of their cavalry put out of action, and some 400 of Marchand’s and Mermet’s infantry killed or hurt, partly in the storming of Pozo Bello, but mainly in the cannonade in the afternoon, while they were standing in column facing Wellington’s second position, which they were never allowed to attack[435]. Of the 255 prisoners taken from the Allies, nearly 100 were lost about Pozo Bello by the 7th Division, and 94 belonged to the two companies of the 79th captured in Fuentes de O?oro during Ferey’s first attack. Undoubtedly the most surprising item in the statistics of the day is the small loss incurred by the Light Division during its retreat to the British lines, wherein, though beset by 3,000 cavalry and a battery of horse artillery, it counted only 67 casualties[436]. But steady infantry, such as the Light Division, was invulnerable even to the most daring horsemen, so long as it preserved its formation in square.

On the morning after the battle, dawn showed the two armies still holding their positions of the preceding night. Masséna had[p. 342] not drawn back, and the line of his pickets was still covering all the ground taken from the British on the 5th. The divisions were encamped close behind, Marchand’s, Mermet’s, and Solignac’s in the edge of the wood on the near side of Pozo Bello, Ferey’s, Conroux’s, and Claparéde’s on the heights facing Fuentes de O?oro, Reynier’s far away to the right. Nor had Wellington moved a man; but from several hours before daylight his troops had been employed in entrenching the new front that they had taken up. This was wellnigh the only occasion during the whole Peninsular War when Wellington used field-fortification on a large scale. A trench with the earth thrown outward was constructed from near Fuentes de O?oro down to the banks of the Turon—a distance of over a mile. There was special protection for the six batteries of artillery distributed down the front, and a great abattis blocking the ravine of the Turon. The village of Villar Formoso on that stream, somewhat to the rear of the line, and that of Freneda, on the extreme right, where the 7th Division lay, had also been put in a state of defence.

Masséna, having failed when the enemy was maintaining a hastily assumed position, had no intention of attacking it when it was entrenched. In his dispatch of the 7th he writes: ‘The enemy has passed the night after the battle in fortifying the crest of the plateau which he occupies. There are five large works, much artillery is visible, and trenches for the firing line. He has put up épaulements in the ravines and behind the rocks; he has barricaded the upper part of Fuentes de O?oro village, and Villaformosa; thus he has called to his aid all the resources of fortifications against an attack that must be made by main force.’ The idea of relieving Almeida had vanished from the Marshal’s mind—as is sufficiently marked by the fact that he ordered the great convoy at Gallegos, which had been collected for throwing into the fortress, to be distributed for the daily necessities of the army, which would otherwise have had to be fed by provisions sent forward from Ciudad Rodrigo. In his report of the battle he states that his intention is now to withdraw the garrison of Almeida, if he can manage it, and to have the place blown up. There is no prospect of dislodging the allied army by a second general engagement; but, by[p. 343] man?uvring, an opportunity of bringing off Brennier and his men may be secured. The primary object of the campaign is therefore abandoned; but the new secondary object of saving the garrison of Almeida may possibly be secured. In this, as we shall see, the Marshal was to succeed, owing to the culpable negligence of some of Wellington’s subordinates. The main purpose of the expedition of the Army of Portugal had been foiled; after the battle the idea of retaining Almeida, as a foothold beyond the frontier, was given up.

Fuentes de O?oro has been called the most hazardous of all Wellington’s fights, and he has often been censured for fighting at all. Success is not always the best criterion of a general’s dispositions, and in this case the fact that Masséna was foiled is not enough to vindicate all his adversary’s arrangements. But when the case against Wellington is stated by critics like Napier, Fririon, or Pelet, it is necessary to set forth his defence, which seems an adequate one. Napier blames his old chief for accepting battle. ‘A mistaken notion of Masséna’s sufferings during the late retreat induced Wellington to undertake two operations at the same time[437], which was above his strength, and this error might have been his ruin, for Bessières, who only brought 1,500 cavalry and six guns to the battle of Fuentes O?oro, might have brought 10,000 men and sixteen guns.’ He erred in sending out Houston’s division to Pozo Bello, and so extending his line to an unwieldy length, across ground which, beyond Fuentes, was suitable for cavalry and lacked defensive strength. By engaging the 7th and Light Divisions on this terrain he gave the enemy ‘great advantages, which Napoleon would have made fatal.’ He took up a position which would have allowed Masséna to detach some of his numerous squadrons round his right flank, by the Sabugal and Sequeiro bridges, to destroy his magazines at Guarda and Celorico, break his communication, and cut up the transport in the rear of the allied army. But, says Napier, ‘with an overwhelming cavalry on suitable ground, the Prince of Essling merely indicated, as it were, the English general’s errors, and stopped short when he should have sprung forward.’

To this it may be answered, firstly, that Wellington would not have fought, if Bessières had brought 10,000 men instead of[p. 344] the two cavalry brigades which actually accompanied him. He states in his dispatch to Lord Liverpool of May 1st that he is prepared to abandon the blockade of Almeida ‘if the enemy have such a superiority of force as to render the result of contest for that point doubtful.’ He also states that he is aware that Masséna might be reinforced by detachments of the troops under Bessières, which would include some of the Imperial Guard. On May 2nd[438] his intelligence through Spanish sources was sufficiently good to enable him to know that very little of the Army of the North had actually moved. If one or both of the Guard infantry divisions had marched for the frontier a week before the campaign began, it is perfectly certain that he must have heard of it, for such a force would have taken long to advance from Valladolid to Ciudad Rodrigo, or still longer from Burgos to Ciudad Rodrigo. There were secret agents at Salamanca and most of the other towns of the Douro valley, who would certainly have taken care that such a piece of information should reach the hands of Wellington. He fought because he was aware that the force opposed to him practically consisted of the Army of Portugal alone. It will be remembered that, before his short visit to the Alemtejo in April, he gave Sir Brent Spencer elaborate directions as to the position which he was to take up, in case the French should come in overwhelming force to relieve Almeida during his own absence. Spencer was directed to leave the road open, and to draw back to a defensive position covering the allied lines of communication[439]. And this no doubt is the policy which Wellington would have adopted, if Bessières had brought up the infantry of the Imperial Guard to Masséna’s help. Of this the best proof is that he actually followed this plan in September, at the time of the El Bodon fighting, when Dorsenne, Bessières’s successor, came up to the help of the Army of Portugal with a large force.

Napier’s second criticism is of more validity. The placing of the 7th Division at Pozo Bello did extend the front of the army into indefensible ground. But, as has already been pointed out, Wellington’s intention was not to fight with the 7th Division in such a position, if the enemy made a wide flanking movement with a very large force. Houston’s battalions and their cavalry[p. 345] supports were to guard against any attempt to turn Fuentes de O?oro by a mere detachment, operating on a short circle. For this the force sufficed: that, though it was assailed by three infantry divisions and 3,000 cavalry, it came off with a loss of only 400 men, and assumed the new position allotted to it in due course, is surely a testimony to the fundamental soundness of Wellington’s tactics. Flanking detachments must withdraw if hopelessly outnumbered; but that is no reason for saying that such detachments must never be made. Montbrun’s cavalry sought every possible opportunity to act against the 7th and Light Divisions, but had no success save in the one case where they caught two battalions in scattered fragments evacuating a village—even there, owing to the splendid succour afforded by the British cavalry, they did not destroy the unlucky troops, but only cut up 150 of them. The moral is the old one, that cavalry unsupported is helpless against a steady force of all arms, even when it is in movement over open ground. Inferior though the British horsemen were in number, they gave an invaluable support to the infantry, which was never seriously incommoded during its retreat.

But, it is urged[440], the Light and 7th Divisions might have been in great peril if Marchand’s and Mermet’s infantry had followed Montbrun’s cavalry with all speed, and pursued the retiring British, instead of drawing up in front of Wellington’s left centre, to the south of Fuentes village. Masséna seems to contradict the possibility of this in his dispatch, where he says that ‘the 1st and 2nd Divisions of the 6th Corps followed the movement of the cavalry as much as it was possible for infantry in column to do,’ and again: ‘This superb movement [of the cavalry] was stopped; and before our infantry could arrive the enemy had the time to cover the crest of his plateau with several lines of English infantry and a formidable force of artillery[441].’ It seems probable that there was actually not time for Marchand and Mermet, coming out by narrow swampy paths from the woods of Pozo Bello[442], and forced to get into order in[p. 346] the open ere they could move on, to catch up Craufurd and Houston before they were safe in their appointed positions. Moreover, if they had hurried after Montbrun they would have been making a flank march across the front of Wellington’s new line, and exposing themselves to the possibility of a ruinous counter-stroke, like that delivered at Salamanca a year later.

Apparently then, on Masséna’s own showing, the advance of Montbrun was too rapid for the infantry to join him, and if so, the dismal picture drawn by Napier of the cavalry and the Light Division overwhelmed by a combination of Montbrun and Marchand, and hurled in disorder against the 1st Division in its position on the plateau, must be overdrawn. It is rash to criticize Wellington as a tactician, when (as in this case) he was moving troops under his own eye, on ground where calculations of time and pace were simple. If, from his commanding position on the edge of the plateau, he had judged that the French infantry were close enough to Montbrun to give him effective support, he certainly would not have sent out Craufurd to succour Houston, but would have allowed the latter to make the best retreat that he could towards the Turon and Freneda. But Wellington evidently judged that the 7th Division could be brought off without too much risk, and he knew that Craufurd and his veterans could be trusted even in the most delicate situations. No amount of cavalry could harm them, and if the French infantry were far enough away, the operation would be in reality much less hazardous than it looked.

When once the Light and 7th Divisions had got to their appointed places in the new line, it is hard to see that Masséna could have done anything against Wellington’s front, which was well established on a commanding ground, with a steep slope in front, and a superior artillery ranged along the crest. The Marshal himself, as we have seen, after inspecting the new position in person, thought that Fuentes village was the crucial point, and had turned three divisions against it. Undoubtedly, if he could have taken it, the position of the Allies would have been much altered for the worse. But it was a very strong post—as is sufficiently shown by the fact that 4,000 men held it against nearly double numbers for six or seven hours. Indeed, its importance may be compared with that of Hougoumont in the[p. 347] battle of Waterloo—it forced the attacking party to use up a disproportionate number of men against an outwork, whose occupation was absolutely necessary as a preliminary for the general attack which was contemplated. The infantry of the French left could not assail the 1st and 3rd Divisions with any reasonable prospect of success till Fuentes was carried, and, as it was never carried, the attack could not be delivered.

As to Napier’s suggestion that Masséna might have used some of his superabundant cavalry for a raid against the Sequeiro and Sabugal bridges, and the communications of the allied army, it is clear that the move was feasible, but there is no reason to suppose that it would have been effective. The moment that the force—say a couple of brigades—got to the Coa it would have been in the narrow and difficult roads of the mountains—liable to be stopped by the breaking of the first bridge, or the barricading of the road by the first bands of Ordenan?a that it ran against. Cavalry raids to the rear may be effective in the plains, but in a country like northern Portugal they are of very doubtful expediency. The military historian will remember how fruitless in the end were all the brilliant expeditions of J. E. B. Stuart and Morgan in the American Civil War; though they did much damage to trains and convoys, they had practically no effect on the general results of the campaign. Moreover, any expedition to places so remote as Celorico or Guarda would have taken many days, and Masséna had no time to waste; considerations of supply pressed him to make a speedy end to the campaign. On the whole, Napier’s criticism seems unconvincing on this point.

As to Pelet’s and Fririon’s and Delagrave’s carpings at Wellington, they seem to be based on a radical ignorance of the force which he had at his disposal. He may be proved as rash or as timid as the critic pleases, if it is presupposed that he had 50,000 men, as some French writers assert, or horsemen superior in numbers to his enemy, as others have the face to set forth[443]. If the allied army had possessed an adequate cavalry,[p. 348] or two infantry divisions more than it actually contained, we may be sure that the fight would have taken a very different aspect. It was the balance of numbers which forced Wellington to assume a purely defensive position. The critic who urges that Masséna might have left the 2nd and 9th Corps alone in front of the allied position, and have marched with 15,000 men of the 6th and 8th Corps on Castello Bom, taking Freneda on the way, is perhaps the most unreasonable of all—for he would have had the Marshal divide his forces into two groups separated from each other by many miles, with nothing to close the gap. This would surely have led to prompt disaster. It is clear that Wellington could have overwhelmed the containing force, or have crushed the turning force, at his choice. This plan ignores the serious chance of a counter-attack on the part of the British general—a possibility which does indeed seem to have escaped the imaginations of many a French general down to the day of Salamanca. It was deeply rooted in their minds that he was a fighter on the defensive; they had yet to learn that when the chance was given him he could be as formidable on the offensive.
SECTION XXVI: CHAPTER IV
BRENNIER’S ESCAPE FROM ALMEIDA. MAY, 1811

The 6th of May went by without any sign of movement on the part of the French. Wellington watched with anxiety for the indications of an extension of the enemy’s front to north or south. But not even a cavalry picket was shown to the right of Nava de Aver, or to the left of Fort Concepcion; reconnaissance on the flank showed that the French remained concentrated in their old positions. It was clearly improbable that Masséna was about to risk another frontal attack: and if, as was more likely, he was intending to try some other way of reaching Almeida than that which runs through Fuentes de O?oro, it was odd that he should not start upon it at once. On the 8th, however, it became obvious that the enemy considered himself beaten, and was already retreating; at dawn it was found that the 6th and 9th Corps had disappeared from in front of Fuentes de O?oro and the entrenched position to its right. Only part of the 2nd Corps was still keeping its ground in front of Alameda. The columns of Drouet and Loison were detected by exploring officers in the woods towards Espeja and Gallegos; Reynier was acting as a covering force to protect their withdrawal, and would have vanished at once if he had been attacked in force.

Masséna, in fact, had only lingered on the fighting-ground during the 6th and 7th in order to organize his retreat. He had ordered the great convoy of food, which had been brought up to Gallegos, to be distributed among the corps, since there was no longer any hope of throwing it into Almeida, and had sent back his artillery caissons to Rodrigo to be refilled. They were not to return, as he intended to pick them up during his retreat. But the main reason why the army had remained near Fuentes for two days was that an effort had been made[p. 350] to communicate with General Brennier by stealth, since force had not availed. By offering a reward of 6,000 francs, the Marshal had succeeded in finding three soldiers who volunteered to attempt to pass through the British lines by night bearing a cipher dispatch. Chance has preserved their names, Zaniboni, Lami, and Tillet. The first two disguised themselves as Spanish peasants, but were both detected and shot as spies. The third, a private in the 6th Léger, retained his uniform and crawled for some miles down the bed of the Dos Casas ravine in the dark, only emerging from it when he got some way beyond Fort Concepcion. From thence he made his way to Almeida before dawn, by creeping on all fours though fields of corn. The dispatch which he bore to the governor directed him to evacuate the place and escape as best he could; he was recommended to try a northerly line, and to make for the bridge of Barba del Puerco, where Reynier’s corps was to be placed from the 8th onward. By taking this route he would avoid the main body of the allied army, as there seemed to be nothing but cavalry vedettes north of Fort Concepcion. Brennier was instructed to acknowledge the receipt of the message, by firing three heavy salvos at five minutes’ intervals from his heaviest guns at 10 o’clock at night. This he did, and it was their sound which enabled Masséna to retreat during the dark hours which followed, with a knowledge that his orders had been received and that the garrison would try to escape. During the next day (May 8th) the 6th and 9th Corps recrossed the Azava and retired to Ciudad Rodrigo. Reynier with the 2nd Corps, moving later, and taking a separate route, marched by the bridge of Barba del Puerco, further down the Agueda, and placed himself at San Felices, just beyond the stream.

Wellington, on seeing the French fall back to their point of starting, thought that Almeida and its garrison were now his own—and so they should have been if his subordinates had acted with common ability. He pushed forward his advanced posts to the Azava and the Agueda in face of the retiring enemy, but sent back the whole 6th Division to relieve Pack’s Portuguese in the task of blockading Almeida. General Campbell took over the command from Pack on the 10th, and disposed his three brigades round the place in what he considered a[p. 351] satisfactory and scientific fashion. It appears, however, that he cantoned them, for convenience sake, much too far out, and neglected the usual precaution of pushing pickets close up to the walls every night, to watch the garrison during the dark hours. The regiments were placed in villages three or four miles from the town, and the connecting screen of pickets between them was thin. Pack’s Portuguese were moved by Campbell to Cinco Villas, four miles north-west of Almeida. Of Burne’s brigade the 2nd regiment was nearest Almeida, on the road that goes out towards the north, the 36th at Malpartida close by. The other British brigade (Hulse’s) was facing the south side of the fortress at a considerable distance; the Portuguese of the division (Madden’s brigade) were at or near Junca on the east front.

Brennier was determined to do his very best to carry out the dangerous task which had been set him. Not only would he carry off his garrison, but he would leave Almeida a wreck behind him. The 8th and 9th of May were employed in driving mines into the whole of the enceinte, and in disabling as much of the artillery as was possible in the time. Some of the pieces were merely spiked, others had their bores choked also; many were disabled by the ingenious plan of firing several pairs of guns simultaneously, with the muzzles of some placed at right angles to those of the others, so that while half the shots flew outwards, the other half struck and disabled the guns against which they were aimed. The besiegers had detected that there was something odd in these salvos, but thought that they were signals to Masséna—as indeed the firing on the night of the 7th had actually been.

At about 11.30 on the night of the 10th, the French came out of the north gate of Almeida in two columns, one formed of the battalion of the 82nd Line, the other of the provisional battalion, artillery, and sappers who formed the larger half of the garrison, which numbered something over 1,300 men. The two columns, which marched close together, parallel with each other, struck the cordon of the blockading line near the point where the pickets of the 1st Portuguese, belonging to Pack’s brigade, joined with those of the 2nd Queen’s of Burne’s. Rushing violently on, they pierced the line, with nothing more than a splutter of musketry from the few Portuguese sentries imme[p. 352]diately opposed to them, who were trampled down or driven off. Five minutes after, a tremendous series of explosions from Almeida startled the whole of the blockading force: the mines left behind by Brennier had worked, and the greater part of the eastern and northern fronts of the place had been blown up. On the south side something had gone wrong with the fuses, and little damage was done: but the fortress was effectively ruined.

Brennier should have been caught if the officers entrusted with the blockade had shown ordinary wisdom, for he was plunging into the midst of 6,000 men, and, if Wellington’s orders had been properly carried out, he could never have reached his destination. The main blame for his successful evasion seems to rest on the shoulders of Colonel Iremonger of the Queen’s regiment, and General Erskine. The former, who was nearest of all the blockading battalions to the point of Brennier’s exit, merely put his men under arms, and sent out patrols both towards Almeida and to right and left. They came back after long delay, reporting that the town seemed to have been evacuated, and that the French had apparently got off to the north and were out of sight. Even at dawn Colonel Iremonger had made no movement, yet his battalion of all the division had the best chance of pursuing the enemy. Erskine’s responsibility is still heavier: he had been directed by a written order, on the afternoon of the 10th, to extend the line of the 4th Division as far as the bridge of Barba del Puerco, and in particular to send the 4th regiment under Colonel Bevan to the rocky defile which overhangs that bridge.[444] Having, apparently, received[p. 353] the dispatch at four o’clock, he detained it (unopened according to some accounts) till long after dusk, when he forwarded directions to the 4th regiment to move to Barba del Puerco. Colonel Bevan, not receiving the order till late at night, took upon himself the responsibility of ordering that the battalion should only move at daybreak. Wherefore there were no troops holding the defile at the critical moment.

For the first few miles of his retreat Brennier was followed only by General Pack, who had caught up eighty men of the main picket of the 1st Portuguese, and hurried after the retreating columns, after sending word to Campbell at Malpartida of the enemy’s general direction. Pack kept up a running fire for several hours, and took many stragglers and all the French baggage; but, by the orders of their commander, the retreating columns did not wait to beat off the teasing force which pursued them, or even fire a shot in return. Towards daybreak Pack found himself near Villa de Ciervo, with only a major and eleven men left in his company, but still close on the heels of the French. In this village there was a troop of the 1st Royals, watching the line of the Agueda; they turned out on hearing the firing, demonstrated against the flying enemy, and detained him for a few useful minutes; but fifty dragoons could do nothing against two battalion columns. However, with the growing light, more British troops were seen hurrying up. General Campbell, on getting Pack’s message, had come on rapidly with the 36th regiment from Malpartida, and was within a mile of Brennier, when the latter turned down to the defile which leads to the bridge of Barba del Puerco. At the same time the 4th, so unhappily absent up to this moment, were perceived approaching from the south, parallel with the course of the Agueda, while a squadron of Barba?ena’s dragoons and some Portuguese infantry were visible in a north-westerly direc[p. 354]tion. If Brennier had allowed himself to be detained for half an hour longer, at any moment in his retreat, he would have been a lost man. But, as it was, his leading column was nearing the bridge before the British got within touch of him.

General Campbell had ordered the 36th to throw off their packs and run, when he saw how close the French were to safety, and the regiment, followed by the 4th, which came up a minute later, struck the second French column just as it was descending to the bridge. Fired upon and charged on the steep road, the battalion broke, and many men, trying to find short cuts down the precipitous hillside, lost their footing, and fell down the rocks. There were some broken necks and many broken limbs, while other fugitives fell into the river and were drowned. Meanwhile a heavy fire was opened on the pursuers from the opposite bank. Reynier, who (as he had been ordered) kept a good watch on the bridge from San Felices, had sent down three battalions of the 31st Léger and some guns to receive the flying garrison. They had lined the bank, and were ready to defend the defile. Colonel Cochrane, of the 36th, without Campbell’s orders, took upon himself to try to force a passage through the covering force, and led a mixed mass of his own regiment and the 4th across the bridge, and up the opposite slope. They were repulsed with loss by the 31st Léger; the casualties in this rash enterprise were the only ones suffered by the British that morning, and amounted to eighteen killed and wounded, and an officer and sixteen men taken prisoners. Pack’s Portuguese had lost some fifteen men when their picket line was forced at midnight, so that the total casualties of the Allies were about fifty.

Brennier’s columns had of course suffered far more—but it was a scandal that a single man had escaped. He states his loss in his report to Marmont at 360 men out of 1,300, of whom over 200 were prisoners and 150 killed or wounded. The commandant de place of Almeida and twelve other officers were taken. Reynier says that when General Campbell had withdrawn his troops from the water’s edge, and up the cliff, out of the range of the French cannon, he sent a party across the bridge to bring in the wounded, and that they found quite a heap of men with broken limbs at the foot of the precipice,[p. 355] whom they dragged out from among the dead and brought back with them. There were some few English and Portuguese in this ghastly pile, who had lost their footing in reckless pursuit of the flying enemy and had fallen with them[445].

Wellington gave it as his opinion that the escape of the garrison of Almeida was ‘the most disgraceful military event’ that had yet occurred to the British army in the Peninsula, and it is easy to understand his wrath. Campbell had been warned that Brennier might very probably attempt to escape; Erskine had been told to guard the defile of Barba del Puerco. The former kept his troops too far back from the place, and so disposed them that there was nothing directly behind the cordon of pickets, at the point where Brennier broke out, save the main-guard of the 1st Portuguese. He also watched the south and west sides of Almeida with unnecessary numbers—for it was unlikely that the governor would choose either of those points for his sortie. But he clearly did his best to pursue when the alarm came, and was the first to appear at Barba del Puerco with the 36th. The colonel of the 2nd regiment was much more to blame than his chief, since he was close to the original point where the French appeared, but merely collected his battalion at its head quarters and made no attempt to pursue. In his exculpatory letter to General Campbell he ‘thinks that he has explained everything satisfactorily[446],’ but he clearly does not show that he made an adequate attempt to face the situation, which demanded a rapid pursuit. An extraordinary chance happened to another regiment of the 6th Division: Colonel Douglas, with the 8th Portuguese, was at Junca, some way to the east of Almeida. He started off at the first alarm, and with proper military instinct marched for Barba del Puerco. Having good guides he reached the bridge before daybreak, but could see nothing of Brennier (who was still some miles away near Villa de Ciervo). Finding the defile all quiet, and no French visible save Reynier’s cavalry picket on the other side of the[p. 356] water, he concluded that he had come upon the wrong track, and turned back across the Dos Casas to look for the garrison elsewhere[447]. If he had been a trifle less prompt, he would have found Brennier running into his arms. This was sheer bad luck. But clearly the main blame lay with Erskine, who kept an important order back for six or seven hours, and was the person directly responsible for the fact that the bridge of Barba del Puerco was not watched, according to the precise direction issued by the Commander-in-Chief.

Wellington summed up the affair in a confidential letter to his brother[448] with the bitter words: ‘I begin to be of the opinion that there is nothing so stupid as “a gallant officer.” They (the blockading force) had about 13,000 men[449] to watch 1,400, and on the night of the 10th, to the infinite surprise of the enemy, they allowed the garrison to slip through their fingers and escape.... There they were, sleeping in their spurs even, but the French got off.’ The two officers who bore the brunt of their chief’s wrath were not—as might have been expected—Erskine and Iremonger, but Cochrane and Bevan. The former, for his ill-advised attempt to cross the bridge, got a withering rebuke in a general order. The latter found that his statement that Erskine’s dispatch did not reach him till midnight was disbelieved: threatened with being brought before a court of inquiry, he committed suicide at Portalegre, while the army was on its march to the south a few weeks later. Public opinion in the army held that he had been sacrificed to the hierarchical theory that a general must be believed before a lieutenant-colonel[450].

[p. 357]

It will have been noted that Brennier’s report of his hazardous exploit, for which Napoleon very deservedly promoted him to the rank of general of division, was sent in, not to Masséna but to Marmont. The Prince of Essling had ceased to command the Army of Portugal a few hours before the explosion at Almeida. It will be remembered that the Emperor had made up his mind to supersede the old Marshal on April 20, and had entrusted the dispatch to General Foy, who (travelling with his usual headlong speed) reached Ciudad Rodrigo on the afternoon of May 10th. Marmont, who declares that he had no idea that he was to take over any charge greater than that of the 6th Corps, had reached Rodrigo two days before, and had reported his arrival to Masséna when the latter entered the fortress on May 8th. When Foy delivered the fatal dispatch to his old chief, the latter vented himself in loud outbursts of wrath, and declared that he had been maligned to the Emperor[451]. He accused Foy of having given an ill account of his late campaign to their master, and so of having caused his fall. And he added insult to injury by pointing out that the envelope of the dispatch was torn, and insinuating that the bearer had picked it open, in order to read its contents on his journey. Aghast at these accusations, which seem to have been no more than the angry inspirations of the moment, Foy wrote a long letter of remonstrance and self-justification to the Marshal, but got no satisfaction thereby. Masséna’s own character was such that it was natural for him to suspect double dealing and dishonourable conduct on the part of others. The reasons which probably brought about his recall at this particular moment have been explained in an earlier chapter[452]. They were the Emperor’s verdict on the campaign of Portugal. His lieutenant had failed and had lost the confidence of his army, therefore he must be recalled. Masséna had done far more than any other general could have accomplished, and he had, in effect, been sent to essay the impossible. His master far more than himself was responsible for the failure; but this the Emperor could not, or perhaps would not, see. The recall was now necessary,[p. 358] for the old Marshal’s bolt was shot, and it was clear that after Fuentes de O?oro he could not have got any more good work out of his army.

His successor, Marmont, was a far younger man, aged only thirty-six, and promoted to his marshalship so late as 1809. He was one of Napoleon’s earliest followers, and had seen his first service under him as lieutenant of artillery at Toulon. Having fought all through the Italian campaign of 1796-7, he had followed his chief to Egypt, and had been one of the few officers selected to accompany him in his surreptitious return to France in 1799. He had served in the campaigns of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Wagram, but not in the Prusso-Russian War of 1806-7, during which he had been acting as Governor of Dalmatia. It was his good service both as general and organizer in that province which had won him his Illyrian title of ‘Duke of Ragusa.’ Personally Marmont was the exact antithesis of his predecessor in command: he was no rough and unscrupulous adventurer, but a well-educated and cultured gentleman, whose ancestors had served the old monarchy in the army and the law. Of all the marshals, he and St. Cyr are the only two whose writings give the impression of real literary ability. His autobiography displays his character in all its strength and weakness; it shows him brilliant, active, ingenious, and plausible, but absurdly vain and self-satisfied. The Spanish chapters of it form one of the best and most convincing indictments of Napoleon’s policy in the Peninsula, and he supports every deduction by original documents in the true historical method. But he is such a whole-hearted admirer of himself and his achievements that he can never realize his own faults and failures. Nothing that he ever did was wrong—even the loss of the battle of Salamanca, entirely his own work, can be shifted on to the shoulders of his subordinates. And he has no sympathy and admiration for any other person in the world. As a bitter critic remarked at the time of the publication of his bulky memoirs, ‘Marmont is not only autolatrous, but his autolatry is exclusive and intolerant. Many conceited men are not incapable of recognizing merit in others; they can adjust themselves to their equals and respect them. Marmont gets irritated and angry whenever he runs against another man of parts. He[p. 359] is a self-lover who has become a general misanthrope; the iconoclast of the reputations of all other notable persons.’

But Marmont’s jealousy was reserved for those who were important enough to be considered as rivals. To his subordinates and inferiors he was kindly and considerate in a patronizing sort of manner. The diarists who served under him speak with amusement rather than anger of his grand airs, his elaborate parade and pomp, and the ostentatious splendour of his field equipage[453]. He was clearly not disliked as Masséna had been, for he took care of his men as well as of himself, and was not considered a hard master[454].

The military capacity of this clever, vain, ostentatious young marshal has often been undervalued. He was an excellent strategist, who could grasp and face a situation with firmness and rapidity. He could form a good plan of campaign, and man?uvre his troops skilfully, as was sufficiently shown in his movements in June 1811 and July 1812. As an organizer he cannot be too highly praised: the way in which he refitted the Army of Portugal within a month of Fuentes, and made it efficient for a long and difficult march across central Spain, was deserving of the highest approval. His weak point was in tactical execution. When he had got his army to the striking point, he was seized with irresolution, which contrasted strangely with the skill and decision which he had shown up to that moment. In personal courage he was the equal of any of his colleagues—but he could not keep a clear head on a battle morning. Foy, who served under him during the whole of his command in Spain, sums him up as follows in his diary: ‘Bold and enterprising till the moment of danger, he suddenly becomes cold and apathetic when the armies are in presence. In discussion he will not face the difficulty, but tries to evade it. He is a good, estimable,[p. 360] and respectable man, but he himself (and many others) have been entirely deceived as to the value of his talents. He was never born to be the general of an army. His face expresses too faithfully the hesitation of his mind. He asks advice too often, too publicly, and of too many persons. A witty friend said to me in 1806: “Marmont is like Mont Cenis: in good weather his brow is high and imposing, in times of storm the clouds wrap it completely round[455].” ... Yet so mobile is his imagination that, when the crisis is over, he forgets all his indecision and mental anguish, he effaces from his memory past facts, and turns to his profit and glory all that has happened, even events that were unfortunate and disgraceful[456].’

Marmont had commanded an army corps with credit; he had even conducted a little campaign of his own against the Austrians on the Dalmatian frontier, in 1809, so as to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. But he was very far from being fit to contend with Wellington, who was as good a strategist as himself and a practical tactician of a very different class of merit. He lacked both the imperturbable coolness and the iron resolution of his opponent—and the first time that they met in serious combat he was ‘found out,’ and dashed to destruction.

Meanwhile Marmont’s first seven weeks of command were infinitely creditable to him. He reorganized the Army of Portugal with a rapidity that disarranged Wellington’s calculations, and he led it to the strategical point where it was needed, with great swiftness and skill—as we shall presently see.

The Emperor, in the dispatch which explained to Marmont his duties, had bidden him drop the organization into corps on which the Army of Portugal had been hitherto formed, and send home the superfluous corps-commanders, and any other generals whose absence he desired more than their presence. Such advice squared with the Duke of Ragusa’s own ideas, for he disliked to have about him officers who were too high in rank and seniority to be his humble assistants. Junot and Loison went back to France at once, and with them nearly all the old divisional generals: Marmont worked the army with promoted brigadiers. We hear for the future nothing more of many[p. 361] familiar names—Marchand, Merle, Mermet, Heudelet, &c. Of the old divisional commanders only Clausel and Solignac remained. The rest of the new divisions, into which the old corps were redistributed, were given to men who had entered Portugal in 1810 at the head of brigades only—Ferey, Brennier, Sarrut, Foy, Maucune. Reynier stopped a few months more with the army and went off in July, there being no place for him in the new system. Of the old superior officers only Montbrun, commanding all the cavalry, remained with Marmont till the end of the campaign of 1811—there was no one who could be substituted for him in command of that arm.

In the reorganization of the army the old regimental association in brigades and divisions were mainly adhered to. The two senior divisions of the 6th Corps (Marchand’s and Mermet’s original commands) simply became the 1st and 2nd Divisions of the Army of Portugal, under Foy and Clausel. The two divisions of the 2nd Corps (late Merle’s and Heudelet’s) became the 4th and 3rd Divisions of the new organization, under Sarrut and Ferey[457]. The 8th Corps and Loison’s original division of the 6th Corps were amalgamated, and made into the 5th and 6th Divisions (Maucune and Brennier). A few small abnormal units, such as the Légion du Midi and the Hanoverian Legion, horse and foot, were disbanded, and ceased to exist. All the isolated fourth battalions of the old 8th Corps had gone down to skeleton units of 200 or 300 strong—their rank and file were drafted into other regiments, their cadres sent home to France to recruit. In each Line regiment Marmont reduced the number of field battalions to three or two, and, having filled them up to a strength of 700 men each, sent back the cadres and the small remainder of rank and file from the junior battalions to their dép?ts. A fortnight after Fuentes there were not more than 28,000 infantry with the eagles in the Army of Portugal, but there was a great mass of convalescents in the base hospitals, and of newly arrived drafts in the governments of Leon and Old Castile, whom Marmont strove, not at first with great success, to draw to himself and embody in their regiments. It[p. 362] was hard to get them forward, when every officer commanding a small post in the rear detained drafts to strengthen his garrison, and when the Governors of Salamanca and Valladolid wanted to keep as many recovered convalescents with them as they could retain, because their governments were undermanned.

The cavalry units were in a far worse state than those of the infantry. Already at Fuentes most of the regiments had shown only two squadrons for want of horses, and had left behind them in their cantonments dismounted men in vast numbers. Marmont, seeing it was impossible to find chargers for them in Spain, was forced to send them all back on foot to Bayonne, to draw horses from the interior of France. In June he could put only 2,500 mounted men in the field. The artillery in a similar fashion was hopelessly short of teams: it could produce only 36 guns (six batteries) properly horsed, though Masséna had started from Santarem in March with more than 100. Marmont says that the army returns showed that Masséna had entered Portugal in 1810 with 4,200 artillery horses—of these only 1,400 survived the retreat, and of them in May only 400 were fit for service[458]. As to the train, it had vanished altogether, so far as horses and waggons went; the Marshal says that precisely four waggons were fully horsed and ready for work when he took over the command. But rest, the return to a land where food was to be got with ease and regularity, and the opening up of the dép?ts of Salamanca and Valladolid, where uniforms, boots, and pay had been accumulating, soon did wonders for the army, under the Marshal’s careful and judicious supervision. By June he was able to take the field with an army that was restored in morale, and fit for good service.
SECTION XXVI: CHAPTER V
THE BATTLE OF ALBUERA. MAY 16th, 1811

Soult, it will be remembered, had quitted Estremadura, and handed over the charge of the troops left therein to Mortier, on March 14th. He received the news of Beresford’s irruption into the province and of the combat of Campo Mayor on March 30th, so that from the beginning of April onward he was aware that it would be incumbent on him to support the 5th Corps and to relieve Badajoz within a few weeks. That he was not forced to march back from Seville to the north at once was due to the breaking of the Jerumenha bridges, which (as we have seen) delayed Beresford’s advance and the investment of Badajoz for many days. But by the end of April the danger had grown pressing: Latour-Maubourg had been thrust out of Estremadura, and (deceived by the movements of Colborne) reported that the Allies were about to invade Andalusia also. He had fallen back to Constantina, well within the limits of that kingdom, and not over forty miles from Seville. Nothing definite had been heard of Badajoz and its garrison, since the communications between that fortress and the south had been cut by Beresford’s cavalry on April 10th. Though its governor, Phillipon, was known to be a man of resource, and though provisions and military stores (the leavings of Imaz) were abundant, yet the garrison was small for such a large place, and Soult was not aware how far the damaged fortifications had been repaired since his departure. It was clear that he must strike at Beresford without delay, or the news that Badajoz had been attacked and captured might come to hand some black morning.

The Marshal’s situation, therefore, on May 1st was not unlike what it had been at the end of the preceding December, when by the Emperor’s orders he had been directed to make his first irruption into Estremadura. He must once more collect[p. 364] from the 70,000 men of the 1st, 4th, and 5th Corps a force sufficient to beat whatever number of troops the Allies had placed in that province. The task would clearly be more difficult than it had been in January, for, instead of 16,000 or 20,000 Spaniards, there were now in Estremadura some 20,000 Anglo-Portuguese, besides the 8,000 men of whom Ballasteros and Casta?os could dispose. Moreover, there was Blake to be taken into consideration; but the Marshal—badly informed as to the movements of that general and his corps—thought that he was still so far from the rest of the Allies that he would not be able to join Beresford for battle, if the attack upon the latter was pressed with great swiftness and decision. The only favourable feature in the situation was that Badajoz was now in French hands, and could not be used (as in February) for a general rallying-place for the Allies. Campo Mayor and Olivenza would be of little or no use to Beresford, and, if he made Elvas his point d’appui, he must first evacuate all that lay on the south bank of the Guadiana. The only alternative for the British general would be to concentrate and fight at some point where he could cover the siege of Badajoz. This was the probable course for him to adopt, and Soult had to calculate the force that he would require in order to make victory reasonably certain. He fixed it at about 25,000 men—too low an estimate, as it turned out. It is interesting to note that at the very moment when Soult was ordering his concentration at Seville, a dispatch was on the way to him from Napoleon at Paris, dictating the course which he ought to pursue under the exact circumstances which had now arisen. ‘Wellington,’ wrote the Emperor on March 30th, ‘has only 32,000 British troops: he cannot make a detachment of more than 8,000 or 9,000 of them, with 5,000 or 6,000 Portuguese added. It is necessary to keep permanently about Badajoz the value of 15,000 men of all arms, in good state and of the best regiments, so that at the least movement of the English on this side the Duke of Dalmatia, taking with him 8,000 or 10,000 men, should be able to concentrate in Estremadura a total of from 25,000 to 30,000 men. If this exceptional crisis arises, only a corps of observation must be left on the side of Granada, and it must be placed under the orders of the Duke of Belluno (Victor). The Duke of[p. 365] Dalmatia must keep in correspondence, via Madrid, with the Army of Portugal and the Army of the Centre. The King ought always to keep a division of 6,000 men between the Tagus and Badajoz, ready to unite with the Duke of Dalmatia, if it becomes necessary to resist a movement of the English against Andalusia. But to arrive at this result it is necessary that the country-side should be entirely disgarrisoned, that all hospitals and magazines should be concentrated in Seville, and that Cadiz, Seville, and Badajoz should be the only points to guard, with a corps of observation at Granada. In this case the Duke of Belluno would take command of the troops at Seville and Granada, as well as of the force besieging Cadiz, and the Duke of Dalmatia would only have charge of the army opposed to the English. Counting the division from the Army of the Centre, he can easily unite 30,000 to 35,000 men.... In this case he would be able to resist even 30,000 English, if Lord Wellington marched against him with his entire army. But this supposition can never be realized; because, if it happened, the Prince of Essling (Masséna) would be able to march on Lisbon, and the English would find themselves cut off from that place, and between two fires[459].’

From the first part of Napoleon’s calculations it is clear that he thought Soult would require about 25,000 men—the 15,000 who were to be left about Badajoz and the 10,000 who were to be brought up from Andalusia: they are increased to 30,000 by erroneous addition only. As a matter of fact Soult, in order to cover Seville and to rescue Victor, had left only 11,000 men in Estremadura on March 14th, and 3,000 of these were now shut up in Badajoz. But on the other hand he collected from Andalusia (including Maransin’s column)[460] 16,000 men, so that his fighting force was within a few hundreds of the 25,000 named by the Emperor. The 35,000 spoken of in a later sentence would only be required, so Napoleon thought, if Wellington came down to invade Andalusia with all his British troops. We may point out, by the way, that the Imperial calculations were all wrong in detail, as was bound to be the case when they were made at[p. 366] Paris on data many weeks old. Wellington, owing to the reinforcements which had landed at Lisbon in the first days of March, had now nearly 40,000 British troops. He had detached 12,000 of them under Beresford[461], and these were accompanied not by 6,000 Portuguese at the most, as the Emperor guessed, but by a full 10,000. There was therefore a serious miscalculation. We may add that if Wellington had taken the unlikely step of concentrating his whole army against Andalusia, he would have had not only 38,000 British troops with him, but nearly 25,000 Portuguese troops of good quality[462]. The united force could have smashed up in one morning’s work the 35,000 French under Soult, whom the Emperor thought enough to restrain them. But, as Napoleon truly observed, it was practically impossible for Wellington to make this move, so long as Masséna’s force was still opposed to him in the north. It was only when the Army of Portugal moved down to the Guadiana in June that the British general concentrated practically his whole force in one line, behind the Caya, in the southern sphere of operations. And when he had done so the Armies of Portugal and Andalusia united, though about 60,000 strong, did not dare to attack him. But of this more anon.

In early May Soult, under-valuing Beresford’s fighting force, thought that 25,000 men would suffice to sweep him behind the Guadiana, even when he had the help of Casta?os and Ballasteros. The force was collected in the following fashion: Latour-Maubourg at Constantina had 8,000 men, who had just been rejoined by Maransin’s column, thus the 5th Corps was once more concentrated and complete (with the exception of five[p. 367] battalions in Badajoz, and one or two more which Soult was bringing up from Seville). When all came in, the corps amounted to 10,000 men of all arms. The remaining part of the expedition was made up by requisitioning from Victor’s 1st Corps and the lines before Cadiz four battalions and two regiments of cavalry[463], and from Sebastiani’s 4th Corps four battalions and three regiments of cavalry[464]. Of the independent division under Godinot, which garrisoned the kingdom of Cordova, Soult took nearly the whole—nine battalions and two regiments of cavalry[465]. The borrowed troops were divided into two large brigades (one might better have been called a small division) under Generals Godinot and Werlé[466], and three provisional brigades of cavalry. They took five batteries (thirty guns) with them, to add to the eighteen guns of Latour-Maubourg, and some companies of sappers and train. The total force available came to just under 25,000 men, unequally divided in numbers between the 5th Corps and the Andalusian reserves. The cavalry was very strong in proportion, about 4,400 sabres[467].

It will be noted that Soult had (as in January) refrained from adopting the general plan which Napoleon favoured, that of abandoning all Andalusia save Seville and the Cadiz Lines, and leaving only a corps of observation at Granada. It is true that the Duke of Dalmatia took very little from Victor, and left the 1st Corps almost intact in the lines, but Sebastiani’s 4th Corps was also left only slightly diminished, and was expected to hold down all eastern Andalusia, instead of being[p. 368] requisitioned for 10,000 men and reduced to a flying column as the Emperor would have wished. The unit that had been most heavily drawn upon was the garrison of the kingdom of Cordova, and the result of this was that (as in January) very few troops could be detailed for the defence of Seville, since nearly all that had been in its neighbourhood were summoned off to Estremadura. The great city which formed Soult’s base was once more left inadequately defended by dép?ts and drafts, and Juramentados of doubtful fidelity. The Marshal had lately raised some companies of so-called Swiss[468], deserters of all nations, and these were also utilized. But the total left under General Daricau was dangerously small. So keenly was this realized that the governor was directed to retire within the great fortified enclosure of the Carthusian convent (La Cartuja) if pressed, and all the military stores had been placed in this immense building, which had been surrounded with a bastioned enceinte, and armed with cannon, so as to form a sort of citadel. The Castle of the Inquisition at Cordova in a similar fashion had been fortified, and converted into a work that could be held against any irregular force, and similar precautions had been taken at Jaen, Andujar, Ronda, Alcala Real, and Niebla, to provide centres of resistance against possible assaults by guerrilleros. Probably, however, Napoleon was right, and if the minor places and eastern Andalusia had been evacuated, Soult might have brought 10,000 more infantry against Beresford, in which case the latter would never have dared to fight him, and must have retired behind the Guadiana. There would have been no battle of Albuera—but on the other hand all the evacuated districts would have flared up into insurrection, and it is difficult to see how Soult could have reconquered them, since he was to be for several months tied up in operations against the British, from which he could not have withdrawn a man.

But having taken another decision, and resolved to surrender nothing, the Marshal had only gathered 12,000 men to reinforce[p. 369] the 5th Corps. They required many days to concentrate, and it was only on May 8th that he reviewed them in their new provisional brigading at Seville, and delivered an allocution in which he announced to them that they were destined to save Badajoz and drive the British from Estremadura, and that the force would march at midnight on the 10th[469]. This threat did not escape the Spanish patriots in the city, who passed the news on so swiftly that Ballasteros was able to forward it to Beresford by the afternoon of the 12th.

Having once started, Soult hoped to surprise his enemy by the swiftness of his movements. The head of the column which marched at 12 p.m. on the night of the 9th-10th was at Santa Olalla, more than thirty miles away, on the 11th. The pace had to slacken in crossing the Sierra Morena, but on the 12th head quarters were at Monasterio (fifteen miles further on) from which Ballasteros’s scouts withdrew. Latour-Maubourg and the 5th Corps, far away to the right, had advanced at the same time from Cazalla and Constantina, and driven Casta?os’s advanced posts from Guadalcanal and then from Llerena. On the 13th the two French forces joined at Fuente Cantos, and their leading cavalry squadrons reached Los Santos, from which the 13th Light Dragoons retired. As Wellington had directed, nearly a month before, in his Elvas memorandum, the Spaniards made no attempt to check the advance: their cavalry withdrew as the French pushed forward; their infantry were prepared to fall back on the rendezvous at Albuera.

From the 13th the British cavalry as well as the Spanish were in touch with Soult; General Long had been lying about Villafranca and Los Santos till that day, with three British and four Portuguese regiments[470]. He retired to Fuente del Maestre, and then to Santa Marta, contenting himself with reporting the successive advances of the French to Beresford,[p. 370] who was apparently not over well contented with his operations on this and the two following days, and thought that he might have gone back more slowly, and have compelled the leading squadrons of the enemy to deploy and lose time. At Fuente del Maestre the allied cavalry split itself up, Madden with two Portuguese regiments covering the roads to Almendralejo and Solana, while Long and the main body stayed on the high-road to Badajoz via Santa Marta and Albuera[471].

Having such long warning of his adversary’s movements, Beresford was able to carry out the concentration of his fighting force at leisure. There was still some uncertainty as to which road the enemy might choose, three[472] being open to him when his advance had reached Los Santos, viz. (1) the obvious central and shortest route by Albuera-Badajoz, (2) the eastern route Solana-Talavera Real-Badajoz, (3) the western route Almendral-Valverde-Badajoz. The former was rather circuitous, its main advantage to the French being that it was all across open flat country, where their superior cavalry would have had excellent ground; but the Albuera route was not perceptibly inferior in this respect, as subsequent operations showed. To take the third or western road, that by Almendral-Valverde (though this is not so long as that by Solana) would have forced Soult to execute a flank march across Beresford’s front, and (what probably weighed more with the French Marshal) would have fixed the decisive spot, where the fate of the campaign would be settled, nearer to the point towards which Blake’s army was known to be marching: and Soult still hoped to fight his battle in that general’s absence.

On the 13th of May Beresford marched out from his lines in front of Badajoz to Valverde, a point convenient for occupying a position across two of the possible roads, and not very remote from the third and least likely one. He took with him the 2nd Division and Hamilton’s Portuguese, with three batteries. The rest of the army remained before Badajoz, covering the removal of artillery and stores, but ready to come up at any[p. 371] moment. On the same afternoon he had a conference with General Blake, who rode over from Barcarrota. On the following day Soult’s movement seemed to be growing much slower—the heads of his columns only reached Fuente del Maestre and Villafranca. The fact, duly reported to Beresford, that part of the French army had reached the latter place, which is off the main chaussée to the right, seemed to make it possible that Soult was, after all, going to move by Talavera Real. Beresford waited for a more precise indication of his adversary’s final route, and sent pressing orders to Madden to cover with his scouts all the open country between Talavera Real and Almendralejo. Blake on this day, finding that his cavalry could discover no signs of the French in his front, to the west of the great chaussée, drew in from Barcarrota to Almendral, as he promised to do when he met Beresford at Valverde on the 12th.

It being perfectly clear by this time that the French were not about to take the western route, Beresford on the 15th marched the 2nd Division and Hamilton’s Portuguese to Albuera, where they were joined by more troops from in front of Badajoz, Alten’s German brigade, and a provisional brigade of Portuguese under Colonel Collins[473]. Only the 4th Division and the Spanish brigade belonging to Casta?os, lately arrived from Merida, now remained in front of the fortress—all on the south bank save Kemmis’s brigade of the first-named unit. The last of the stores were moved on this day from the trenches to Elvas, and the flying bridge opposite the mouth of the Caya was taken up. This last proved a mistake—it was intended that Kemmis should join the army by using a ford below Badajoz, which had been practicable for the last ten days; but on the night of the 15th-16th the water rose, and the brigade was forced to march round by the next passage, that at Jerumenha, which involved a circuit of thirty miles, and made it late for the[p. 372] battle. Only three companies, which chanced to be on the south bank of the Guadiana when the freshet came down, were able to march off with Cole and the rest of the division, when the order came.

About 15,000 men were already in line at Albuera when Soult’s intention at last became perfectly clear: his chasseurs and hussars vigorously attacked Long’s horsemen at Santa Marta, and began to drive them along the chaussée. Long made no stand, though, having three British and two Portuguese regiments (Otway) besides some 600 of Casta?os’s cavalry, he was in considerable strength. ‘He was driven rather faster than one could have wished, and retiring precipitately crossed the Albuera stream, and gave up the whole right bank to the enemy. This haste is a bad thing, because the woods there mask all the enemy’s movements,’ wrote D’Urban in his diary. Beresford was so vexed with him that he that night assigned to the command of the cavalry of the whole allied army General Lumley, who was Long’s senior, leaving the latter in nominal command of the British horse alone. Lumley, though then in charge of an infantry brigade in the 2nd Division, was an old light dragoon, and showed himself next day well able to manage a mass of mounted men[474].

No enemy, save Briche’s light cavalry, came up during the 15th—Soult’s infantry were far behind, and bivouacked that night at Santa Marta. Beresford was therefore able to complete his concentration at leisure. Blake’s army was directed to march up in the afternoon from Almendral, only five miles away; Cole and the Spanish brigade of Carlos de Espa?a, Casta?os’s only infantry force, were directed to break up from the Badajoz lines and march at 2 a.m. to Albuera. The Spaniards, for some unknown reason, were very late; Blake only arrived at 11 p.m., and his troops, encamping in the dark, could not[p. 373] take up the position assigned to them till daylight. However, he had arrived, which was the main thing, bringing with him the three infantry divisions of Zayas, Ballasteros, and Lardizabal, and 1,000 horse under Loy, but only one battery. Cole reported that he would be on the ground soon after dawn, but that Kemmis was cut off from him by the rise of the river, so that he could only bring two brigades instead of three. Orders were also sent to Madden to close up with his Portuguese horse—but he could not be found, having most unaccountably crossed the Guadiana to Montijo with the bulk of his brigade, an eccentric and unjustifiable movement. Two of his squadrons, however, were met, and sent to join Otway that night.

The position of Albuera is not a strong or a well-marked one, yet it is far the best that can be discovered across the Seville chaussée for many miles south of Badajoz. It consists of a long rolling line of low hills, extending for several miles along the brook which takes its name from the village. This stream is in spring an insignificant thread of water, fordable anywhere by infantry or cavalry, and allowing even guns and waggons to pass at many points, though there are occasionally long stretches of bank with an almost precipitous drop of ten or twelve feet, which would stop anything on wheels. The ground on the south-east or French bank slopes up in a very gentle rise, and is covered in many places with groves of olives, which make it impossible to take any general view of the country-side, or to get more than vague and partial notions as to any movements of troops that may be going on in it. On the north-west or English bank the rolling heights are completely bare of trees; except at the village of Albuera there is neither house, wall, nor bush upon them—nothing taller than a few withered shrubs three feet high[475].

The so-called heights of Albuera are simply an undulation along the bank of the stream, which rises very slightly above the level of the plateau that stretches from the position to the descent into the valley of the Guadiana, thirteen miles away. This ridge or undulation extends in either direction as far as[p. 374] the eye can reach, with varying altitude, sometimes only 60 feet, sometimes perhaps 150 feet above the water’s edge. There are therefore many ‘dips’ on the summit of the position. The main battle-spot was on the two slopes of one of these dips, where, between two of the higher knolls of the ridge, there is a depression perhaps a third of a mile in width. The back-descent of the heights, to the north-west, in the direction of Badajoz, is even gentler than that towards the Albuera stream. The ‘ravine of the Arroyo river,’ marked in Napier’s and other maps, is an absurd exaggeration. There is simply a slightly curved ‘bottom,’ where a lush growth of grass along a certain line may indicate the course of a rivulet in very wet weather. This line has no marked banks, and is as much like a high-road as a ravine: it would not, even after rain, present any obstacle to infantry or cavalry moving in mass[476], and it is a mistake to make it take any prominent part in the history of the battle.

There is no ravine or ‘dead ground’ of any kind anywhere on either the French or the English side of the Albuera. The slopes are so gentle that any spot can be seen from any other. But the French side is wooded, so that movements of troops are hard to follow, while the other bank is absolutely bare. There is, however, a ‘sky-line’ on the English heights, between the dip where the main battle took place and Albuera village. An observer standing on the point where Soult formed his front of battle cannot get a view of the English line near the village—to do so he must ride sideways down towards the water, to look along the trough of the depression. Hence Soult during the battle cannot have seen a good deal of what was going on behind the allied front line, but Beresford, on the sky-line above the north-eastern edge of the dip, could make out all Soult’s dispositions when the battle smoke did not hinder him.

Albuera is a big well-built village, with a disproportionately high church tower. It stands on a knoll of its own, in front of[p. 375] the main line of the ridge, to which it serves as an outwork, as Hougoumont did to Wellington’s position at Waterloo. It is well away from the river bank, perhaps 150 or 200 yards from it; the bridge which brings the Seville chaussée across the stream is not exactly opposite the village, but decidedly to the south-east of it.

The Albuera stream is formed by two minor brooks, the Nogales and the Chicapierna, which meet a little south of the village. Between them is a low wooded hill, which conceals from an observer on the British heights the upper course of the Nogales, and part of the woods beyond, in which the French formed their order of battle. It was behind this long low knoll that Soult hid his main attacking column. But the elevation itself is insignificant, and much less effective than the more distant woods in covering his movement.

Beresford drew up his army on the hypothesis that Soult’s aim would be to pierce his centre, by capturing Albuera village, and storming the heights beyond, over which the high-road passes. Years after the battle had become a matter of history he still maintained[477] that this would have been his adversary’s best policy, since the place where the road crosses the position is the lowest and weakest part of the heights, and a blow piercing the centre of a hostile army is always more effective than the mere tactical success of turning one of his flanks, which still leaves everything to be decided by hard fighting, if the attacked party throws back his threatened wing, and stands to defend himself in the new position. The ground on the allied right wing he held, on the other hand, to be higher and stronger: and even if the French got upon the crest of the heights, the range gave, by reason of its successive dips, several positions on which a new line could well be formed. I leave these considerations to the critic, and am not fully convinced by them.

Beresford’s line was drawn up as follows: on the extreme left, to the north-east of Albuera, were Hamilton’s Portuguese division, with Collins’s brigade in support, amounting to eleven strong battalions in two lines. Beyond them, to guard the flank, were Otway’s weak Portuguese cavalry brigade and the two stray squadrons of Madden’s. The whole made only 800 sabres.

[p. 376]The centre was formed of William Stewart’s English division, the 2nd, comprising the three brigades of Colborne, Hoghton, and Abercrombie[478], ten battalions. In front of them Alten’s two German battalions occupied Albuera village. The 2nd Division was drawn up across the high-road, on the reverse slope of the heights; Beresford had learned from Wellington to hide his men till the actual moment of conflict, and, as he says with some pride, not a man of Stewart’s or Hamilton’s divisions was visible, and the only troops under the enemy’s eye were Otway’s cavalry and the two German battalions in Albuera.

In the rear of Stewart, as general reserve, was Cole’s division from the siege of Badajoz, which had marched at 2 o’clock a.m. according to orders and reached the field at 6.30 in the morning. There was some error in ‘logistics’ here, for Cole ought to have been earlier on the field. He had fifteen miles to cover, and should have been started sooner, for preference on the preceding evening, so as to allow his men time to rest and cook on reaching the position. Having marched till dawn they then had to lie down in formation, and eat as best they might, for the French were on the move not very long after they came up. The division, as already mentioned, consisted only of Myers’s fusilier brigade (1 and 2/7th Royal Fusiliers and 1/23rd Royal Welsh Fusiliers) and Harvey’s Portuguese brigade (11th, 23rd, and 1st battalion Lusitanian Legion). Kemmis with the other British brigade, save three companies which had followed Myers, was making a fruitless march against time, round by Jerumenha. With Cole there had also come up Casta?os’s sole contribution of infantry—the weak brigade of Carlos de Espa?a, three battalions with 1,700 bayonets[479].

The right wing of Beresford’s position, the part of it which he thought least likely to be attacked, was held by Blake’s 12,000 men. Having encamped anyhow on the hillside, when they arrived at midnight, they had to be collected and rearranged[p. 377] with much loss of time after morning broke. Indeed, they had formed their line only about an hour before the battle began. The three infantry divisions of Lardizabal, Ballasteros, and Zayas were arranged in succession from left to right, each with one brigade in first and one in second line. The 1,100 horse of Loy were out on the extreme right, corresponding to Otway’s Portuguese on the extreme left. Of the rest of the allied cavalry, De Grey’s 700 heavy dragoons and 600 horse of Casta?os’s Estremaduran force, under Penne Villemur, were in reserve near Cole’s 4th Division. The 13th Light Dragoons, separated from the other two British regiments, were watching the course of the Albuera from the bridge upwards, in front of Blake’s line.

Soult had come prepared to fight on the morrow, as soon as his infantry should arrive on the field. At nightfall only one brigade of them was up. The main body had bivouacked at Santa Marta, from whence they broke up before dawn and marched eleven miles to the battlefield. Werlé’s reserve, forming the tail of the column, was not closed up till seven or eight o’clock in the morning. The Marshal was still under the impression that Blake had not yet arrived, and that Beresford could not have more than 20,000 men in line opposite him[480]. It is one of the ironies of history to read in his dispatch that his great flank attack, which so much surprised Beresford, and caused so much confusion in the allied army at the commencement of the action, was made with the intention of cutting in between Beresford and Blake, whom he believed to be still on the march from the direction of Almendral, some miles to the south. The Spanish army, having arrived after dark, had never been seen; and at Beresford’s request Blake had ranged it behind the sky-line on the crest, so that nothing was visible save Loy’s horse far on the right. Soult thought these were Penne Villemur’s squadrons,[p. 378] belonging to Casta?os, which had been accompanying the British cavalry for some days.

The Marshal could make out very little of his enemy’s force or position. All that could be guessed was that Otway’s and Loy’s cavalry, both well visible, covered the two ends of the line. Soult’s scheme of attack was ingenious, though founded on an utterly wrong hypothesis. He resolved to demonstrate with one infantry and one cavalry brigade against the village of Albuera, so as to attract his enemy’s attention to his centre, while carrying the rest of his army far to the left, under cover of the woods and the low hill between the Nogales and Chicapierna brooks, to a point from which they could turn Beresford’s right, by crossing the two streams and ascending the plateau somewhere beyond the point where Loy’s cavalry were visible.

The details of the execution of this plan were very well worked out. Godinot’s brigade (the 3,500 muskets of the 12th Léger and 51st Ligne) marched upon Albuera, flanked by Briche’s light cavalry, and supported by the fire of two batteries. They became at once hotly engaged with Alten’s German battalions, and with two battalions of Spaniards whom Blake sent down to give the village flank support. A Portuguese battery above the village swept the approaches to the bridge very effectively[481]. Meanwhile, on Godinot’s left, Soult showed two brigades of dragoons and Werlé’s strong brigade of 6,000 men drawn up on the edge of the wood, and apparently about to attack Blake’s line in front. But deep in the olives to the left the two divisions of the 5th Corps, Girard and Gazan, were executing a circular sweep, with a cavalry brigade in front of them, quite out of sight. They were covered not only by the trees but by the height between the Nogales and Chicapierna brooks.

Beresford and Blake prepared to resist an attack on their centre and right, and felt reasonably confident of giving a good account of themselves. But the frontal attack seemed somehow to hang fire, and suddenly a new development came: four regiments of French cavalry, far to the right, galloped out of the woods, across the two brooks, and up the slopes far beyond Beresford’s right. Loy’s Spanish cavalry, who lay in that direction, naturally gave way before them. Immediately afterwards the[p. 379] head of a long infantry column came marching up from the same point, making for the heights at a place some way beyond Blake’s extreme right. It is curious to note that they did not aim at attacking Blake’s actual flank, but rather at getting on top of the heights beyond him, so as to be able to move against him on the level of the plateau, without having to climb the hill in face of opposition.

Beresford rode hastily along the line to meet Blake, and requested him to deal with this unexpected flank attack by drawing off one of his two lines, and placing it at right angles to the original position, across the summit of the heights. He himself would take care of the frontal attack. Blake promised to do this, but sent only one brigade of Zayas’s division, four battalions, and his only battery, to execute the required movement. He was still not convinced that the front attack might not be the main one. Beresford meanwhile went back to his own troops, to direct Stewart’s division to prepare to support the Spaniards when necessary, and Lumley’s cavalry to move off to join Loy on the extreme right.

The next half-hour served to develop the whole face of the battle in its second aspect. The French cavalry at the head of the turning column spread themselves out on the rolling plateau to the west of the heights so as to flank their infantry. The 5th Corps formed itself in a column of extraordinary depth on the undulating summit of the ridge, and began to move on toward Blake’s flank. The responsibility for the order of battle adopted must apparently be laid on the shoulders of Girard, the senior division-commander, who was placed that day at the head of the whole corps; Latour-Maubourg, who had led it during the last two months, had been taken away to assume general charge of the cavalry. Girard, as it seems, intended to beat down the hastily formed line of defence, which the Spaniards were opposing to him, by the impetus of an immensely heavy column. His force consisted of two divisions, each of two brigades, and each brigade composed of from four to six battalions[482]. I had long sought for an exact description of his array, of which[p. 380] the French historians and Soult’s dispatch only say that it was a colonne serrée de bataillons. At last I found the required information in the Paris archives[483], in the shape of an anonymous criticism on Soult’s operations, drawn up (apparently for Napoleon’s eye) by some officer who had been set to write a report on the causes of the loss of the battle.

This document says that ‘the line of attack was formed by a brigade in column of attack [i. e. a column formed of four battalions in column of double companies, one battalion behind the other]. To the right and left the front line was in a mixed formation, that is to say, on each side of the central column was a battalion deployed in line, and on each of the two outer sides of the deployed battalions was a battalion or a regiment in column, so that at each end the line was composed of a column ready to form square, in case the hostile cavalry should try to fall upon one of our flanks—which was hardly likely, since our own cavalry was immensely superior to it in number.’

This formation disposed of the nine battalions of Girard’s division, which, as we see, advanced with a front consisting of three battalions in column and two in line. Gazan’s, the 2nd Division of the corps, followed very close behind Girard, the four regiments each in column with their two (or three) battalions one behind the other. The 2nd Division had been intended to attack as an independent supporting line, but ultimately worked up so close to the 1st Division that it could not easily be drawn off or disentangled, and to the Allies the whole 8,400 men looked like one vast column, with a front of about 500 men only, which, allowing for battalion intervals, just stretched across the top level of the heights, which is here about 700 yards broad.

Three batteries of field artillery belonging to the 5th Corps accompanied the 1st Division; a fourth, of horse artillery, was with the cavalry which covered the left flank of the column. Two more were in company with Werlé’s brigade. The remaining two stopped with Godinot opposite Albuera.

When Blake realized the strength of the turning force, he began to detach more troops from his front line to strengthen Zayas, whose four battalions would obviously be no more than[p. 381] a mouthful for the 5th Corps. They went in haste, four battalions from Ballasteros, two from Lardizabal, but failed to reach Zayas before the fighting began. Meanwhile a majestic movement changed the whole aspect of the French front. The two brigades of dragoons which had hitherto formed the French right-centre wheeled into column of squadrons, and galloped off in beautiful order along the side of the Albuera brook till they reached the 5th Corps; passing behind it they joined the cavalry on its left, which now became 3,500 strong. Latour-Maubourg was with them in person. At the same moment Werlé’s 6,000 infantry performed a slower and shorter circular march and joined the rear of the 5th Corps, to which they now acted as a reserve. Thus Soult had all his infantry save Godinot’s brigade of 3,500 men, and all his cavalry save Briche’s two regiment of light horse, 550 sabres, massed opposite Blake’s new ‘refused’ right flank.

The sight of this sweep to the south on the part of the French caused Beresford to make a complete change in his disposition. The whole 2nd Division, one brigade following the other, in the order Colborne-Hoghton-Abercrombie, marched along the top of the heights to reinforce Zayas. Hamilton’s Portuguese were to move in, to take up the ground evacuated by the 2nd Division. Lastly, Cole’s 4th Division, Myers’s British and Harvey’s Portuguese brigades, forming the reserve, were moved a full mile to the right, and placed behind the English and Spanish cavalry, facing Latour-Maubourg’s great mass of horse. It was the sight of these eight solid battalions in column, ready to form square, which alone prevented the French cavalry general from ordering a general charge upon the 2,300 allied horse in his front, whom he outnumbered in the proportion of three to two, and of whom only De Grey’s 700 sabres were British. For the 13th Light Dragoons, the third regiment in the field, was covering the other wing of the new front, down by the Albuera stream.

Zayas’s Spaniards, having a much shorter way to move than the French turning column, were in line of battle long before the 5th Corps came up against them. But the reinforcements tardily sent by Blake were still coming up, and forming on Zayas’s flanks in much confusion, when the fighting began. Most of them prolonged the line down the slope of the heights[p. 382] above the Chicapierna brook. Beresford was personally occupied in posting and aligning them at the moment of the first clash.

Zayas, whose behaviour all through the day was most creditable, had found a very good point at which to draw up his brigade and battery. The summit of the heights is not level, but undulating; he had chosen the deepest dip in their summit, about a mile to the south of Albuera village, and drew up his small force in line on the hither side of it, so that the enemy had to attack him slightly uphill. His four battalions exactly occupied the top of the plateau; the troops under Ballasteros, which were now coming up, were not on the top, but on the descending slope towards the stream.

Girard’s two divisions advancing along the summit had a front about equal to that of Zayas, but four times as deep. Opposite the rest of the Spanish line, Ballasteros’s battalions, they sent out nothing but skirmishers. But Girard’s division, with a line of tirailleurs in front, descended their own side of the dip, and then began to ascend that occupied by the Spaniards. When they had reached a point on the gentle up-slope about sixty yards from the Spaniards, the French tirailleurs cleared off to right and left, and the battalions behind them began to open up their fire, slowly advancing between each volley. The musketry was hot, and both sides were falling freely, when the first British troops arrived on the battle-spot. These were the four battalions of Colborne’s brigade, at the head of the 2nd Division: the 1/3rd, 2/48th, 2/66th, and 2/31st, counting in that order from right to left. With them was the divisional commander, William Stewart.

Beresford, in his account of the battle, says that he had intended to draw up the whole 2nd Division in a single line in support of Zayas, and to advance with it against the French when all was in order. But William Stewart, though he had received no order to attack, and had been only directed to support the Spaniards, took upon himself to assume the offensive. The position indeed was rather a tempting one: the enemy was engaged with Zayas on an equal front, and had no flank guard of any kind within a quarter of a mile. He could obviously be assailed at great advantage by a force which should pass round and through Zayas’s right, and place itself perpendicular to Girard’s long unprotected[p. 383] flank. This movement Stewart took upon himself to execute; as each of the battalions of the 1st Brigade came up, it was extended and sent forward, apparently in a sort of échelon, the Buffs leading, far to the flank, and the 48th and 66th passing actually through Zayas’s right battalions. But the 31st, the left regiment, had not come up or deployed when the other three went forward into action[484]. Along with Colborne there was coming up Cleeves’s battery of the King’s German Legion. The leading four guns got into action, just to Zayas’s front, at the same moment that the British infantry went forward.

The French column, thus unexpectedly attacked in flank both by artillery and infantry fire, was naturally thrown into dreadful confusion. The two battalions in column which formed its left section faced outwards, and opened a rolling fire three deep, the front rank kneeling. But they could not stand the volleys poured into them from a distance of sixty paces, and soon began to break—the men were seen trying to go to the rear, and the officers beating them back with their swords. Colborne’s line cheered, and went forward to complete its victory with the bayonet.

At this moment a dreadful catastrophe occurred: Latour-Maubourg had been watching the struggle on the hillside before him, and, when he saw it going badly for his friends, directed his nearest cavalry regiments, which chanced to be the 1st Lancers of the Vistula and the 2nd Hussars, to charge along the slopes against the exposed outer flank of Colborne’s brigade. At this moment the morning, which had been fair at first but had been growing darker every hour, was disturbed by a blinding shower of rain and hail coming from the north. It is said to have been largely in consequence of this accident that the approach of the 800 horsemen was unnoticed by any of the British infantry—but Colborne’s men were also smothered in their own smoke, and[p. 384] entirely concentrated on the work before them. At any rate the charge took the Buffs in flank, rolled them up, and then swept down the back of the other two battalions, and on to Cleeves’s battery. It is hardly exaggeration to say that Colborne’s three leading battalions were annihilated in five minutes. Fifty-eight officers out of 80, 1,190 men out of 1,568 were slain, wounded, or captured. The number of killed was out of all proportion to the wounded: in the Buffs there were 212 dead to 234 hurt. This ghastly slaughter is said to have been due to the fact that the savage Polish lancers not only refused to accept surrender from the unhappy infantry, but deliberately speared the wounded as they lay. Nor can I refuse credit to the general statement of contemporary British authorities after reading the journal of Major Brooke, commanding the 2/48th, who relates how, after he had surrendered and was being taken to the rear by two French infantry soldiers, a Pole rode up to him and deliberately cut him down, after which the ruffian made his horse trample over him and left him for dead[485]. In the regimental annals of the 66th two officers are named as having been wounded by the lance, while already disabled and lying on the ground[486]. Peninsular tradition tells that the 2nd Division after Albuera swore to give no quarter to Poles.

But not all the victorious horsemen were so inhumane; 479 prisoners, many wounded, were driven off to the French lines. The brigade lost five of its six colours; and the four guns of Cleeves’s battery, which had accompanied it, were captured. Only one howitzer, however, was dragged off by the victors—the other three were left behind for want of horses. The 2/31st, somewhat to the left rear of its comrades, had time to form square, and beat off without difficulty the rush of the remnant of the lancers who got so far as its position. Marking too late the awful catastrophe on his left, General Lumley sent two squadrons of the 4th Dragoons to fall upon the flank and rear of the Poles—but they were intercepted by a French hussar regiment which Latour-Maubourg sent out to cover the retreat of the lancers,[p. 385] and were beaten back with the loss of both their squadron leaders wounded and taken prisoners[487].
Map of the battle of Albuera, about 10 a.m.

Enlarge  ALBUERA. No 1 (About 10 a.m.)

Note.—The front line of the French attacking force is not correctly represented. It consisted of a column of four battalions in the centre, flanked by two deployed battalions, and with battalions in column placed outside the two deployed battalions on either side (see p. 380). In the French reserve there should be only two, not three, battalions of Grenadiers. The right flank of Zayas’s line is two battalions too long.

It may be remarked that the loss of the victorious cavalry was very heavy, though not out of proportion to their success. The lancers lost 130 men out of 580—the hussars who charged in support of them 70 out of 300. It was a curious evidence of the headlong nature of their charge that some scores of the Poles, after passing by and failing to break the square of the 2/31st, actually rode down the rear of Zayas’s Spanish line, sweeping aside that general and his staff, and coming into collision soon after with Beresford and his—the Marshal actually parried a lance-thrust, and cast the man who dealt it from his saddle, and his aides-de-camp had to fight for their lives.

At this moment the head of Hoghton’s brigade was just coming up from the rear—and its leading regiment opening fire on the scattered lancers shot a great many men of the rear rank of Zayas’s Spaniards in the back. Notwithstanding this, and to their eternal credit, the Spaniards did not break, and continued their frontal contest with Girard’s division, which had not slackened for a moment during Colborne’s disastrous fight[488].

There was a distinct pause, however, in the battle after this bloody episode. The leading division of French infantry had been so much shaken and driven into disorder, by Colborne’s momentary pressure on their flank, that the whole column had lost its impetus, and stood wavering below the Spanish line. Girard, regarding his own division as practically a spent force, ordered up Gazan’s two brigades to relieve it. There was fearful confusion while the new columns were thrusting their way to the front, and they were never properly formed. For the rest of the[p. 386] battle the two divisions formed a dense mass of 8,000 men, which looked like one solid clump, without much vestige of regular formation.

While this confused change of front-line was being carried out by the French, Beresford had leisure to deploy Hoghton’s brigade in the rear of Zayas, and Abercrombie’s in rear of Ballasteros, lower down the slope. He then proceeded to bring them forward to relieve the Spaniards. The latter, it is due to them to explain, had behaved extremely well. Beresford bears witness that Zayas’s four battalions, on the edge of the undulation which marked the front of battle ‘did not even to the end break their line or quit the field, as Napier alleges. After having suffered very considerable loss they began to crowd together in groups, and it was then that the second line (Hoghton and Abercrombie) was ordered up.’ The losses of the two battalions of Irlanda, and the 2nd and 4th Spanish Guards, were indeed the best testimonial to their good service. They had 615 officers and men killed and wounded out of 2,026 present, over 30 per cent.—all lost by musketry or artillery fire without a foot of ground having been yielded, in a close struggle that had lasted over an hour.

With the coming up of Gazan’s division on one side, and of Hoghton’s and Abercrombie’s brigades on the other, the second stage of the battle was reached. The clash was confined to the top of the plateau, the French having only a skirmishing line opposite Abercrombie on the slope, though the central backbone of the ridge was crowded with their dense columns. Hence it may be said that for the next half-hour Hoghton’s men, assisted by the 2/31st, the sole survivors of Colborne’s brigade alone, were fighting the entire 5th Corps—a line of 1,900 men two deep opposed to a mass of 8,000 twelve deep, on an equal front. This was the hardest and most splendid fighting done that day, not even excepting the glorious advance of the Fusiliers half an hour later. The three battalions, 29th, 1/48th, and 1/57th, absolutely died in line[489], without yielding an inch. Their losses speak for themselves—56 officers and 971 men killed and[p. 387] wounded out of 95 officers and 1,556 men present. The best account of this part of the action that I know is in the reminiscences of Moyle Sherer of the 1/48th:—

‘When we arrived near the retiring Spaniards, and formed our line to advance through them towards the enemy, a very noble-looking young Spanish officer rode up to me, and begged me, with a sort of proud anxiety, to take notice that his countrymen were ordered to retire, not flying. Just as our line had entirely cleared the Spaniards, the smoke of battle was for one moment blown aside, by the slackening of the fire, and gave to our view the French grenadier caps, their arms, and the whole aspect of their frowning masses. It was a grand, but a momentary sight; a heavy atmosphere of smoke enveloped us, and few objects could be discerned at all—none distinctly. The best soldier can make no calculation of time, if he be in the heat of an engagement, but this murderous contest of musketry lasted long. At intervals a shriek or a groan told that men were falling around me; but it was not always that the tumult of the contest suffered me to catch individual sounds. The constant “feeling to the centre” and the gradual diminution of our front more truly bespoke the havock of death. We were the whole time progressively advancing upon and shaking the enemy. As we moved slowly, but ever a little in advance, our own killed and wounded lay behind us; we arrived among those of the Spaniards who had fallen in the first onset, then among those of the enemy. At last we were only twenty yards from their front.’ The brigade had lost nearly two-thirds of its numbers, the brigadier had been killed; of the three battalion commanders one was killed and two wounded. The front of the shrinking line no longer covered that of the French mass before it. But the enemy was in no condition to profit by the exhaustion of the British. The fire of the line had, as always, been more effective than that of the column. The front of the enemy was one deep bank of dead and wounded; the 5th Corps lost 3,000 men that day, and there can be no doubt that 2,000 of them fell during this murderous exchange of musketry.

Meanwhile it is strange to find that both commanders allowed this duel of the many against the few, on the plateau, to go on undisturbed. Soult had still eleven battalions intact in reserve[p. 388]—Werlé’s brigade and two battalions of grenadiers réunis: his cavalry was also doing nothing, save observe Lumley’s much inferior force. Beresford had still of intact troops the 4th Division, the three brigades of Hamilton’s and Collins’s Portuguese, and the 4,000 Spaniards who had remained on their original position. None of those forces on either side were being utilized during the crisis of the battle.

The explanation is to be found in the narratives of the two hostile generals. Soult says in his dispatch to the Emperor, ‘When I ascended the heights, at the moment that the enemy’s second line advanced and began to press in our front, I was surprised to notice their great numbers. Immediately afterwards I learned from a Spanish prisoner that Blake had already joined Beresford, so that I had 30,000 men to deal with. The odds were not fair, and I resolved at once to give up my original project, and to aim at nothing more than retaining the ground already won.’ The Marshal therefore changed his plan from an offensive to a defensive battle, and refused to engage his reserves, or to bid his cavalry charge—a most half-hearted resolve.

As to Beresford, he was anxious to succour Hoghton, but he did not wish to move the 4th Division, which (he thought) was playing its part in ‘containing’ Latour-Maubourg’s enormous mass of cavalry, and covering the Valverde and Badajoz road—the line of communication of the allied army. He sent back instead to order up Hamilton’s Portuguese to the hilltop—4,800 fresh infantry. But it took a much greater time to bring them up than Beresford had expected. Some of the aides-de-camp sent to summon them were wounded on the way; but the main delay was caused by the fact that Hamilton, instead of taking up Stewart’s original position, had gone down closer to Albuera, to support Alten’s brigade at the village against Godinot’s attack, which had become a very fierce one. It was only after many precious minutes had been wasted that he was found, and Fonseca’s and Collins’s brigades did not start for half an hour after the order had been sent to them. Campbell’s brigade remained to give Alten help, if he should need it.

Meanwhile Beresford was trying to utilize the troops already at hand: Abercrombie’s brigade was told to wheel inward and attack the right flank of the 5th Corps, while the Marshal him[p. 389]self tried to move up Carlos de Espa?a’s Spanish brigade to the place where Colborne had fought so unsuccessfully a little earlier, on the left flank of the French mass. But this brigade, demoralized relics of the lost army of the Gebora, refused to face the fire, though the Marshal went to lead it on in person, seized one colonel by the epaulettes, and tried to drag him to the front of his battalion. As this brigade only lost 33 men out of 1,700 present, it is clear that it misbehaved.

At last Beresford grew so anxious at the sight of Hoghton’s gallant brigade shrinking away to nothing, while no succour appeared from the rear, that he actually sent orders to Alten’s Germans to evacuate Albuera village, and to come in haste to strengthen the centre. They were to be relieved by a brigade of the Spaniards who still held the old position above the village. The legionaries were disentangled from the village with some difficulty, and the French 16th Léger got into it before the Spaniards had taken Alten’s place. If Godinot had been in force, the position here would have been very dangerous; but he had only six battalions, 3,500 men in all, and was hopelessly outnumbered, for Hamilton had left Campbell’s Portuguese brigade opposite him, and 3,000 Spaniards came down from the heights. As a matter of fact Alten never had to go to the front; the crisis on the heights was over before he got far from the village, and he was sent back to retake it half an hour after he had given it up. This he accomplished with a loss of 100 men, long after the more important business on the heights was over.

The stroke which ended the battle came from a direction where Beresford had intended to keep to the defensive, and was delivered by the one part of his army which he had refused to utilize—the 4th Division. Cole and his eight battalions had been standing for an hour and a half supporting the allied cavalry, opposite Maubourg’s threatening squadrons. He was himself doubting whether he ought not to take a more active part, and sent an aide-de-camp to Beresford to ask for further orders[490]; but this officer was badly wounded on the way, and the[p. 390] message was never delivered. If it had been, the answer would undoubtedly have been in the negative.

But at this moment there rode up to the 4th Division Henry Hardinge, then a young Portuguese colonel, and Deputy Quarter-master-general of the Portuguese army. He had no orders from Beresford, but he took upon himself to urge Cole to assume the responsibility of advancing, saying (what was true enough) that Hoghton’s brigade on the heights above could not hold out much longer, and that there were no British reserves behind the centre. Cole hesitated for a moment—the proposal that he should advance across open ground in face of 3,500 French cavalry, without any adequate support of that arm on his own side, was enough to make any man think twice. But he had already been pondering over the move himself, and after a short conference with Lumley, his colleague in command of the cavalry, determined to risk all.

The 4th Division was ordered to deploy from columns into line, and to strike obliquely at the French flank. Entirely conscious of the danger from the twenty-six squadrons of French horse before him, Cole flanked his deployed battalions with a unit in column at either end: at the right flank, where Harvey’s Portuguese brigade was drawn out, he placed a provisional battalion made up of the nine light companies of all his regiments, British and Portuguese; at the left extremity, on the flank of his British Fusilier brigade—the two battalions of the 7th, and the 23rd Royal Welsh Fusiliers—was a good Portuguese unit—Hawkshaw’s battalion of the Loyal Lusitanian Legion[491]. The line made up 5,000 bayonets—2,000 British, 3,000 Portuguese. The whole of the English and Spanish cavalry advanced on his flank and rear, Lefebure’s horse-artillery battery accompanying the extreme right[492].

The sight of this mile of bayonets moving forward showed Soult that he must fight for his life—there was no drawn battle[p. 391] possible, but only dire disaster, unless Cole were stopped. Accordingly he told Latour-Maubourg to charge the Portuguese brigade, while the whole nine battalions of Werlé’s reserve were sent forward diagonally to protect the flank of the 5th Corps, moving along the upper slope of the heights so as to thrust themselves between the Fusilier brigade and the flank of Girard and Gazan. Soult had now no reserve left except the two battalions of grenadiers réunis, which he held back for the last chance, on his right rear, keeping up the connexion with Godinot.

The story of what happened at the right end of Cole’s line is simple: Latour-Maubourg sent four regiments of dragoons at the middle of the Portuguese brigade, thinking to break it down, as he had done often before with deployed infantry in Spanish battles. But Harvey’s four battalions, keeping absolutely steady, delivered a series of volleys which completely shattered the advance of the charging squadrons. It was a fine achievement for troops which had never before taken part in the thick of a battle—for the 11th and 23rd Portuguese Line had not been engaged at Bussaco or any previous action of importance. Owing to their excellent behaviour the flank of the British brigade was kept perfectly safe from cavalry assaults during the next half-hour.

Myers’s three Fusilier battalions, therefore, with the Lusitanian Legion battalion that guarded their left rear, came into collision with Werlé’s three regiments without any interference from without. They were outnumbered by over two to one—2,000 British and 600 Portuguese against 5,600 French. But Werlé had adopted the same vicious formation which had already hampered the 5th Corps—his nine battalions were in three columns of regiments, each with a front of only two companies and a depth of nine, i. e. he was opposing in each case a front of about 120 men in the first two ranks, capable of using their muskets, to a front of about 500—the fact that there were 16 men in depth, behind the 120 who could fire, was of no profit to him. Three separate regimental duels followed—the 23rd and the 1st and 2nd battalions of the 7th Fusiliers each tackled a column, as Blakeney, the colonel of the last-named unit, tells in his letter[493]. In each case the stress for the moment[p. 392] was tremendous. Blakeney may be quoted for its general character:—

‘From the quantity of smoke,’ he writes, ‘I could perceive very little but what went on in my own front. The 1st battalion of the 7th closed with the right column of the French: I moved on and closed with the second; the 23rd took the third. The men behaved most gloriously, never losing their rank, and closing to the centre as casualties occurred. The French faced us at a distance of about thirty or forty paces. During the closest part of the action I saw their officers endeavouring to deploy their columns, but all to no purpose. For as soon as the third of a company got out, they would immediately run back, to be covered by the front of their column.’ This lasted for some minutes—possibly twenty—when suddenly the enemy broke, and went up the hillside in three disorderly clumps, which presently splayed out into a mass of running men. The Fusiliers followed, still firing, until they crowned the ridge: the end of their movement was under a terrible artillery fire from Soult’s reserve batteries, which were used till the last possible moment to cover the flying infantry. The fusiliers lost more than half their numbers—1,045 out of 2,015 officers and men. Their gallant brigadier, Myers, was among the slain. Werlé’s three regiments had casualties of well over 1,800 out of 5,600 present—a bigger total but a much smaller percentage—one in three instead of the victors’ one in two.

The rout of the French reserves would have settled the fate of the battle in any case; but already it was won on the summit of the plateau also. For at the same moment when the Fusiliers closed, Abercrombie’s brigade had wheeled in upon the right of the much-disordered mass that represented the 5th Corps, and, when they followed up their volleys with a charge, Girard’s and Gazan’s men ran to the rear along the heights, leaving Hoghton’s exhausted brigade lying dead in line in front of them. The fugitives of the 5th Corps mingled with those from Werlé’s brigade, and all passed the Chicapierna brook in one vast horde.

There was practically no pursuit: Latour-Maubourg threw his squadrons between the flying mass and the victorious Allies and the British and Portuguese halted on the heights that they[p. 393] had won. Soult’s last infantry reserve, the two grenadier battalions, were also drawn out on the nearer side of the Chicapierna, and suffered severely from the artillery fire of the Allies, losing 370 men out of 1,000 in twenty minutes. But Lumley’s cavalry could not meddle with Latour-Maubourg’s double strength, and it was not till some time had passed that Beresford brought up three Portuguese brigades in line—Collins, Fonseca, and Harvey—and finally pushed the enemy over the brook. By this moment Soult had got nearly all his artillery—forty guns—in line on the height between the two brooks, and their fire forbade further progress, unless Beresford were prepared to storm that position with the Portuguese. He refused to try it, and wisely; for though the enemy’s infantry were completely out of action, it is a formidable thing to deliver a frontal attack on six batteries flanked by 3,500 horse.

So finished the fight of Albuera; a drenching rain, similar to that which had been so deadly to Colborne’s brigade, ended the day, and made more miserable the lot of the 10,000 wounded who lay scattered over the hillsides. The British had hardly enough sound men left in half the battalions to pick up their own bleeding comrades, much less to bear off the mounds of French wounded, who lay along the slopes of the gentle dip where the battle had raged hardest. It was two days before the last of these were gathered in.

That Albuera was the most bloody of all the fights of the Peninsular War, in proportion to the numbers engaged, everybody knows. But the exact table of the losses on each side has never, I believe, been fully worked out. After studying the French returns in the Archives of the Paris Ministry of War and the Spanish figures at Madrid, no less than Beresford’s report, we get to the results which I have printed in the XVth Appendix to this volume.

Summarizing them, we find that the British, including Alten’s German battalions, had 10,449 men on the field. Their total loss was 206 officers and 3,953 men. Of these 882 were killed, 2,733 wounded, and 544 missing. Of this frightful casualty list no less than five-sixths belonged to the three brigades of Colborne, Hoghton, and Myers, for the cavalry and artillery, with Alten’s and Abercrombie’s brigades of infantry, though all[p. 394] seriously engaged, lost but 618 out of nearly 4,500 men present. The remaining 3,502 casualties all came from the ranks of the three first-named brigades, whose total strength on the field was but 5,732. Colborne’s brigade lost, in an instant as it were, under the charge of the lancers and hussars, seven-tenths of its numbers, 1,400 men out of 2,000. Of the 600 who were left standing, nearly half belonged to the 2/31st, the battalion which was not broken by the cavalry charge, and survived to join in Hoghton’s advance. The brigades of Hoghton and Myers were not, like Colborne’s, annihilated in one awful moment of disaster, but used up in continuous fighting at short musketry range, with an enemy of far superior numbers. The former (29th, 1/48th, 2/57th) took 1,650 officers and men into the field, and lost 1,044. The latter (the two battalions of the 7th Royal Fusiliers and the 1st battalion of the Welsh Fusiliers) had 2,015 combatants present, and lost 1,045. Hoghton’s troops, therefore, lost five-eighths, Myers’s one-half of their strength, and these were victorious units which hardly left a single prisoner in the enemy’s hands, and finally drove their adversaries from the field in spite of a twofold inequality of numbers. Truly Albuera is the most honourable of all Peninsular blazons on a regimental flag.

Of the 10,000 Portuguese, only Harvey’s brigade was seriously engaged; it had over 200 casualties[494] out of the 389 suffered on that day by troops of that nation, and established a most honourable record by its defeat of Latour-Maubourg’s dragoons. The other men killed or hurt were distributed in fives and tens over the battalions of Fonseca, Collins, and Campbell, which only came under fire in the last stage of the battle.

The Spaniards returned 1,368 casualties out of 14,000 present, of which (as we have already seen) no less than 615 were in those four battalions of Zayas’s division which held out so stubbornly against the 5th Corps, till Hoghton’s men came up to relieve them. Of the rest, Ballasteros’s and Lardizabal’s divisions, with under 300 casualties each, had only suffered from[p. 395] skirmishing or distant artillery fire. The losses of Carlos de Espa?a and the cavalry were insignificant.
Map of the battle of Albuera, about 11.30 a.m.

Enlarge  ALBUERA. No 2 (About 11.30 a.m.)

Note.—There should be only two, not three, battalions of Grenadiers placed as reserve behind Girard and Gazan’s troops.

The French losses can be made out with reasonable certainty after careful comparison of different returns in the Paris Archives. Soult had the shamelessness to assert in his dispatch to the Emperor that he had only 2,800 killed and wounded! But a tardily prepared and incomplete list drawn up on July 6th gave 6,000 casualties, of whom 900 were missing—wounded prisoners left on the allied position. Unfortunately this return, on examination, turns out to be far from satisfactory. Soult gives 262 officers killed, wounded, or missing, but the regimental returns when compiled show a much higher figure—359—and cannot possibly be wrong, since the name and rank of every officer hit is carefully recorded for documentary and official purposes.[495] But if 262 casualties among officers correspond (as the return of July 6th states) to 5,744 among the rank and file, then 362 officers hit must imply 7,900 men disabled, and this, we may conclude, was very near the real figure. Belmas and Lapéne, the most trustworthy French historians of the campaign, agree in giving 7,000, a thousand more than Soult conceded in his tardy and incomplete return. This proportion out of 24,000 men put in the field is sufficiently heavy, though exceeded so terribly by the 4,150 men lost out of 10,450 among the British troops. The units which suffered most heavily were the two divisions of the 5th Corps, which must have lost nearly 4,000 out of 8,400 present; Werlé’s reserve had probably close on 2,000 casualties, out of 5,600 bayonets; Godinot’s column and the cavalry had very considerable losses, but were the only troops fit for action next day. The 5th Corps was absolutely wrecked; in some battalions there were only three or four officers unhurt, and the losses were similar to those in Myers’s or Hoghton’s British brigades[496]. Two or three others had fared comparatively better, having been in the flank or rear at the time when the desperate musketry duel in the front was in progress. But the corps as a whole could not have been put in action on the 17th.

On the morning of that day each army sullenly formed line on[p. 396] its own side of the Albuera brook, but made no further movement. Beresford was prepared to fight another defensive battle, in the unlikely event of its being forced upon him[497], but was not willing to attack an enemy hidden behind a screen of woods, and possessed of a superior and still effective cavalry and artillery. Such an attack must have been delivered mainly by the Spanish and Portuguese infantry, since of the British only Abercrombie’s and Alten’s five battalions were fit for immediate service. The missing brigade of Kemmis arrived during the day, after a fatiguing march over the Jerumenha bridge, and added 1,400 bayonets more, but even so there would have been only 4,000 British infantry in full fighting trim; the sad relics of Hoghton’s and Colborne’s brigades were organized into two provisional battalions of 600 men each, where whole regiments were represented by one, two, or, at the most, three companies. Myers’s brigade had 1,000 men left, so was better off, but no general would have dreamed of using any of these troops for offensive action on the day after the battle. An attack would have had to be delivered by the 9,000 Portuguese infantry, backed by the Spaniards and Abercrombie, Alten, and Kemmis. Beresford refused to try it, even though he knew that Soult’s losses had been greater than his own, so far as mere numbers went; probably, he argued, Soult would retire covered by his cavalry and artillery if he were assailed. Covered by the woods, he could get off as he pleased. But Soult was certain to retire in any case, as news had now come to hand that Wellington was coming down to Elvas with two divisions[498], and might be expected there immediately—he actually arrived on the 19th; the head of his column had marched on the 14th, and reached Elvas on the 23rd. To risk anything in order to get Soult on the move a few days earlier was not worth while.

The French marshal was even further than Beresford from[p. 397] the idea of renewing operations on the 17th; he had shot his bolt and failed—the battle, so he declared, would never have been fought if he had known that Blake had joined the British on the night of the 15th. His main object in keeping his ground for a day was to organize the transport of a column of 5,000 wounded on to Seville; if he had retired at once, the greater part of them would have had to be abandoned. As it was, his transport was used up, and several hundreds of severe cases had to be left to the mercy of the Allies, in and about the chapel in the wood of Albuera. Beresford found them there on the morning of the 18th, for Soult commenced his retreat before dawn, some thirty-six hours after the battle was over. Gazan (himself wounded) and some 2,000 men from the regiments which had been most cut up guarded the convoy (which included the 500 British prisoners)[499], southward along the great chaussée. Soult himself, with the rest of the army, now reduced to 14,000 men at the most, retired by a more circuitous route, by Solana and Fuente del Maestre towards Llerena and the Sierra Morena. Beresford’s cavalry followed, but was unable to do anything in face of Latour-Maubourg’s preponderant squadrons. The allied infantry remained behind to resume the siege of Badajoz; on the 18th Hamilton’s division and Madden’s cavalry were sent back to invest the place, which was shut in again at dawn on the 19th, after having been relieved of the presence of the Allies for only three days (16th-17th-18th May). General Phillipon had employed this short respite in the useful task of levelling the allied trenches and batteries outside his works. He found nothing in them of which he could make booty, save the heavy wood employed for the gun-platforms before San Cristobal. The more valuable stores had all been removed to Elvas, the gabions and fascines burned by the 4th Division before it gave up the investment on the night of the 15th May.

That Albuera, with all its slaughter, was a battle in which both sides committed serious errors is generally acknowledged; but few are the general actions in which there is nothing to criticize on the part of the victor—much more of the vanquished.[p. 398] We must, however, protest against Napier’s sweeping assertion that ‘no general ever gained so great a battle with so little increase of military reputation as Marshal Beresford[500]. His triumph was disputed by the very soldiers who followed his car. Their censures have been reiterated without change and without abatement to this hour, and a close examination (while it detects many ill-founded observations and others tainted with malice) leaves little doubt that the general feeling was right[501].’ Napier then proceeds to argue that Beresford ought to have refused battle, and retired beyond the Guadiana, that his concentration was over-tardy, and that, considering the doubtful quality of Blake’s troops, he was too bold in fighting. His tactical dispositions were bad; ‘he occupied the position so as to render defeat almost certain’; he brought up his reserves in a succession of separate attacks, and hesitated too long to move the 4th Division. ‘Hardinge caused Cole and Abercrombie to win the victory;’ the guidance of a commanding mind was nowhere seen.

Napier was Beresford’s bitter enemy, and it is clear that his eloquent denunciations of the Marshal were inspired by a personal animosity which clouded his judgement. His account of Albuera is one of the finest pieces of military writing in the English language, but it bristles with mistakes, many of them worked in so as to throw additional discredit on his enemy’s capacity[502].[p. 399] One turns naturally to investigate Wellington’s observations on the fight, made when he had ridden over the field on May 21st, only five days after the battle. In one private letter he writes, ‘We had a very good position, and I think should have gained a complete victory without any material loss, if the Spaniards could have man?uvred; but unfortunately they cannot.’ In another he says, ‘The Spanish troops behaved admirably, I understand. They stood like stocks while both parties were firing into them, but they were quite immovable, and this was the great cause of all our losses. After they had lost their position, the natural thing to do would have been to attack it with the nearest Spanish troops, but these could not be moved. The British troops [2nd Division] were next, and they were brought up (and must in such cases always be brought up), and they suffered accordingly.’

Wellington’s opinion therefore was that Blake’s slowness in guarding against the flank attack was the real cause of all the trouble. Considering the gallant way in which Zayas’s four battalions fought, when once they were in line, it certainly seems that if thrice the force which that officer was given had been thrown back en potence across the heights, as Beresford desired, at the moment that Soult’s movement was detected, they would have held their own so effectively that the British 2nd Division could have come up at leisure, and in order, to support the Spaniards. As it was, the reinforcements sent over-late by Blake to help Zayas arrived by driblets, and gave him little help, falling into a mere tiraillade with the French light troops on Zayas’s left, instead of engaging in the main battle.

After Blake’s slowness the main cause of loss was William Stewart’s over-haste. Beresford had given orders that the whole 2nd Division was to form up in a second line behind Zayas, and go into action simultaneously, outflanking the massed 5th Corps on either wing. Stewart, combining over-zeal and want of discipline, attacked with the first brigade that came up, while the second and the third were still remote. He also, if several contemporaries are to be trusted, refused to listen to Colonel Colborne’s request to be allowed to keep a unit in square or[p. 400] column, to protect the flank of the 1st brigade when it started out to make its attack[503], and it was the want of this flank-guard alone which made the charge of the Polish lancers so effective. As Beresford’s vindicator writes, ‘The Marshal had directed Sir William Stewart to form the second line; he could not distrust an officer of his experience, zeal, and knowledge of the service.’ That his subordinate should be struck with sudden battle-fury, and attack the French flank with one isolated brigade, contrary to his orders, cannot be imputed as a crime to Beresford, who was in no way responsible for it. The move, and the disaster that followed within a few minutes, took place without his knowledge. As he was endeavouring to put in line the Spanish battalions which were coming up to reinforce Zayas, he was surprised by being charged in the midst of his staff by a knot of the lancers, who a minute before had ridden over Colborne’s men on his right. It is clear that if the three brigades of the 2nd Division had been properly arranged and put into action simultaneously, as Beresford intended, the 5th Corps would have been driven from the heights an hour before it actually yielded. Girard’s division had already wellnigh exhausted itself upon Zayas’s stubborn resistance, and it was only the interval in the allied attack, caused by the destruction of Colborne’s brigade, which permitted Gazan’s troops to get up into the front line, in such order as they could, in time to fight Hoghton and Abercrombie. If Stewart’s advance had been made at the proper time, he would have come upon the two French divisions at the very moment when they were making their confused change of front. They could not have resisted the assault, considering the disorder in which they were mingled. Soult, who had just made up his mind to discontinue the offensive battle in which he was engaged[504], would certainly have used Werlé’s reserve only to cover his retreat, and would have withdrawn from a position which had become desperate, covered by his cavalry.

The one point in which Napier’s charges against Beresford have some foundation is that there was undoubtedly much delay in putting Cole and the 4th Division into action. This, as we have shown above, was caused by Beresford’s wish to strike the[p. 401] final blow at the 5th Corps with Hamilton’s Portuguese, whom he had ordered to the front after Colborne’s disaster, and who did not make their appearance, partly because the first aide-de-camp sent for them was wounded on the way, partly because Hamilton had changed his position, and was not found at once by later messengers. When it became evident that the delay was growing dangerous, Beresford would have done well to send Cole orders to advance at once, and to have directed Abercrombie also to charge. Napier is right in saying that ‘Hardinge caused Cole to win the victory,’ for Cole’s advance was made without Beresford’s orders, and even contrary to his intention, since he had sent for Alten and the Portuguese to make the final stroke. But while they were being collected, Hoghton’s brigade had been practically used up, and there was nothing but Zayas’s reformed but exhausted battalions in Hoghton’s rear, to form the allied centre. It is true, however, that, supposing the last relics of the ‘Die-hards’ and their comrades had finally recoiled, there would have been no push or impetus left in their opponents of the 5th Corps, who were a spent force, in complete disorder, and with hardly one man in two left standing. While they were disentangling themselves for a final effort, Collins’s and Fonseca’s Portuguese, perfectly trustworthy troops and absolutely fresh, would have been getting into position. It is practically certain that Soult would have made no further attempt to go forward. His own dispatch states that he had abandoned all offensive intentions. This much Beresford’s advocates may plead; but it remains true that the moral impression of Albuera would have been very different if the charge of the Fusilier brigade had never taken place. It was their triumphant sweeping away of Werlé’s reserve which struck dismay into the enemy. If it had never occurred, Soult would have retired, foiled indeed, but in good order, and with two or three thousand fewer casualties than he actually suffered.

In criticizing the operations of the French, the main point which strikes us is that Soult stands self-convicted of hesitation and divided purpose in the crisis of the battle. His attack had been admirable; the movement which threw four-fifths of his available force unexpectedly on to Beresford’s flank was beautifully designed and carried out. But when, in the check and[p. 402] pause that followed the incident of Colborne’s disaster, he realized (as he himself says) that he had 30,000 men and not 20,000 to fight, and that ‘the odds were no longer fair,’ he should have made up his mind either to withdraw under cover of his splendid cavalry, or else to risk all, and throw his infantry reserves straight into the fight, before the enemy’s line was reformed. He did neither, but, as he says, ‘giving up his original project, aimed at nothing more than retaining the ground already won.’ What use was half a mile of hillside to him, if he had failed to break the Allies and drive them off the position which covered the road to Badajoz? He deserved the beating that he got for this extraordinary resolve.

As to the details of the French tactics, Girard was responsible for the dense order of the 5th Corps, which told so fatally on his men. But in arranging them as he did, he was but adopting the method that most other French generals were wont to use. Accustomed to break through the lines of Continental armies by the impetus of a solid mass, and not by musketry fire, he prepared to employ the normal shock-tactics of the ‘column of divisions.’ It may be even noticed that, more enlightened than many of his comrades, he used the ordre mixte recommended by Napoleon, in which some battalions in three-deep line were interspersed among the columns. His array was better than that of Victor at Barrosa or Talavera, or that of Reynier and Ney at Bussaco. But he had never met the British line before—this was the first time that the 5th Corps saw the red-coats—and he did not know the unwelcome truth that Reille told Napoleon before Waterloo: ‘Sire, l’infanterie anglaise en duel c’est le diable.’ There was, no doubt, extra confusion caused by the fact that the 2nd Division of the corps closed up too near to the first, so that the passage des lignes, when it was brought up to the front with the idea of passing it through the intervals of the shattered regiments of the van, was even more disorderly than was necessary. But the crucial mistake, repeated by every French general throughout the war, was to come on in column at all against the British line. Girard did no worse than his contemporaries, and the gallant obstinacy of his troops enabled him to inflict very heavy losses upon the victors.

Latour-Maubourg has sometimes been accused of making[p. 403] insufficient use of his great mass of cavalry. But till the last stage of the battle he had in front of him not merely Lumley’s squadrons, but the whole 4th Division. To attack a force of all arms, in a good position, with cavalry alone would have been dangerous. If he had failed, the flank of the 5th Corps would have been laid open in the most disastrous fashion. Probably he was right to be satisfied in ‘containing’ with his 3,500 horse 7,000 men, 5,000 of them good infantry, belonging to the enemy. His brilliant stroke at Colborne’s brigade is enough to save his reputation as a battle-general, though (as we have said before) he was no strategist. By this alone he had done more for Soult than any other French officer upon the field.

The real hero, most undoubtedly, of the whole fight was Sir Lowry Cole, who showed as much moral courage in striking in, on his own responsibility, at the critical moment, as he did practical skill in conducting his two brigades against the enemy opposed to him—a most formidable adversary who showed twenty-six squadrons of cavalry opposed to one of his wings, and the 5,600 bayonets of Werlé’s infantry opposed to the other. With Harvey’s Portuguese he drove off the cavalry charge, with Myers’s Fusiliers he beat to pieces the heavy columns of the French reserve. It was a great achievement, and the General was worthy of his soldiers, no less than the soldiers of their General. He was well seconded by Lumley, who justified in the most splendid way his sudden appointment to the command of the cavalry of the whole army only a few hours before the battle.

    The result of a four hours’ visit to the field of Albuera, on a very hot day in April 1907, was to prove to me that Napier had no idea of its topography, while Beresford in his Strictures on Colonel Napier’s History, 1833, describes it very well. I could see no trace of several things on which Napier lays stress, especially the ‘ravine’ behind the British position. Nearly the whole of the field is now arable—it was covered thickly with small red poppies, when I visited it, in which four ploughs were cutting long seams, turning up a thin soil of a chocolate brown hue.
SECTION XXVII  WELLINGTON’S FIRST ESTREMADURAN CAMPAIGN CHAPTER I
THE SECOND BRITISH SIEGE OF BADAJOZ.
MAY-JUNE 1811

The short ten-day campaign of Fuentes de O?oro had not been without important results, but it had left the general strategical aspect of affairs in the Peninsula unaltered. Almeida had fallen, and it had been demonstrated that the French Army of Portugal was not strong enough to force back Wellington from the frontier, where he had taken post. On the other hand, it was equally clear that Wellington was far too weak to dream of taking the offensive in the valley of the Douro, or marching on Salamanca. Such a movement would have brought 20,000 men from the Army of the North to the aid of the Army of Portugal, and the allied army on the northern frontier was barely superior in numbers to the latter alone, even when the 9th Corps had departed for Andalusia. To provoke the enemy to concentrate would have been insane; if he were left alone, however, it was improbable that he would prove dangerous for many a day. Marmont had to complete the reorganization of the army which he had just taken over from Masséna; it would be some months before he could replace the lost cavalry and artillery, fill up his magazines, and finish the reclothing of his tattered regiments. Bessières was so much occupied with the guerrilleros that he would not draw his troops together, unless he were obliged to do so by an advance of the Allies towards his territory. He had, moreover, to keep covering forces out to north and west, in order to watch Abadia’s Galician army, and Longa and Porlier, who still made head against him in the Cantabrian Mountains. It was probable,[p. 405] therefore, that the French in Leon and Old Castile would keep quiet for some time unless they were provoked. Wellington resolved to leave them unmolested, and to endeavour to strike a blow in the south.

On the day when the battle of Fuentes de O?oro was fought, Beresford, with the 20,000 men who had been detached to Estremadura, was, as Wellington knew, just about to commence the siege of Badajoz. It was certain that this enterprise would bring Soult and his Army of Andalusia to the succour of the fortress. The line of conduct which Beresford was to pursue when Soult should appear had been already settled—he was to fight if the enemy were weak, to retire behind the Guadiana if he were strong[505]. But meanwhile it was now possible to reinforce Beresford with 10,000 men, since Marmont and Bessières would be out of the game for many weeks. Leaving nearly 30,000 men on the Dos Casas and the Coa, to protect the Portuguese frontier and to guard the repairing of Almeida, Wellington could march to join the Army of Estremadura with the balance of his army. He thought that two divisions could be spared, and chose the 3rd and the 7th. If he marched rapidly across the Beira with this force, he might arrive in time to join Beresford for the battle against Soult which was inevitable. It might take place south of the Guadiana, if the French Marshal had delayed his advance, or north of it, if he had come up in great force and had compelled Beresford to give back toward Elvas, and to abandon the siege of Badajoz. But in either case Beresford’s army, reinforced by 10,000 men, would be strong enough to beat Soult. The only possible contingency to be feared was that the Duke of Dalmatia might abandon Granada and the Lines before Cadiz, concentrate 50,000 men, and let Andalusia shift for itself while he marched on Badajoz. Wellington judged, and rightly, that it was most improbable that he would make this desperate move, and evacuate three-fourths of his viceroyalty, in order to make certain of saving Badajoz. Knowing the strength of Beresford and Casta?os, he would come with the 20,000 or 25,000 men that he could collect without disgarrisoning any points of primary importance. In such a case, supposing that he came with the higher figure,[p. 406] Beresford had 20,000 Anglo-Portuguese, 10,000 more were coming down from the Beira, and there were the Spaniards of Blake and of Casta?os to be taken into consideration. Soult would find himself faced by 45,000 men, and could not possibly prevent the siege of Badajoz from proceeding. If the place could be taken promptly, there would be no time for reinforcements to reach the Marshal from the Army of Portugal or the Army of the Centre: and should he finally resolve to draw up further forces from Andalusia, he must abandon either the kingdom of Granada or the Cadiz lines, or both. To force him to give up his grasp on either of these points would be a great end in itself, and a sufficient reward for a successful campaign.

But everything depended on swift movement and the economy of time. Should Soult refuse to fight, and resolve to appeal for help to the other French armies, it was certain that 50,000 men might be gathered to his aid within a month or five weeks. All the Anglo-Portuguese troops combined, supposing that every man were drawn in from the north to join Beresford, would not make up over 60,000 sabres and bayonets. On the other hand, a junction between the Armies of Andalusia and Portugal, with aid lent by Bessières and the Army of the Centre, could certainly produce 80,000 men, perhaps more. Wherefore it might be argued that if Badajoz could be taken in a month a great success might be scored. But if the siege were to linger on over that time, the enemy would be able to concentrate in such force that the enterprise might become impracticable. The game was worth trying.

Wellington’s dispatches to Lord Liverpool and other correspondents between the 14th and the 25th of May make it perfectly clear that these were his views. ‘Fortunately for me,’ he wrote, ‘the French armies have no communications, and one army has no knowledge of the position or of the circumstances in which the others are placed, whereas I have a knowledge of all that passes on all sides. From this knowledge I think I may draw troops from Beira for my operations against Badajoz. But I cannot venture further south till I shall get Ciudad Rodrigo, without exposing all to ruin[506].’ Again, ‘I do not think it possible for me to undertake more in the south, under[p. 407] existing circumstances, than the siege of Badajoz. I cannot, by any effort I can make, increase the British and Portuguese [in that quarter] beyond 30,000 men, to which the Spanish force may add 8,000 or 10,000 more[507].’ He was perfectly aware that a concentration against him was possible, but that it would take a long time to come about. ‘I do not know when Marmont can be ready to co-operate with Soult; however, as the siege of Badajoz can be raised with ease and without loss, whenever it may be necessary, I have thought it best to lose no time, and to adopt every means to get that place, if I can, before the enemy’s troops can join. If I cannot get it, I may raise the siege and fight a battle or not, as I may find most proper, according to the state of our respective forces[508].’ It is clear, then, that Wellington’s utmost ambition was to take Badajoz, and that he foresaw that he must take it within a limited time, under penalty of seeing the scheme fail owing to the concentration of the enemy. His letters show that he knew that Drouet and the 9th Corps had started for Andalusia immediately after Fuentes de O?oro, and in calculating Soult’s utmost available force in June he takes Drouet into account[509], though he somewhat under-values his numerical strength.

The garrison of Almeida had made its escape on the night of May 10th-11th; the French army had drawn back beyond Ciudad Rodrigo, and dispersed itself into cantonments, on May 12th. As early as the morning of May 14th the column destined for Estremadura set out upon its march. It consisted, as has been already mentioned, of the 3rd and 7th Divisions, with the artillery attached to them. For the purpose of providing cavalry for scouting and exploration, the 2nd Hussars of the King’s German Legion were attached. This corps was the first cavalry reinforcement that Wellington had received for more than a year. It had landed at Lisbon in April[510], and had marched up to Celorico; from thence it was ordered to strike across country, to join the column marching for the valley[p. 408] of the Guadiana, and to place itself at the disposition of Picton, its senior officer. They met at Belmonte, and went on their southward way in company. The route lay through Castello Branco, the boat-bridge of Villa Velha, Niza, and Portalegre. Picton reached Campo Mayor, in the immediate vicinity of Badajoz, on May 24th, having taken ten days only to cross the roughest and most thinly peopled corner of Portugal. The average of marching had been fifteen miles a day, an excellent rate when the character of the roads is taken into consideration.
British Army crossing the Tagus at Villa Velha

Enlarge  THE THIRD DIVISION CROSSING THE TAGUS AT VILLA VELHA, MAY 20, 1811

Wellington himself started from Villar Formoso two days after the departure of the troops, on May 16th, and riding with his accustomed headlong speed reached Elvas on the afternoon of May 19th[511]. He had passed Picton between Sabugal and Belmonte. Before quitting the line of the Agueda, he drew up elaborate instructions for Sir Brent Spencer, who was left, as usual, in charge of the army on the northern frontier. The force entrusted to Spencer consisted of the 1st, 5th, 6th, and Light Divisions, Pack’s and Ashworth’s Portuguese brigades, and the cavalry of Slade, Arentschildt, and Barba?ena, altogether about 26,000 foot and 1,800 horse. The directions left were much the same as those which had been issued during Wellington’s earlier visit to Estremadura in April. ‘It is probable that some time will elapse before the French army in this part of Spain will be capable of making any movement against the Allies.’ Yet the unexpected might happen, and Spencer was told that, while so large a detachment was absent in the south, he must adopt a purely defensive attitude in the unlikely event of Marmont’s taking the field against him. For the present he was to hold the line of the Azava, facing Ciudad Rodrigo, with his advanced posts. The divisions were to be cantoned between Almeida and Nava de Aver, so that they could be concentrated in a single day. If the enemy should advance with a large force, as if intending a serious invasion, Almeida was to be evacuated, since it would be impossible that the repairs to its ruined ramparts should have got far enough to render the place tenable. The army was to fall back, not westward towards Almeida and[p. 409] Guarda, but southwards, firstly to the position before Alfayates which had already been marked out in April, then to a second position at Aldea Velha and Rendo, then to a third beyond the Coa. In case Marmont should push even further, the line of retreat was to be from Sabugal to Belmonte, and finally by the mountain road of the Estrada Nova towards the Zezere. ‘But the strong country between Belmonte and the Zezere must not be given up in a hurry[512].’ All this was pure precaution against the improbable: Wellington was convinced, and quite rightly, that Marmont would be incapable for some weeks, probably for some months, of any serious offensive action against Portugal. To invade the Beira he would have to collect a store of provisions such as the exhausted kingdom of Leon could not possibly give him. His magazines were known to have been empty after Fuentes de O?oro, and his troops had been dispersed because there was no possibility of feeding them while they were concentrated. Spencer could be in no possible danger for many a day; so strongly did Wellington feel this, that when he reached Elvas he wrote back to his lieutenant on May 24th that he intended to borrow from him Howard’s British and Ashworth’s Portuguese brigades, and thought that this could be done without any risk. But if, ‘notwithstanding my expectations to the contrary,’ Marmont seemed to be on the move, the brigades might be stopped[513].

Just before starting on his ride from Villar Formoso to Elvas Wellington received Beresford’s dispatches of May 12, which informed him that Soult (as had been expected) was on the march from Seville to relieve Badajoz, and that, according to the instructions that had been given, the allied army of Estremadura would fight him, if he were not too strong to be meddled with. It was the news that battle was impending which made the Commander-in-Chief quicken his pace to fifty miles a day, in hopes that he might be in time to take charge of the troops in person. He galloped ahead, and on the morning of the 19th heard, between Niza and Elvas, that there had been a pitched battle on the 16th, and that Soult had been repulsed. The[p. 410] details met him at Elvas, where Arbuthnot, Beresford’s aide-de-camp, handed him the Albuera dispatch. He read it through, and struck out some paragraphs before sending it on to the Ministry at home. The reason for these erasures was that he considered that Beresford’s tone was a little too desponding, and that he had laid too much stress on the terrible loss of the British troops, and too little on the complete check to Soult’s designs[514]. He wrote to the Marshal to hearten him up, to tell him that the result achieved had been worth the cost. ‘You could not be successful in such an action without a large loss, and we must make up our mind to affairs of this kind sometimes—or give up the game[515].’

With the military situation that he found in existence on May 19th Wellington professed himself satisfied. Hamilton’s Portuguese division had reinvested Badajoz on the preceding day. Soult was in full retreat, with the allied cavalry in pursuit of him. It was uncertain whether he would fall back on Seville or halt at the line of the Sierra Morena; but at any rate his bolt was shot: he could give no trouble for some weeks, and would only become dangerous if he strengthened his army by calling up Sebastiani and Victor, and evacuating the Cadiz Lines and Granada. This Wellington rightly believed that he would not think of doing. He would rather cry for aid to his neighbours, and it would take a long time for reinforcements to reach him from the Army of Portugal or from Madrid. There was a month in hand, and Badajoz must be captured if possible within that space.

The first thing necessary was to push Soult as far back as he would go, and from the 20th to the 26th Beresford was engaged in following him up. At first only the cavalry was available for pursuit: Hamilton’s division had been sent back to Badajoz; the 2nd and 4th were allowed five days of repose on the battlefield of Albuera. Not only were they absolutely exhausted, but[p. 411] all their transport was engaged in the heart-rending task of forwarding to Elvas convoy after convoy of British wounded. The French, of whom the last were not collected till three days after the battle, were packed in an extemporized hospital at Albuera village, where they suffered much for lack of surgeons. It would have been possible to send Blake’s army to support the British cavalry if he had possessed provisions, but he reported that his men were starving, and that he must disperse them to procure food; accordingly they were sent to Almendral, Barcarrota, and the neighbouring villages, to gather stores as best they might.

Soult meanwhile gave back slowly, being hampered by his immense convoys of wounded. On the 20th he retired from Solana to Almendralejo and Azeuchal, on the 21st to Villafranca and Fuente del Maestre; on the 22nd he was in march for Usagre and Llerena, so that it was evident that he was retiring on the Sierra Morena by the Llerena and not by the Monasterio road. It was only on this last day that Beresford’s infantry were able to start in support of the cavalry advanced guard, which had been cautiously following on Soult’s track. The Albuera divisions were sad wrecks of their former selves; the 2nd had but 2,500 bayonets in its three brigades, the 4th about 2,200 British and 2,500 Portuguese; Alten’s German brigade was less than 1,000 strong, so that the whole did not make up much more than 8,000 men. But Blake was requested to move on Feria and Zafra, parallel to the advance of the British column, and did so, having collected a few days’ provisions in his cantonments. The whole force was sufficient to move Soult back, since his troops were in a despondent humour, and did not amount to more than 13,000 or 14,000 men, for he had been forced to detach a brigade under Gazan to escort his immense train of wounded back to Seville. But the allied infantry never came up with the retreating French; by the time that it had reached Villalba and Fuente del Maestre Soult was at Llerena, thirty miles ahead.

The last day of his retreat was marked by a vigorous cavalry action, the most satisfactory of its kind that the British horse in the Peninsula had been engaged in since the combats of Sahagun and Benavente. Having reached Llerena, where he intended to[p. 412] stop if he were allowed, Soult determined to find out what was the force which was pursuing him, and more especially if it were accompanied by infantry. He instructed Latour-Maubourg to turn back, to attack the allied horse, and to drive it in upon its supports. Accordingly the French cavalry general took the four brigades of Bron, Bouvier des éclats, Vinot, and Briche[516], some 3,000 sabres in all, and began to advance along the high-road. He found in Villa Garcia the enemy’s advanced vedettes, composed of Penne Villemur’s Spaniards, drove them out, and pursued them for five miles, till he came to the town of Usagre, where he caught a glimpse of supports in position. He had run against the main body of the allied horse, though he could not make out either its strength or its intentions.

General Lumley, who was thus thrown upon the defensive, had with him his three original British cavalry regiments (3rd Dragoon Guards, 4th Dragoons, 13th Light Dragoons), four small regiments of Madden’s and Otway’s Portuguese[517], and a detachment of Penne Villemur’s Spanish horse under General Loy[518], about 2,200 sabres in all, so that his position was a dangerous one. But the fighting-ground was propitious. Usagre lies on the south bank of the stream, which flows in a well-marked ravine; on the north bank there are two rolling heights a few hundred yards back from the water, with a definite sky-line. Troops placed behind them were invisible to an enemy coming up from the town, and the French, if they wished to attack, would have to defile on a narrow front, first through the main street of Usagre, and then across the bridge.

On hearing of Latour-Maubourg’s approach, Lumley sent the 13th Light Dragoons and Otway’s Portuguese across the ravine to the left of the town, and Madden’s Portuguese in like manner on the right, each using a ford which had been previously discovered and sounded. The heavy dragoons remained facing the[p. 413] town, behind the sky-line, with Lefebure’s battery, guarding the high-road. Both the flanking forces reported that the enemy was coming up the road in great strength—Lumley was told that thirteen regiments had been counted, though there were really only ten. Wherefore he ordered Otway and Madden to recross the stream by their fords, which they did without loss, and to watch these passages, while keeping well under cover behind the sky-line.

Latour-Maubourg could not make out the force or the intentions of the Allies; he had seen clearly only the Spanish vedettes which he had driven out of Usagre; but Madden’s and Otway’s squadrons had not escaped notice altogether, though they retired early, so that he was aware that a hostile force of some strength was lying behind the heights. He therefore resolved not to debouch from Usagre along the high-road with his main body, across the defile at the bridge, till he had got a flanking force across the stream, to threaten and turn Lumley, if he were intending to defend the line along the water. Briche’s brigade of light horse was told off for this purpose, with orders to go to the right, down-stream, and to pass the river at the ford which Otway’s Portuguese had been seen to use in their retreat. Meanwhile the other three French brigades waited in Usagre, deferring their advance till the chasseurs should have time to get on Lumley’s flank.

The two forces did not keep touch. Briche went for a mile along the river, and found the ford; but Otway was guarding it, and he did not like to try the passage of a steep ravine in face of an enemy in position. Wherefore he moved further off, looking for a more practicable and unguarded crossing; but the banks grew steeper and steeper as he rode northward, and he found that he was losing time. He was long absent, and apparently committed the inexcusable fault of omitting to send any report explaining his long delay. After waiting for more than an hour Latour-Maubourg became impatient, and fell into an equally grave military error. Taking it for granted that the chasseurs must now be in their destined position, he ordered his division of dragoons to debouche from the town and cross the stream and the defile. Bron’s brigade led; the two regiments in front, the 4th and 20th, trotted over the bridge, and deployed[p. 414] on the other side, on an ascending slope, to cover the passage of the remainder of the division. The third regiment of the brigade, the 26th, was just crossing the bridge, when suddenly the whole sky-line in front was covered with a long line of horsemen charging downwards. Lumley had waited till the propitious moment, and had caught his enemy in a trap, with one-third of his force across the water, and the remainder jammed in the defile of bridge and street. The 4th Dragoons charged Bron straight in front, the 3rd Dragoon Guards took him somewhat in flank, while Madden’s Portuguese supported on the right, and Penne Villemur’s Spaniards on the left. The two deployed French regiments were hurled back on the third, at the bridge-foot, and all three fell into most lamentable confusion. The Allies penetrated into the mass, and broke it to pieces, with great slaughter. The survivors, unable to pass the encumbered bridge, dispersed right and left, far along the banks of the stream, where they were pursued and hunted down in detail. Latour-Maubourg could do no more than dismount the leading regiment of his second brigade and set them to fire from the houses along the water-side, while four horse artillery guns opened upon the enemy’s main body. But the guns were promptly silenced by Lefebure’s battery, which Lumley had put in action on the slope above, and Latour-Maubourg had to watch the destruction of Bron’s brigade without being able to give effective help. More than 250 dragoons were killed or wounded, and 6 officers, including the colonel of the 4th, with 72 men were led away prisoners[519]. The British loss was insignificant—not twenty troopers—for the enemy had been caught in a position in which they could offer no effective resistance. Lumley made no attempt to attack Usagre town, which would indeed have been insane, and drew off at leisure with his prisoners.[p. 415] Latour-Maubourg sent to recall Briche, and remained halted on his own side of the stream till evening.

At Usagre the two armies drew their line of demarcation for nearly a month. Soult stopped at Llerena, since he found that he was not to be pressed; his advanced cavalry continued to hold Usagre and Monasterio, on the two roads from Badajoz and Seville. Beresford, by Wellington’s orders, did not move further forward: it was not intended that Andalusia should be invaded, or a second battle with Soult risked. The cavalry formed a line from Hinojosa to Fuente Cantos, facing the French, the Anglo-Portuguese forming the left, the Spanish the right of the screen. Some of Blake’s infantry moved up to Zafra in support, but the main body remained further to the rear, about Santa Marta and Barcarrota. The British 2nd and 4th Divisions were placed further back, at Almendralejo and the neighbouring villages, with the bulk of Lumley’s cavalry in front of them at Ribera, in support of the left half of the screen, which its advanced squadrons supplied. On the 27th May Beresford relinquished the command of the separate army of Estremadura, which had been merged in a larger unit when the 3rd and 7th Divisions came up to Campo Mayor on the 24th. Wellington had announced his intention of assuming permanent charge of the force in the south, which was henceforth considered as the main army, and the seat of head quarters, while Spencer’s four divisions on the frontier of Leon were now to be regarded as the subsidiary force.

In his letters home Wellington spoke of Beresford’s removal from active command in the field as necessary because of the unsatisfactory state into which the Portuguese army had fallen during his absence; his strong and methodical hand had been much missed, and matters of detail had all gone wrong. But there can be no doubt that this was a secondary consideration; the real cause of his supersession was that his chief had not been satisfied with his conduct of the Estremaduran campaign in March and April. Though there were excuses and explanations to be found for each one of his individual acts, yet the general effect of his leadership had not been happy. The best commentary on it was that every one, from Wellington to the simplest soldier in the ranks, was delighted to hear that[p. 416] Rowland Hill had landed at Lisbon on May 24, and was on his way to the front to resume command of the 2nd Division. He was at once placed in the same position that he had held in 1810, i. e. entrusted with the command not only of his own division but of the whole wing of the army which was detached to the south. The force put at his disposition to observe Soult and cover the leaguer of Badajoz, consisted of precisely the same units that had formed Beresford’s Albuera army—with the exception that Hamilton’s and Collins’s Portuguese had been drawn off to the siege operations. Hill had charge of the 2nd and 4th Divisions, Alten’s detached German brigade, and De Grey’s and Madden’s cavalry, the whole about 10,000 strong. When he arrived at Elvas on May 31st, and then went forward to establish himself at Almendralejo, Wellington felt a degree of security that he had not known for months. It was certain that nothing would be risked, that there would be neither delays nor mistakes, while this kindly, cheerful, and resolute old soldier, the idol of his troops, who called him in affection ‘Daddy Hill,’ was in charge of the covering corps.

Meanwhile Wellington himself took the siege operations in hand, and employed in them the troops he had brought from the Beira, the 3rd and 7th Divisions, together with Hamilton’s and Collins’s Portuguese. The whole, including about 700 British and Portuguese artillerymen, mainly the same companies that had served in Beresford’s siege, made up about 14,000 men—a force even smaller than that with which Soult had attacked Badajoz in January; but the French Marshal had had to deal with a garrison of 9,000 men, while General Phillipon, the resourceful governor now in charge of the place, had but a little over 3,000—a difference which made Wellington’s position much more advantageous than Soult’s had been. The cavalry which had come down from the Beira along with Picton, the 2nd Hussars of the K. G. L.[520], was sent to join the rest of the horse, and went to form a new brigade, being added to the 13th Light Dragoons, a regiment hitherto unbrigaded. By June 1st there[p. 417] was another mounted corps to hand—the 11th Light Dragoons,[521] which also went to join Lumley, so that the British cavalry in Estremadura rose from three to six regiments during the summer.

There were two deficiencies, however, which made Wellington’s task in besieging Badajoz a hard, nay an almost hopeless one. His artillery material, if not so ludicrously inadequate as that of Beresford during the first siege, was still utterly insufficient. And to this we must add that his engineer officers were still both few and unpractised in their art. They repeated the same mistakes that had been seen in the early days of May. Of trained rank and file in the engineering branch there were practically none—only twenty-five ‘royal military artificers.’ The home authorities apparently grudged sending out to Portugal men of this small and highly trained corps, and preferred to keep them in England. It is impossible to speak with patience of the fact that there was not even one company of them in the Peninsula, after the war had been going on for three years[522]!

It was the miscalculations of the engineers—Colonel Fletcher was presumably the responsible person, as Wellington’s chief technical adviser—rather than the deplorable weakness of the artillery resources—which made the second British siege of Badajoz as disastrous as the first. Untaught by the experiences of the first week in May, the engineers advised Wellington to direct his efforts against the two strongest points in the defences, the rocky hill crowned by the fort of San Cristobal on one bank of the Guadiana, and the Castle on its steep slope upon the other. The arguments used seem to have been the same as before—time being limited, it was necessary to strike at the most decisive points. If either San Cristobal or the Castle could be breached and stormed, the rest of the fortress would be dominated and would become untenable. If, on the other hand, one of the southern fronts, where the French had made their attack, were[p. 418] to be chosen as the objective, the Castle and San Cristobal, forming independent defences, might hold out long after the enceinte had been pierced and carried. Moreover, it was urged, San Cristobal was an isolated fort, so placed that it could get no help from the flank fires of other works, save from a few guns on the Castle; its other neighbour, the fort at the bridge-head, was too low-lying to be of any help.

Practically the only difference between the engineers’ plans for the first[523] and the second siege of Badajoz was that in the latter more attention was paid to the attack on the south side, and the whole force of the besiegers was not concentrated on San Cristobal, as it had been in early May. A serious attempt was made to breach the Castle, not a mere demonstration or false attack. Yet, as matters turned out, all the stress of the work once more fell upon the San Cristobal front, where two desperate assaults were made and repulsed, while on the Castle front matters never got to the point of an attempted storm. Summing up the siege in the words of D’Urban, Beresford’s chief of the staff, who watched it ruefully, we can only echo his conclusion ‘that the fact is that the engineers began upon the wrong side[524].’ Two geological peculiarities of the ground were fatal to success: the first was that on San Cristobal the soil is so shallow—three inches only on top of the hard rock—that it was impossible to construct proper trenches. The second was that the Castle hill is composed of a clay-slate which does not crumble, however much battered, and that the wall there was simply a facing to the native soil. Its stones might be battered down, but the hillside stood firm when the stones had fallen, and remained perpendicular and inaccessible. The latter fact could not be known to Wellington’s engineers; but the former was fully within their cognizance, owing to their experience in the first siege. There can be no doubt that they ought to have selected for battering the south front—either the point where Soult worked during February, or still better the walls nearer the river, by the bastion of San Vincente, where the ground is equally favourable and there is no flanking external defence like the Pardaleras[p. 419] fort. If every gun had been concentrated on this section, and every available man set to trench-work against it, there can be little doubt that Wellington would have got Badajoz within the scant four weeks that were at his disposal.

Though the blockade had been resumed on May 18th, the actual siege did not recommence for some days later, since the troops from the Beira, who were to conduct it, did not get up till a week had passed. On May 25th Houston’s division arrived from Campo Mayor, and took position on the heights beyond San Cristobal; they were there joined by the 17th Portuguese from the garrison of Elvas, and two regiments of Algarve Militia (Tavira and Lagos) were assigned for transport and convoy duty between the trenches and Elvas. Picton and the 3rd Division came up two days later (May 27th), crossed the Guadiana by the ford above the city, and joined Hamilton’s Portuguese on the southern bank. An earlier arrival of the Beira divisions would have been of no great use, since it was only on the 29th that Colonel Alexander Dickson, who had once more been entrusted with the artillery arrangements, had sent off his great convoy of guns from Elvas. This time that indefatigable officer had collected a siege-train twice as large as that which he had prepared for Beresford four weeks earlier—there were forty-six guns in all[525] instead of twenty-three. But unhappily the pieces were the same as those used in the first siege, or their equals in age and defects. The large majority were the old brass 24-pounders of the seventeenth century which had already given so much trouble from their irregularity of calibre, their tendency to droop at the muzzle when much used, and their tiresome habit of ‘unbushing’ (i. e. blowing out their vent fitting). Six iron ship-guns, ordered up from Lisbon, only arrived when the siege was far advanced, and were the sole weapons of real efficiency with which Dickson was provided. It is clear that head quarters might have done something in the way of ordering up better guns early in May, the moment that[p. 420] the first siege had shown the deficiencies of the Elvas museum of artillery antiquities. The gunners, like the guns, were about doubled in number since Beresford’s fiasco: there were now over 500 Portuguese, and one company of British (Raynsford’s), 110 strong, who arrived from Lisbon on the 30th, riding on mules which had been provided at Estremos to give them a rapid journey. To aid the twenty-one engineers on the spot, eleven officers from line battalions had been taken on as assistant engineers, while the twenty-five military artificers had to train 250 rank and file, selected from the 3rd and 7th Divisions, to act as carpenters, miners, and sappers. The work of these amateurs was, as might have been expected, not very satisfactory, and the make of their gabions and fascines left much to be desired.

On May 29th the siege work began, by the opening up of the old trenches opposite the Pardaleras fort, which the French had filled in on the day of Albuera. This was merely done to draw the attention of the garrison away from the real points of attack, for there was no intention of approaching the place from the south. It would have been better for the Allies had this been a genuine operation, and if the Castle and San Cristobal attacks had been false! It attracted, as was intended, much notice from the garrison.

On the night of the 30th the serious work began. On the Castle side 1,600 men from the 3rd Division commenced at dusk a long trench, on the same ground that had been dug over during the first siege, and three zigzag approaches to it from the rear. This trench, the first parallel, was no less than 800 yards from the Castle. The attention of the enemy was so much drawn to other points, and the soil was so soft, that by daybreak there had been formed a trench 1,100 yards long, with a parapet three feet high, and a depth of three feet in the ground: the approaches were also well advanced. On San Cristobal, at the other attack, everything went very differently. The ground chosen for the first parallel was, owing to the exigencies of the contour of the hill, only 400 yards from the fort. The working parties were discovered at once, and a heavy fire was directed on them, not only from San Cristobal, but from the Castle, across the river. It was found that there was no soil to dig in—what little once existed had been used in building the old trenches of the first[p. 421] siege, and the French governor, during his days of respite, May 15-18, had ingeniously ordered that all this earth should be carted away, and thrown down the steep towards the river. All that could be done was to place a row of gabions along the intended line of trench, and to begin to bring up earth from below to stuff them. At daylight there was not more than two feet of earth thrown up along the more important points in the parallel, where it was intended that three batteries should be placed. The enemy’s fire soon knocked over the gabions, and the working parties had to be withdrawn from a great part of the front. Practically nothing had been accomplished, and there had been many casualties.

Things continued to go on in the same fashion during the succeeding days. The parallel opposite the Castle was easily completed with little loss; a great battery for twenty guns was thrown up in the middle of it, and received its pieces, sixteen brass 24-pounders and four howitzers, on the night of the 2nd-3rd. No attempt was made to begin a second parallel nearer the Castle, from which it could be battered at short range. On the other hand the San Cristobal attack encountered heart-rending difficulties from the want of soil; the screen of gabions was knocked about, the two batteries opposite the fort made little progress, and the only thing completed was a third battery, at the extreme edge of the hill, which was far enough away to escape destruction, but also too far away (1,200 yards) to do much damage. It seemed so hopeless to work on the bare rock that Wellington ordered ￡400 worth of wool-packs to be bought in Elvas, and when these were brought up on June 2 they proved impermeable to shot, and a solid start could be made for the parapets of the batteries. But the enemy kept dropping shells, from mortars in the Castle, among the working parties, with great accuracy, and the casualties were many. On June 2nd two small batteries, for five and eight guns respectively, had at last been erected about 450 yards from the fort, and a third behind them, in support, for four more guns, which were to shoot over the parallel.

At half-past nine in the morning of June 3rd the batteries on both fronts began to play on their chosen objectives. The fire was at first wild, owing to the eccentric behaviour of the old[p. 422] seventeenth-century brass guns, every one of which had its tricks and deficiencies. As the gunners began to learn and humour them, some effect began to be produced, especially on the Castle. Here great flakes of masonry began to fall in the evening, but it was noticed that behind the stone facing there was a core of clay-slate, the natural soil of the Castle hill, which remained perpendicular when the masonry crumbled. On San Cristobal, the south-east front of the fort, the one selected for breaching, was somewhat damaged, and the guns nearly silenced by evening. But the besiegers’ artillery had already begun to fall off in strength: only one piece had been disabled by the French, but four others had gone out of action owing to their own faults, ‘unbushing,’ ‘muzzle drooping,’ or carriages shaken to pieces by recoil. The second day of fire (June 4th) was hardly more satisfactory in its results: against the Castle the guns made better practice so far as accurate hitting the mark went, but the balls seemed to have no effect: the core of soil behind the breached masonry remained nearly as perpendicular as on the preceding evening. ‘Eight-inch shells fired against it would not penetrate it,’ wrote the disgusted Alexander Dickson, ‘but absolutely dropped back, and burst below among the rubbish[526].’ Meanwhile one more gun in this attack was disabled by the French fire, two by ‘muzzle drooping,’ and three howitzer carriages were so shaken that they had to be withdrawn for repairs. Only thirteen guns out of the original twenty were firing at sunset, and ‘the failure of the old brass pieces was becoming so alarming that an interval of seven to eight minutes was ordered between each round, to give the metal time to cool[527].’ A new battery was constructed at the right end of the parallel, near the river, at a point somewhat nearer to the Castle than the original battery, in the hope that fire from a distance shorter by a hundred yards might have better effect, and five guns were moved into it under cover of the night.

On San Cristobal the second day’s fire was a little better in results, the flank of the fort which was selected for breaching having its parapet knocked to pieces, and much debris having fallen into the ditch. But unknown to the besiegers, whose view[p. 423] could not command the bottom of the ditch, the French removed most of the stones and rubbish during the night, so that the accumulation at the bottom, on which the practicability of the future breach depended, was much smaller than was supposed by the British engineers. Two more guns and two howitzers in this attack were out of action by the evening—all owing to their own defects, not to the fire from the fort. The batteries were much incommoded by an enfilading fire across the river from the Castle, where some guns had been placed on a high ‘cavalier’ to bear on the slopes below Cristobal.

On June 5 affairs went on much in the same style: the breaching of the Castle was an absolute failure: ‘the practice was extremely good, but the bank of earth at the breach still remained perpendicular[528].’ It was discovered, however, that the French were so far alarmed at the results of the battering that they were constructing elaborate inner retrenchments behind the breach. On Cristobal the prospects looked more promising; so much of the wall as was visible over the edge of the ditch along the attacked front was demolished for a distance of many yards. With another day’s fire it was decided that the breach would be practicable[529].

Accordingly the batteries on both sides of the river thundered away for the whole day on the 6th, the Castle attack with fourteen guns out of its original twenty, the Cristobal attack with seventeen remaining out of twenty-three. On the former front the results were somewhat more satisfactory than those of the three first days of battering: the seam in the castle wall appearing much wider, and the accumulation of rubbish at its foot beginning to look appreciable. Observers in the trenches held that a single man, climbing unhindered, might get up to the top, but of course there was a great difference between such a scrambling place and a ‘practicable breach.’ Nothing, at any rate, could yet be done on this side in the way of assault. There were, it must be remembered, 800 yards of open ground between the parallel from which a storming-column must start and the[p. 424] foot of the damaged wall, not to speak of the muddy bed of the Rivillas brook, which had to be forded in order to reach the Castle hill.

The San Cristobal breach, on the other hand, was judged ripe for assault, though the condition of its lower part was not accurately known. According to French accounts it was probably practicable at dusk, but the moment that night fell sixty men went down into the ditch, and began clearing away the débris with such energy that there was a sheer seven-foot drop once more, at midnight, between the bottom of the excavation and the lip of the battered wall above it. The garrison also stuffed up the breach with chevaux de frise, and carts turned upside down and jammed together, while the sappers in the fort prepared a quantity of fourteen-inch bombs, to be thrown by hand into the ditch when an assault should be made. It is probable that the delay of over four hours between dark (7.30) and midnight, when the storm came, just sufficed to provide defences strong enough to render the attack hopeless. The governor of the fort, Captain Chauvin of the 88th Line, deserves all credit for his admirable activity and resource.

The arrangement of the assault fell to General Houston, whose division was to deliver it. The regiments from which volunteers were picked were the 1/51st, 2/85th, and 17th Portuguese. The forlorn hope of twenty-five men was conducted by the engineer, Lieutenant Forster, who had explored the ditch on the preceding night, and led by Lieutenant Dyas of the 51st. The main body of the assaulting column was composed of 155 grenadiers, led by Major Mackintosh of the 85th; they were divided into two companies; the leading company carried ten ladders, for use in case it should be found that the ditch was cleared and the ascent to the breach steep. Detachments from the guards of the trenches were to move out, and cut the communication between San Cristobal and the works near the bridge-head, from which reinforcements might come[530].
Fort San Cristobal

Enlarge  FORT SAN CRISTOBAL FROM THE SOUTH BANK OF THE GUADIANA

At midnight the stormers broke out of the trenches, and ran, as fast as was possible in the obscurity, up the 400 yards of bare hillside which separated them from the fort. They suffered no[p. 425] great loss in the early moments of their rush, for though the garrison detected them at once, and plied them both with grape and with musketry, the darkness was a good protection. The forlorn hope crossed the counterscarp with no difficulty—it was only four feet deep in front of the breach-and leaped down into the ditch. There they came to a stand at once, for there were seven feet of sheer ascent from the hole in which they stood to the lowest point of the lip of the breach, and they saw that the gap itself had been stopped with the carts, chevaux de frise and other obstacles. Their officers called them off, and they were retiring with little loss, when the main body of the storming party came leaping down into the ditch. Getting news that the breach was impracticable, the officers in command of the two grenadier companies made a gallant but ill-judged series of attempts to escalade the unbreached parts of the scarp with the ten ladders that their men carried. The ascent being twenty feet high everywhere, and the ladders only fifteen feet long, it was bound to fail. But, refusing to be discomfited by a first failure, the stormers carried the ladders round to several other points of the ditch, looking in vain for a place where the walls might prove lower. The French garrison plied them incessantly with musketry, and kept rolling down among them the live shells that had been prepared for the occasion. At last the losses had grown so great that the wearied assailants, after spending nearly an hour in the ditch, had to withdraw. Out of 180 men employed there were no less than 12 dead and about 80 wounded[531], a sufficient testimony to the obstinacy of the assault. How hopeless it was may be judged from the fact that the French had only 1 man killed and 5 wounded. Everything seems to have been miscalculated in this unhappy affair—especially the number of the stormers—180 men of all ranks were wholly inadequate for the assault.

[p. 426]The failure against San Cristobal convinced Wellington’s engineers that it was useless to try force till the works had been more severely battered, and three further days of artillery work were put in, before a second storm was tried. The old guns from Elvas continued to disable themselves, and on the 9th only thirteen were in proper order on the Cristobal attack. Things would have been still worse opposite the Castle if six good iron ship-guns from Lisbon had not come up on the 7th. These were put into a new battery on the extreme right, and worked very well. But, including them, there were only twenty pieces playing on the Castle breach on the 8th and 9th. Of the original forty-six guns and howitzers only twenty-seven survived!

The net result of these last three days of bombardment on the Castle side was still unsatisfactory. The ship-guns had at last brought down a good deal of earth and rubble, which was lying in a heap at the foot of the battered wall. But on each of the mornings of the 8th and 9th it was found that the French had, during the dark hours, scarped the front of the breach, and thrown aside so much of the débris that there was still a perpendicular face of six or seven feet high, between the top of the heap of broken earth and masonry and the bottom of the seam of broken wall. This work had been carried out by the garrison under great difficulties, for the British batteries had been throwing grape against the foot of the breach all night, for the purpose of preventing any such activity. But the French, trusting to the cover of the darkness, had continued to work on manfully, and, though some men were hit, the task had on each night been more or less carried out. On the 9th the engineers came to the conclusion that they dared not advise any attempt to storm on this side, considering the enormous distance—600 yards from the wall—at which the columns of attack would have to start, even if they debouched from the part of the parallel which was nearest to the Castle. There was also the bed of the Rivillas to cross, and the guns from that part of the Castle which was uninjured, and from the flank of San Cristobal, would cut up the stormers by enfilading fire. The engineers reluctantly concluded that nothing could be done against the Castle till San Cristobal had fallen, or till a second parallel had been pushed forward much nearer to the place. This was a confession that all their original plans[p. 427] had been erroneous, and that the immense store of shot and shell lavished on the Castle breach had been wasted.

All therefore depended on the result of a second attempt to storm San Cristobal. Here there were now two breaches, a large and a small one; the parapets were completely knocked to pieces, and the fort looked a mere battered heap; its fire had been nearly silenced—so much so that not a single casualty occurred in the trench before it during the last twelve hours of bombardment. Nevertheless the breaches were not very practicable, for here (as at the Castle) the garrison had, by hard work during the nights, cleared away great part of the débris below the breach; they could not be prevented from doing so, because the besiegers’ batteries were so far away that they were unable to command the dead ground in the bottom of the ditch. On each morning the battered parapet was found to have been replaced with sandbags and wool-packs, and the breach itself stopped with chevaux de frise. These were swept away again by continual battering, both on the 8th and the 9th, but the gallant garrison began to replace them on each evening the moment that dusk fell. Nor could this be prevented, because, contrary to all the rules of siegecraft, the besiegers had not sapped up close enough to the walls to enable them to prevent repairs from being carried out. General Phillipon had doubled the garrison of the fort, which now consisted of two companies instead of the one that had held it on the 6th. The men were furnished with three muskets each, and a great store of grenades, fire-balls, and live shell, prepared for throwing by hand, had been sent up into the work.

The 7th Division delivered its second assault on the night of the 9th, three hours earlier than on the previous occasion, and only ninety minutes after dark had fallen. This moment had been chosen in order that the French might have less time to do repairs. But nine o’clock was still too late an hour; rough preparations to receive the stormers had already been made when they arrived. The French narratives state that an assault by daylight in the late afternoon would have been much more likely to succeed[532]. But this idea, though it had been mooted in the English camp, was rejected because of the distance which the[p. 428] attacking column would have to advance, fully visible in the open, under fire, and uphill. Once more the fact that the parallel was too far from the fort had become all important as a hindrance; on the San Cristobal heights approaches could not be driven any nearer, for want of earth to dig in. This had been known from the first, and should have been held sufficient reason for not attacking at all upon this stony height.

General Houston told off for the assault a force twice as great as that which had been sent forward on the 6th, 400 men instead of 180, and (a precaution neglected on the previous occasion) 100 picked shots were told off to line the outer edge of the ditch and keep up a fire against the enemy lining the breach. The assaulting column was guided by Lieutenant Hunt, R.E., and commanded by Major McGeechy of the 17th Portuguese[533]. The volunteers forming it were taken from all the regiments of Sontag’s brigade, the 51st, 85th, Chasseurs Britanniques, and Brunswick Oels, and also from the 17th Portuguese. There being now two breaches, the column was to divide into two halves, one making for that in the salient angle, the other for that in the curtain. The former carried six ladders, the latter ten[534].

The men were paraded in the ravine behind the parallel, and came out into the open at 9 o’clock. They were seen at once, and came under a rapid fire of musketry as they breasted the slope. The guiding engineer, Hunt, and the commander of the column, McGeechy, were both killed before the ditch was reached, with many others. But the forlorn hope sprang down and made for the breaches, followed a moment later by the supports. It appears that, as on June 6th, there was found to be a gap between the top of the rubble in the ditch and the lips of both breaches, six or seven feet high. The ladders were therefore brought forward, and many of them were reared; but the musketry fire knocked over nearly every man who tried to ascend them, and the few who got a footing in the breach were met and bayoneted by the garrison, who showed splendid courage, running down the slope of the breach and charging any small knot[p. 429] of men who struggled on from the ladders[535]. Meanwhile the mass in the ditch, who could not press forward to the breach-foot, were pelted with stones, hand-grenades, bags of powder, and fire-balls. Finally, after nearly an hour of unavailing effort, all the ladders were broken or thrown down, the assailants had lost 5 officers and 49 men killed, and 8 officers and 77 men wounded, and the column recoiled to the trenches[536]. The breaches and glacis were so strewn with their wounded that the artillery dared not fire to cover the retreat, and the French, descending into the ditch, took up to the fort two wounded officers as prisoners, removed the ladders, and threw aside much of the débris, so that the breach-foot was completely cleared.

The losses suffered, one man in three, and the time for which the stormers persisted in the attempt, some fifty minutes, prove that there was no want of courage shown on this disastrous night. The fact seems to be that, as on the 6th, the breach was not really practicable, that an attack could hardly succeed when the column had to cross 400 yards of exposed ground before reaching the fort, and that a storm should never have been tried, when the besieger had not sapped up to the edge of the ditch and placed himself in a position to command it. It may be mentioned that such a ditch as this, hewn in the live rock and very deep, was particularly hard to deal with. Its edges could[p. 430] not become abraded, and it was easy for the defenders to shovel away the débris that fell into it, because the bottom was solid and hard, and the masonry that had been knocked down lay on it, instead of sinking into its floor.

On the morning of the 10th the fire against the Castle was continued with vigour, but on San Cristobal there was a six hours’ truce, which was asked and granted, in order that the many wounded scattered along the slope below the fort might be gathered in. The French, being able to work unmolested at repairs during the cessation of fire, had every reason for giving a polite and humane answer to the request made by the besiegers.

Everything seemed now to depend on the attack against the Castle, since that on the other side of the river had come to such a disastrous conclusion. The fire of the newly arrived iron ship-guns was still very effective, and the breach looked larger and less steep. In fact French accounts state that it was now for the first time thoroughly practicable—but it was 800 yards from the British parallel, and the artillery on the neighbouring bastions and even on the Castle itself was still intact. Phillipon was in no wise freed from care by the successful repulse of the two attempts to storm San Cristobal. He had just had to reduce his troops to half-rations, and even on this scale there were only ten days more of food in the place: no provisions had been got in since Beresford’s first siege began in April. The garrison, though its losses in killed and wounded had not been great, had many sick, and the strain of being constantly under arms expecting an assault was beginning to be felt. There was no news from outside, save that brought by two or three deserters from the foreign corps in the British 7th Division, who reported that Soult was still in the Sierra Morena[537], and that they had heard nothing of the approach of a relieving army, though there was a rumour that Victor was going to raise the siege of Cadiz in order to join his chief. Phillipon was forced to contemplate the double possibility of his provisions running short and of a successful assault on the Castle front. Wherefore he resolved that preparations should be made to bring off the garrison by a sally, if the worst came to the worst. If no[p. 431] relief came, or if the walls were forced, the whole available body of his men were to cross the river to the Cristobal side under cover of the night, and to dash at the lines of the besiegers, in order to cut their way through by the road to Montijo and Merida. But this was not to be tried before the day of absolute necessity should arrive: the council of war called by the governor decided that the topic of evasion need not be broached for five days more[538]. Before those five days had expired they were out of danger and sure of relief.

It was at noon on June 10th that Wellington made up his mind that the siege must be abandoned. Calling together the divisional commanders, and the senior officers of artillery and engineers, he gave them a short address. It had been proved, he said, that it was impossible to storm San Cristobal without sapping up to the crest of the glacis, which was a practically impossible task on the bare rock. There was now a breach in the Castle, but it was too remote from the parallel, and the route to it was commanded both by the guns on the flank of San Cristobal and those on the lunette of San Roque and other parts of the southern enceinte. It was known that it had been elaborately retrenched behind, by ditches and palisades. But these were not his sole or the main reasons for stopping the siege. He had news that Marmont and the 9th Corps would both join Soult in a few days: and the allied army must not be caught in the trenches, and forced to fight superior numbers in an unfavourable position. It would be possible to stop five days more and to continue the battering for that time, but on the 15th the French armies might be concentrated and a general action forced upon him. This he would not risk, but had decided to order the whole siege-train to be withdrawn into Elvas at once, while the army would keep up the blockade of Badajoz till the enemy drew near, and would then retire beyond the Guadiana at its leisure, and take up a position on the Portuguese frontier which he had already chosen. As soon as it was dark the guns should be withdrawn from the batteries, and the sending of stores, tools, &c., back to Elvas must commence. He would have risked a couple of days more battering if he had thought it likely to lead to a storm. But it was his opinion that there[p. 432] was no prospect of immediate success against the place, and he was therefore resolved to give up the siege even before he was actually forced to do so. Rumour adds that he muttered more or less to himself that ‘next time he would be his own engineer[539].’ But he did not speak publicly in censure of the mistakes of Fletcher and his colleagues: the men who had planned and built the Lines of Torres Vedras were not to be disgraced lightly, even if they had failed in their last task.

The approaching concentration of the French armies had been very carefully watched by Wellington, who was in constant touch with Spencer, and had been keeping a most vigilant eye on all his reports. He had also been helped by several intercepted dispatches, taken on the way between the Armies of Portugal and Andalusia, and by reports from the guerrillero chiefs of Castile and his own secret correspondents in Salamanca. Marmont had been much more rapid in his movements, and had shown more willingness to help a colleague in distress, than was usual among the French commanders in Spain. He was new to command, and very zealous; it is certain that a year later, when he had gained more experience of co-operation with Soult, he would not come so fast and so eagerly to his aid.

The Duke of Ragusa had conducted the Army of Portugal back to Salamanca on May 15th, and had (as has been already related[540]) spent the next fortnight in breaking up the old corps into six new divisions of infantry and five brigades of cavalry. The regiments had all sent back to France the cadres of their 3rd battalions and their 3rd and 4th squadrons. The infantry battalions had been completed up to about 700 men each: and the six divisions had by May 25th about 28,000 men present with the colours[541], besides sick and detachments, who were very[p. 433] numerous[542]. There were only 2,500 cavalry fit for service, and six batteries of artillery; great drafts of horses were promised from France, by which it was hoped that the former would ere long be able to show 5,000 sabres, and the latter to put 60 guns in the field. Meanwhile there were not more than 33,000 men of all arms fit to march.

Soult, before starting on his Albuera campaign, had written to Masséna (whose deposition was unknown to him) to state that if he failed in his attempt to deliver Badajoz at the head of his own expeditionary force, he might have to ask for aid from the Army of Portugal. This letter was delivered to Marmont on May 14th, when he had just assumed command. He replied (May 16) that he recognized the importance of Badajoz, and would move all or a part of his army southward if it were really required. Soult received the dispatch from the hands of his colleague’s aide-de-camp Fabvier at Llerena on May 27th, and was overjoyed at its contents. He wrote to acknowledge the offer in terms of effusive politeness, and begged Marmont to march not with a detachment but with his whole army.[543] Though he was expecting to be joined by Drouet and the 9th Corps within ten days, he was doubtful whether that reinforcement would make him strong enough to face Wellington. But, with 30,000 men of the Army of Portugal placed in the valley of the Guadiana, there would be a force amply sufficient to sweep the Allies back into Portugal. On hearing that Marmont had started, he would extend his troops toward Merida, where the head of his colleague’s column, coming by Truxillo and Almaraz, would probably appear.

Long before Soult’s Llerena dispatch came to hand, Marmont had already begun to move some of his divisions towards the[p. 434] Tagus, as a precautionary measure, in case his offer should be accepted. But it was apparently the news of Albuera which made him resolve to betake himself to Estremadura with every available man, and not Soult’s appeal, which only reached him after he had started. He was anxious to hand over the charge of the whole frontier of Leon, and of the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, to Bessières. But the Duke of Istria protested in the most vehement style against having this responsibility thrust upon him. Until he had learnt of the Albuera check, he kept preaching to Mortier on the text that Soult was well able to take care of himself, and ought to draw rather on Drouet and Madrid for reinforcements than on the Army of Portugal. Marmont might move a division to Ba?os and Bejar, and two more to Plasencia, but this was all that honour and prudence demanded. The main body of his troops ought to be left in or near Salamanca, to observe the British force in front of Ciudad Rodrigo. The Army of the North could not spare a man to relieve Marmont’s troops on the Douro and the Tormes, if they marched away; what with the Galicians, the Cantabrian bands of Longa and Porlier, and the guerrilleros, it had so much upon its hands that it could not find one brigade to occupy Salamanca. The Army of Portugal was so much in need of rest and reinforcement that it would perish by the way, or never reach Badajoz, if its commander persisted in carrying out his quixotic plan, &c.

All these arguments were hollow: Bessières disliked Soult, and not only would not stir a finger himself to aid him, but wished to discourage Marmont from doing so. When the news of Albuera came, he made shift to protect the frontiers of Leon, despite of all his previous allegations. His estimate of the impossibility of the march to Badajoz was absolutely falsified: the Army of Portugal accomplished it in fifteen days without any appreciable loss in men or material. Marmont deserves, as he himself remarks[544], great credit for his move, which was made contrary to his colleague’s advice, and without any orders from Paris. For Napoleon’s dispatches, based, as usual, on facts three weeks or a month old, were coming in at this time with notes as to the resting and reorganization of the army, and spoke of[p. 435] a battle near Ciudad Rodrigo, to keep Wellington from besieging that place, as the next task which would probably fall to the Duke of Ragusa[545]. Marmont had as directions nothing but a vague precept to ‘act for the general interest of the Imperial armies in Spain’ and to keep an eye on Andalusia, where the progress of affairs would be better known to him than it could be in Paris[546]. These directions he most certainly carried out, but on his own responsibility, and without any detailed instructions from his master. Indeed, his dispatch of May 31st, in which he informed the Emperor that he was about to march for the Tagus, brought down on him a scolding from Berthier for moving with only thirty-six pieces of artillery, and for not having sent back to Bayonne a mass of men of the train, who were to pick up horses there[547]. If Marmont had waited to procure more teams from the rear, he would never have joined Soult in time to raise the siege of Badajoz. It was the quickness of his movement which forced the Allies to abandon that enterprise.

Wellington had been from the first convinced that Marmont would move southward on hearing of Soult’s check at Albuera. It was for this reason that he made no scruple of depleting Spencer’s corps of reinforcements for the army in Estremadura: not only detachments, but probably the whole force would ere long have to be drawn to join the main army. On May 24th, as has been already mentioned, he ordered Howard’s British[548] and Ashworth’s Portuguese brigades to move towards him via Sabugal, Castello Branco, and the bridge of Villa Velha. Howard’s 1,500 men were to be taken away permanently from the 1st Division and added to the second, replacing in it three battalions which, owing to the carnage of Albuera, had to be sent home to recruit[549]. By June 8th Howard had reached Talavera Real, near Badajoz, and had formally been placed on the roll of the 2nd Division, which then rose once more to 4,000 men.

In compliance with his chief’s general directions that, if the[p. 436] French Army of Portugal turned southward, he himself was to make a corresponding movement, Spencer moved the Light and 1st Divisions from their cantonments towards Sabugal, on a rumour (which turned out to be premature) that Marmont had already started on the 26th of May. Learning that he had been misinformed, he brought them back again to their old cantonments between the Azava and the Coa on the 27th[550]. On the next day there arrived detailed and certain news from secret correspondents in Salamanca, to the effect that Marmont was concentrating his troops in two bodies, one, under his own command, at Salamanca itself, the other about Alba de Tormes and Tamames. The natural deduction from this information was that one column would march by the Puerto de Ba?os over the mountains to the Tagus, and the other by Ciudad Rodrigo and the Puerto de Perales. Wellington, on receiving the Spanish notes forwarded by Spencer, was delighted to find that his forecast was almost certainly right. ‘You will see by my letter yesterday,’ he wrote on June 2nd, ‘that I did not make a bad guess at the enemy’s probable movement, as described in the letters from our friends of the 28th, enclosed in yours of the 31st[551].’ His own dispatch of June 1st, to which he refers, had already told Spencer that the moment Marmont moved he was to bring up his right to Penamacor, and his left to Sabugal, leaving only a screen in front of Ciudad Rodrigo. But since it was not quite certain that the Marshal might not be projecting a mere raid into the Beira, either by the Almeida or the Sabugal road, no definite move was to be made till it was clear that the French columns were heading for the passes. This caution against over-hasty deductions kept Spencer very much in his original position till June 4th, the day on which Marmont’s movements became clear.

The Marshal had concentrated one division (Foy’s[552]) and all his cavalry at Salamanca on June 1st, while Reynier with two divisions, followed at a day’s distance by three more, moved from[p. 437] Tamames for the eastern pass, the Puerto de Ba?os. On the 3rd the Marshal and the smaller column started from Salamanca on the Rodrigo road, for the purpose of making a demonstration against Almeida, which was intended to hold Spencer in his present position, while Reynier and the main body of the French army should get two or three days’ start. Marmont reached Rodrigo on the 5th, and sallied out from it, cavalry in front, on the following morning. He was exposing himself to some danger, since Spencer had four divisions within call, though his cavalry was weak—only two British and two Portuguese regiments[553]. But, uncertain as to the strength of his enemy, Spencer gave way; the Light Division and Slade’s cavalry being drawn back from the line of the Azava, while the other three divisions marched for Sabugal under the cover of this screen. The road to Almeida being thus left unguarded, Pack, who was lying there with his Portuguese brigade, blew up such part of the enceinte as remained intact after Brennier’s explosion, and retired westward. For this both he and Spencer were blamed by Wellington, who said that they should have waited till the French actually made a move towards Almeida before destroying it. Its subsequent repair was made much more difficult by the supplementary damage needlessly carried out[554].

Marmont’s force, 5,000 foot and 2,500 cavalry, advanced in pursuit of Spencer by both the Gallegos and the Carpio roads. It was only on the latter, however, that any serious skirmishing occurred. Montbrun’s squadrons in overwhelming numbers pressed hard on the British cavalry screen, composed on this front of the 1st Dragoons and a squadron of the 14th Light Dragoons, under Slade. That brigadier, always, if his subordinates are to be trusted, a little over-slow in movement, allowed himself to be outflanked while executing a series of[p. 438] demonstrations to cover the rear of the infantry, and only got off without serious loss through the gallantry of a squadron of the Royals, who charged the turning force at an opportune moment, and gained time for the rest of the regiment to retire with some difficulty across the marsh of Nava de Aver[555]. A dangerous movement was got over with the loss of only four men killed and nine wounded.

Spencer’s whole force had reached Alfayates by the night of the 6th, retiring before a French column of not a third of its own strength. On the next day he received from Colonel Waters, one of Wellington’s great intelligence officers, news which cleared up the situation for him. Waters, who came in from a tour in the Sierra de Gata, reported that an immense French column was already passing the Puerto de Ba?os, thirty miles to the east, and that the force in front of the British did not apparently exceed the single division of infantry and the four brigades of horse which had been already seen and noted. There was no need therefore to retire towards the Zezere and the Estrada Nova, for Marmont was not making a serious raid into Portugal, but only covering the march of his main body by a demonstration. The truth of this intelligence was soon verified, for the Marshal, instead of pressing the British rear on the 7th, wheeled eastward, and went off by the Pass of Perales, leaving Spencer entirely unmolested.

Wellington’s original orders thus became valid and practicable, and Spencer was able to march his whole four divisions towards Badajoz and the main army, with the certainty that he was moving parallel to Marmont’s route, and that he could join his chief many days before the French columns could unite with Soult. For the invaluable bridge of Villa Velha now became of primary importance. It provided a good passage over the Tagus, leading straight to Estremadura by a short line, while the French, having no bridge lower down the river than Almaraz, were compelled to make a much longer detour, and to spend several days more than the British in transferring themselves to the southern seat of war.

The head of Spencer’s marching column was now formed by[p. 439] Anson’s light cavalry, who had moved (as it will be remembered) towards Castello Branco before the rest of the army[556]. Then came the infantry divisions, while Slade remained to cover the rear, and only marched on when the main body had already crossed the Tagus[557]. The route lay from Alfayates by Penamacor, S?o Miguel d’Arche, Castello Branco, Villa Velha, Niza, and Portalegre. Anson crossed the Tagus at the bridge of Villa Velha on June 11th, the Light Division on June 12th, the 1st Division on the 14th-15th, Pack’s Portuguese and the 6th Division on June 15th-16th. Slade’s cavalry, who had waited behind near Castello Branco till it should be certain that no French were showing in this direction, only came over the river on the 19th. All this was rough marching, in hot weather, over bad roads, and the troops suffered somewhat from sunstroke and from occasional lack of water in the mountains. But the transport worked fairly well in spite of all difficulties, and food only once failed to be distributed regularly[558]. By dint of moving as far as was possible in the early morning and the evening hours, the divisions made good time, and the distances covered exceeded on several days twenty miles in the twenty-four hours[559].

On the 13th the head of the infantry column was at Niza, only[p. 440] twenty miles from Portalegre, and fifty from Badajoz, while its rear had passed Castello Branco and was nearing the Tagus. Wellington was therefore able to contemplate the situation with serenity. Spencer’s whole force would be able to join him long before Marmont could unite with Soult. He ordered that each of the divisions, as it reached Portalegre, should take several days’ rest before moving on to Campo Mayor and Elvas.

The French army meanwhile had endured a much longer and more fatiguing march. The head of Reynier’s column, moving by Fuente Roble, Ba?os, and Bejar across the chain of the Sierra de Gata, reached Plasencia on the 9th and Almaraz on the 11th. Marmont and the smaller column which had demonstrated against Spencer fell into the rear of the main body at Malpartida near Plasencia on the 14th[560]. The passage of the Tagus at Almaraz took longer than had been expected, because pontoons which had been ordered down from Madrid had failed to appear, and the whole army had to be ferried over by driblets on the flying-bridge already existing there. But though strung out over fifty miles of road by this mischance, the Army of Portugal at least got the advanced squadrons of its light cavalry to Truxillo on the 14th[561] and to Merida on the 17th. The head of the infantry column was a day’s march behind, and reached Merida on the 18th, with the main body trailing down the mountain road from Truxillo behind it. Soult’s advanced guard was already in possession of the town and bridge of Merida, and the junction of the Armies of Andalusia and Portugal was secured.

But meanwhile Wellington had retired from their neighbourhood. On the afternoon of the 10th the orders had been issued for the withdrawing of all the guns from the siege-batteries before Badajoz, and by the next morning many of them were already en route for Elvas. All through the 11th and 12th convoys of ammunition, platforms, fascines, wool-packs, &c., were being sent to the rear, and by the night of the last-named day[p. 441] there was nothing left in the trenches or the camps save a small daily store for the troops, who were kept to blockade the fortress as long as was prudent. For it was well that the garrison should be straitly shut in, and forced to consume as much of their provisions as possible; Wellington knew that they were only rationed up to the 20th, and there was a bare chance that Soult or Marmont might be delayed by some unforeseen mishap. Nothing of the kind happened, however, and on the 13th Soult began to stir. He had been joined by Drouet’s long-expected corps on that morning; it had accomplished a most circuitous march from Valladolid, by Madrid, Toledo, the pass of Despe?aperros and Cordova, in which it had consumed more than a month (May 11th-June 13th). All Drouet’s corps was composed of 4th battalions of regiments belonging to the 1st or 5th Corps, and the provisional brigade of cavalry which accompanied him consisted of 3rd and 4th squadrons belonging to dragoon regiments of the Army of the South. These were at once treated as drafts, and amalgamated with the depleted units which had been so much cut up at Albuera. The 5th Corps and the other regiments present with Soult had 4,000 men drafted into their ranks[562], and once more became strong. There remained over one provisional division, 5,000 strong, which consisted of 4th battalions whose regiments were absent with Victor before Cadiz[563]. Drouet’s arrival gave Soult a total force of some 28,000 men, which made him still unable to face Wellington with his own unaided strength; but he knew that he could count on Marmont’s approach with 30,000 more within a week.

If he pressed in upon Badajoz before the junction took place, he would risk the very real danger that Wellington might march against him with every available man, and force him to another battle. He therefore first sent cavalry along the high[p. 442]roads towards Villafranca and Los Santos, and only when they reported that there was no British infantry in front of them, moved up his main body to Villafranca and Almendralejo (June 16th). Reconnaissances were pushed towards the bridges of Merida and Medellin, where the Army of Portugal was to be expected. As he kept very far from Wellington’s front, Soult’s march was unmolested; the British general had concentrated the 4th and 2nd Divisions and Hamilton’s Portuguese on the old Albuera position on the 14th of June, and could have brought up the 3rd and 7th and Ashworth’s Portuguese to join them in a few hours. But he was not going to take offensive action, and since Soult kept well away from him, he waited till he had news that the two French armies would get in touch at Merida on the 17th, and retired with his whole army beyond the Guadiana on that day.
SECTION XXVII: CHAPTER II
WELLINGTON ON THE CAYA. JUNE-JULY 1811

On the morning of June 17th the five divisions of the Anglo-Portuguese army which had hitherto remained on the south bank of the Guadiana crossed that river, and retired to the positions along the line Elvas, Campo Mayor, Ouguella, which Wellington had already selected for them. The water was low, and the bulk of the troops used the fords between Jerumenha and Badajoz[564] which are practicable during the summer months, except after days of exceptional rain[565]. Head quarters were moved back to the country-house known as the Quinta de S?o Jo?o, near S?o Vicente, a spot equidistant from Elvas and Campo Mayor. The 7th Division, from the north side of Badajoz, made a corresponding movement, and fell back into the same general line. Spencer’s column from the Beira was now all across the Tagus, save Slade’s cavalry and the 5th Division, and its head was resting at Portalegre, to which its rear was rapidly coming up. As there are only two marches between Portalegre and Elvas, it was clear that the two sections of the allied army were certain of their junction. For since on the 18th Marmont’s column-head had only reached Merida, and Soult’s was at Almendralejo, it would take some days for the two French armies to draw together, and concert further operations on the northern side of Badajoz.

But there was one section of the allied forces which Wellington was anxious not to withdraw across the Guadiana, but to send[p. 444] on another quest, and all his future movements depended on the march of this corps. The moment that Soult began to advance from Llerena on the 14th, and to edge off in the direction of Merida and Marmont, he had left the western roads into Andalusia uncovered. Except a trifling detachment at Guadalcanal, there was now no force protecting Seville on that side. From the day that he got the news of the Marshal’s northerly march, Wellington began to press General Blake to return at once into his old haunts in the Condado de Niebla, passing round the left rear of the enemy, and to begin to threaten Seville. There was now nothing to prevent him from doing so, and it was well known that the Andalusian capital was left to a scanty garrison, largely composed of convalescents and untrustworthy Juramentados. As long as Soult lay at Llerena, he could easily throw a column to the flank to succour Seville; but when he had moved on, this was no longer in his power. As early as June 10 Wellington had written to Casta?os[566] that Soult would ultimately move on Merida, and that Blake would then be able to slip into Andalusia either by the route of Xeres de los Caballeros and Fregenal, or if he preferred a safer though longer road, by that hugging the Portuguese frontier, following which he would emerge into Spain by Mertola. He could not be stopped on either route, and his appearance before Seville would bring back Soult in haste from Badajoz, and cure him of any desire to cross the Guadiana or to besiege Elvas. On June 12th Wellington ordered his commissaries to prepare rations at Mertola for the benefit of the Spaniards, who would probably be in their usual state of semi-starvation, and wrote to Blake to urge him to march at once[567]. The Captain-General consented to move, but asked for more food; he was told in reply that he should be fed from Jerumenha to Mertola while he was on Portuguese soil, but must rely on his own exertions while he was in Spain. On the morning of the 17th Blake crossed the Guadiana at Jerumenha with Loy’s 1,000 horse, the 10,000 infantry of Zayas and Ballasteros, and two batteries, and started to march down-stream for his destination. He was quite out of touch with[p. 445] the enemy, and so well protected by the Guadiana and the mountains that it was certain that his movement would be unobserved. Marching fast, he reached Mertola on June 22nd, and Castillejos, across the Andalusian frontier, on the 24th. Thus Wellington was serenely confident, when the enemy came up against his front, that he had thrown a bomb behind them, whose explosion would cause no small stir, and infallibly draw back a large section of the Army of Andalusia to defend Seville. Without these troops Soult would be in no condition to attack him[568], even with Marmont’s aid. The crisis between Elvas and Badajoz, therefore, could only last for a few days.

Meanwhile it had to be faced, and from the 22nd to the 29th of June Wellington might have found himself engaged in a general action on any day of the week. Soult and Marmont had met at Merida on the 18th—the day after Wellington’s army had crossed the Guadiana. The elder marshal had overwhelmed the younger with compliments—it was the first time, he said, that the Army of Portugal had done anything for the Army of the South; with a colleague who was unselfish and enterprising, he felt himself able to undertake any task[569]. It was settled that the combined armies should march against the Albuera positions next morning, in three columns. Marmont and his six divisions would move along the bank of the Guadiana by the road running through Lobon and Talavera Real: the main body of the Andalusian forces would take the route Almendralejo-Solana-Albuera. One division detached by Soult (it was the ten battalions of Conroux, the undistributed fraction of Drouet’s 9th Corps) was to turn the British line by a flanking movement through Almendral to Valverde. Thus just 60,000 men were put in motion, Marmont having brought about 32,000 of all arms, while Soult, including Drouet, had about 28,000. Expecting an action, for Wellington was known to have been at Albuera on the 16th, and his departure was unsuspected, the three columns advanced cautiously, and ready to deploy. But[p. 446] no enemy was found, and by the evening of the 19th it was known that the Anglo-Portuguese were all behind the Guadiana. At dusk the head of Marmont’s light cavalry got in touch with the garrison of Badajoz, and learnt that the last of the Allies had disappeared from in front of its walls on the 16th. Phillipon was justified of his long and obstinate defence: on the very day before his half-rations would have given out, and at the moment when he was thinking seriously of blowing up his works, and making a dash to get away, the expected succours had appeared.

On the 20th Marmont entered Badajoz in triumph, amid the blare of military music, and a few hours later Soult arrived and exchanged felicitations with him and with the trusty governor. The two main columns of each of their armies converged on the fortress, but Briche’s light cavalry and the divisions of Conroux and Godinot went to Olivenza, to see if by chance the Allies were holding that unlucky and ill-protected town. It was found empty (June 21st), the small Portuguese garrison having retired to Elvas on the 17th.

With 60,000 men in hand (or more, if the 3,500 bayonets of the Badajoz garrison are counted) and with one bridge and many good fords at their disposition, for the crossing of the Guadiana, the two marshals had the power to thrust a general action upon their adversary—unless indeed he should retire far beyond the Portuguese frontier, and so give them the chance of laying siege to Elvas. It remained to be seen what was his purpose, and on June 22nd a general reconnaissance on the further bank of the Guadiana was carried out. On the left Godinot’s division advanced from Olivenza to a point opposite Jerumenha, where, being very visible from the further bank, it was furiously but ineffectively cannonaded by the Portuguese garrison. Two dragoon regiments under General Bron forded the river, but found no allied troops in this direction. On the right, Montbrun, with two cavalry brigades of the Army of Portugal, passed the Badajoz bridge, and marched on Campo Mayor. After driving in a cavalry screen belonging to De Grey’s and Madden’s regiments, he found himself feeling the front of a defensive line, which he estimated at two division of infantry and 1,400 horse, and could get no further for[p. 447]ward[570]. He returned to report that Wellington was showing fight.

In the centre, where Latour-Maubourg in person, with fourteen squadrons of dragoons and Polish lancers, forded the Guadiana almost in front of Elvas, there was hard fighting, ending in a petty disaster for the allied outposts. Here the cavalry screen was formed on the right by the 2nd Hussars of the King’s German Legion, on the left by the 11th Light Dragoons. The French column drove in the pickets of the hussars, who resisted from the water’s edge onward with great obstinacy. Presently the main body of this weak corps (only two squadrons strong[571]) came up, and with more courage than discretion charged the leading French regiment, which they broke. But being outflanked by the enemy’s reserves, they were surrounded on three sides, and had to cut their way out with a loss of three officers wounded, two dead, and twenty prisoners. The remains of the hussars rallied behind the Quinta de Gremezia, where they were presently joined by the main body of the 11th Light Dragoons. The enemy pushed them no further, but turning to the right swept along Wellington’s outpost line in the direction of Badajoz. By so doing they found themselves in the rear of the outlying picket of the 11th, formed by Captain Lutyens’s troop. This little force had, by some mischance, not paid much attention to the disturbance in front of the hussars, nor had any orders been sent to them by their brigadier (Long) to bid them be cautious as to their flank. Warned at the last moment by a German sergeant, Lutyens had just collected his men, and was about to retire, when he saw a body of cavalry, not on his flank but directly in his rear, cutting him off from Elvas. Thinking that a bold dash was his only chance, he closed up his men and charged the front French squadron, which he broke through. But a second line was behind, and he and his whole[p. 448] party of sixty-four sabres were ridden down and captured[572]. Only one wounded officer (Lieutenant Binney) cut his way through and brought the news of the mishap[573].

Wellington, with his usual clear perception, attributed this little disaster to the fact that the two regiments engaged had both landed in the Peninsula only a few weeks before, and were utterly unpractised in outpost duty. The hussars ought to have retired skirmishing—it was not their duty to try to fight five regiments of French. The light dragoon pickets had clearly not kept touch with the detachments on their flanks, or they would have heard of the advance of the enemy in force, and would not have been surrounded before they were aware that the French had got well round their rear. ‘This disagreeable circumstance,’ he writes, ‘tends to show the difference between old and new troops. The old regiments of cavalry, throughout all their service, with all their losses put together, have not lost so many men as the 2nd Hussars and the 11th Light Dragoons in a few days. However, we must make the new as good as the old[574].’ Wellington also blamed General Long. ‘Let him attend to the directions he before received from Sir Stapleton Cotton, to throw out only small picquets of observation on the Caya and Guadiana. If he had had his whole brigade, instead of one large picquet, on the Caya, he could not have prevented the enemy from advancing.... This principle is well known and understood in the army, and if it had not been acted upon invariably, we should have lost all our cavalry long ago, in the way in which Captain Lutyens lost the picquet of the 11th this morning[575].’

[p. 449]By the evening of the 22nd the two French marshals, as the result of their wide-spreading reconnaissances, were fully aware that Wellington lay in force from Campo Mayor to Elvas, and had no intention of retiring. But they had not been able to make out the details of his position, which lay across an undulating country wooded in many parts, and not to be embraced in a single view from any commanding spot. As a matter of fact their adversary had now got up all his troops; the last division from the Beira came into touch with the main body on the morning of the 23rd. Elaborate orders issued for the conduct of the army in case the French should advance for battle, show what were the intentions of Wellington[576].

His front extended from Ouguella near the Gebora river almost to Elvas, a distance of twelve miles. Ouguella was a little town with mediaeval fortifications, susceptible of defence for some hours. It was garrisoned by two companies of Portuguese from Elvas. Beyond it rises the mountain of the Dos Hermanas, and there is no practicable route to turn it, save by an immense détour in the direction of Albuquerque, so that the flank was very secure. Between Ouguella and Campo Mayor lay the 3rd and 7th Divisions under Picton. Campo Mayor had been repaired since its recapture, and had received a Portuguese garrison; it had some heavy guns (24-pounders) which would sweep the level ground in front of it. West of this fortress lay the allied centre under Hill, composed of the 2nd and 4th Divisions and Hamilton’s Portuguese, extending from Campo Mayor to the Caya. Beyond that river in the direction of Elvas, in a somewhat ‘refused’ position leaning backward to the north-west, lay the three brigades of the 1st Division, under Spencer, forming the right wing, and resting on the great fortress as their flank-guard. This formed the front line. The reserves were the Light Division on the Monte Reguingo in front of Arronches, ready to support Picton, and the 5th and 6th Divisions, which were on the Portalegre road, échelonned in advance from that place, behind Spencer, and able to reinforce the right or[p. 450] centre. The cavalry was out in front, Madden’s Portuguese on the left, Long’s brigade on the right, with De Grey’s, Slade’s, and Anson’s regiments ready in reserve to transfer themselves where they should be wanted[577]. The whole force available was about 46,000 infantry, of which 29,000 were British, 5,000 cavalry, of which 1,400 belonged to the weak Portuguese brigades of Madden, Otway, and Barba?ena, and 14 batteries with 80 pieces and 2,800 gunners. The gross total was 54,000, not including two regular and two militia regiments of Portuguese forming the garrison of Elvas. Thus the allied army, though still appreciably inferior in numbers to the enemy, more especially in the cavalry arm, was strong enough to take the defensive in a good position[578]. Every available regular unit in[p. 451] Portugal had been gathered in by the 23rd, even Pack’s and Barba?ena’s small Portuguese brigades, which had remained down to the last possible moment in the Beira. The ground was most formidable for defence, covered by three fortresses, and having in its front an open plain which, though interspersed with occasional groves, was sufficiently commanded by the heights on the British flanks to make it impossible for any large body of troops to move across it in any direction without being detected. Wellington had placed observation parties at the many ‘Atalayas,’ the old Moorish watch-towers, which line the Portuguese frontier, and had arranged for a system of flag-signalling to convey news from one flank to the other. There were also warnings to be given by gun-fire, from pieces detailed for that purpose at Ouguella and Campo Mayor[579]. The cross-roads along the rear of the position being good, and the Caya fordable in many places, Wellington thought that he was certain of being able to transfer troops with swiftness and security to any part of the line that might be threatened. The only way in which the enemy could approach him unseen would be by moving at night, and even so there would be ample warning, since the cavalry pickets were out far in front of the line, and would give notice betimes. Moreover, a night-march of some nine miles out from Badajoz over unknown ground, towards an undiscovered position, would have little temptation for the enemy. The danger of blundering into a trap in the dark would be too great.

But as a matter of fact the French Marshals were not proposing to attack. They had learnt that Spencer’s divisions were up, so that the whole of the Anglo-Portuguese army was in front of them, and they shrank from committing themselves to a general action. Marmont wrote to Berthier on June 21st, Soult on June 22nd, and in neither of their dispatches is there the least intention displayed of making any further offensive move. Both state that they intended to attack the Albuera position on the 19th, if Wellington had stayed in it. ‘The enemy,’ says Marmont,[p. 452] ‘retired in haste, repassed the Guadiana, and returned into Portugal, without leaving us any chance of tackling him. It is tiresome that he would not make trial of his fortune, for a decisive victory would infallibly have marked our arrival in this region.’ Soult, in very similar terms, writes: ‘The Duke of Ragusa and I had resolved to give battle, but Lord Wellington prudently retreated before we could come up with him. Yet he had 60,000 men, of whom 30,000 were English, including General Spencer’s divisions just drawn in from the north, 14,000 Portuguese, and 16,000 Spaniards; there were 5,000 cavalry among them. It is vexatious that no general action could take place: our success would not be doubtful. But we may hope that another occasion may present itself, especially if the Army of Portugal continues to keep in touch with the Army of the South, and communicates with it, as it is now doing. Of that I have no doubt, from the alacrity with which the Duke of Ragusa marched to join in the relief of Badajoz with all his disposable forces.’ Soult then proceeds to state with great gravity that Albuera was a signal victory, and the sole cause of the preservation of Badajoz—ignoring the fact that he retreated sixty miles after it, and could not move again till he had been joined by Drouet and Marmont[580].

If Soult wanted another signal victory of the type of Albuera he had only to march nine miles towards Campo Mayor, on the day after he wrote this dispatch to Berthier. The temptation was surely great, since the defeat of Wellington’s army would have shaken to its foundations the whole defence of the Peninsula. To assemble the force now lying by Badajoz, Andalusia and Leon had been stripped of all disposable troops, and left exposed to the raids of the Spanish Armies of Galicia and Murcia, and to the omnipresent guerrilleros, who had already cut communications in every direction. If Wellington could be beaten, the concentration was justified; if he were left unmolested nothing had been gained, save the reprovisioning of Badajoz—and the game might go on for ever. Battle was now offered to the Marshals if they chose to accept it—the recon[p. 453]naissance of June 22nd proved that the Allies had taken up a position and were standing on it.
General Map of Estremadura

Enlarge  ESTREMADURA

But neither Soult nor Marmont would advance. The cause of their reluctance to engage was undoubtedly a moral one. As Napier very truly remarks in a typical sentence[581], ‘Marmont’s army was conscious of its recent defeats at Bussaco, at Sabugal, at Fuentes de O?oro; the horrid field of Albuera was fresh; the fierce blood there spilt still reeked in the nostrils of Soult’s soldiers.’ The generals, no less than the rank and file, felt a qualm at the idea of attacking Wellington in a position which he had taken up with deliberation, and where he showed himself serenely expectant of their attack. They were aware that an attempt to dislodge him would be rendered very tiresome by the fact that Elvas and Campo Mayor protected his line. They over-valued his forces by the number of Blake’s army, which, till the 24th June, they wrongly supposed to be still with him. So contenting themselves with dictating pompous dispatches concerning the importance of the relief of Badajoz—which was indeed a notable advantage—they went each upon his separate way. Instead of attempting to inflict a defeat on Wellington, the Marshals did no more than patch up a scheme by which they thought he might be contained and held in check for the present. In short, the offensive spirit was gone: the French armies in Spain found themselves thrown upon the defensive; and so things were to remain for the rest of the Peninsular War. The offensive, though it was hardly realized as yet, had passed to Wellington[582].

[p. 454]Meanwhile the Allies could not tell what might be the intentions of the enemy. Seeing the enormous advantage that a victory would bring the French, and remembering the way in which they had stripped all Spain of troops in order to produce the army which now lay opposite him, Wellington thought that he was to be attacked, and continued for some days to perfect his preparations. The period of intent waiting was from the 23rd to the 28th of June, during which nothing was to be made out concerning the main purpose of the French. Petty cavalry reconnaissances in the direction of the Albuquerque and Montijo roads, much moving about of small columns between Olivenza and Badajoz, were observed—but no certain deductions could be drawn from them. ‘No judging what he means yet: meanwhile everything is ready for him,’ wrote D’Urban, Beresford’s chief of the staff, in his diary on June 25th. As a matter of fact, the small movements hitherto observed were merely matters of foraging and exploration, and had no occult meaning. On the 27th, however, there was something definite to be learnt; on the morning of that day Godinot’s division blew up the walls of Olivenza, and marched to Valverde. This disappearance of the French left wing might have meant that all the columns were being drawn in for an attack in the centre; but it might also mean that Soult was about to send back troops to Seville. That the latter was the true interpretation was shown on the 28th, when Godinot definitely marched not towards Badajoz, but southward along the chaussée leading to Andalusia by Los Santos and Monasterio. It was certain that, if Soult was sending away men from the front, he could not be intending to attack, since every man would be required, if a dash at the Anglo-Portuguese lines was in contemplation. When Wellington had news from the peasantry of Godinot’s southward march on the 29th June, he could see that the die had been cast, and that he need no longer look for an attack upon his lines. He was soon afterwards informed that two divisions were gone southward, not[p. 455] merely one; but for some time he could get no certitude of the departure of the second division, though it was perfectly true that this unit (Conroux’s ten battalions of Drouet’s old corps) had departed almost immediately after Godinot.

What had happened was that on June 24th, the fourth day after the entry of the two Marshals into Badajoz, Soult had informed Marmont that he had such bad news from Andalusia that he must return at once to Seville with some of his troops. It was not so much Blake’s diversion which was working[583]—the French had learnt of his start on the 24th, but did not know that he had reached the Condado de Niebla—as the tidings of the spread of the insurrection in the Ronda mountains, and of threatening movements by Freire’s Army of Murcia against the 4th Corps. The force in Eastern Andalusia had lent so much to Soult’s field army[584], and so much more to garrison the province of Cordova[585], that it was much under strength. There were only 9,000 men, or less, left in the kingdom of Granada, and the Murcian army was 14,000 strong. Marmont refused to take Soult’s fears seriously, being (as he himself tells us[586]) convinced by this time that his colleague was wanting to throw all the responsibility of keeping Badajoz safe and ‘containing’ Wellington on the Army of Portugal. He replied that unless Soult promised to leave him the whole of the 5th Corps, and all Latour-Maubourg’s cavalry, he should order his troops to march for Truxillo and Almaraz, and throw the charge of Badajoz on the Army of the South, which might keep it if it could.

Soult was forced to assent to this demand, and took away only Godinot’s and Conroux’s provisional divisions, and three regiments of cavalry. The 5th Corps, now placed under Drouet[587], and six dragoon regiments, were left behind on the Guadiana, to enable[p. 456] Marmont to maintain a safe defensive against Wellington. They made up some 15,000 men, which, with the 32,000 of the Army of Portugal, provided a force quite insufficient to attack the Allies, yet large enough to prevent a siege of Badajoz. For no general, least of all the cautious commander of the Anglo-Portuguese army, would undertake to besiege a fortress of the first class, situated on two sides of a broad river, with 54,000 men, when a covering force of 47,000 men was supporting it in the near vicinity.

Meanwhile, for a fortnight after Soult had departed from Badajoz for Seville on June 28th, Marmont and Drouet on one side of the Guadiana, and Wellington on the other, stood observing each other, and waiting each for some move on the part of his adversary. The British general knew that the French in his front were no longer strong enough to attack him on his positions around the Caya. But he must keep his army concentrated, since, if he made detachments in any direction, Marmont might yet make a dash at Elvas; and that place, though it had been much improved of late[588], during the weeks when an attack on it seemed probable, still left something to be desired, especially in the quality of the guns on its walls—our old acquaintances of the siege of Badajoz, and their brethren. As long as Marmont and Drouet remained massed near Badajoz the allied army could not disperse.

On the other hand, the French generals were compelled to keep together for a time, in order to superintend the victualling of Badajoz, whose magazines were absolutely empty at the moment of its relief. If they had drawn back into cantonments, and scattered their men, Wellington might have thrown a light corps and cavalry across the Guadiana, and have established once more a blockade of the fortress. Accordingly, from the 28th of June to the 15th of July the Army of Portugal and the 5th Corps remained concentrated in the quadrilateral Badajoz-Merida-Almendralejo-Almendral, sweeping the country-side for provisions. Each regiment was ordered to deposit in the[p. 457] magazines of Badajoz a prescribed number of fanegas of wheat or maize, making in all six months’ rations for a garrison of 4,000 men. North of the Guadiana the French cavalry ranged about the region around Montijo and Torre del Fresno, where they were in constant touch with Wellington’s exploring squadrons sent out from Campo Mayor and Ouguella: but no serious collisions occurred. At last, on July 15th it was reported that Badajoz was fully provisioned, and Marmont informed Drouet that he was about to disperse his army in cantonments reaching as far as the Tagus, since northern Estremadura was wholly exhausted. He would keep a division at Truxillo, half-way between Merida and the Tagus, and the rest of his army could be brought back at the shortest notice, if the Anglo-Portuguese should make a forward move. Drouet, after changing the garrison of Badajoz for new battalions of the same regiments which had endured the two sieges of May and June, and confiding its charge once more to the trusty Phillipon, drew back the 5th Corps to Zafra, Los Santos, and Merida, leaving Briche’s light cavalry at Santa Marta to keep the communication with Badajoz open. The Marshal and the general calculated that if Wellington should once more come forward, they could join again at Merida in six or seven days to ‘contain’ him. He could do nothing against Badajoz in the short time that would elapse before their concentration.

But Wellington had for the present no further designs against the fortress which had cost him so much useless labour. The moment that Marmont’s departure was announced to him, he too dispersed his army into cantonments. The banks of the Caya and Guadiana were notorious for their fever, and the troops were already beginning to suffer from it. On the 18th of July orders were issued for the 3rd and 6th Divisions to march for Castello Branco, the 7th for Niza, the 1st and 5th for Portalegre, the 4th for Estremos and then for Pedrog?o, the Light Division for Castello de Vide and Montalv?o. Only the 2nd and Hamilton’s Portuguese remained in the neighbourhood of Elvas—the former at Villa Vi?osa, the latter at Fronteira and Souzel, a little further to the north-west[589]. Hill retained charge of these[p. 458] two divisions, which formed the Anglo-Portuguese Army of the South for the next twelve months. His allowance of cavalry consisted of Barba?ena’s and Otway’s Portuguese brigades, and Long’s and De Grey’s British brigades, which are for the future spoken of as the ‘second cavalry division’ of the allied army. Its command was given not to Lumley, who had used the troops so effectively during the late campaign, for he had just gone on sick leave to England. It went to Sir William Erskine, of whom Wellington could find no more to say, when proposing him to Beresford for this post, than that he would at any rate do better than Long, and that, if very blind, ‘which is against him at the head of cavalry,’ he was at any rate very cautious[590]. The fact was that Erskine had given grave dissatisfaction at Sabugal and elsewhere, and that the Commander-in-Chief wished to shunt him on to some new line, where he would have less responsibility. Yet the experiment of trusting him with two cavalry brigades was a risky one!

There was more reorganization carried out in the allied army during the months of June, July, and August 1811 than at any other period of Wellington’s command. Owing to the arrival of more cavalry regiments,[591] there were by September 1st six cavalry brigades in existence instead of three, and they contained thirteen regiments instead of the original seven which had served in 1810 and the early months of 1811. Wellington’s mounted strength had been almost doubled—though most of the corps arrived too late to be available when the French were showing such a preponderant cavalry force on the Caya in June. But in the next campaign Wellington was to be, for the first time[p. 459] since his arrival in the Peninsula, possessed of an adequate proportion of mounted men.

As to the infantry, the 1st Division (as we have already seen[592]) had given a brigade to the 2nd to repair the losses of Albuera. The 2nd Division had taken over Howard’s brigade from the 1st, and had consolidated the remains of Colborne’s and Hoghton’s shattered regiments from two brigades into one. The 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th Divisions were comparatively little altered, getting, between them all, only two more battalions on balance, after replacing certain old ones by newly arrived units[593]. But the 7th Division, hitherto containing only one British brigade (Sontag’s) was provided with a second one, by taking in Alten’s light infantry battalions, which had fought so well at Albuera.

The net result of all this change was that, when Wellington once more divided his army into a northern and a southern force in August, the latter (now under Hill) amounted to about 9,000 bayonets and nearly 4,000 sabres. This detachment having four cavalry brigades (five British and four Portuguese regiments) was able to ‘contain’ its normal adversary in Estremadura, Drouet’s 9th Corps, which had about the same number of cavalry and two or three thousand more infantry. Hill’s regular task was to cover Elvas and to keep Drouet in check, without committing himself to any large offensive operations, for which his force was manifestly inadequate.

But the Anglo-Portuguese northern corps, or main army, was now far stronger than it had ever been before, amounting to[p. 460] some 46,000 men, including 5,000 cavalry. It now became for the first time decidedly superior in numbers to its special opponent, the French Army of Portugal, which even after receiving its drafts and convalescents in the autumn did not amount to quite 40,000 men, and was very weak in cavalry, of which it did not possess more than 3,000. Clearly, then, for the future Marmont could not possibly take the offensive against Wellington with his own forces, and would have to depend for help on the Army of the North, if matters came to a crisis. He would be lucky if he were able to ‘contain’ the Anglo-Portuguese, and certainly could not think of doing more, unless he were able to get prompt reinforcements from Bessières—or, after that Marshal’s departure, from his successor, Dorsenne. Indeed, the Army of Portugal was so clearly inadequate to discharge the function of protecting the whole Spanish frontier from the Guadiana to the Douro, that the Emperor, though in October he once more proposed to Marmont an invasion of Portugal, was ultimately forced to make over to it 16,000 men from the Army of the North, the divisions of Souham and Bonnet[594]. But of this more in its own place. It must suffice here to say that the net results of the spring and summer campaigns of 1811 was to leave the French decidedly on the defensive all along the Portuguese border, and to transfer to Wellington the opportunity of trying the offensive. It was to be five months, however, before he succeeded in taking it up—his autumn operations of 1811 were tentative, and led to no definite results. From July to December there was much man?uvring, but little change came of it.
SECTION XXVII: CHAPTER III
EVENTS IN THE NORTH OF SPAIN DURING THE CONCENTRATION ON THE CAYA. DORSENNE AND THE GALICIANS. JUNE-AUGUST 1811

It is often forgotten by English writers that while the armies of Wellington, Soult, and Marmont faced each other near Badajoz in June-July 1811, only in the end to depart in different directions without a battle, there was a second and minor crisis going on in the north, which had important consequences. Wellington had designedly brought it about, because without it the French would have had much larger forces disposable for action against Portugal, and might have given much trouble by demonstrating against the Beira frontier.

When Marmont and Sir Brent Spencer, moving in parallel columns, transferred themselves in ten days from the banks of the Agueda and the Tormes to those of the Guadiana, the north-eastern angle of Portugal was almost stripped of troops. There remained only the militia divisions of Silveira[595] north of the Douro, in the province of Tras-os-Montes, and of Wilson and Trant south of the Douro, in front of Guarda and Celorico. The whole did not amount to 12,000 men, of inferior quality. Fortunately the French Army of Portugal had gone southward en masse. Marmont had left nothing behind him save the garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo and a great dép?t of convalescents, dismounted dragoons, and other odds and ends, at Salamanca. From them there was nothing to be feared.

But behind Salamanca lay Bessières’s Army of the North. The Duke of Istria had, very unwillingly, pledged himself to Marmont to take over the supervision of the frontiers of Leon, when the Army of Portugal marched for Badajoz. He had declared, when asked for help in May, that he had not a man to spare[p. 462] after providing for the duty already incumbent on him of holding down all Old Castile, Asturias, and Santander. As the Emperor kept assuring him, by angry dispatches from Paris, this was an exaggeration[596]. It was in his power to collect a small field army of 12,000 or 15,000 men, without giving up any essential point in his extensive sphere of operations; and in July he did so, much against his inclination, and suffered no harm by so doing. If such a force had been set to threaten northern Portugal during the concentration on the Caya, Wellington would have felt most uncomfortable. But occupation was found for Bessières from another quarter, and this was part of the British commander’s general scheme for the defence of the Peninsula. With the consent of General Casta?os, since he could only suggest and not command any operations to be undertaken by Spanish troops, Wellington had provided for an attack on the flank of Bessières by a force of which we have heard nothing for many months—the Army of Galicia[597]. If threatened on the Esla and the Orbigo, Bessières would be able to spare no attention for the Agueda.

At this time the Army of the North was not so strong in numbers as it became a few weeks later, when Napoleon’s ‘divisions of Reserve’ began to cross the Pyrenees. In June 1811 it consisted of only four infantry divisions, those of Generals Bonnet, Serras, Roguet, and Dumoustier, and of two brigades of cavalry under Wathier and Lepic. Bonnet’s division had been holding the central region of the Asturias and the city of Oviedo since it had conquered them in January 1810. In addition it had occupied a string of ports from Gijon to Santander, in order to keep off the English cruisers from their communication with the guerrilleros of the Cantabrian hills. Bonnet had a strong force, four full regiments of infantry, making 8,000 men, yet could never complete the conquest of the Asturias. Wherever he struck with a strong force he could[p. 463] penetrate, but any move far from his base at Oviedo brought down the enemy upon some of his isolated posts, which he had then to rescue by a swift return. His enemies were on the left hand the relics of the old Spanish Army of Asturias, now under General Losada, who hung about the mountains on the Galician frontier—on the right the great partisan chiefs Porlier and Longa, whose beat was in the sierras above Santander.

On the left of Bonnet lay Bessières’s second division, that of Serras, which had originally been assigned to the Army of Portugal in 1810, but had remained behind to watch the Galician Spaniards. Its head quarters were at Benavente; it held Astorga as an advanced post, and Leon as a flank-guard. From the latter place it communicated with Bonnet through the pass of Pajares. This was an enormous front for a division of 6,000 men to occupy, and that, too, one not composed of picked troops, but of miscellaneous units. For Serras had two Italian regiments (32nd Léger, 113th Line[598]) and two Polish and two Swiss battalions, so that much the larger half of his men were auxiliary troops and not native French.

On the other hand, there was nothing left to be desired in the two divisions of Roguet and Dumoustier, which held the central position in Bessières’s cantonments: they were all troops of the Young Guard, eleven regiments of tirailleurs, chasseurs, and voltigeurs; attached to them were three composite regiments of guard cavalry and a proportion of artillery—the whole made up of 15,000 men of the best quality. Dumoustier’s division was cantoned within the provinces of Valladolid and Palencia, Roguet’s within that of Burgos. On the south they had no enemies save the guerrilleros of the Guadarama and the Avila and Soria sierras, tiresome and elusive but not formidable foes. On the north, in the Liebana and the Cantabrian hills, Longa and Porlier were much more troublesome and dangerous. Their bands were well armed, and organized on the principles of a regular army, yet had not lost the power of rapid movement which was the true strength of the partida system. The sierras in which they operated were, including their foot-hills, some fifty[p. 464] miles broad, a chaos of passes and ravines. Countless expeditions against them had led to no final result. Like the holy men of old, when persecuted in one region they merely fled to another. If the flying columns and petty garrisons were withdrawn for a moment, they would be at the gates of Burgos or Santander within two days, and the high-roads Burgos-Vittoria and Burgos-Valladolid, the main arteries of communication with France, would be cut.

There was soon to be a fifth division in Bessières’s army, but it had not yet arrived from France—that of Souham, which formed (along with the divisions of Caffarelli and Reille) the great reinforcement poured by Napoleon into northern Spain during the late summer of 1811. But in June it was only beginning to march up from Marseilles, Turin, and Spezia, the distant garrisons from which it was to be drawn[599]. Before it arrived in Spain Bessières had ceased to command the Army of the North, and Dorsenne had taken his place. Hence (though Wellington was not aware of the fact) the months of June and July were exceptionally favourable for a move against the French flank in this direction.

In addition to his four infantry divisions, Bessières possessed Wathier’s brigade of light cavalry, and Lepic’s brigade of guard cavalry, together with some unbrigaded units such as the 130th of the Line (the fixed garrison of Santander)[600], the battalion of Neuchatel, which he had moved forward to Salamanca, a number of squadrons of gendarmes, and a quantity of drafts for the Armies of Portugal and the Centre, which had been stopped on their way south in a surreptitious fashion, by various post-commanders who wanted to strengthen their depleted detachments. In the autumn Marmont succeeded in extracting no less than 4,000 of his own men from the territories of the Army of the North, not without much friction with the local officers who wished to detain them[601].

[p. 465]The whole force between the borders of Navarre and those of Portugal was in June and July not less than 60,000 men, even before the three divisions of Souham, Reille, and Caffarelli came up from France. On the other hand, they had an enormous area to keep down, not less than a fifth of the whole surface of Spain. And if their regular enemies, the Armies of Galicia and Asturias, were weak, they had among the irregulars opposed to them the boldest and the most obstinate of all the guerrillero chiefs. Any serious move against a section of Bessières’s long line would cause disturbance over the whole of his viceroyalty, since to collect a serious force he would have to cut down the garrisons of many localities below danger-point.

It was on this fact that Wellington relied when he obtained Casta?os’s leave to set the Spanish Army of Galicia in motion. It was fortunately led at this moment by an active and enterprising chief, Santocildes, the hero of the defence of Astorga in 1810, who lent himself eagerly to the plan, though his army was not in good order. The cadres left behind in the north, when del Parque moved into Estremadura in the winter of 1809-10, were the worst and weakest of the old Army of Galicia, and though they had been filled up with local recruits, till the whole force had a nominal strength of 21,000 men, the organization was bad, and the want of well-trained and capable regimental officers very noticeable. The Junta of Galicia had spent more energy in 1810 on quarrels with the Captain-General Mahy than on the equipment of its army. Its weakest point was that it possessed only 600 regular cavalry—a defect that must be fatal if it left the mountains to descend into the plains of Leon. It was for this reason that Wellington advised Santocildes to form the siege of Astorga, to harass Bonnet in the Asturias, but not to quit the skirts of the friendly sierras.

On taking over charge of the whole kingdom of Leon from Marmont, Bessières came to the conclusion that he must draw in troops towards the south, lest he should be caught in a position in which he had no disposable central mass towards the Douro. Consequently on the 6th of June he sent orders to Bonnet to evacuate the Asturias and fall back by the pass of Pajares to Leon, in order to place himself in closer touch with Serras.[602] On[p. 466] the 14th, therefore, Bonnet left Oviedo and came over the mountains with three of his regiments, while the fourth went eastward parallel to the coast, in the direction of Santander, picking up in its retreat all the small garrisons which had been left to dominate the Asturian ports, and to prevent communication between Longa and Porlier and the English cruisers. By the 17th Bonnet lay at Leon with 6,000 men: he was just in time to support the scattered front line formed by Serras’s division against the attack which Wellington had planned. For Santocildes and the Army of Galicia had advanced against Astorga, quite without his knowledge, two days before he marched south from Oviedo.

The disposable force of the Spaniards consisted, after the weakest and least serviceable regiments had been told off for garrison duty at Corunna, Ferrol, Vigo, and other fortified places, of about 15,000 men. Santocildes brought his reserve from Lugo and the division of General Taboada, nearly 7,000 men and 600 horse, to Villafranca in the Vierzo, from which he advanced down the passes to Astorga on June 12th. A second division of 2,500 men under General Cabrera came forward at the same time from Puebla de Senabria, as far as the edge of the mountains above the Rio Tuerto, and demonstrated against La Baneza, the half-way post between Astorga and Benavente. The left wing, composed of Losada’s Asturians, was wanting: it had followed Bonnet when he began to retreat and had occupied Oviedo. Losada remained there himself, but sent one brigade to join the main army by a circuitous route[603], since the direct way by the pass of Pajares and Leon was blocked by Bonnet. This brigade under Casta?on did not get to the front till June 23rd.

On the 19th of June Santocildes found Astorga evacuated; the small garrison of 400 men had blown up part of the city walls, and absconded on that same morning. They fell back on Bonnet at Leon. Meanwhile Serras started to march northward from Benavente with 2,000 men, to ‘contain’ Santocildes, while Bonnet sent forward two regiments under his brigadier, Valletaux, to assist Serras. But their forces never met: the column[p. 467] from Benavente got engaged with Cabrera’s division near La Baneza, and could not push further forward. That from Leon found most of Taboada’s division placed across its path near Benavides, behind the river Orbigo, nine miles in front of Astorga (June 23). Valletaux, despising his enemy, crossed the stream and attacked, though the balance of numbers was against him. When the engagement had been for some hours in progress, Casta?on, with the brigade just arriving from Asturias, came down on his flank. The French were beaten: Valletaux fell, and his brigade lost over 300 men[604] in the combat, which the Spaniards name from the village of Cogorderos and the French from that of Quintanilla de Valle. The defeated force fell back beyond the Orbigo, and was succoured by Bonnet, with the rest of his troops from Leon. Meanwhile Serras retired towards Benavente, and called loudly for help to his chief, Bessières.

Santocildes, seeing that Cabrera had now nothing in front of him at La Baneza, called up his division to Astorga, and uniting it with the troops of Taboada and Casta?on marched against Bonnet on July 2nd. The French general, after trying to defend for some time the bridge of the Orbigo, found himself so outnumbered that he must retreat towards Leon. But before he had been driven back so far, first Serras from Benavente, and then Bessières himself, with Dumoustier’s division from Valladolid, came up to join him. The French, now 13,000 strong, advanced to seek a general action (July 18). Santocildes, showing great prudence, refused to fight in the plain, hastily abandoned Astorga and the banks of the Orbigo, and withdrew into the mountains south-west of Astorga, where he took post at Torienzo. The enemy did not pursue, and only a party of light cavalry entered Astorga, which it abandoned next day. For Bessières had received intelligence that his head quarters at Valladolid, which was almost ungarrisoned in the absence of Dumoustier’s division, had been attacked by the partidas of the southern sierras (July 15). At the same time General Dorsenne[p. 468] reported from Burgos that Mina had crossed into his government, deserting his more usual haunts in Navarre, and had united with Longa and Porlier. They had a large force and had cut the communications with Santander. On returning to Valladolid with the Guard division, Bessières found waiting there on July 25 his letters of recall to Paris. The Emperor had deposed him, partly in consequence of complaints as to his intractability made by King Joseph, partly because he was dissatisfied at the hopeless tone of his dispatches, in which (to his master’s discontent) he kept setting forth the thesis that the war in Spain was being conducted on a wrong system, and that the Army of the North was helpless[605]. His post was given to General Dorsenne, a man of inferior ability, though his operations prove him not to have been such a conceited imbecile as his jealous subordinate Thiébault alleges[606]. Indeed, his record in the north compares not unfavourably with that of Bessières, and he was decidedly more ready to aid his neighbours than the Duke of Istria—which was the main thing necessary among French generals in Spain.

On the departure of Bessières for Valladolid, his subordinates Bonnet and Serras had halted behind the Orbigo, holding La Baneza as their advanced point. Santocildes, who showed as much enterprise as prudence during his short tenure of command, learning that there were now only 6,000 or 7,000 men in front of him, came down again from his mountains on July 28th with all his three divisions, and advanced against them: they were forced, after some slight skirmishing, to abandon La Baneza and the line of the Orbigo, and to fall back on Leon. Santocildes advanced to the Esla, and roving detachments sent out from his front pushed forward as far into Old Castile as Sahagun and Palencia. The partidas got possession of the whole country-side, and the French garrisons of Zamora, Toro, Benavente, and Salamanca were completely cut off from their communication with Dorsenne’s head quarters at Valladolid.[p. 469] There was equal trouble in the provinces of Burgos and Santander, where Longa and Porlier long held occupied the Guard division of General Roguet, evading him when necessary, and always returning to give trouble when he had passed by.

Unfortunately for the Spaniards, Santocildes was at this moment superseded by General Abadia, whom Casta?os had sent to take general command of the ‘6th Army’. He was in every way inferior to his junior and predecessor, being neither so alert nor so cautious, and having a craze for unnecessary innovation in matters of detail, which might have been harmless in time of peace, but was vexatious when carried out during a campaign. Wellington had at first conceived great expectations from his intelligence[607], but soon became entirely disappointed with him.

Just before Abadia replaced Santocildes, the position of Dorsenne was wonderfully improved by the arrival on the Ebro of the division of Souham, 7,000 strong, which had been promised to him in June, and had been marching up from Marseilles for five weeks. The commander of the Army of the North at once turned over the province of Burgos to Souham, and moved forward from it the greater part of the Guard division of Roguet, which thus became free for operations in the open field. Caffarelli’s and Reille’s divisions were now also present in Biscay and Navarre, so that the available strength of the French in northern Spain was higher than it had been since the summer of 1810, and Dorsenne thought that his rear was adequately covered. He therefore marched with the two divisions of the Young Guard and his two cavalry brigades, to link his operations with those of Bonnet on the Esla. Dorsenne started from Valladolid on August 9th, marching in two columns, Dumoustier’s division by Mayorga and Valencia de Don Juan, Roguet’s by Villalpando and Benavente, so as to converge on La Baneza. Bonnet, strengthened by some reinforcements, advanced at the same time from Leon against the bridges of the Orbigo and Astorga, and Dorsenne, with a small reserve, followed by the road Valladolid-Valderas. It was evidently intended that Roguet’s division should turn the Spanish right, and drive the[p. 470] whole army northward, and away from Galicia, while it was attacked in front by Bonnet and Dumoustier.

Fortunately for his army, which was now about to be attacked by nearly 30,000 men, Abadia listened to the advice of Santocildes, and withdrew hastily to the hills when, on August 17th, his outposts were attacked. Cabrera’s division retired on its old post of Puebla de Senabria, and got into communication with Silveira’s Portuguese, who had come up to Braganza. Casta?on and the Conde de Belveder[608] (who had just relieved Taboada in command of the 2nd Division) were drawn back to the two passes above Astorga, those of Manzanal and Fuencebadon. Dorsenne, dividing his troops, attacked both, and carried them, not without severe fighting, on July 27th. The Spanish detachment in the Manzanal pass was badly cut up: that before Fuencebadon suffered less. The French lost General Corsin. Behind the passes there are two lines of retreat into Galicia, the northern and more obvious is the great chaussée to Corunna, via Villafranca and Lugo, which Sir John Moore followed in January 1809. The southern and more rugged is that by Ponferrada, Domingo Flores, and the Val de Orres to Orense, which La Romana took in that same historic retreat. This last road was now chosen by Abadia, for two reasons: the first was that by taking it he placed himself upon the flank of Dorsenne’s advance against the heart of Galicia, and forced the enemy either to turn against him, and follow him into a remote and desolate country, or (if he pressed on) to expose his communication with Astorga and Leon. The second reason was that he knew that Dorsenne had come lightly equipped, intending rather to drive his army out of the Astorga region than to conquer the whole province of Galicia; the French would not, therefore, be able to feed on the desolate route between Ponferrada and Orense, and would probably turn back, content with having cleared the plains of Leon.

This argument was correct. Dorsenne went no further on the great chaussée than Villafranca, which he sacked on August 29th, and then turned on his heel, refusing to press deeper into Galicia, or to pursue Abadia’s army. He marched back to[p. 471] Astorga on the 30th-31st, burning every village of the Vierzo on his way, and descended into the plains of Leon. Abadia followed cautiously, reoccupied Villafranca and Ponferrada, and pushed his outposts forward again to the edge of the mountains. It was found that the French were repairing Astorga, which they once more garrisoned, and held as an outpost till the next year. The ground occupied by the Army of Galicia was exactly the same on the 10th of September as it had been on the 10th of June, save that all Asturias was still clear of invaders. It was not till the late autumn that Bonnet once more made his appearance in that oft-invaded province.

The reasons of Dorsenne’s sudden retreat from the borders of Galicia were many and various. It must not be supposed that his expedition had been taken in hand with the object of conquering that province, as Napier seems to suggest[609]. Such a task would have required much longer preparation than he had been able to make: he had neither collected the stores and munitions that would have been required for so great an enterprise, nor made the necessary dispositions for the protection of the vast space behind him. When he marched against Abadia, he left nothing between the Ebro and the border of Portugal save Souham’s newly arrived division and a few of Serras’s battalions scattered in small garrisons at Leon, Benavente, Valladolid, &c. His movement of advance had been made to chase the Army of Galicia out of the plains, where it had been showing itself so persistently since June, and to relieve the pressure which it had brought upon Bonnet and Serras. There was no purpose of conquest underlying his march, only a desire to scour the valleys of the Orbigo and the Esla of tiresome intruders. The Spaniards were wholly mistaken in supposing that he retired from Villafranca because Abadia had shown a disposition to make a long resistance, or because the Junta had called out the alarmas, or general levée en masse of the province, raised on the principle of the Portuguese Ordenan?a. He could have gone on further if that had been his intention—but he had no such desire.

[p. 472]Not only were his munitions exhausted, but all the news behind him was unsatisfactory. Though the reinforcements from France had arrived on the Ebro, Old Castile was in the most disturbed condition. There had been a notable disaster at Santander on August 14th-15th, when Porlier, by a sudden concentration, had stormed the town, dispersing General Rouget’s[610] garrison, and had then swept away most of the minor posts around it; only Torrelavega had succeeded in beating off his assault. But when reinforcements came flocking in, the Spaniards had retired to the hills with 300 prisoners, and were threatening other points. The gates of Palencia and Valladolid had been insulted by partidas, who showed themselves boldly in sight of the walls, and established a loose blockade, which could only be pierced by the movement of considerable columns. But the most pressing point was Ciudad Rodrigo: Julian Sanchez had cut its communications with Salamanca, and had defeated small bodies of 300 or 400 men which had been sent to reopen them. A much larger force had to be detailed to throw provisions into the place in July, but by the end of August stores were again running low, and General Reynaud, the governor, whenever he could pass an emissary through the lines of the partidas, kept asking for help of all kinds.

But since Dorsenne started for his expedition against Astorga, the problem of getting food into Rodrigo had been complicated by the appearance of Wellington’s army on the Coa and the Agueda. On August 12th the head quarters of the Anglo-Portuguese army had been moved up from the south to Fuente Guinaldo, in the immediate neighbourhood of the blockaded fortress, and already on August 8th the garrison had detected British outposts—from the Light Division—in their immediate neighbourhood. Now, since Marmont and the Army of Portugal were still in the valley of the Tagus, and all Leon was still in the charge of the Army of the North, Dorsenne found himself responsible for the revictualling, indeed for the relief from blockade, of a fortress which might be beset by 40,000 men. It was absolutely necessary for him to return from the border of[p. 473] Galicia, and to concert matters with Marmont for a common movement against Wellington. For the field force of the Army of the North, which had just driven Abadia into the hills, was not over 28,000 strong, and obviously could not succour Rodrigo by its own unaided strength.

Returning to Valladolid early in September, with the two Guard divisions, and leaving Bonnet once more to observe the Galicians, Dorsenne opened pourparlers with Marmont for a general concentration against Wellington. Of this effort we must speak in its due place.

Meanwhile matters settled down in the northern field of operations. Bonnet was too weak to move, or to think of reoccupying his old post in the Asturias. Abadia’s army was much reduced in numbers, both by privations and by desertion: the last days of the late campaign, spent in the desolate Val de Orres, had been particularly trying to the troops. An English observer who saw them at Ponferrada described them as ‘in even worse condition than might be expected—half the soldiers without trousers, and wearing only capotes—while the clothing of the rest shows great need for improvement. They are a fine body of men, standing well, though deeply marked by privation, and as badly trained as equipped. The best corps can only man?uvre singly, not attempting movements of the line; the Toledo battalion broke down in attempting to change front en échelon. The cavalry are on a level with the infantry, move with wide gaps between squadrons, and cannot go accurately through the sword exercise. The horses might each be a Rosinante—the artillery as badly manned as horsed[611].’ The numbers were terribly low: it was doubtful whether the whole field force could produce 10,000 men, and they had started on the June campaign with 15,000.

Dilapidated, however, as the Army of Galicia might be at the end of its operations, it had done well, having kept the French Army of the North ‘contained’ for the many weeks during which Wellington was absent on the Guadiana. Bessières and Dorsenne had accomplished nothing positive during that time; and the territory held down by the invaders in September[p. 474] was less than it had been in June by the whole extent of the Asturias. It is absurd of Napier to state that ‘Galicia with its lordly Junta, its regular army, fortified towns, numerous population, and constant supplies from England, had less weight in the contest than the 5,000 Portuguese militia conducted by Trant and Wilson[612].’ The province, so far from being of no weight in the contest, did Wellington most useful service. The two diversions carried out by Santocildes, which twice compelled the Army of the North to mass all its available field troops on the Orbigo, were operations of the most profitable sort, and since the Galician always retired in time, led to no disasters of the kind that too often happened when a Peninsular general was overdaring. But while paying his just due to Santocildes, we must praise even more the unwearied activity of the chiefs of the Cantabrian bands and the guerrilleros of Old Castile and Leon. It was Longa and Porlier, and Julian Sanchez, who, with forces that were never very great in numbers, paralysed by their ubiquity and their unceasing enterprise the greater part of Bessières’s and Dorsenne’s troops. If they had not been in existence, the French might have found men enough to conquer Galicia, or to attack north-eastern Portugal in force. This was true throughout the whole of 1810 and 1811, and was a governing fact in the history of the Peninsular War. Even though the Emperor pushed 30,000 fresh infantry (the divisions of Souham, Reille, and Caffarelli) into northern Spain in July and August 1811, he was never able to make the communication between Bayonne and Madrid absolutely safe, or to call any region subdued which was not held down by a garrison altogether out of proportion to its population.

SECTION XXVII: CHAPTER IV
SOULT’S TROUBLES IN ANDALUSIA. JULY-SEPTEMBER 1811

After his departure from the Guadiana on June 28th, Soult found himself plunged into a new series of troubles, which were to continue all through the summer and autumn. Just as he was about to set out for Seville with two cavalry regiments as escort, following in the wake of Godinot’s and Conroux’s infantry, he received the unwelcome news that Blake, of whose march he had been aware since the 24th, had crossed the lower Guadiana near Mertola on June 23[613], and had invaded the Condado de Niebla with nearly 12,000 men. If Blake had struck straight at Seville there can be little doubt that he would have taken it, for General Daricau, the governor, hastened, on the first news of the approach of an enemy, to shut himself up in the fortified Cartuja Convent, with his scanty garrison of convalescents, drafts, and Juramentados. He had not the least hope of maintaining the large and turbulent city under control. But no one appeared to molest him, except some cavalry, who were easily driven off by cannon-shot. Blake, apparently disliking to present himself in the open plain of the Guadalquivir, had not marched on Seville, but sat down on June 30 to besiege the castle of Niebla, the capital of the region which he had invaded. It was the only French garrison left in western Andalusia, and was held by a battalion of 600 ‘Swiss’ in King Joseph’s service—a miscellaneous corps formed of deserters of all races from the Spanish and British armies, under a Colonel Fritzhardt. Blake lay for five days before the mediaeval castle with the division of Zayas, while Ballasteros, with the rest of the army, took a position to cover him against French troops coming[p. 476] from Estremadura, who (as was rightly suspected) were not long in appearing. The siege failed because Blake had brought no artillery with him—on account of the bad mountain roads he had sent his guns round from Mertola by Ayamonte, and they had not come up. An attempt to take the castle by escalade failed, and the Spanish general was sitting helplessly before its walls on July 2nd, when the news came that the French were upon him. Soult, hearing on his way southward of Blake’s raid, had turned both Conroux and Godinot against the invaders, and had continued his own route to Seville with no more than the cavalry and one infantry regiment. While Godinot marched on Niebla by Cala and Aracena, Conroux tried to cut in between Blake and the sea by a circuitous route by Fregenal, through the worst of the mountains, aiming at the ports of Huelva and Moguer. It was hoped that the Spaniards might be caught between the two divisions—but the quarry was too shy. Blake departed at the first alarm, and embarked at Ayamonte with Zayas’s division; Ballasteros, marching away into the hills which he knew so well, evaded Conroux, and passed for a time northward into the Sierra de Aroche. The cavalry under Penne Villemur did not abscond by water, but returned along the Portuguese frontier to Estremadura, where it joined the skeleton army of Casta?os, which still consisted of no more than six or eight battalions under Morillo and Carlos de Espa?a, some 3,000 or 4,000 men at most. Wellington had sent it back to Villa Vi?osa during the operations around the Caya, declining to use it in the fighting-line till it should be reorganized. Blake, whose embarkation at Ayamonte on July 8th had been accompanied by circumstances of disgraceful panic[614], returned to Cadiz with 7,000 men. Ballasteros followed him thither six weeks later, having descended from the hills and embarked at the mouth of the Guadiana at the end of August.

Blake’s Niebla expedition had been conducted with the greatest timidity and incompetence. Yet it had served Welling[p. 477]ton’s purpose much as he had intended, since it drew off 11,000 French troops into a remote corner of Andalusia for some weeks. It is true that Soult’s original withdrawal from the Guadiana was not caused by this diversion, but it had forced him to send away on a wild-goose chase troops urgently needed elsewhere. For if Conroux and Godinot had not marched to Niebla and Ayamonte, they would have gone straight to Granada, to reinforce the 4th Corps, which was, throughout the month of July, in considerable danger from the Murcians. It was not till August had begun that Soult was able to come to its aid, with the divisions which had been distracted to the far west by Blake’s expedition.

Of Freire’s Army of Murcia we have heard nothing since the unhappy rout of Baza (November 3, 1810). After that shock it had kept quiet for many a day, and only dared to move when, in April 1811, Soult began to make heavy requisitions on the 4th Corps, in order to form the army that marched for Albuera. Further drafts had been called westward in the end of May, so that Leval, who succeeded Sebastiani as commander of the corps about this time, was left with numbers quite inadequate to hold down the broad kingdoms of Jaen and Granada. This, of course, gave Freire the chance of accomplishing something useful: and, leaving the frontiers of Murcia, he began to press forward against the French posts. He had at this time a force of three infantry divisions, under La Cuadra, Sanz, and Creagh, and two weak cavalry divisions under Osorio and Ladrón. The whole amounted, after making deductions for the garrison of Cartagena (2,000 men) to nearly 12,000 bayonets and 1,500 sabres[615]. In May Freire began to push forward cautiously, with his cavalry and two divisions on the high-road Lorca-Baza-Granada, and a smaller force, consisting of La Cuadra’s division, on the side road which leads, by Huescar and Pozoalcon, to the valley of the upper Guadalquivir and the kingdom of Jaen. His progress was so slow that the French were able to withdraw at their leisure before him, without any loss. Leval was so weak that he made no attempt to stand, and evacuated in succession the coast lands about Almeria, as far as Motril, the highlands east[p. 478] of Granada, including the towns of Baza and Guadix, and the upper valley of the Guadalquivir. La Cuadra’s advanced posts penetrated as far as Ubeda, and bickered with the garrisons of Baeza, Linares, and Jaen. Officers sent out from the main column raised the mountaineers of the Sierra Nevada, and bands of insurgents began to cut the communications between Granada and Malaga. At the head of these irregulars was the turbulent Conde de Montijo, of whom we last heard when he got into trouble for conspiring against the supreme Junta[616]. He is now found more usefully employed, giving trouble to the enemy instead of to his own Government.

Cautious though Freire had been, his advance had shaken the hold of the 4th Corps on eastern Andalusia. Leval reported to Soult that, with the 3,000 or 4,000 troops whom he had concentrated at Granada, he was quite helpless, and was wellnigh blockaded on every side. It was only with difficulty that he could keep in touch with the Polish division, which lay in and about Malaga, or with the garrisons of Jaen and Cordova on the other side. He could only collect a force sufficient to attack Freire by abandoning all his outlying posts, and permission to do so had not been granted him. He must be reinforced, or allowed to concentrate his scattered troops and strike at the enemy’s main body.

A few days later the state of affairs in eastern Andalusia became still more threatening. Blake, after embarking at Ayamonte on July 8th, had two days later returned to Cadiz with the two Albuera divisions of Zayas and Lardizabal. He stayed only a fortnight in the island city, and got leave from the Regency to join the Army of Murcia. In order that he might dispose of all the forces in that direction, he asked and obtained the control of the Valencian army also, and was made Captain-General of that province as well as of Murcia and Aragon. Blake landed at Almeria on July 31st with the same troops that he had brought back from the west—about 7,000 foot and 500 horse. From thence he led them to join Freire’s army near Baza, and left them there, while he himself (taking Zayas and some other officers with him) made a hasty visit to Valencia, to receive[p. 479] over the command from the Marquis del Palacio[617], and to see what measures were necessary with regard to the threatening movements of Suchet on the side of Aragon.

The two divisions under Lardizabal and Joseph O’Donnell (vice Zayas) had joined Freire on August 3rd, and a force of 15,000 infantry and nearly 2,000 horse was thus concentrated near Baza. But Freire, being now only the interim commander, refused to take any responsibility, and remained apathetically watching the small French force in Granada, which was (for the moment) absolutely at his mercy. He posted the army in a very strong position near Gor, twelve miles in front of Baza and forty miles from Granada. It was covered in front by the ravine of one of the tributaries of the Guardal river, and could only be turned on the flanks by a very wide movement in difficult ground. La Cuadra’s division remained at Pozoalcon, some thirty miles away from the main body, observing the kingdom of Jaen and vexing its garrisons by small incursions.

Soult had returned to Seville after the expulsion of Blake from western Andalusia, but with no intention of staying there for long, since it was clearly necessary to re-establish the lost prestige of the French arms on the side of Granada, and to reoccupy the ground which Leval had been forced to give up. But he had judged that there was no desperate hurry, since Freire had shown himself such a sluggish adversary: and though he had already directed Godinot’s provisional division to march on Jaen in the last days of July, he himself was still at Seville when he received the unexpected news of Blake’s disembarkation at Almeria on the 31st of that month. Since the Army of Murcia was thus reinforced, the danger to Leval at Granada had become imminent, and it was clearly necessary to rescue him at once. Accordingly the Marshal, setting out from Seville on August 3rd with four regiments of Latour-Maubourg’s cavalry and part of Conroux’s infantry division[618], arrived at Granada by forced marches on the 7th. Godinot was at the same time directed to[p. 480] move from Jaen and Baeza against La Cuadra, to drive him off from Pozoalcon, and then to fall upon the flank and rear of Freire’s strong position near Baza.

Nothing could have served Soult better than the chance that the army against which he was marching was destitute for the moment of its new Commander-in-Chief, and left in charge of a substitute who shirked responsibility. From August 3rd, when the Albuera divisions joined Freire, down to the 7th, when the reinforcements reached Granada, the small French force in that city had been in a most dangerous position. But nothing whatever had happened during the critical days: the Spaniards had remained quiescent behind the ravine of Gor. Picking up the small part of the garrison of Granada that could be spared to join his field force, Soult marched against the enemy on the 8th of August, and was in front of their position on the 9th, with 6,000 infantry and 1,500 horse. Seeing the enormous strength of the ground, he contented himself with making noisy artillery demonstrations against Freire’s line, and waited for the arrival of Godinot, who with 4,000 bayonets and 600 sabres was due to appear in the rear of the Murcians on the 10th, if all had gone well with him.

As a matter of fact Godinot had marched against La Cuadra on the 7th from Baeza, by the way of Jodar. The Spanish general, who was outnumbered, abandoned his post at Pozoalcon on the 8th and fell back towards Huescar, nearer the frontier of Murcia, without fighting. Godinot, therefore, found nothing to prevent him from falling on the rear of the main hostile force, and marched on Baza. His approach was reported to Freire, who detached against him Joseph O’Donnell’s division of 4,000 men, and ordered La Cuadra to hasten to its aid, and to join in covering the flank of the army. O’Donnell took post at the fords of the Guardal river, in front of Zujar, and stood on the defensive, hoping to be joined by La Cuadra during the course of the day. The latter, however, had gone off too far to the east for it to be possible for him to return in time, and O’Donnell was badly beaten by Godinot on the afternoon of the 9th, and lost a third of his men—423 killed and wounded, and 1,000 dispersed or prisoners.

By continuing his march for another eight miles, after beating[p. 481] O’Donnell, Godinot might have seized Baza and cut off Freire from his retreat on Murcia. But his men were tired, and it was reported to him that a new Spanish force—La Cuadra, coming up over late in the day—was approaching. Wherefore he halted, and only sent out cavalry to search for Soult’s flank, and to reconnoitre Baza. But Freire, on hearing that O’Donnell was crushed, and his own rear threatened, silently evacuated his strong position in the night, and marched through Baza and across Godinot’s front with all his host. He got away, but Soult, detecting his retreat at dawn, bade Latour-Maubourg pursue him with all speed at the head of his horsemen. The Spanish rearguard was caught up at Las Vertientes, ten miles beyond Baza. Freire ordered his cavalry, under Osorio and Loy, to face about and protect the march of the infantry. But a charge of Pierre Soult, who led the French advance brigade, broke the Spanish horse, who fled in all directions, uncovering the infantry. The latter took to the hills—one column consisting of the divisions of Sanz and O’Donnell went off southward, and escaped without much loss by Oria and Albox. The other, containing the divisions of Creagh and Lardizabal, turned north, plunged into the Murcian hills, and made its way by Maria to Caravaca. La Cuadra, making a separate retreat in a parallel direction, also arrived at the last-named place[619]. Such was their haste that one column made thirty-six miles in the day on the 10th, the other twenty-seven. Stragglers were many.

The Murcian army was thus divided into two masses, neither of which covered the main road to the capital of the province, and Soult, standing triumphant at Velez Rubio with his 12,000 men united, might have marched on Murcia had he chosen. But the way was long—some seventy miles—and the intervening country rough and thinly peopled. The Marshal resolved not to pursue Freire, but to devote himself to the hunting down of the insurgents of Granada and the southern mountains, while the main hostile army was out of action. When, therefore, Blake returned from Valencia to pay a hasty visit to his[p. 482] scattered army, he found it shaken in morale, and weaker by 4,000 men than when he had left it, but not destroyed. Of the two disjointed sections, one descended in haste from the northern mountains, the other came in marching parallel with the coast; they met at Alcantarilla in front of the city of Murcia, on August 14th, and began to fortify a position there. But the French had turned back; Soult contented himself with reoccupying Baza with a permanent garrison, and did not cross the Murcian frontier. Hence Blake was able, a few weeks later, to take off to the north not only his own two divisions, but part of Freire’s troops, for service against Suchet on the side of Valencia. It was a lucky chance for him that the invasion of Valencia from the side of Aragon only began upon September 16, more than a month after Soult had returned into Andalusia. If it had come earlier, there would have been no succours available for the oft-defeated and never very efficient ‘2nd Army’, as the Valencian corps was now called.

Soult had not gone in person further than Velez Rubio, though his light cavalry had pursued the flying Spaniards many miles further, as far as the pass of Lumbreras. On August 14th he turned back[620], and broke up his army into several columns, who were to hunt down the insurgents of the Sierra Nevada and the Alpujarras. The main body returned to Granada, a flanking column occupied Almeria, another swept the valley of the upper Guadalquivir. There was much plunder and a good deal of reckless shooting of inhabitants—for the French were exasperated at the rising which had taken place in districts that had seemed for the last eighteen months to be pacified. But the crushing of the insurgents turned out to be a long business—indeed eastern and southern Andalusia were never so thoroughly under Soult’s control as they had been in 1810 and the early months of 1811. The Count of Montijo lurked persistently in[p. 483] the mountains, and gained several small successes over General Godinot, who was in main charge of the hunt. On August 21st he captured two whole companies of Poles near Motril, and a few days later checked a column of 1,500 men under Colonel Remond. He himself ultimately got off to join the Murcian army, but the local guerrilleros continued the strife, which was to blaze up again into a formidable conflagration when a new Spanish regular force came upon the scene. This was the division of Ballasteros, who, as has been already mentioned, abandoned his old haunts by the Rio Tinto and the lower Guadiana, to land on September 4th at Algesiras with 3,000 men. Calling in the serranos of the Ronda mountains to his aid, he captured many small places, and forced Soult to turn Godinot’s troops against him. Thus the insurgents further east got a momentary respite, and Soult’s unending troubles took a new turn. But the autumn and winter warfare in the extreme south of Andalusia must be narrated in another place. Suffice it to say here that Soult was never in the later months of 1811 so free from trouble as to find it easy to send any serious aid to Drouet and the 5th Corps, whose duty it was to check and contain Hill’s Anglo-Portuguese divisions in Estremadura.
SECTION XXVIII  OPERATIONS IN EASTERN SPAIN DURING THE SPRING, SUMMER, AND AUTUMN OF 1811 CHAPTER I
FIGUERAS AND TARRAGONA. APRIL-MAY 1811

In the earlier chapter of this volume, which took the affairs of Catalonia and Aragon down to the month of March, we left Suchet making vigorous preparation for the siege of Tarragona, within whose walls his master had promised him that he should ‘find his marshal’s baton.’ While munitions and food for this great enterprise were being collected, the unemployed troops of the Army of Aragon were occupied in scouring the mountains on the side of New Castile and Valencia, always driving the partidas before them, but never able to bring about their capture or destruction. Meanwhile, Macdonald with the active part of the French Army of Catalonia, about 17,000 strong, lay in and about Lerida, ‘containing’ the main Spanish force, which had now passed under the control of the new Captain-General, the active but incapable Campoverde. Based on Tarragona, and with his divisions spread out in front of it, this officer bickered with Macdonald continually, but had achieved nothing substantial since his subordinate Sarsfield cut up Eugenio’s Italians at the combat of Valls, long weeks before[621]. His ambitious attempt to surprise Barcelona had failed with loss on March 19th, because it was based on supposed treachery within the walls, which did not really exist. Further to the north, in the Ampurdam and on the Pyrenean frontier, Baraguay d’Hilliers with the rest of the 7th Corps, some 18,000 men, had to furnish the garrisons of Rosas, Figueras, Gerona and other smaller places, and to contend with the miqueletes of Manso, Rovira, Martinez,[p. 485] and other chiefs. There were practically no Spanish regular troops in this direction, almost the whole of the old regiments having been withdrawn southward to face Macdonald, and to defend Tarragona and the surrounding region of central Catalonia. Nevertheless Baraguay d’Hilliers, as we shall see, had no small task thrown upon his hands. In this province the irregulars were at their best, having in the miquelete system an organization which made them far more formidable than the partidas of central or northern Spain.

On March 10th Napoleon, who had marked with approval all Suchet’s earlier operations, while he was thoroughly dissatisfied with Macdonald, resolved to cut up the old 7th Corps or Army of Catalonia, by making over nearly half of its force to the Army of Aragon. A decree declared that the three provinces of Lerida, Tarragona, and Tortosa were transferred to the charge of Suchet, with so much of the province of Barcelona as lay east of the pass of Ordal and the course of the upper Llobregat. Along with the provinces went the troops stationed in them, viz. the French division of Frère, the Italian division of Pino, and the Neapolitan division now commanded by Compère, together with the cavalry and artillery attached to them. Macdonald’s charge was cut down to the region of Barcelona and the lands north of it. The 7th Corps, or troops of his command, sank from over 40,000 to about 25,000 men. The 3rd Corps rose from 26,000 to 43,000 men. With this augmented force Suchet was told both to hold down his old realm in Aragon, and to take Tarragona, furnishing not only a siege army but a covering force as well. Macdonald was no longer to be the shield of Suchet’s operations, as during the siege of Tortosa, but was to occupy himself on a separate and minor system of operations—the Imperial orders directed him to occupy Cardona, Berga, and Urgel, the centres of resistance in upper Catalonia, and to take the rocky stronghold of Montserrat.

Meanwhile, it was necessary to transfer Macdonald’s own person from Lerida, where lay the troops that he had to surrender, to Barcelona, which was to be for the future the centre of his activity. So dangerous was the passage that he had to be given an escort of no less than 7,000 infantry and 700 horse. Taking the way of Manresa, he started from Lerida on March 30th[p. 486] and cut his way through the Spanish forces which stretched across his path. The regular division of Sarsfield, supported by the somatenes of central Catalonia, gave him much trouble: though they failed to hold Manresa, which the French stormed and wantonly burnt, they hung on to the flanks of the marching column, repeatedly attacked its rearguard, and cut off or slew in three days of continuous fighting some 600 men. After reaching the Llobregat at Sabadel, Macdonald went on to the neighbouring Barcelona, while his escort fought its way back to Lerida by the road of Igualada, and joined Suchet on April 9th.

Having now got the whole of his new army under his own hand, Suchet was able to prepare all his arrangements for the march on Tarragona. Ample provision had first to be made for the defence of Aragon in his rear, where the enemies were numerous if not powerful—Mina on the side of Navarre, Villa Campa and Carbajal in the mountains of the south, and the Army of Valencia beyond the lower course of the Ebro. He set aside three battalions and a cavalry regiment to watch Mina[622], and two battalions each for garrisons at Saragossa and Calatayud[623]; he placed a brigade under Paris at Daroca[624], and another under Abbé at Teruel[625] to watch the southern insurgents. To keep off the Valencians he left a regiment at Morella and Alca?iz[626], another in garrison at Tortosa[627], and 1,600 men disposed in small forts along the lower Ebro from La Rapita at its mouth to Caspe[628]. Musnier was given charge of all the troops on the right bank of the Ebro, and had orders to unite Abbé’s and Paris’s brigades and evacuate the southern hill-country if the Valencians made a serious advance against Tortosa.

[p. 487]This left Suchet twenty-nine battalions for the expeditionary corps with which he was about to march against Tarragona—of which nineteen were French, two Polish, and eight Italian. They amounted to just under 15,000 bayonets. Since the three divisions of the Army of Aragon had all been thinned down by the numerous detachments left behind, he amalgamated what remained of them with the French and the Italian brigades left to him by Macdonald, to make up three provisional divisions for the field, under Habert, Harispe, and Frère. The first had one French and two Italian brigades (fourteen battalions), the others two brigades each (six and nine battalions respectively). There was a cavalry brigade of 1,400 men under Boussard, and a large provision of artillery and engineers for the siege (2,000 men of the former, 750 of the latter arm). Counting the auxiliary services the army had about 20,000 men—no great figure for the task before it, for Tarragona was strong and Campoverde had some 12,000 or 15,000 regular troops at his disposition—the three divisions of Sarsfield, Eroles, and Courten—besides such aid as the miqueletes might give. And this last resource was not to be despised; though they were not always forthcoming when they were most required, yet they were not usually found wanting. They could never be caught, owing to their knowledge of their own hills, and they were never discouraged.

It was arranged that the army should march on Tarragona by two separate routes; while the divisions of Frère and Harispe started from Lerida by the road of Momblanch, the third division, that of Habert, was to move from a separate base—Tortosa, where had been collected the heavy artillery and the munitions of the siege. The guns which had taken Tortosa were still lying there, with all the artillery reserve, and it was to escort them that Habert was detailed to take the southern route along the sea-coast by the Col de Balaguer. From this direction too were to come the provisions of the army, which had been brought down by water from Saragossa and Mequinenza while the Ebro was in flood, and deposited at Mora—the nearest point on the river to Tarragona. This division of forces was perhaps necessary, but appeared dangerous; if Campoverde, when the French commenced their movements, had thrown himself[p. 488] with all disposable forces upon the weak division of Habert—only six battalions—and had wrecked the battering-train, there could have been no siege of Tarragona for many a month to come.

But before the two columns had started from Lerida and Tortosa, and while part of Harispe’s division was out on a final cattle-hunt up the valley of the Noguera, before the Commander-in-Chief had even come up to the front to join his army, a message arrived from the north which might well have stopped the whole expedition. On April 21st Suchet, still at Saragossa, received the astounding news that the Spaniards had captured Figueras, the bulwark of northern Catalonia, and the most important place (with the exception of Barcelona) which belonged to the French in the whole principality. The disaster had happened on the night of the 9th-10th, and the news of it had been brought by a spy paid by Macdonald, across the territory occupied by the Spanish army: otherwise it would have taken still longer to travel, by the circuitous route through France, which was the only way by which news from Upper Catalonia could reach Aragon[629]. Macdonald and Maurice Mathieu, the governor of Barcelona, who added his supplications to those of the Marshal, begged Suchet to abandon for the moment the projected siege of Tarragona, and to march to their aid with every man that he could spare. For they must collect as large a force as possible to recover Figueras, and a field army could not be got together from the much-reduced 7th Corps, which had to find a garrison of 6,000 men for Barcelona, and similar, if smaller, detachments for Gerona, Rosas, Hostalrich, Mont Louis, Palamos, and other smaller places. If Campoverde should march northward, with the bulk of his regular divisions, to succour Figueras, there would be little or nothing to oppose to him.

Suchet weighed the petition of his colleague with care, but refused to assent to it. His decision was highly approved by the Emperor when he came to know of it, and the reasons which he[p. 489] gave for his answer seem convincing. It would take, as he calculated, twenty-five days to move a division, or a couple of divisions, from Lerida to Figueras across the hostile country-side of Catalonia; and since the disaster was already eleven days old when the news came to hand, there must be over a month of delay between the moment when the Spaniards had taken the fortress and that at which the Army of Aragon could intervene. In that month the fate of affairs in the Ampurdam would have been already decided. The succours for the garrison of northern Catalonia must come from France, not from Aragon. Figueras lies only twenty miles from the French frontier[630], and Baraguay d’Hilliers could be helped far more readily from Perpignan, Toulouse, or Narbonne than from Lerida. National Guards and dép?t troops could be hurried to his aid in a few days. As to Campoverde, he would be called home at once by a blow delivered against Tarragona, his capital and chief arsenal. He must infallibly hurry back to defend it, at the head of his field army, and Macdonald and Baraguay d’Hilliers would then have nothing but the miqueletes opposed to them. If the 7th Corps, with the reinforcements from France which it must infallibly receive, could not deal with Rovira, Manso and the rest, it was time to abandon the Peninsular War! The crisis, whichever way its results might lean, was bound to have come and passed before the Army of Aragon could be of any use. It would almost certainly have ended in a check for the Spaniards, since the Emperor could pour as many men into the Ampurdam as he pleased. At the worst Figueras would be beleaguered so soon as the reinforcements arrived from France, and all the best of the Spaniards in northern Catalonia would be shut up in the place and kept out of mischief. It was entirely to the advantage of the Imperial arms that the enemy should lock up his men in garrisons, for they were much more troublesome when acting as partisans in the mountains[631].

Accordingly, on April 24th, Suchet, having sent a direct refusal to Macdonald’s petition, came up to Lerida, and on the 28th[p. 490] Harispe’s and Frère’s divisions started off for Tarragona by the shortest road, that through Momblanch. At the same time Habert with the siege artillery moved out from Tortosa for the same destination along the coast-road by the Col de Balaguer and Cambrils. On May 2 both columns were near Tarragona, having met with very little opposition by the way, for Campoverde, with the larger part of his field army, had gone off a fortnight before to the north, with the intention of succouring Figueras, and the rest of his regulars had retired into Tarragona to form its garrison.

Before dealing with the long and bitterly contested struggle at Tarragona, it is necessary to explain how Figueras had come into the hands of the Spaniards. This place was a new and well-designed eighteenth-century fortress, built sixty years back by Ferdinand VI, to supplement the defences of the Catalonian frontier. Thus it had not the weaknesses of old-fashioned strongholds like Gerona or Lerida, where the scheme of the fortifications dated back to the Middle Ages. Close to the high-road from Perpignan to Barcelona, and only twenty miles from the frontier, stands an isolated hill with a flat top, at whose foot lay the original village or small town of Figueras. Ferdinand VI had fortified this hilltop so as to form a circular bastioned enceinte, and thus created a most formidable citadel, which he named after himself San Fernando. It dominated the little town below, and the whole of the surrounding plain of the Ampurdam. The slopes below the wall are steep, even precipitous in some places, and there is only one road leading up into the place by curves and zigzags, though there are several posterns at other points. San Fernando had been one of the fortresses which Napoleon seized by treachery in 1808—a French detachment, ostensibly marching through the town towards Barcelona, had fallen upon and evicted the Spanish garrison[632]. Since then it had formed the most important base for operations in northern Catalonia, and had been the magazine from which the sieges of Rosas and Gerona had been fed. A long possession of three years had made the Imperial generals careless, and the garrison had gradually dwindled down to a provisional battalion of 600 or 700 men, mainly composed at this moment of drafts for the Italian and[p. 491] Neapolitan divisions of Pino and Compère, detained on their way to the front, according to the usual system. The governor was a Brigadier-General Guillot, who seems to have been a negligent and easy-going officer. The rocky fortress was so strong that it never entered into his head that his restless neighbours the miqueletes might try a blow at it. It was a mere chance that on the day when the assault was delivered a marching battalion of Italian drafts, escorting General Peyri, who was coming up to take command of Pino’s late division, happened to be billeted in the town below—next day they would have been gone.

It was clearly Guillot’s carelessness, and the small numbers of his garrison, which inspired the miquelete chiefs with the idea of making an attack by surprise on this almost impregnable citadel. Rovira, the most active of them, got into communication with three young Catalans who passed as Afrancesados and were employed by the commissary Bouclier, who had charge of the magazines. One, Juan Marquez, was his servant, the other two, Pedro and Ginés Pons, were under-storekeepers. All three were mere boys, the oldest not twenty-one years of age. Marquez got wax impressions of various keys belonging to his master, including those of the store-vaults and of a postern gate leading into them from the foot of the ramparts, and made false keys from them. It was determined that a picked band of miqueletes should attempt to force their way into the place through the postern on the midnight of April 9th-10th. Rovira sent the details of his scheme to Campoverde, who, despite of his late fiasco at Barcelona, was delighted with the plan, and offered to come up with his field army to the north if the attempt should succeed.

The miquelete chiefs conducted their enterprise with considerable skill. On the 7th of April Rovira collected some 2,000 men at the foot of the Pyrenees, north of Olot, and threatened to make a descent into the French valleys beyond, in order to distract the attention of the enemy. On the 9th he counter-marched for Figueras, and at dusk got within nine miles of it. At one in the morning his forlorn hope, 700 men under two captains named Casas and Llovera, came up under the ramparts, found their confederates waiting for them at the postern, and[p. 492] were admitted by means of the false keys. They burst up out of the vaults, and caught the garrison mostly asleep[633]—the governor was captured in his bed, the main-guard at the great gate was surprised, and the few men who came straggling out of the barracks to make resistance were overpowered in detail. Only thirty-five men were killed or wounded on the part of the French, not so many on the Spanish side, and in an hour or less the place was won. The captors promptly admitted their friends from without, and ere dawn over 2,000 Catalans were manning the walls of the fortress. The material captured was immense—16,000 muskets, several hundred cannon, a great store of boots and clothing, four months’ provisions for a garrison of 2,000 men, and 400,000 francs in the military chest. General Peyri, with the Italian bataillon de marche which was sleeping in the town below, was unable to do anything—there had been very little firing, and when some fugitives ran down from San Fernando, it was to tell him that the place was completely mastered by the enemy. He put his troops under arms, and drew off at daylight to Bascara, half-way to Gerona, with his 650 men, after having sent off the bad news both to Baraguay d’Hilliers on one side and to the governor of Perpignan on the other[634]. The former sent him out a battalion and a squadron, and told him to return towards Figueras and to place himself in observation in front of it till he was succoured. All the disposable troops in northern Catalonia should join him within two days. Peyri therefore[p. 493] reoccupied Figueras town, and barricaded himself in it with 1,500 men—being quite unable to do more; he had to watch the Catalans introducing reinforcements into San Fernando without being able to molest them. Baraguay d’Hilliers did not come to his succour for some days, being unable to leave Gerona till he had called in some dangerously exposed outlying posts, and had strengthened Rosas, which was threatened by some English frigates, who showed signs of throwing a landing-party ashore to besiege it. He then came up with 2,000 men to join Peyri, while a more considerable force arrived from Perpignan under General Quesnel, who had charge of the Pyrenean frontier, and appeared with three line battalions, and two more of National Guards of the Gers and Haute-Garonne. Having 6,500 infantry and 500 cavalry concentrated, d’Hilliers was able to throw a cordon of troops round San Fernando and to commence its blockade on April 17th.

The place, however, was now fully garrisoned. Rovira had thrown into it, during the week when free entry was possible, miqueletes to the number of some 3,000, making a brigadier named Martinez, one of his most trusted lieutenants, the governor. On the 16th a reinforcement of regular troops arrived—part of the division of Baron Eroles, which had the most northern cantonments among the units of Campoverde’s field army. Eroles had marched from Martorel by Olot, and had captured on his way the small French garrisons of that place and of Castelfollit, making 548 prisoners. Campoverde sent messages to say that he would arrive himself with larger forces in a few days. Having thrown Courten’s division into Tarragona, he would bring up the rest of his available troops—Sarsfield’s division and the remainder of that of Eroles, with all the miqueletes that he could collect. Meanwhile the local somatenes of central Catalonia pressed in close upon Gerona and Hostalrich, and kept Baraguay d’Hilliers in a state of great anxiety, for he feared that they might capture these places, whose garrisons had been depleted to make up his small field force.

The opportunity offered to the Spaniard was not one that was likely to last for long, since Napoleon, on hearing of the fall of Figueras, had issued orders for the concentration of some 14,000 troops from Southern France, a division under General Plau[p. 494]zonne from Languedoc and Provence, and five or six odd battalions more[635]. When these should arrive, in the end of April or the first days of May, the French in northern Catalonia would be too strong to fear any further disasters. But meanwhile Macdonald and Baraguay d’Hilliers had a fortnight of doubt and danger before them. The former proposed to march himself to Figueras, with what troops he could spare from Barcelona, but since its garrison was only about 6,000 strong, and the place was large and turbulent, it was clear that he could bring little with him. It was for this reason that he wrote to Suchet in such anxiety on April 16th, and begged for the loan of one or two divisions from the Army of Aragon. Till he got his answer, he did not himself move forth. Hence d’Hilliers alone had to bear the brunt of the trouble.

There is no doubt that Campoverde had a fair chance of achieving a considerable if temporary success; but he threw it away by his slowness and want of skill. Though aware of the capture of Figueras on April 12th, he did not start from Tarragona till the 20th, nor reach Vich in northern Catalonia till the 27th. He had then with him 6,000 infantry, mostly of Sarsfield’s division, and 800 horse. Rovira drew near to co-operate, with those of the miqueletes of the Ampurdam who had not already thrown themselves into the fortress. The force collected ought to have sufficed to break through the thin blockading cordon which Baraguay d’Hilliers had thrown round the fortress, if it had been properly handled. But Campoverde was no general. On May 3rd the relieving army approached the place, the miqueletes demonstrated against the northern part of the French lines, while Sarsfield broke through at a point on the opposite side, near the town, and got into communication with Eroles, who came down with 2,000 men to join him. They fell together upon the French regiment (the 3rd Léger) on this front, which took refuge in the barricaded town and defended itself there for some time. According to all the Spanish narratives the three battalions in Figueras presently offered to surrender, and wasted time in negotiations, while Baraguay[p. 495] d’Hilliers was collecting the main body of his forces in a solid mass. Screened by an olive wood in his march, the French general suddenly fell on Sarsfield’s flank and rear, while he was intent on the enemy in the town alone; a charge of dragoons cut up two of the Spanish regiments, and the rest gave way in disorder, Sarsfield falling back towards the plain, and Eroles retiring into the fortress. The reserve of Campoverde and the miqueletes were never seriously engaged. If they had been used as they should have been, the fight might have gone otherwise than it did, for counting the garrison of San Fernando and the irregulars, the Spaniards had a considerable superiority of numbers. They lost over 1,000 men, the French about 400[636]. During the time while the blockading line was broken, Sarsfield had introduced into San Fernando some artillerymen (much needed for the vast number of guns in the place), and part of a convoy which he was conducting, but the greater portion of it, including a great drove of sheep, was captured by the enemy at the moment of the rout.

If Campoverde and his army had been given no other task save the relief of Figueras, it is probable that this combat would have been but the commencement of a long series of operations. But he received, immediately after his check, the news that Suchet had marched from Lerida on April 28th, and had appeared in front of Tarragona on May 3rd. The capital of Catalonia was even more important than Figueras, and it was necessary to hasten to its aid, for no regular troops had been left in the southern part of the principality, save the single division of Courten, which had hastened to shut itself up in the city. Accordingly Sarsfield was directed to take 2,000 infantry and the whole cavalry of the army, and to march by the inland to threaten Suchet’s rear, and his communications with Lerida, while Campoverde himself came down to the coast with 4,000 men, embarked at Mataro, the nearest port in Spanish hands, and sailed for Tarragona, where he arrived in safety, to strengthen the garrison. Eroles came out of San Fernando with a few[p. 496] hundreds of his own troops, before the blockade was fully re-established, and joined Rovira in the neighbouring mountains, leaving the defence of the fortress to Martinez with five regular battalions[637] and 3,000 miqueletes. Eroles and Rovira were the only force left to observe Baraguay d’Hilliers, and since they had only a few thousand men, mostly irregulars, they were able to do little to help the place. For the besieging force was strengthened in May by the arrival of Plauzonne’s division from France, while Macdonald came up from Barcelona with a few battalions, and took over the command from Baraguay d’Hilliers. By the end of the month he had over 15,000 men, and had begun to shut in the fortress on its height by an elaborate system of contravallations, which he compares in his memoirs to Caesar’s lines around Alesia. Martinez made a most obstinate and praiseworthy defence—of which more hereafter—and the siege of Figueras dragged on for many months, till long after the more important operations around Tarragona had come to an end. But after Campoverde’s departure for the south there was never any hope that it could be relieved: all that its defenders accomplished was to detain and immobilize the whole 7th Corps, which, when it had garrisoned Barcelona and Gerona, and supplied the blockading force for San Fernando, had not a man disposable for work in other quarters. Thus Suchet had to carry out his operations against Tarragona without any external assistance, whereas, if Figueras had never been lost, he might have counted on much incidental help from his colleague Macdonald. This much was accomplished by the daring exploit of April 10th: if Campoverde had been capable of utilizing the chance that it gave him, its results might have been far more important.
SECTION XXVIII: CHAPTER II

THE SIEGE AND FALL OF TARRAGONA. MAY-JUNE 1811

Suchet had marched, as has been already mentioned, from Lerida, with Harispe’s division, on April 28th, Frère’s division following. On the 29th the head of the column reached Momblanch, where half a battalion was left behind in a fortified post, to keep open the Lerida road. On May 2nd the large manufacturing town of Reus, only ten miles from Tarragona, was occupied: on May 3rd the French advanced guard, Salme’s brigade, approached the city, and drove in the Catalan advanced posts as far as the river Francoli. But the siege could not begin till Habert’s force, escorting the battering-train, should come up from Tortosa; and this all-important column was much delayed. Its road ran along the seaside from the Col de Balaguer onward, and Codrington’s squadron of English frigates and gunboats accompanied it all the way, vexing and delaying it, by bombarding it whenever it was forced to come within gunshot of the beach. This was practically all the opposition that Suchet met with: a few miqueletes had shown themselves in the hills between Reus and Momblanch, but they were too weak to fight. Campoverde had carried off the best both of regulars and irregulars to the relief of Figueras, and Courten, who had barely 4,500 men in his division[638], had wisely shut himself up in Tarragona, where every man was wanted: for the enceinte was very long, and the sedentary garrison consisted of only five or six battalions. The troops inside the walls did not amount, when the siege began, to 7,000 men: hence came the weakness[p. 498] shown in the early days; it was not till Campoverde’s army came back from the north (May 10) that an adequate defensive force was in existence for such a large fortress.

Tarragona, though some of its fortifications were not skilfully planned, was a very strong place. The nucleus of the works was the circuit of the old Celtiberian town of Tarraco, which afterwards became the capital of Roman Spain. This forms the upper city in modern times. It is built on an inclined plane, of which the eastern end (530 feet above sea-level), where the cathedral lies, is the higher side, and the slope goes downhill, and westward: the southern face, that towards the sea, is absolutely precipitous, the northern one hardly less so. Large fragments of the Cyclopean walls built by the Celtiberians, or perhaps by the Carthaginians, are visible along the crest on both of these sides. On the west, the lowest part of the old town, a line of modern fortifications divided the upper town from the lower; there was a sharp drop along this line: in most places it is very steep, and the road of to-day goes up the hillside in zigzags, to avoid the break-neck climb[639]. Below the fortifications of the upper city, and divided from them by a broad belt of ground free of houses[640], lay the port-town or lower city, clustering around the harbour, which is an excellent roadstead shut in by a mole 1,400 feet long, which runs out from the south-west corner of the place. The lower city was enclosed on its northern and western sides by a front of six bastions; its southern side, facing the port and the open sea, had not, and did not need, any great protection; it could only have been endangered by an enemy whose strength was on the water, and who could bring a fleet into action. There was a sort of citadel in the port-town, a work named the Fuerte Real, which lies on an isolated mound inside the north-west angle of the walls. About 400 yards west of the most projecting bastion of[p. 499] the place the river Francoli flows into the sea, at the western end of the harbour. In the angle between the river and the port was an outlying work, Fort Francoli, destined to keep besiegers away from the shipping, which they might easily bombard from this point, if it were not occupied. This fort was connected with the lower town by a covered way protected by a long entrenchment containing two lunettes.

Notwithstanding the great strength of the high-lying upper city, it had been furnished with a second line of defence, outside its old Roman walls. Low down the hillside five forts, connected by a wall and covered way, protected its whole eastern front from the edge of the heights as far as the sea. The Barcelona road, crawling along the water’s edge, enters the place between two of these forts, and goes to the Lower, after sending a steep bypath up to a gate in the Upper, city[641].

On the west and north-west the high-lying fortress commands all the surrounding country-side. But to the due north there is a lofty hill about 800 yards from the walls, called Monte Olivo. This dominates the lower town, since it is 200 feet high, or more, though it is itself dominated by the upper town. An enemy in possession of it has every advantage for attacking the north front of the lower town. Wherefore, during the course of the last two years, the summit of the hill had been entrenched, and a very large hornwork, the Fuerte Olivo, constructed upon it. This was a narrow fort, following the shape of the crest of the hill, with a length of 400 yards, and embrasures for forty-seven guns. Its outer front was protected by a ditch hewn in the solid rock: its rear was only slightly closed with a low wall crowned by palisades, so as to leave it exposed to the fire of the upper city, if by any chance the enemy should get possession of it. Such an extensive work required a garrison of over 1,000 men—a heavy proportion of the 6,500 which formed the total force of the Spaniards at the commencement of the siege.

When Suchet arrived in front of Tarragona, and had driven the Spaniards within their works (May 3rd-4th), his chief engineer and artillery officers, Rogniat and Vallée, had to conduct a long and careful survey of the fortifications opposed to them.[p. 500] They concluded that the northern front of the city was practically impregnable, from its precipitous contours, and that the eastern front, though a little less rocky, was equally ineligible, because of the trouble which would be required to transport guns first across the high ground to the north-east, and then down to the seashore. The south front, being all along the water’s edge, was inaccessible. There remained only the western front, that formed by the lower city, where the defences lay in the plain of the Francoli, and had no dominance over the ground in front of them. There was an additional advantage for the besieger here, in that the soil was partly river sand, partly the well-broken-up loam of suburban market gardens, and in all cases very easy to dig. But if they were to attack the west front, the engineers required the General-in-Chief to accomplish two preliminary operations for them. He must take Fort Olivo, which commanded with its flanking fires much of the ground on which they intended to work, and he must drive away from the northern side of the harbour the Anglo-Spanish squadron which lay there, since its heavy guns would enfilade all works started for the purpose of approaching the western front of Tarragona in the neighbourhood of the mouth of the Francoli.

This being the programme laid down, Suchet took up his positions round the fortress—Harispe’s division had charge of the main part of the northern front, its French brigade (Salme) occupying the ground in front of Fort Olivo, while its two Italian brigades stretched eastward along the distant heights, curving round so as to cut the Barcelona road along the sea-coast with their extreme detachment. Frère’s division had the central part of the lines, and lay on both sides of the course of the Francoli river, its main force, however, being on the left bank. Habert’s division, which had just come up from Tortosa, was placed near the mouth of the river, and facing towards the port; it formed the right wing of the army, and covered the siege-park, which was established at the village of Canonge, about a mile and a half from the walls of Tarragona. The magazines and hospitals were fixed at the large town of Reus, nine miles to the rear, under a considerable guard; for though the road from thence to the French lines ran over the gentle undulations of the coast plain, yet there was always danger that bands of miqueletes might[p. 501] descend from the hills for some daring enterprise. Several of the intermediate villages were fortified, to serve as half-way refuges for convoys and small parties on the move.

Some days were lost to the French in completing the survey of Tarragona, in settling down the troops into their permanent camps, and in bringing up from the rear, along the Tortosa road, the remainder of the battering-train and its munitions. It was not till May 8th that serious operations began. Suchet’s first object was to drive away from the northern end of the harbour the English and Spanish ships, whose fire swept the ground about the mouth of the Francoli, across which his siege-works were to be constructed. With this object a large fort was constructed on the shore, in which very heavy guns, fatal to shipping, were to be placed. Commodore Codrington, who was lying in the harbour with a small squadron of two 74’s and two frigates, assisted by several Spanish gunboats, bombarded the fort incessantly, but what he destroyed in the day the French rebuilt with additions every night, and on May 13th the fort was sufficiently completed to receive its armament of 24-pounders. The ship-guns were unable to cope with them, and the vessels of the Allies during the rest of the siege were compelled to keep to the south end of the port, and could only vex the besieger’s subsequent trench-building by a distant and ineffective fire. On the 16th a first parallel, directed against the most advanced Spanish work, Fort Francoli, was begun in the low ground beside the new fort.

Before this check to the squadron had been completed a great change in the situation was made by the arrival of Campoverde on May 10, with 4,000 regular troops brought by sea from Mataro—fractions of the divisions of Eroles and Sarsfield, though neither of these generals had come in person[642]. The garrison being strengthened up to 10,000 men, and raised in morale by the reinforcement, became very bold and enterprising. Sorties began almost at once: Harispe’s division having seized on the[p. 502] 13th May two slight outlying entrenchments below Fort Olivo, three battalions sallied out on the 14th and made a desperate attempt to retake them. It failed, but on the 18th an equally vigorous sortie was made against the fort beyond the Francoli, and the first parallel near it, by about 2,000 men, who drove in the trench-guards and destroyed a section of the works, but were finally thrust back into the lower city by the arrival of reinforcements led by General Habert. How hot the fighting had been here is shown by the fact that Suchet’s dispatch owns to a loss of over 150 men, with three officers killed and eleven wounded. The sallying force lost 218, a figure which Suchet enlarges in his report to 250 killed and 600 wounded. On the 20th the Spaniards made a third sally, on a different front, far to the north-east, across the high ground north of the Barcelona road, and tried to break through the line of blockade kept up by Harispe’s Italian brigades. This was on a smaller scale, and had no luck; it was apparently intended to open up communication with Sarsfield, who (marching by circuitous ways across central Catalonia) had reached Valls and Alcover, only ten miles from Tarragona, on the upper Francoli, with 1,200 men. This trifling force was to be the nucleus of an ‘army of relief’ which was to be collected from all quarters to threaten Suchet’s rear. Sarsfield made his appearance known to his chief in Tarragona by lighting beacons on the mountain tops. Learning that the Spanish force was insignificant, Suchet detached two battalions and some cuirassiers to drive Sarsfield further away from Alcover, and did so with small loss, forcing him to retire to the mountains above Valls.

About this time the French artillery and engineer commanders reported to their chief that it would be at least ten days before they were in a position to begin a serious attack against the western front of the city, and Suchet resolved that the enforced delay should be utilized for an attack on Fort Olivo, whose capture would sooner or later be a necessity, if the main operations against the city were to prosper.

Accordingly, while the approaches against the west front went steadily on, a separate offensive advance against the Olivo was prepared. Between the 22nd and the 28th of May trenches were pushed towards the fort, and batteries containing thirteen[p. 503] guns erected to bear upon it. Their fire had effected serious damage on the parapets and the artillery of the fort by the 29th, yet the engineers reported that they could not fill the ditch, which was dug in the solid rock, and could not promise to make accessible breaches beyond it. But they reported that the rear face of the work, which the French artillery could not reach, was very weak, the low wall and palisade closing the gorge being no more than nine feet high. There was also a gap in the front protection caused by the entry, into the right end of the fort, of an aqueduct which carried water down into Tarragona. This structure made a sort of bridge across the ditch; it had not been cut, but only closed with palisades, which were being rapidly demolished by the French cannonade[643].

On the night of the 29th Suchet made the rather rash venture of trying to escalade Fort Olivo at the two weak points. One column was to turn the work under cover of the darkness, and to endeavour to break in at the gorge in its rear. The other was to try the imperfect breach in the right front, by crossing the aqueduct, though it was only seven feet broad, if it should be found that the ditch was impassable. Meanwhile a general demonstration was to be made by scattered tirailleurs against the whole face of the Olivo, so as to distract the attention of the enemy, and the batteries down by the Francoli were to bombard the lower city with the same purpose. Both attacks were successful—more by luck than by their deserts, for the plan was most hazardous. The column which had gone round to the rear of the fort ran in upon a Spanish regiment[644] which was coming up the hill to relieve the garrison. The two forces hustled against each other in the dark, and became hopelessly mingled in a close combat just outside the postern gate of the gorge. The garrison was unable to fire upon their enemies, because they were intermixed among their friends, and, when the fight surged against the postern and the palisades, the French succeeded in[p. 504] entering the gorge, some by scrambling up the low and weak defences, others by bursting in at the gate along with the Spanish reinforcements with whom they were engaged. They might have been checked, for the defenders were fighting fiercely, if the other attack had not also succeeded. But at the right front of the fort, where the second assault was made, though many of the forlorn hope fell into the ditch, a desperate charge took the storming-party across the seven-foot gangway of the aqueduct, and over the shattered palisades that blocked it. The garrison could tell by the noise of the musketry that the enemy had entered both in front and in rear, and were stricken by despair[645]. But the greater part of them clubbed together and continued a desperate resistance, which was only subdued when Suchet sent in all his reserves and the trench-guards to back the stormers. They were then beset on all sides, and finally overwhelmed.

The losses of the garrison were terrible—of the five battalions of Iliberia and Almeria, and the two companies of artillery which had been engaged—some 3,000 men in all—very nearly one-third, as it would appear, were slain or captured[646]. The pri[p. 505]soners were about 970 in number, many wounded, including the commander of the fort, Colonel Gomez, who had received no less than ten bayonet stabs. Three or four hundred men had been killed—the French had given little quarter during the earlier part of the fighting. The remainder of the garrison had escaped into the city, by climbing over the low wall of the gorge and running down the slopes, at the moment of the final disaster. The French loss, according to Suchet, was only about 325 killed and wounded, and probably did not greatly exceed that figure. The assailants had, it must be confessed, extraordinary luck. If the turning column had not become mingled with the Spanish reinforcements it might never have been able to break into the gorge; while the other attack could not have succeeded if the governor had taken the proper precaution of cutting the aqueduct, which served the stormers as a bridge—for the ditch proved wholly impracticable, and the breach could not be approached.

On the morning after the assault the spirit of the Spaniards was so little broken that a sortie was made with the purpose of retaking the Olivo, the survivors of the two regiments which had lost it volunteering to head the attack. Campoverde thought that the French might be caught before they had made new defences to protect the weak rear face of the fort, but they had built up the entry of the gorge with sandbags, and the assault—led by Colonel O’Ronan, a Spanish-Irish officer—was beaten off with loss, though a few daring men not only reached the gorge, but scrambled in through its broken palisades to die inside the work. All the guns of the upper city were then turned upon the Olivo, and reduced its rear to a shapeless mass of earth. But this did not seriously harm the French, who burrowed into its interior and made themselves strong there. They only wanted to be masters of the hill because it flanked their projected approaches in the low ground, and did not intend to use it as their base for any further active operations.

After the Olivo disaster Campoverde held a council of war (May 30th), and announced to his officers that the means by which Tarragona could be saved was the collecting of a great army of succour to fall upon Suchet’s rear. He was himself about to depart, in order to take command of it; Sarsfield’s and Eroles’s small detachments, all of which he would collect, must[p. 506] form its nucleus. The somatenes of all central Catalonia should be called in, and the province of Valencia had promised to lend him a whole division of regulars. So saying, he departed by sea along with his staff and a number of the richer inhabitants of the city (May 31st). General Caro, who had hitherto acted as governor, was sent to hurry up the Valencians, and the command of the place was made over to an officer newly arrived from Cadiz, General Juan Senen Contreras[647], who by no means liked the task assigned to him. The garrison was still 8,000 strong, for just after the fall of the Olivo two battalions of regulars arrived from Valencia[648]—the first-fruits of the succours promised from that province—and a draft of 400 recruits landed from Majorca. It seems to have been a mistake of Campoverde to come to Tarragona at all—his presence would have been much more valuable in the interior, where a supreme commander was much wanted, and while he was shut up in the fortress (from May 10th to May 31st) little had been done outside. The Junta of Catalonia, now sitting at Montserrat, had been issuing many proclamations, but had not accomplished much in the way of gathering in the somatenes.

On June 3rd Campoverde reached Igualada, and established his head quarters there, but found only 3,000 men assembled under Sarsfield. He sent that general off to Tarragona, to act as second in command to Contreras, and took over charge of his few battalions; by calling in Eroles, and hunting up deserters and detachments, he had collected in a fortnight 5,280 regular infantry and 1,183 cavalry—all that there were of mounted men in Catalonia. The whole was much too small a force to justify him in attacking Suchet in his lines—even when the somatenes should come in to join him. All depended on the expected succours from Valencia, and they were slow in arriving. Charles[p. 507] O’Donnell, the newly appointed Captain-General of that province, had made up a scheme for drawing off Suchet by attacking his garrisons in southern Aragon, and had gone off early in May with his main force against Teruel. This scheme had no effect whatever; Suchet had fixed his teeth into Tarragona, and was not to be distracted by any demonstrations against his more distant detachments. Campoverde grew so desperate that he offered to give over supreme command to O’Donnell, if the latter would come into Catalonia with his whole disposable force, and begin by attacking Mora, Suchet’s great dép?t on the Ebro. The Valencian Captain-General, though he refused to take this responsibility, finally agreed to send a division of regulars under General Miranda by sea to join the Catalans. This force, about 4,000 strong, appeared at Tarragona on June 14th, and came ashore, but was immediately afterwards reshipped by Campoverde’s orders, and transferred to Villanueva de Sitjes, where it landed, and marched inland to Igualada to join the ‘army of succour,’ which by its arrival was raised to nearly 11,000 regular troops.

While Campoverde was slowly beating up his reinforcements, Tarragona was already in grave danger. The formal attack on the lower city began on the night of June 1st, when Vallée and Rogniat, the commanders of the French artillery and engineers, declared that they had everything ready. The front selected for attack was the two south-westerly bastions, those called San Carlos and Orleans, but as a preliminary task it was necessary to drive the Spaniards out of the subsidiary and external defence formed by the outlying Fort Francoli, at the mouth of the river, and by the long entrenchment which joined it to the city, with the lunette of the Prince, a very small work, inserted in its midst. For Fort Francoli had a position which would enable it to enfilade the French trenches when they should draw near to the enceinte of the city.

On the night of June 1st the French threw up their first parallel at a distance of only a little over 300 yards from the bastion of Orleans: it was connected with the entrenchments beyond the Francoli by a zigzag trench. On the second night the parallel was completed for a length of 600 yards, and three batteries begun in it—one directed against the lunette of the[p. 508] Prince and the line joining it to Fort Francoli, the other two against the bastion of Orleans and the adjacent curtain. On June 3rd the besiegers began to work forward by a flying sap towards the fort, and by the 7th had pushed their front trench to within twenty yards of the work. On that same day the artillery began to play against it, not only from the new batteries, but from the old ones beyond the river, which had previously been directed against the fleet. The fort was weakly built, and a practicable breach was made in its left face before the bombardment had been twelve hours in progress. Serious damage had also been done to the long entrenchment connecting Fort Francoli with the lower city. Contreras, rightly regarding the work as untenable, ordered its serviceable guns to be removed the moment after dusk set in, and bade its commander, Colonel Roten, to draw off the garrison, two battalions of the regiment of Almanza. They withdrew at 8.30, and an hour and a half later three French columns charged out of the trenches and seized the fort[649]. They were surprised to meet with no resistance, not having detected the withdrawal of the Spaniards. Finding themselves unopposed, they tried to push along the entrenchment from the fort towards the town, but were stopped, with some loss, by the guns of the Prince lunette.

The Spanish engineers had assured Contreras that the low-lying Fort Francoli would be untenable under the fire of the neighbouring bastion of San Carlos, the battery on the Mole on the other side of the harbour, and the heavy guns of the men-of-war. A fierce fire was opened against it from all these quarters, but proved insufficient to stop the French from burrowing into the ruins of the fort, connecting it with their trenches, and finally building in its right front a heavy battery, which bore along the line of the entrenchment and enfiladed the Prince lunette. This work faced northward, and exposed only a weak flank to the attack. Fort Francoli having ceased to be an obstacle, the besiegers could now throw out a second parallel from the first, which they had constructed in front of the bastion[p. 509] of Orleans. Five new batteries were placed in it, some bearing on Orleans, some on San Carlos, and one having the special task of beating down the Prince lunette. The Spanish guns in the lower city answered with a fierce fire which caused much damage and took many lives, but the work, nevertheless, went on unceasingly. On June 16th all the new batteries were ready to commence their work.

Contreras had been much chagrined by the complete failure of the best efforts of his artillery to hold back the advance of the enemy, and reports that the morale of the troops was disagreeably affected by the arrival of the Valencian division of Miranda on June 14th and its prompt departure, after staying less than two days in the place. The garrison had looked upon it as a seasonable reinforcement, and were dashed in spirits when it made no stay with them. It seems to have been a complete mistake to have brought these 4,000 men to Tarragona at all: they should have been landed at once in Villanueva de Sitjes to join the army of succour.

Nevertheless the governor did his best to delay the progress of the French attack, and when his artillery proved ineffective, sent out two strong sorties on the 11th and 14th, which did some damage to the trenches[650] but were driven back in the end, as was inevitable. On the 16th all the new French batteries were ready, as well as that in Fort Francoli, and the bombardment began. The advanced batteries were within 120 yards of the bastions which they were attacking, and had a tremendous effect. By evening there was the commencement of a breach in the left face of the Orleans bastion, and several other parts of the enceinte were badly damaged, as was also the Prince lunette. This had not been effected without grave loss: one French battery had been silenced, a reserve magazine had been blown up, and the loss in men among the artillery had been very heavy. Nevertheless the assailants had the superiority in the cannonade, and were well satisfied. After dark the columns of stormers carried the Prince lunette by assault, one of the parties having slipped round its flank by descending on to the beach, where[p. 510] a few yards at the water’s edge had been left unfortified. The battalion of the regiment of Almanza which held the work was practically exterminated. Thus the Spaniards lost the last of the outer protections of Tarragona, and the captured lunette became the emplacement of one more battery destined to play upon the bastion of San Carlos (June 17).

It was clear that the crisis was now at hand: the French were now lodged close under the walls of the city, and had already damaged its enceinte. But to storm it would be a costly business, and Contreras showed no signs of slackening in his energy, though his letters to Campoverde and his narrative of the siege both show that he thought very badly of his position. It was clear that both sides must now utilize their last resources: Suchet had already ordered up from beyond the Ebro the brigade of Abbé, which had hitherto been observing the Valencians, in order that its 3,600 men might compensate him for the heavy losses that he had suffered[651]. Contreras began to call on the Captain-General very hotly for help; at his departure Campoverde had promised that the army of succour should be pressing Suchet’s rear within seven days, and now seventeen had elapsed and no signs of its approach were to be seen. He complained bitterly that many of his officers were failing him; even colonels had gone off by sea to Villanueva de Sitjes pretending sickness, or absconding without even that excuse[652]. Naturally the spirit of the rank and file had suffered from this desertion. There is good contemporary Spanish authority for the notion that Contreras himself contributed somewhat to the discouragement, by exhibiting too openly his failing hope, and stating that Tarragona must fall in a fortnight if the field army did not save it[653]. But so far as practical precautions went he did his duty,[p. 511] strengthened the damaged places in the walls as best he could, and devoted much energy to seeing that the troops were properly paid and fed, and that the breaches were mined, and protected to the rear by cuttings and traverses. Very different was the conduct of Campoverde, who showed that he was absolutely unfit for command by his miserable conduct during the critical weeks. After having been joined by Miranda’s Valencian division on June 16th he had 11,000 regular troops under his hand, a force insufficient to meet Suchet in the open field, but quite large enough to give the French grave trouble—indeed to make the continuance of the siege impossible if it were properly handled. But to bring effective pressure upon the enemy it was necessary to come up close to him, and Campoverde for many days tried a policy which was bound to fail. He kept far away, cut Suchet’s communication by placing himself at Momblanch, and sent Eroles and other officers to molest the French detachments on the Lower Ebro and to cut off the convoys coming up from Tortosa and Lerida. Apparently he hoped that these distant diversions would cause Suchet to draw off great part of his army from the siege, in order to succour his outlying posts. But the French general did nothing of the kind, and took no notice of the loss of convoys, or the danger to remote dép?ts; he stuck tight to the siege, and at this very time, by calling up Abbé’s brigade from the south to Tarragona, he had deliberately risked even more than before on the side of Valencia. Between the 16th and the 24th June, the critical days in the siege, Campoverde and his 11,000 men had no effect whatever on the course of operations. Yet he kept sending messages to Contreras promising him prompt assistance, and on the 20th bade him dispatch Sarsfield out of the city, to assume command of his old division in the fighting which was just about to begin. That fighting never took place—to the Captain-General’s eternal disgrace—for at the last moment he flinched from placing himself within engaging distance of Suchet. It seems clear that his true policy was to push much closer to the enemy’s lines, so as to force the French to come out against him, and then either to let[p. 512] them attack him in some strong position in the hills to the north-east of Tarragona, where their cavalry would have been useless, or else to avoid an engagement by a timely retreat when Suchet should have been drawn well away from the fortress. In either case he would have compelled his adversary to draw so many men away from the siege that it could not have proceeded. For it would have been useless for Suchet to march against him with less than 7,000 or 8,000 men, and the total of the besieging army had dwindled down to 16,000 by this time, while Abbé’s reserve brigade had not yet come up. Probably, as Napier suggests, a blow at the French magazines and hospitals at Reus, only ten miles from Tarragona, would have forced Suchet to draw off two divisions for a fight, and Campoverde need not have accepted it, unless he had found himself some practically impregnable position. But to skulk in the hills many miles away and send detachments against outlying French posts could have no effect.

While Campoverde hesitated, Suchet took the lower city of Tarragona by a vigorous effort. At seven o’clock on the evening of the 21st the assault was delivered by five storming-columns, composed of the massed grenadier and voltigeur companies of all his French regiments, 1,500 strong, and supported by a brigade under General Montmarie, There were now two good breaches in the bastions of San Carlos and Orleans, the curtain between them had also been much injured, and even the Fuerte Real, the inner stronghold behind the Orleans bastion, had been damaged by shot and shell which passed over the outer works. Contreras had sent down into the lower city 6,000 out of the 8,000 men who were still at his disposition, and had handed over the charge of them to Sarsfield, the officer who had the best reputation in the whole of Catalonia. But by an ill-chance there was actually no one in command when the assault was delivered. Campoverde’s dispatch recalling Sarsfield to the field army had come to hand that morning, and Contreras, thinking himself bound to obey it, sent Sarsfield a passport to leave the city, and designated General Velasco to take his place. Sarsfield, whose courage cannot be impeached, but whose judgement was evidently at fault on this afternoon, left at once, embarking on board a boat in the harbour at three o’clock,[p. 513] without going to see Contreras or waiting for the arrival of the officer who was to supersede him. He merely sent for the senior colonel in the lower city, handed over the command to him, and put out to sea at a moment’s notice. Four hours later, when the storm took place, Contreras was not aware that Sarsfield had yet departed, and Velasco, coming down to take charge of the troops, found himself in the middle of the fighting before he had reached the walls, or discovered the manner in which their garrison was distributed. There was clearly something wrong here—apparently Sarsfield and Contreras were not on good terms, and the former acted with small regard for the welfare of the service[654].

At seven o’clock Suchet let loose the stormers, who were led by the Italian General Palombini, while, to distract the attention of the garrison to other points, he ordered a general bombardment of the northern front, and showed a column on the side of Fort Olivo. The assault was immediately successful at both the critical points: the forlorn hope on the side of the Orleans bastion, starting from its ditch, went up the breach like a whirlwind, losing somewhat from the musketry fire of the defenders but not from their cannon, for all had been silenced. The Spaniards were cleared out so quickly from the bastion that[p. 514] they had not time to fire two mines, which would have blown up the breach and the storming-column if they had worked. They rallied for a few minutes at the gorge, but were driven from it by the French reserve, who poured into the town. At the San Carlos breach matters went almost as rapidly: the first attacking column was checked, but when the second supported it, the united mass carried the breach and burst into the town; a retrenchment and a row of palisades erected behind the breach were crossed in face of a half-hearted defence. All the columns having penetrated within the walls, those who turned to the left attacked the Fuerte Real, the weak and somewhat damaged work which served as citadel to the lower city: it was carried by assault without any great difficulty, partly because its earthen ramp had been somewhat damaged by the bombardment, and could be climbed at some points, but more because the garrison defended themselves very badly, and gave way when they saw that the streets on their flanks and behind them were inundated by the enemy. The other section of the stormers, inclining to their right, moved towards the mole and the large magazines at its base, where they met General Velasco, who had only arrived at the moment that the assault began, with the Spanish reserve. There was fierce fighting here for a moment, but, turned by a column which had passed around their flank by the quay at the water’s edge, Velasco’s men broke like the rest. The whole of the garrison rushed up the slope, towards the one gate which leads into the upper city, and finally entered it under cover of a heavy fire kept up from the neighbouring ramparts. Contreras reports that some of the pursuers came on so fiercely that they were shot down while actually battering at the closed gate.

The losses of the two parties were about equal in numbers—Contreras reports that he found no more than 500 and odd men missing when the battalions from the lower city were reassembled; Suchet gives 120 killed and 362 wounded as his total loss. The casualties on both sides would have been heavier if the garrison had fought better—but it is clear that, when the breaches were once gained, no serious attempt was made to defend the Fuerte Real, the retrenchments, or the barricaded houses of the lower city. Only Velasco’s reserve battalions[p. 515] made any fight in the streets; the rest fled early. The French might perhaps have made more captures—they only took 200 wounded prisoners—if they had not turned at once to plundering the houses and magazines. But they fell into great disorder; many of the unfortunate inhabitants of the quarter about the port were not only stripped of their goods but murdered, and a great number of dwellings were wantonly set on fire. Eighty guns were captured on the walls of the lower city, and a great quantity of food and stores in the dép?ts along the quay. But the soldiers destroyed more than was saved—especially in the wine stores.

Not the least disastrous result of this unhappy affair was that the harbour was now closed to the Spaniards. The English men-of-war and the native merchant vessels which had hitherto sheltered under the west end of the mole had to put out to sea. The traders went off to Villanueva, Minorca, or Valencia, but Codrington’s squadron sought the bare roadstead off Milagro Point, under the precipitous southern face of the upper city. Here there were no quays, and when the sea was rough it was impossible to land. But in ordinary weather boats could communicate freely with the shore, and Tarragona was not yet deprived of its access to the water, though that access had become difficult and dangerous. Suchet proceeded to make it more so on the 23rd, when he erected a battery, near the base of the mole, to play on the roadstead. Landing, however, was made rather exciting than dangerous by these guns, which never did much harm.

On the morning after the storm of the lower city the French engineers began to make surveys for the attack on the inner line of defence of Tarragona. Its strength lay in its commanding position, and in the fact that along many parts of its short front the ground just below it was too steep and too rocky to allow of approaches being constructed on it. Its weakness was that the wall was weak and old—a seventeenth-century work built only to resist the cannon of that day. There was no ditch or other outer defence, unless a hedge of prickly aloes counted as such. The front was composed of four bastions; counting from north to south they were named San Pablo, San Juan (at whose left side lay the only gate), Jesus, and Cervantes. The last[p. 516] named overhung the precipitous cliff looking down to the sea above Milagro Point. The French engineers reported in favour of making the attack on the curtain wall between San Juan and San Pablo, the ground here being less steep than elsewhere, and showing soil which could be dug into; there was also some cover to be found, in half-ruined houses along the road up to the gate. Moreover the other, or southern section of the wall, was not only on a steeper ascent, but might be exposed to high-trajectory fire from the ships in the roadstead below. The first parallel, therefore, was thrown up opposite San Juan and San Pablo, with a communication to the rear covered by the buildings and gardens along the road, and three batteries were planned in it, and commenced on June 24th. A fourth battery, down in the plain outside the city, was to co-operate by a flanking fire uphill.

This day saw Campoverde’s first and last demonstration in favour of the garrison. It was a miserable affair. Driven to do something by Contreras’s appeals, and by the openly displayed discontent of his own army, he at last drew in close to the French lines. On the 23rd his army marched from Momblanch to Villarodona, fifteen miles north-east of Tarragona. On the next day it was divided into two columns; the first (composed of Miranda’s Valencian division) marched over the hills, with orders to fall upon the encampments of Harispe’s Italian brigades on the north-east side of the French lines. The second, or Catalan division, under Sarsfield, with which went the Captain-General himself, marched by another road more to the east, and was to come into line on Miranda’s left. Meanwhile Contreras was to make a sally out of the eastern side of Tarragona with 4,000 men of the garrison, and to attack Harispe’s rear when he saw his front engaged with the ‘army of succour.’ Both Campoverde’s columns reached the points designated for them, Miranda getting unopposed to Pallaresos, and the second division to Cattlar, three miles further east. Suchet, warned by his outlying cavalry, concentrated Harispe’s and part of Frère’s divisions in the rear of his lines to the French left of Fort Olivo, leaving Habert, Abbé, and the rest of Frère’s troops to hold the lower city and the trenches. His line, composed of some 8,000 men including[p. 517] all his cavalry, was plainly visible both to the Spaniards outside and those within the city, and Contreras formed his sallying column ready to rush down when the first cannon-shot should be heard. But Miranda, on finding himself in touch with the enemy, sent back messages to the effect that he was not sure of his route, that the French seemed very strong, and that he dared not advance. Instead of depriving him of his command, and then bringing up the second column to the help of the first, Campoverde, after some hesitation, gave him leave to draw back, and both divisions retired that night to Vendrils, ten miles to the rear, in the eastern hills. Not a shot had been fired, and Contreras, whose men had been waiting under arms the whole afternoon, had to draw them back into the city without having seen a single man of the relieving army, which, though only four miles away, was hidden from him by the intervening hills. So ended a day of great peril for Suchet, who with 11,000 men in front of him, and 4,000 more ready to attack his rear, might well have suffered a disaster, or at least have proved unable to prevent the junction of the two hostile forces. For the Spaniards were not bound to descend and attack him in the plain, but might have man?uvred along the hills and forced him to take the offensive in unfavourable ground, under pain of seeing them break his blockading line. Codrington summed up the situation by writing to his chief, Pellew, that ‘the Marquis [Campoverde] blamed Generals Miranda and Caro, while the latter retorted the accusation, and I am inclined to think by giving full credit to what each says of the other, neither will suffer ignominy beyond that to which his conduct has entitled him.’ For Tarragona, as Contreras was truly repeating in every dispatch that he sent out, was in imminent danger, and if the army of succour did not give it immediate help might fall at any moment. The city, as a matter of fact, was taken only four days later.

Campoverde, however, had now formed the conclusion that he was still too weak to attack Suchet. He wrote orders to Contreras to send him out of the city his two best regiments, Iliberia and Almeria, and General Velasco to command them. He made a desperate appeal to the somatenes to rally to his colours, which had little effect, for his reputation was now gone, and he was sus[p. 518]pected of timidity or even of treason. Finally he got news that there was a small British expeditionary force in Catalan waters, and sent his lieutenant Eroles to sea, to look for it, and to invite it to land at Villanueva and join him. In a week or so he would have 20,000 men, as he supposed, and would then try something desperate. Meanwhile, unjustly suspecting Contreras of cowardice, he sent secret letters into Tarragona to the brigadier-generals of the garrison, bidding them depose and confine the governor if he showed signs of capitulating. Disgusted at this move, the generals showed the epistles to Contreras, who was driven still deeper into despair by seeing that the Captain-General distrusted him, regarded his views as to the danger of the city as exaggerated, and was evidently deferring succour for an indefinite period. Nevertheless he concealed his knowledge of the plan for his deposition, and prepared, under protest, to send the regiment of Almeria off by sea; to dispatch Iliberia also he refused, saying that his garrison was already insufficient. But rough weather on the 27th prevented the regiment from embarking from the dangerous Milagro roadstead, which was unapproachable by boats during an east wind.

Suchet, freed from a dire responsibility by the disappearance of the army of succour on the night of the 24th, resolved to hurry matters, lest it should presently come forward again in greater strength. On the following day the siege troops pushed forward by zigzag approaches to within 150 yards of the wall of the upper city, and commenced a second parallel in front of the curtain between San Juan and San Pablo. This was done under a hot and effective fire which cost many lives; the completion of the projected batteries, and more especially the hauling of their cannon up steep slopes and among ruins, took more time than the engineer officers had calculated to be necessary. It was not till the morning of the 28th that the twenty-two heavy guns destined for the breaching had been got into place, and that the fire was opened.

These three days, the 25th-26th-27th of June, were a time of agony for the unfortunate Contreras, who was distracted from his primary duty of preparing to receive the assault by having to deal with Campoverde’s plot for deposing him, and other problems. The most important of these was the arrival in the[p. 519] roadstead on the 26th of a flotilla, which brought not only some small reinforcements from Valencia and Murcia, but about 1,100 British infantry[655] and a half-company of artillery under Colonel Skerret. This little force had been sent by General Graham from Cadiz at the desire of the Regency, which was seeking in all quarters for help for Tarragona. Colonel Skerret had Graham’s orders to do everything that could be done for the place, short of placing his detachment in any position where it was exposed to serious danger of having to capitulate, i. e. he was forbidden to land it if he should think Tarragona untenable, unless he judged himself able to bring off the troops by sea in the moment of disaster. On the morning of his arrival the weather was so rough that no boat could get in to the shore, and communication with Contreras was opened up by a sailor who swam ashore with a letter. The governor thus found himself offered the aid of the British force if he would guarantee that it would be able to escape should the town fall—a most hampering condition. In the evening, the surf having somewhat abated, Colonel Skerret came ashore, and was joined next morning by an engineer and an artillery officer, as also by General Charles Doyle, and by Codrington, the commander of the British squadron off the Catalonian coast. They conferred with Contreras, who told them that he feared the town was untenable, and that he intended, when the walls should be breached, not to make a prolonged defence, but to sally out of the Barcelona gate, and to try to cut his way to join Campoverde. He thought that the sortie must succeed, since the French would be intent on a storm on the western side of the fortress, and would never expect an attack to be delivered at the same moment from its eastern side. He therefore invited Skerret to land his 1,200 men and take part in the enterprise. But if he preferred to join him in withstanding the approaching storm by the French, he might choose whatever point he liked in the enceinte, and defend it. It is clear that at this moment the governor was himself hesitating between the two alternatives, and that it[p. 520] relieved his mind to throw the responsibility of choice on Skerret.

The British officers, military and naval, spent the afternoon in going round the city. They agreed with Contreras that the wall was weak and likely to be breached without much difficulty. This being so, was it consistent with Graham’s directions to land the troops? The sortie might fail, and the garrison, Spanish and English, might be driven back into the town and captured. A defence of the breach might also fail, and in that case it would be almost impossible to get off the troops by sea, since if Skerret’s own single boat had had the greatest difficulty in coming ashore in the surf, it was certain that many boats, hastily manned and crammed with soldiers, and escaping under the fire of the pursuing French, would come to grief on a large scale. Skerret and Codrington, after much consultation, resolved that they dared not bring the British troops ashore, for they could not guarantee that the men could be taken away again. They therefore refused both of Contreras’s alternative offers. Just at this moment Baron Eroles arrived from Campoverde, with an appeal to Skerret to land at Villanueva de Sitjes and join the ‘army of succour.’ With Codrington’s approval the colonel consented to do so[656], and set sail northward early in the morning of the 28th. It cannot be disputed that this whole business was most unhappy in its results. That a British force should appear in the roadstead for 36 hours, and then depart without landing a man, appeared to the garrison of Tarragona to prove that their own condition was hopeless. If there had been a reasonable hope of defending the town successfully, as they argued, the British would have come ashore. Their departure caused deep discouragement, and Contreras was no doubt right in stating that next after Campoverde’s conduct that of Skerret[p. 521] was the most active cause of the demoralization which the garrison showed on the next day. It would have been far better that the expedition should never have appeared. Yet it is hard to blame Skerret or his adviser, Codrington. They had Graham’s orders that the men were not to be placed in a position where they might have to capitulate, and it could not be disputed that Tarragona on June 27th was such a position[657]. It would have been better not to tie Skerret’s hands by any conditions, and to leave him free to act as he thought best for the interest of Great Britain and Spain. The addition of 1,100 steady infantry to the force defending the breaches might very possibly have wrecked Suchet’s assault; even if their effort had failed, the loss of two battalions would have been a lesser shock to British prestige in eastern Spain than their withdrawal into ignominious safety at the moment of danger.

Contreras spent the few hours that remained to him after Skerret’s departure in hesitation between the idea of cutting his way out of Tarragona along the eastern road, and that of defending the town to the last possible moment. He finally resolved that he would hold the walls for one day only, and would evacuate the city on the night of the 28th, if the French had made any impression during the first twenty-four hours of the bombardment. The main body of the garrison, divided into three columns, was to make its exit from the Rosario gate, while 1,400 men remained to hold the walls as long as they could, with orders to save themselves if possible and follow the rest when the enemy should break in. Officers and men alike were informed of this, and had their destined positions in the sortie explained to them. It seems likely that the knowledge that they were intended to abscond in a few hours made the troops less obstinate in their defence when the assault came. But meanwhile Contreras made proper preparation for holding back the enemy till the destined time of departure. He told off[p. 522] his best regiments to the exposed front, and constructed a second line of defence behind it, by barricading and loopholing the houses of the Rambla, the broad street above the enceinte, and by blocking the narrow lanes which lead up to it with barrels filled with stones, so that from wall to wall there was a continuous inner fortification. But all this was a temporary arrangement—the garrison was to hold out till night only, and then escape by a great sortie.

Unfortunately the sortie was never made—for Suchet pushed matters so fast that the bombardment and the assault were all over in twelve hours. The twenty-two guns in the breaching batteries opened at dawn, and soon began to damage the weak old walls in the most effective style. The French had originally intended to make two breaches, one to the left in the curtain near the San Pablo bastion, the other to the right nearer the bastion of San Juan. But finding the latter hard to complete owing to the misdirection of one of his batteries, Suchet had the whole force of the battering turned on to the spot nearer to San Pablo, which he regarded as most favourable for his purpose. By four o’clock in the afternoon there was a breach over 30 feet broad at this point, all the guns in the adjacent flanks of the two bastions had been silenced, and nearly all those along the whole front. The explosion of a powder magazine had completely wrecked the Cervantes bastion at the other end of the Spanish line. Notwithstanding that the musketry fire of the garrison was still unsubdued, and that the breach was not very wide, Suchet determined to risk all, by assaulting the place in the later hours of the long summer afternoon. Three columns, each composed of 400 men of the compagnies d’élite of various regiments, were sent forward into the advanced trenches: 1,200 men more under General Habert crept up to the shelter of the front houses of the lower city. A separate force of five battalions under General Montmarie marched outside the walls, and placed itself in the low ground facing the Rosario gate, but out of gunshot. This column was to advance towards that gate if the assault succeeded, and was to be admitted by the stormers, if they won their way into the north-west angle of the upper city, just behind the breach, from which the gate was not far distant.

At five o’clock the three storming-columns burst out from[p. 523] three separate points of the trenches and raced for the breach, which they reached by no means simultaneously, for two of them were somewhat hindered by the aloe hedge below the wall, which had not been entirely broken down by the bombardment. They received a tremendous musketry fire from the whole front, but only three guns in the left side of the San Juan bastion plied them with grape: the rest of the Spanish artillery had been dismounted or disabled. Contreras had filled the breach with the remains of the two battalions of Provincial Grenadiers of Castile, a corps which had been serving with credit in Catalonia since the autumn of 1808; in support was the regiment of Almeria, also reckoned a good unit. The important retrenchment in the Rambla was held by the regiment of Almanza; of the rest of his force there was a less proportion along the front of attack, and a greater proportion placed on the unassailed south and north flanks of the city than was wise. Troops should have been heaped unsparingly upon the breach.

The first French column that reached its destination came on in some disorder, got half-way up the crumbling débris on the breach, and recoiled under the musketry fire from its crest. But when the others arrived, and General Habert and a crowd of other officers put themselves at the head of the mass, and led a second assault, it was successful. The stormers rolled over the summit of the breach and trampled down the Provincial Grenadiers. The regiment of Almeria, which had been placed behind in column, with orders to charge the enemy with the bayonet the moment that he broke through, gave way—according to Contreras—without carrying out his command. The main body of the French then swept down into the street behind the breach, but some turned to their left to try to open the Rosario gate to Montmarie, and others made to their right and swept the ramparts as far as the Cervantes bastion. The Spaniards had rallied at the retrenchments along the line of the Rambla, and made here a better defence than on the far more tenable walls. The assault had succeeded in half an hour[658]—the street-fighting[p. 524] which followed was prolonged and bitter. But when the French reserves arrived and entered the upper city, the barricaded street was passed, the Rosario gate was burst open, so that Montmarie’s column got in upon the Spanish flank, and the resistance went to pieces. Contreras, manfully trying to bring up a battalion of Savoia, his last intact regiment, for a charge, was bayoneted and taken prisoner. One of the divisional generals, Courten, bethinking himself of the proposed sortie that was to have taken place that evening, led out a disorderly remnant of 3,000 men by the Barcelona gate, and tried to escape along the seashore. They had not got far when they ran into one of Harispe’s Italian brigades and some squadrons of chasseurs à cheval, which had been set to watch this obvious bolt-hole. When checked, some of the demoralized troops tried to turn back towards the city, others dispersed and strove to get away across the hills, some hundreds stripped, and endeavoured to swim out to the British ships, which were lying in the Milagro roadstead[659]. A fair number of these were saved by the boats of the Blake and her consorts, which ran inshore to pick them up. But many more were cut down by the French cavalry on the beach, and it was some time before the excited riders would give quarter, and accepted the surrender of Courten and the survivors. General Velasco, the second-in-command in the city, had the luck to escape across the mountains almost alone, and brought the bad news to Campoverde.
Map of the siege of Tarragona

Enlarge  TARRAGONA

While this ineffective attempt at a sally was in progress, the street-fighting in the city above was still going on. Isolated bodies of the Spaniards made a most desperate resistance: Colonel Gonzales, the brother of Campoverde, attempted to hold out in the cathedral with 300 men, but was killed with all followers after a brave resistance. The fact that many small parties defended themselves for a time in barricaded private houses gave the French an excuse for something that almost amounted to the systematic massacre of non-combatants. All the larger dwellings were broken open, whether shots had been fired from their windows or no, and a great proportion of their inhabitants murdered. Of the 4,000 corpses which littered the[p. 525] streets of Tarragona more than half were those of civilians, and according to the Spanish official report 450 women and children were among the slain[660]. As one Spanish authority bitterly remarks, the victorious stormers generally gave quarter to any man wearing a uniform, and let off their fury on priests and unarmed citizens. Plunder was even more general than murder, and there was the inevitable accompaniment of drunkenness and rape. Knowing what happened at Badajoz in April 1812, it is not for the British historian to dilate with too great moral indignation on the doings of Suchet’s soldiery. Suffice it to say that all the atrocities afterwards seen at Badajoz were suffered by the unhappy people of Tarragona, and that the actual slaughter of non-combatants was much greater—about 100 inhabitants are believed to have been murdered at Badajoz, more than 2,000 in the Catalonian city. Spanish authorities state that the Poles and Italians behaved decidedly worse than the native French. The officers made some attempt to check the orgie, but (like the British at Badajoz) they failed: riot and slaughter went on all night, and it was not till the next day that order was restored. One of the most dreadful incidents of the storm was that many individuals, both soldiers and civilians, tried to escape to the Milagro roadstead by climbing down the precipitous south front of the city, and, losing their footing, were dashed to pieces or mortally maimed on the beach below.

The garrison, owing to the last-received reinforcements, was over 10,000 strong at the moment of the storm; as Suchet accounts for more than 8,000 prisoners[661], the actual loss at the storm cannot have been much over 2,000 men. But to the 10,000 Spaniards killed or captured on June 28th we must add the losses of the garrison during the earlier operations. It seems that the Army of Catalonia lost in all 14,000 or 15,000 men in this disastrous siege. A certain amount of the wounded, however, had been sent off from time to time on English ships to Majorca and other safe destinations, and survived to fight another day. The French casualties during the siege amounted[p. 526] to 924 killed and 3,372 wounded—a total of 4,296. This was a very heavy proportion out of the 22,000 men[662] who were from first to last engaged in the operations; and if the sick, who are not included in Suchet’s report along with the wounded, are deducted from the survivors, it is clear that the army must have been reduced to a dangerously low figure by June 28th, and that the Spanish authorities[663] who estimate the total loss of their enemies at 6,000 cannot be far out.

But the effect produced was worth the effort which had been made: nearly two-thirds of the regular troops of the Army of Catalonia had been destroyed. The great fortress, which for three years had been the base of the Spanish resistance, had been taken; there was now no considerable place left in the hands of the patriots—Solsona, Berga, Cardona, Seo de Urgel, and the other towns which they still retained were of small importance. They had lost their one fortified harbour, and for the future their communication by sea with Valencia, the Balearic Isles, and the British fleet, could only be conducted hastily and, as it were, surreptitiously; for any port, to which their forces in the inland might descend for a moment, was always liable to be attacked and seized by a French flying column. How nearly the spirit of resistance was crushed in the principality by the stunning blow which Suchet had inflicted will be shown in our next chapter.

Meanwhile, having reorganized his troops, and determined that the upper town of Tarragona should be fortified and garrisoned, but the harbour town dismantled and abandoned, the French commander was at liberty to proceed further with his scheme for the conquest of eastern Spain. But there was bound to be some preliminary delay before he could deliver his great blow against Valencia. One brigade had to be told off to escort the 8,000 Spanish prisoners to Saragossa; another had to return to the south to deal with the insurgents of Aragon, who had been left comparatively unmolested while Abbé was drawn off to the siege. Suchet himself—soon to be a marshal, for the Emperor carried out his promise that ‘he should find his baton within the walls of Tarragona’—marched with some 7,000 or 8,000 men, all that was left disposable, to open[p. 527] up communications with Barcelona. Before his departure he had a curious interview with Contreras: the wounded general, brought before him on a stretcher, was reproached with having violated the laws of war by persisting in the defence of an untenable town when capitulation had been his bounden duty! The Spaniard made the proper answer, that any commander who surrenders before he is obliged is a traitor and a coward. Thereupon Suchet changed his tone, and offered him tempting conditions if he would take service under King Joseph. This proposal being answered as it deserved, Contreras was sent as a prisoner to the castle of Bouillon, from which he escaped after a captivity of fifteen months in October 1812[664].
SECTION XXVIII: CHAPTER III
THE FALL OF FIGUERAS AND THE AUTUMN CAMPAIGN IN CATALONIA. JULY-OCTOBER 1811

The news of the fall of Tarragona, brought by the fugitive General Velasco, came as a thunderclap to Campoverde and his ‘army of succour.’ While the Captain-General had been hesitating, marching and countermarching, and sending about for further reinforcements, the great city entrusted to him had fallen. It was impossible for the simplest soldier in his ranks to fail to see that the whole responsibility for its loss lay with Campoverde, and from that moment his authority ceased, and officers and men alike began to clamour for his resignation. His former popularity in Catalonia had, most deservedly, vanished. The newly raised recruits began to melt away from their colours; the somatenes refused to serve one whom they regarded as a coward, if not as a traitor. On the news that a French column had started from Tarragona to attack him, Campoverde abandoned his head quarters at Vendrils, and fled inland to Cervera, where he at last thought himself safe for the moment. His departure exposed the dép?t at Villanueva de Sitjes, where his sea-borne stores were lying, and the French seized it on the 30th, making prize of many ships not ready for sailing, and capturing 800 Tarragona wounded in the hospital. Skerret’s 1,200 British were lying off the place in their transports, just preparing to land and to join Campoverde, as he had desired. Finding that disembarkation was impossible, and that the Catalan army had disappeared, Skerret took his expedition back to Cadiz, after a most humiliating experience.

Meanwhile there was high debate at Cervera. The Valencian general, Miranda, demanded that Campoverde should at once dismiss him and his division, and permit them to return home by sea. They had been lent by Charles O’Donnell for the one purpose of the relief of Tarragona; and that operation being now impossible, for the best of reasons, Miranda claimed leave[p. 529] to depart. He was naturally anxious to serve no longer under such a miserable chief as Campoverde—though his own behaviour on June 24th gave him no right to complain. It was hard to see how his request could be refused, yet many of the chiefs of the Catalan army thought that the departure of the Valencian division implied the end of all formal war in the principality. The proposal to remove not only the Valencians but all the regular troops was raised: Campoverde, feeling his authority gone, and willing to throw all responsibility on his lieutenants, called a council of war on July 1st. By a majority of four to three general officers, the meeting decided in favour of abandoning Catalonia altogether. Sarsfield, the fighting-man of the army, gave a furious negative, and Campoverde himself made a more timid objection to the move[665]. But the retreat to Valencia being once voted, the Captain-General was only too glad to fall in with the project, and to be quit of the duties which he had so ill discharged. All the regulars were to sail when a convenient exit to the sea could be found—at the moment of the council of war Suchet was on the move in the neighbourhood of Barcelona, and the small ports usually available were blocked. It was a miserable resolve, when Figueras was still holding out, when the inland was still intact, and when Suchet had been obliged to disperse his troops, and could obviously make no general move for some weeks. Fortunately difficulties cropped up to prevent the evacuation. The British commodore, Codrington, when asked to prepare transports and convoy, replied ‘that although he would strain any point to restore to General O’Donnell and to Valencia the troops so liberally furnished by that kingdom, he would not embark the Marquis of Campoverde, or any of the troops belonging to Catalonia, which it was his duty to assist in defending, instead of depriving it of that protection which it had[666].’ Eroles,[p. 530] Manso, and other local Catalan officers sent in equally strong protests; they would be glad to be rid of the Captain-General, but it would be treason to withdraw the whole regular army, and to leave the principality to be defended by the miqueletes alone. The spirit of the people would be brought low, and resistance would die down when they knew that they were abandoned for ever by the army.

Meanwhile Suchet had spent the days while the Spaniards were debating in opening up the communications between his own army and Barcelona, which had so long been out of touch. He marched with the greater part of the divisions of Harispe and Frère, as has already been mentioned, to Villafranca and Villanueva de Sitjes, where he left the bulk of his troops, then by the pass of Ordal to Barcelona itself. Here General Maurice Mathieu was in a very isolated position, for since Macdonald had taken off all the disposable troops to the siege of Figueras, the city had been entirely cut off from him, the somatenes having intercepted the road, while English cruisers maintained a fairly effective blockade on the side of the sea. Suchet concerted with the governor a plan for opening up communication with Macdonald, and occupying the port of Mataro, north of Barcelona, where the Spaniards still had an access to the sea. He determined to bring up Harispe and Frère, and went back to pick them up. This he did, and returned with them to Barcelona on July 9th, while an expedition sent out by Maurice Mathieu seized Mataro.

But meanwhile Campoverde, reflecting that if the little ports between Tarragona and Barcelona were blocked to him, there still remained those between Barcelona and Rosas, had made a rapid march through the inland, and had arrived at Arens de Mar, north of Mataro, before Suchet returned to Barcelona. The bulk of Miranda’s division was safely shipped off on July 9th by Codrington, and transported to Valencia[667]. But the cavalry, refusing to abandon their horses, had turned westward, under a Colonel Gasca, and to the number of some 900 saved them[p. 531]selves by a most extraordinary march. Striking across northern Aragon, and dodging between the French garrisons, they reached the Upper Ebro near Tudela, where they forded the great river by the aid of guides lent them by the great guerrillero Mina. Once on the south bank, they executed another equally dangerous march, evading many French detachments, and rejoined Charles O’Donnell in the end of August, having travelled in six weeks no less than 740 miles, through the heart of a region which was supposed to be in military occupation by the enemy. Their loss was only four officers and fifty-three men, though 213 horses had perished in the mountains. This achievement sufficiently shows the superficial nature of Suchet’s occupation of Aragon: he could not prevent so large a body as 900 men from crossing it twice from end to end.

Campoverde, after shipping off Miranda’s infantry at Arens de Mar, had retired inland to Vich, where on the evening after the embarkation his disastrous captain-generalship came to an end. For he found waiting him there General Luis Lacy, sent by the Cadiz regency to relieve him in command. The new chief was a stranger to Catalonia, and the people would have preferred Eroles to lead them—indeed, a junta of Catalan officers had already offered to put themselves under his orders[668]. But Eroles, the most honourable of all the local leaders, refused to commit an act of indiscipline, and Lacy was recognized as Captain-General, while Campoverde absconded hastily by sea. Rejecting all idea of evacuating the principality, Lacy drew back into the mountains with the mere wreck of an army which had been handed over to him—some 2,000 or 3,000 men—and established himself at Solsona, where the Junta of Catalonia also took refuge. In this place and the neighbouring hill-towns he began to reorganize his demoralized troops, and to gather in recruits and deserters. But he was far too weak to do anything for the long-enduring garrison of Figueras, which was still holding out, though nearing its last gasp.

[p. 532]Suchet, after failing to prevent the embarkation of the Valencian division, had determined to spend some time in opening up free communication between Barcelona and Macdonald’s army in front of Figueras, as also between Barcelona and his own base of operations at Lerida. He must set matters on a satisfactory footing in Catalonia, before undertaking the great invasion of Valencia, which the Emperor had assigned as his next task. The expedition towards Macdonald’s rear was accomplished by Suchet himself with the divisions of Frère and Harispe. One column (Palombini’s Italians) marched up the valley of the Tenes river, by Monbuy and Codinas, the other and larger column followed the Congost river. Neither met with opposition, and they joined at the defile of Centelles above Vich. That town was occupied on July 15th, and flying columns sent out from it to Ripol, Olot, and Castelfollit. By means of these detachments Suchet got into touch with Macdonald, who was found to be holding Figueras closely blocked, and to be in no need of help, for though his army was sickly, yet the besieged garrison was known to be in a desperate condition, and its surrender was expected to occur at any moment. Determining that Macdonald could shift for himself, and would be able to overrun all northern Catalonia when his army was set free from the siege, Suchet turned back from Vich, with the object of achieving his second aim, the clearing of the road from Barcelona to Lerida. This great route was safe for large detachments—indeed, Montmarie’s brigade had marched along it almost unmolested ten days back. But it could not be used by convoys or small parties, so long as the Spaniards were in possession of the mountain of Montserrat, which overhangs it for many miles. This lofty peak, the projecting angle of one of the chief Catalan sierras, was the nearest point to Barcelona now in the hands of the patriots. It was occupied at this moment by Eroles and some 1,500 miqueletes, who continually made descents into the plain from their fastness. The Montserrat is a fantastic pile of rock, whose highest point reaches 4,000 feet above the sea-level; it is mainly composed of red slate, a geological formation which runs to precipices, and at first sight the enormous bulk—its circumference is fifteen miles—looks almost inaccessible. But several paths run up among its clefts, and on a platform[p. 533] 3,000 feet up lies the sanctuary of Our Lady of Montserrat, the oldest and formerly the richest sanctuary of Catalonia, with a great Renaissance church and a large monastery. Most of the monks had fled to Majorca with their treasure in 1808, and their empty home served as the head quarters of the local miqueletes, and the magazine of their munitions. For cargoes of arms and stores, run ashore on the central Catalan coast, were generally forwarded to Montserrat for distribution. The mountain was not regularly fortified, indeed it was too large for fortification, but there were two batteries with ten guns placed across the only practicable road which led up to the sanctuary from the north, and the buildings themselves, far above, had been loopholed and barricaded. Nothing save its own steepness protected a minor path which climbs to the monastery from the village of Colbato. Another from Monistrol, which lies in the plain to the north-west, had been blasted away in places. The aspect of the peak was formidable, but its strength was more apparent than real, when it was held by no more than 1,500 irregular troops: for over and above the known paths there were many places where lightly equipped men could scramble, over slopes which were only precipitous in certain sections. When a very large force delivered a concentric attack on the mountain, it was impossible for the small garrison to block every possible point up which active assailants might make their way.

Suchet had brought up more than 10,000 men for the attack, including a battalion or two borrowed from the garrison of Barcelona. Abbé’s brigade was to make the main assault along the road: Montmarie’s brigade, now returned from Lerida, was to menace the steep path from Colbato to the summit; Harispe and Frère, lower down towards the plain, watched the Igualada and Manresa roads, the Barcelona troops the road to the south by Bruch. On July 25th the assault was delivered by Abbé’s five battalions: they were scarcely opposed on the lower slopes, but met with a fierce resistance at the first battery, near the chapel of Saint Cecilia, 1,200 yards from the monastery. Here the column halted, to throw out swarms of skirmishers over the precipitous hillside. Some of them climbed high enough to bring an enfilading fire to bear on the Spanish guns, and as their discharge began to slacken, the grenadier companies charged up[p. 534] the road and captured them. The miqueletes fell back on the second battery, which was presently captured in the same fashion by the combination of a flanking fire and a frontal attack. The Spanish gunners, the only regulars present, stood to their guns to the last in the most gallant way, and were nearly all bayoneted. Abbé was rearranging his column for an attack on the fortified monastery above, when furious firing was heard to break out in its direction, and the garrison were presently seen streaming down the hillside to the east. A large body of the French skirmishers, thrown out for the first attack, had found their way over the rocks to the back of the sanctuary, where there are rough tracks leading to some hermitages which lie out far from the main buildings. When some 300 men had collected behind the monastery, they delivered an attack on it from the rear. The small reserve placed in the buildings was panic-stricken by an attack from this side—all the more so because they saw the rest of their comrades recoiling from the batteries below, which had already been taken. They fled, after making no great stand, and, joining the main body, rushed down the precipitous ravines on the east front of the peak, where a few perished by falls, but the majority got away safely over ground where the victors could not follow. So fell Montserrat, with a loss of only 200 men to the French and 400 to the Spaniards. The storming of the holy mountain was a picturesque rather than a really difficult achievement, but the blow inflicted on the Catalans was a very severe one: Montserrat had been looked upon as impregnable, and the protection of its patroness was supposed to have defended it for the three years during which the French had been holding Barcelona, which lies so close to its foot. The Spaniards had now no post left on the great road from Barcelona to Lerida, and Suchet disposed part of his army to hold this line, Palombini’s Italian brigade being left on Montserrat, while Frère’s division lay at Igualada, and two cavalry and one infantry regiments held Cervera and its neighbourhood (the ‘Llano de Urgel’ or flat land of western Catalonia) as far as the gates of Lerida. Abbé’s brigade went off southward, to join Musnier’s division (to which it belonged) on the lower Ebro.

With the fall of Montserrat ended Suchet’s Catalan cam[p. 535]paign. He had subdued all that part of the principality which had been made over to him, when Napoleon broke up the old 7th Corps and assigned the districts of Lerida, Tortosa, and Tarragona to the Army of Aragon. He had now before him the long-projected invasion of Valencia, and intended to take it in hand, so soon as the brigades escorting the Tarragona prisoners should have returned to Saragossa, and the southern regions of Aragon should have been cleared of the insurgents, who had flocked down into them from the hills when Abbé’s brigade had been withdrawn to the north in June. For during the siege of Tarragona Villacampa had invested Teruel, in which a French battalion was shut up, Duran had attacked Calatayud, though without success, and a partisan named Campillo had raided as far as Cari?ena, only thirty miles from Saragossa. During the month of August, when Suchet was able to dispose of the troops set free from Catalonia, flying columns under Harispe, Compère, and Peyri scoured all southern Aragon. Teruel was relieved, and Villacampa and his lieutenants were driven back into their old fastnesses in the sierras of Albaracin and Molina, the remotest recesses of the rugged land where Aragon and New Castile meet. But the Valencian expedition could not be taken in hand before the month of September had begun.

Meanwhile the siege of Figueras had lingered on for a month longer than Macdonald and Suchet had expected. The brigadier Martinez, with his five small regular battalions[669] and his 3,000 miqueletes, had made a most admirable defence. No assistance, not even any prospect of assistance, had been before them since Campoverde’s defeat on May 3rd. The whole field army of Catalonia had been drawn away to defend or relieve Tarragona, and Martinez had no friends near him save the somatenes of the Ampurdam and the Pyrenean valleys, who were willing, but weak and disorganized. Their most popular chief, the fighting priest Rovira, had gone off to Cadiz to ask for succour, but found there that Tarragona was rightly considered a far more important place to save, and that there was no hope for Figueras. All that the somatenes could do was to molest Macdonald’s[p. 536] convoys and foraging parties. May, June, and July wore slowly away, and Martinez was still holding out, with a garrison reduced to half-rations. Yet he was doing good service, since he was detaining in front of him the whole of the disposable troops of the 7th Corps, not to speak of some battalions of National Guards from the southern departments of France. No help from Macdonald could come to Suchet during the whole of the siege of Tarragona, or the subsequent operations about Montserrat. Instead it was Suchet who was forced to help Macdonald, by clearing his rear by the march to Vich.

The Duke of Tarentum had completed a great circumvallation around the rocky fortress of San Fernando, and had pushed forward batteries to within 500 yards of its walls, but he never attempted to breach them, or to storm the place. It is hard to make out why he made no such endeavour, for though the place is high lying and difficult of approach, it is not more so than the upper city of Tarragona, with which Suchet was dealing in such a prompt and drastic fashion. But from March to August Figueras was blockaded rather than besieged. Macdonald’s proceedings are all the more difficult to understand because his army was suffering severely from the heat during June and July—the National Guards and the newly arrived battalions from the interior of France were thinned by malarial fevers, and by pestilence bred by long tarrying in unsanitary camps. Probably we must ascribe his refusal to open trenches and proceed to battering-work and assault, to his memory of what had happened at Gerona. The 7th Corps had an evil tradition of the repeated failures to storm that city, and of the loss of life which had accompanied them. Figueras, it was clear, must fall sooner or later from starvation; there was no chance that it could be relieved; was it worth while to waste good soldiers in taking by force a place that must yield in a week or two for want of provisions? Macdonald evidently under-estimated the obstinacy of the defenders and the amount of their stores, and may have regretted in July that he had not started a regular siege in May. But it was now too late to begin it, since surrender was inevitable within a few days, as he supposed. Evidence of the distressed state of the garrison was forthcoming on July 17th, when Martinez turned out of the fortress, without[p. 537] any demand for exchange, 850 French and Italian prisoners who had been confined in the bomb-proofs since the commencement of the siege; they were in a half-starved condition, and reported that for some days they had hardly received any food at all[670]. General Guillot and the officers were not released—they were useful hostages, since their lives were at the disposition of the governor, in case the French should threaten to refuse quarter to irregulars, or make other harsh demands when the inevitable surrender should draw nearer.

The expectation that Martinez would hoist the white flag within a few days of the release of the prisoners was entirely falsified. He held out, suffering terrible privations, for another month; he was aware that Tarragona had fallen, that Campoverde’s army had gone to pieces, and that he had no hope of succour. But he rightly considered that it was his duty to detain the 7th Corps before his walls to the last possible moment. Meanwhile he kept up the spirits of his garrison as best he could, by assuring them that it was well within their power to break out through the adversary’s lines by a general sortie, when the last rations should have been issued. By August 16th this moment had arrived: the Spaniards had eaten not only the few horses in the place, but the dogs and rats[671]: only three days’ half-rations were left. The plan for the evasion was well designed: in the afternoon Rovira, who had returned with empty hands from Cadiz, showed himself on the hills nearest to Figueras with some 2,000 somatenes—all that could be collected; he made roving demonstrations against the north side of the French circumvallation, in the hope of drawing the reserves in that direction, but allowed himself to be driven away without serious resistance. After dark, however, Martinez sallied from the fortress on the opposite side—the south-west—in the direction of the sea, hoping to find the line thin on that front. He had brought with him every man who could march, and dashed[p. 538] at the circumvallation in one broad column. The hostile pickets and outposts were rolled in, but the Spaniards were brought up against an impassable abattis, while two batteries on each side began playing against the flanks of the mass. After vainly trying to break through for some minutes, they recoiled into the fortress, leaving 400 dead and wounded behind them.

Next morning (August 17th) General Baraguay d’Hilliers, judging that the enemy must now be thoroughly disheartened, sent in a parlementaire to propose capitulation. Martinez, aware that his last bolt was shot, agreed to surrender on the third day, that following the issue of the last half-ration in his stores. The garrison crawled out and laid down its arms on the 19th: it mustered something over 2,000 men still able to stand, and there were another 1,000 in the hospitals. From first to last some 1,500 more had perished during the four months and nine days that the siege had lasted. The French had suffered almost as heavily—4,000 men had died in the lines since March, many more from fever and dysentery than from shot and shell. Macdonald sought eagerly among the prisoners for the three young Catalans who had let their compatriots into San Fernando. The two brothers Pons had escaped with Eroles in June[672], but the third, Juan Marquez, was found, and hanged on a high gallows on the ravelin of the fortress.

Thus ended in disaster the story of Figueras. But both the capture of the place and its defence form a most honourable page in the history of the war. Rovira’s enterprise in seizing it and Martinez’s obstinacy in maintaining it, long after all hope was gone, were equally praiseworthy. Though nothing came of the exploit in the end, they had immobilized the whole French 7th Corps for the entire summer of 1811, and had prevented Macdonald from giving a single battalion to help Suchet’s attack on Tarragona. If Campoverde had possessed the most ordinary capacity or resolution, he might have turned the opportunity given him by the somatene chiefs to such good account as to wreck all the campaign planned by Napoleon for the subjection[p. 539] of Catalonia. Better management on May 3rd might have led to the defeat of Baraguay d’Hilliers, and if he had been driven off from Figueras, and isolated from Macdonald, who was then far away at Barcelona, Suchet would have had to march to the help of his comrades, and the siege of Tarragona could never have begun. We are brought back to the point which has already so often confronted us—Campoverde’s miserable inefficiency was the final cause of all the disasters of 1811 in the principality of which he was the Captain-General.
General Map of Catalonia

Enlarge  CATALONIA

Two such blows as the fall of Tarragona and the recapture of Figueras seemed to render inevitable the final subjection of Catalonia. It is with astonishment that we find that its obstinate people maintained their resistance for two years more, and were found still defending themselves when the war came to an end with the abdication of Napoleon in 1814. The new Captain-General, Lacy, was a man harsh and unpopular, but he had at least the merit of energy. His army was a mere wreck, but he issued orders for a general levy of all men between 18 and 40 to fill the depleted cadres of the few surviving regular battalions, and despite the ill-will of the Junta—who wished to lean more on the miqueletes, and distrusted the old army—he gradually collected a new force. Early in August, as if in bravado, he burst into France on the side of Puigcerda, and executed a destructive raid along the valleys of Cerdagne. If he was not strong enough to help Figueras, or to oppose Suchet, he was at least determined to do all the harm that he could to the enemy. This incursion threw Napoleon into a fit of rage, and, forgetting his own orders to Suchet which prescribed the invasion of Valencia as the next decisive move in the war, he wrote him an angry dispatch on August 22nd[673], in which he told the newly appointed Marshal that he ought to have left a strong French division at Vich, and to have marched with his main body against the Catalonian inland, aiming at Cardona and Urgel and the other unsubdued places. ‘He should have profited by the panic into which the Spaniards had been thrown, and might have terminated the war in the province, while by making his retrogression to Saragossa he has given the enemy[p. 540] the chance of rallying on all sides.’ It is sufficient answer to this accusation to say that, if the Marshal had thrown all his available troops into the Catalan mountains, he would have become involved in a series of endless marches and counter-marches after an intangible enemy, which would have prevented him from carrying out in the autumn his great and successful attack on Valencia. The strength of the Catalan resistance did not lie in the possession of Cardona or Urgel or any other old-fashioned stronghold, but in the determination of its people not to lay down their arms. There is no probability that the war could have been ‘terminated’ in the way that the Emperor hoped.

By September Lacy had reorganized the remnants of the old Army of Catalonia into three weak divisions under Eroles, Milans, and Sarsfield, each containing only four or five battalions. Every one of the new units represented many lost corps—the single regiment of Baza included all the remnants of the Granadan division, which Reding had brought to Catalonia in 1809 fourteen thousand strong. The new Cazadores de Catalu?a raised by the well-known miquelete-chief Manso were formed from the cadres of six old Catalonian tercios[674]—it was the same with the regiments bearing the local names of Manresa, Mataro, and Ausona. The cavalry, consisting of the few hundred Catalonian horse who had but joined in Gasca’s retreat to Valencia, amounted to five squadrons of hussars and cuirassiers. The whole, including garrisons, may have made up 8,000 men—all that was left of the 25,000 organized troops which had formed the ‘1st Army’ on December 1st, 1810. But there still remained an Army of Catalonia, and as Macdonald and Maurice Mathieu and Decaen were to find, the Catalans were still ready to fight.

When the enemy was under the delusion that with the fall of Montserrat and Figueras the back of the resistance of the Principality had been broken, Lacy began to take the offensive. On September 11-12, aided by English ships, he drove the[p. 541] French out of the Medas Islands, at the mouth of the Ter, and built on the largest of them a fort which gave him a secure point of communication with the Mediterranean Squadron. But this was a side-issue: in October he accomplished something far more important. Descending on the line of garrisons by which the French kept open the road from Barcelona to Lerida, he took 200 men at Igualada on October 4, captured a large convoy near Cervera three days later, and on October 11 took that town with 645 prisoners, and the neighbouring Belpuig with 150 more on October 14. The chain of forts was broken, and to the intense joy of all Catalonia the French dismantled the monastery of Montserrat and evacuated the Holy Mountain. Half of Suchet’s work in the summer had been undone. A few days later Macdonald was recalled to Paris (October 28); he was the third marshal whose reputation got no profit from his Catalonian campaign—his failure was as bad as that of Augereau, and he had not even got the small credit that St. Cyr won in battle. The command of the 7th Corps fell to General Decaen.
SECTION XXIX  WELLINGTON’S AUTUMN CAMPAIGN OF 1811 CHAPTER I
WELLINGTON’S BLOCKADE OF CIUDAD RODRIGO.
AUGUST-SEPTEMBER 1811

When Marmont, before the end of the second week of July, had taken his departure from the valley of the Guadiana, and had begun to disperse his army in cantonments on both sides of the Tagus, Wellington was able to review his own situation at leisure, and to think out a new plan of operations. The Army of Portugal had settled down in a central position, from which it could transfer itself with equal facility to reinforce the 5th Corps in Estremadura, if the Allies should make another move against Badajoz, or the troops of Dorsenne in the kingdom of Leon, if any attempt were made to strike at Ciudad Rodrigo and Salamanca. Marmont had placed one division (Foy’s) and a cavalry brigade at Truxillo, to keep up the communication across the mountains with the 5th Corps. He had established his own head quarters at Navalmoral, near Almaraz, and had three divisions[675] in his immediate neighbourhood along the Tagus. The remaining two, which completed his army, were placed, one at Plasencia, the other in the province of Avila[676], somewhat more to the north, so as to command the passes into the kingdom of Leon, by which the army would have to move to join the Army of the North, supposing that Wellington took the offensive on the Agueda and the Tormes. In this position the Marshal remained, in an expectant attitude, for some ten weeks. The period of repose was very grateful to him, since he had taken his army to the relief of Badajoz in haste, before it was fully reorganized, and[p. 543] was anxiously expecting the arrival of the drafts and convalescents whom he had left behind him, and—what was still more important—a great supply of remounts to strengthen his depleted cavalry, and of gun teams to bring his batteries up to the total of eighty pieces, which had been prescribed by the Emperor as his proper complement. He was aware that orders had been issued from Paris that the Army of the North was to make over to him 500 artillery horses, and that nearly a thousand cavalry were coming from Bayonne, whither the 3rd and 4th squadrons of each of his dragoon regiments had been sent back in May to pick up new chargers. General Vandermaesen, as he was informed by a dispatch from Berthier dated July 10th, was to be at Burgos by August 15th, with 850 remounted dragoons, 1,100 artillery horses, and 6,000 drafts and recruits for the infantry. But, as so often happened in Spain, this great reinforcement had not turned up even by the middle of September; for though the troops had started from Bayonne, great numbers of them were detained on the way, not only by Dorsenne, but by mere post-commanders and chiefs of small garrisons, who presumed to lay hands on them because they thought themselves threatened by some movement of the Navarrese or Cantabrian guerrilleros[677]. Vandermaesen got to Burgos, but could not collect more than half of the column which he was directed to take to the Army of Portugal, and so did not start. The divisions in the field received no appreciable reinforcements till September was far advanced. Meanwhile Marmont used the troops which lay immediately round his head quarters to construct an important group of permanent fortifications about Almaraz, the chief passage of the Tagus. The flying-bridge there was replaced by a strong bridge of boats, protected at each end by a closed work, partly in stone, partly in earth; the one was called Fort Ragusa, the other Fort Napoleon. In addition, the defile in the mountains, by which the road descends on to Almaraz, was protected by a third structure called Fort Mirabete, from the neighbouring village. This group of works gave the French[p. 544] a stronger hold on the central Tagus than they had ever possessed before, and the permanent bridge was invaluable, since it permitted troops to go south or north at a much greater rate than had been possible when, as hitherto, they had to be ferried over on a mere pontoon worked with ropes. Orders came from Paris that a similar passage, protected by a fortified post, was to be established at Alcantara, sixty miles further down the river, where the broken Roman bridge[678] invited repair. But this was quite beyond Marmont’s power—the position was far too near the Portuguese border to be maintained save by a large garrison, which would have required revictualling at frequent intervals, for the neighbouring region, always desolate, was now absolutely depeopled. When Wellington had large bodies of troops at Castello Branco and Portalegre, while there was no solid force of the Army of Portugal nearer than Navalmoral, it would have been too risky to expose a detachment at Alcantara. The ruined remains of the mediaeval fortress there, which had been knocked to pieces in the old War of the Spanish Succession, could not have been patched up so as to resist artillery of the lightest sort.

Marmont had the greatest difficulty in maintaining his army in the region which it now occupied. The western part of the kingdom of New Castile was (as Wellington had found in the Talavera campaign) almost incapable of feeding a large force. The Vera of Plasencia was the only district which sufficed for itself even in time of peace. Normally food would have been drawn from the direction of Toledo, Aranjuez, and Madrid. But this district was in the occupation of the Army of the Centre, and King Joseph protested in the most lively fashion at being expected to furnish all the supplies for Marmont’s force, over which he was denied control, and with which he seems to have felt himself little concerned[679]. New Castile barely sufficed for his own needs, and when an Imperial decree proclaimed that the districts of Toledo, Avila, and Talavera were removed from his sphere of command and placed at the disposition of the Army of Portugal, he considered that his brother had broken the[p. 545] pledges which had been made to him during his short visit to Paris, for in this bargain it had been stipulated[680] that armies entering his sphere of activity came under his command. Before evacuating the ceded districts, he withdrew all the movable stores and munitions; Marmont declares that at Toledo the royal officials sold all the corn in the magazines to private persons, just before the arrival of his own commissaries, and handed over empty vaults to the new-comers[681].

Even with the resources of the provinces of Avila and Toledo at its disposition, the Army of Portugal only lived from hand to mouth, and was unable to accumulate magazines of any importance. The transport of the food-stuffs was the great problem; the army had practically no vehicles left—as Marmont observed in one of his dispatches to Berthier, he had received over from Masséna about ten waggons only—all the rest that had belonged to the three corps that had marched into Portugal had been left behind on the mountain roads between Santarem and Sabugal in March[682]. Country carts might have been requisitioned in the valley of the Tagus at an early stage of the war, but by 1811 they had entirely disappeared, along with the oxen that had drawn them. The population had mostly vanished, and the fraction that remained was in a condition of abject misery from Talavera as far as the Portuguese border. Marmont calls the country from Almaraz to Merida ‘a horrible wilderness[683].’ He calculated that the whole of the Avila-Plasencia-Talavera region could barely feed 15,000 men, and that the rest of his army only subsisted by drawing on the comparatively intact Toledo district.

Of all this trouble on the part of his immediate adversary Wellington was aware, through intercepted dispatches, as well as through the reports sent in to him by the Spaniards. And the facts that Marmont had been forced to disperse his army into cantonments extending from Truxillo to Avila, and had no magazines of any size, formed important data in his calcula[p. 546]tions. It would clearly take many days to assemble the whole Army of Portugal—whether it were required on the Guadiana or on the Tormes. At the same time Marmont, by his march in June to join Soult, had shown himself a general of energy and decision, and it must be taken for granted that, if there was good reason for him to move, he would do so, as quickly as the difficulties of supply would permit him. His force, which Wellington very accurately calculated at about 30,000 infantry and 3,500 horse, or some 36,000 men of all arms[684], was the central fact in all future operations. Clearly it would be moved south or north whenever necessary.

As to Soult, he had now so much on his hands in Andalusia that he was not to be feared for the present. It was known that he had left nothing in Estremadura save the 5th Corps, now under Drouet, and five or six regiments of dragoons. The troops drawn from Cordova and Granada had been taken back to Andalusia. But two divisions were hunting Blake and Ballasteros in the Condado de Niebla. The disposable remainder must be very small. Soult therefore might be neglected as an enemy capable of taking the offensive. If, however, the Anglo-Portuguese army were to invade Andalusia, an operation which some of Wellington’s subordinates had suggested to him as a possibility[685], the Duke of Dalmatia would certainly raise the siege of Cadiz, probably abandon Granada, and march against the Allies with a force which, including the 5th Corps, would be 60,000 strong. Wherefore offensive action in this quarter could not be thought of[686], all the more so because Marmont, if nothing was left opposite him on the Tagus, might come down by Merida, threaten Elvas and Abrantes, and perhaps take the Allies in the rear after they had crossed the Sierra Morena.

Nor was the idea of renewing the siege of Badajoz, during Soult’s absence, tempting. The place could certainly be beset;[p. 547] but in ten days or so Marmont and the 12,000 men of the 5th Corps would have united to relieve it, and their joint force would be nearly equal in total numbers to the Anglo-Portuguese and superior to them in cavalry. ‘Any success which we might derive from a general action, to which I might bring the Army of Portugal and the 5th Corps, would not be very decisive; on the other hand the loss which we would sustain by the heat of the weather, and by the length of the marches which we should be obliged to make would be very great[687].’ But the main objection to a renewal of the siege of Badajoz was not the prospect of a pitched battle, but the impossibility of sitting down to a leaguer in the valley of the Guadiana at a time when it was known to be absolutely pestilential. Already on the Caya the army had begun to suffer from the well-known Guadiana fever, and its spread had only been stopped by moving the troops back to the healthy towns in the highlands.

Wellington therefore ruled out of the list of possible operations any movement to the south of the Tagus. There remained only the chance of making another attempt on Ciudad Rodrigo, and from the end of July onward this was the project which was engrossing his attention. To make a move in this direction would certainly draw Marmont from the Tagus, and cause him to unite with the Army of the North for the relief of the fortress. But Wellington thought that he would prefer this combination among his enemies to the other one, which would ensue if he were to make his stroke in Estremadura. He gave three reasons to Lord Liverpool for the preference[688]: the first was that in a campaign on the frontiers of Leon he would have the assistance of all the militia of northern Portugal for subsidiary operations. The second was that the ground would be much more in his favour—he would have behind him not the broad plains of the Alemtejo, but the rugged spurs of the Serra da Estrella, where strong positions abounded, and where the numerous French cavalry would be as useless as they had proved during the campaign of Bussaco in the preceding year. The third advantage was that to draw Marmont into Leon separated[p. 548] him from Soult by the whole breadth of central Spain, and disconnected the operations of the two main French forces. For the Army of the North was a less formidable body than the Army of Andalusia, because it was scattered over an even greater extent of territory. Nor were its distractions less than those of Soult: the Galicians and Asturians, Longa, Porlier, and Mina, and all the guerrilleros of Old Castile, were in existence to keep this French force constantly harassed. In their way they were more effective as irritants than Blake, Ballasteros, and the Murcians had proved to be in the south.

Wellington was not at this moment, the end of July, aware that the Army of the North was about to receive reinforcements, which would make it far more formidable in the autumn. He could not yet know that the divisions of Souham, Reille, and Caffarelli were about to be thrown across the Pyrenees, and that the first of them would be in the front line during the operations of September. Even by August he was only aware in a vague fashion[689] that more French troops were expected at Vittoria from Bayonne, and supposed them to be about 10,000 or 11,000 strong[690], while they were really three full divisions of over 30,000 men. By the end of the month he was better informed—but by that time his operations had begun, and it was too late to make a change[691].

Even from the first, however, Wellington was disposed to believe that no great results would follow from a move against Ciudad Rodrigo. ‘I am tempted to try this enterprise,’ he wrote to Lord Liverpool before he had begun his march, ‘but I beg your Lordship to observe that I may be obliged to abandon it. When the relative force of the two armies will be so nearly balanced as in this, and particularly in an operation in the Peninsula of Spain, it is impossible for me to foresee all the events which may lead to this result. But the arrival of reinforcements to the enemy, or further information, which may[p. 549] show them to be stronger than I now imagine, or a falling off in the strength of our army owing to sickness, would necessarily oblige me to abandon the enterprise[692].’ Later comments are in the same cautious tone: on August 9 Wellington thinks it ‘more than ever doubtful whether he will be in a situation to undertake the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo’—but the movement may afford an opportunity of striking an advantageous blow, and cause the enemy, at least, to draw off troops from corners of the Peninsula where they are badly wanted.

Long before the army began to move towards the Agueda and the frontiers of Leon, Wellington had given the preliminary order[693] which committed him to the project of attacking Rodrigo. He had at last received from England the heavy battering-train of siege artillery, which would have been invaluable in May for the breaching of Badajoz. It was on shipboard in Lisbon harbour. He directed it to be taken round by sea to Oporto, sent up the Douro in boats as far as Lamego—where lay the limit of river navigation—and then to be sent forward by detachments to Trancoso, in the northern Beira, where he intended to establish his base dép?t. Nearly 400 pairs of draught bullocks and about 900 country carts were to be collected at Lamego for the transport. The charge of the whole operation was given to Alexander Dickson, whose energetic management of the very inefficient siege artillery at Badajoz had inspired Wellington with a strong belief in his resourcefulness, and his power of getting the largest possible amount of work out of the Portuguese, military and civilians alike.

Dickson started at once for Oporto, where he found two companies of British artillery[694] which had been sent from Lisbon, and picked up somewhat later 300 Portuguese gunners, who were also placed at his disposition. With their aid he began shipping up to Lamego the guns and ammunition from the[p. 550] transports. So long as the transport was by water, matters went slowly but easily, but the land voyage from Lamego onwards turned out a heart-rending business, from the badness of the roads and the difficulty of collecting cattle for draught. Dickson prevailed upon Wellington in the end to make Villa da Ponte, rather than Trancoso, his central dép?t—the town in the hills proving less convenient than the large village fifteen miles further north. All through August and September material was accumulating at Villa da Ponte, but it was never sent forward, because, as the campaign worked out, no regular siege of Ciudad Rodrigo ever became possible. Wellington would not show his battering-train until it was certain that he could turn it to good use, and kept it hidden far to the rear of his fighting-line. It was only gradually that part of it began to be moved up to Almeida, ostensibly to serve for the re-armament of that fortress, where the damage done by the two explosions carried out by Brennier and Pack had been repaired. It was not to be till December that the guns landed at Oporto in August were employed. But all through the autumn Wellington’s movements were greatly influenced by the fact that he had now a large and efficient siege-train ready, in a position from which it could be sent forward the moment that a fair opportunity should offer itself. It was the existence of Dickson’s park at Villa da Ponte, as much, or more, than any other factor in the situation, that kept Wellington on the frontiers of Leon watching for his chance. It would seem that his caution was justified—the French never quite realized that he was ready to attack Rodrigo in the most effective style, when they should give him the opportunity that he lacked, by dispersing their armies in a way which rendered rapid concentration impossible.

The march of the seven divisions which were destined for service on the Agueda and the Azava began in the first week of August. The Light Division and Arentschildt’s cavalry, moving up from Castello Branco, were at Sabugal on the 8th and occupied Martiago, beyond the Agueda and close to Rodrigo, on the 10th. On the following day Wellington in person led a reconnaissance right up to the walls of the fortress, and drove in all the French outposts. The blockade was then established by the Light Division on the left bank of the Agueda, and the 3rd[p. 551] Division on the right, the head quarters of the former being at Carpio, those of the latter at Martiago. The road north-eastward to Salamanca was only cut by means of cavalry posts and Julian Sanchez’s guerrilla bands, and the infantry did not approach within some miles of Rodrigo. Wellington’s purpose was merely to prevent the entry of provisions into the place: he had no intention of drawing close up to it and opening a siege, till he should have learnt that his battering-train should have reached Trancoso: and it would obviously be a matter of many weeks before the guns got up from Oporto. It might perhaps be argued that it would have been better not to demonstrate at all against Rodrigo, or to call the attention of Marmont and Dorsenne in this direction, till there was some possibility of opening siege-operations. For to famish the garrison must infallibly lead to a concentration of the enemy at Salamanca for its relief, and draw together a large army. Marmont was less dangerous in his scattered cantonments about the Tagus than with his forces massed on the Tormes. And there was little hope of reducing Rodrigo by famine alone; clearly the enemy would mass and fight, rather than allow it to fall unaided[695].

Meanwhile Wellington moved his head quarters to Fuente Guinaldo, sixteen miles south of Ciudad Rodrigo, on August 12th, and kept them there till September 24th. The divisions not engaged in the blockade were cantoned at various points to the rear. The first division lay about Penamacor: it was no longer commanded by Spencer, who had so long led it. He had gone home, ostensibly on sick leave, really because he was annoyed that General Graham had recently been ordered up from Cadiz, and was for the future to take charge of the whole left wing of the army whenever the Commander-in-Chief was absent. This responsibility had hitherto fallen to Spencer, and Wellington was not alone in thinking that he had not discharged it over well[696]. The arrival of Graham (August 8th) was welcomed by[p. 552] all ranks, and for the future he assumed charge, nominally of the 1st Division, really of all the troops in the north which were not actually under the master’s eye. At any rate Graham could never be accused of dullness of apprehension or indecision, the two charges habitually made against Spencer by Wellington himself, no less than by many diarists of the time.

Not far off from the 1st Division was the 4th, under Cole, at Pedrog?o, twenty miles north-east from Castello Branco. The 5th Division, meanwhile, lay at Perales, Payo, and Navas Frias watching the passes of the Sierra de Gata, in case Marmont’s division at Plasencia should make an unexpected forward movement towards Leon by the shortest route. The 7th Division was at Villar Mayor near Sabugal and Fuente Guinaldo. Lastly, the 6th Division, more to the left and forming the northernmost section of the army, was cantoned between the Coa and the lower Agueda, from Nava de Aver as far as the bridge of Barba del Puerco. Of the cavalry, Alten’s brigade[697] was covering the Light and 3rd Divisions in front of Ciudad Rodrigo, while the others, De Grey’s[698], Slade’s[699], and Anson’s[700] were[p. 553] watching the frontier eastward from Castello Branco, with observing parties in the passes but the main bodies placed some way to the rear. The head quarters of the second brigade was at Soita near Sabugal, that of the last-named at Idanha Nova. These cantonments, it will be observed, were somewhat scattered, there being no less than eighty miles between Barba del Puerco in the north and Penamacor in the south, but Wellington calculated that he would always have long notice of any concentration of the enemy in his front, and three marches would suffice to unite the army on its centre, between Fuente Guinaldo and Alfayates, or four to concentrate it on a wing, if the French (a thing not very probable) should show signs of operating either south of the Sierra de Gata or on the lower Agueda.

It should be noted that about this time Wellington, for the first time since 1810, obtained the assistance of a Spanish force on the Beira frontier. General Casta?os, busy in reorganizing the ruined Army of Estremadura, sent Carlos de Espa?a with the cadres of several infantry regiments to the frontier of Leon, to fill them up with recruits from the province of Salamanca. The rest of his troops, under Morillo and Penne Villemur[701], were kept in Estremadura and continued to co-operate with Hill. But Carlos de Espa?a fixed himself at Ledesma, where he joined hands with the great partisan Julian Sanchez, and soon collected some 3,000 men, who though useless for action, being raw and not properly furnished with uniforms or arms, yet served to hold a position in front of the lower Agueda, and gave much trouble to Thiébault, the governor of Salamanca, by their sallies and incursions into his district.

For some weeks after the arrival of the army on the Beira frontier there was little stirring. The fact that Ciudad Rodrigo had been cut off from communication with Salamanca did not at first provoke the French to action, for the place was in no immediate danger of starvation. A large convoy had been thrown into the place only two days before the blockade was formed, and it was known that the allied army had no siege-train in its company. Throughout the month of August Dorsenne was much more troubled by the operations of the Galicians than by Wellington’s demonstration, while Marmont, knowing that[p. 554] Rodrigo was provisioned up to October[702], saw no reason for moving till it should be drawing nearer to the end of its resources. It was only about the middle of September that he got tardy news that there was a siege-train making its way up from Oporto, and that the British divisions behind the Agueda were making gabions and fascines. He then was stimulated to activity, and concerted a junction with Dorsenne without further delay—of which more hereafter. In August he found full occupation in the organization of the provinces of New Castile, which the Emperor had handed over to him, and was more worried by the difficulty of raising taxes and collecting magazines, and by incessant wrangles with King Joseph’s officials, than by military difficulties[703]. All that he did was to move his head quarters to the neighbourhood of Plasencia[704], and to shift some of the brigades cantoned along the Tagus to the north of that river, in view of the fact that a march to relieve and revictual Ciudad Rodrigo would ultimately become necessary. Foy’s division was kept, however, at Truxillo—far to the south—till the middle of September, in order that touch might not be lost with Drouet and the Army of Andalusia. The Marshal, very rightly, scouted the idea, which some of his subordinates had formed, that Wellington’s appearance on the Beira frontier might portend a dash at Salamanca[705]. To gain some further knowledge of the disposition of the Anglo-Portuguese he sent out several cavalry reconnaissances from Plasencia towards the Sierra de Gata. They found British outposts all along the passes, and could not get forward, though one party succeeded in capturing a picket of the 11th Light Dragoons at San Martin de Trebejos, near the Puerto de Perales, on August 14th.

The news that Marmont was shifting troops northward, towards the passes into the kingdom of Leon, induced Wellington to make a corresponding movement with his own troops, and on August 27th the 1st and 4th Divisions were ordered to prepare[p. 555] to move from Penamacor and Pedrog?o to the neighbourhood of Fuente Guinaldo, close to head quarters[706]. The notion that the Army of Portugal would, at some not very distant date, march to raise the blockade of Rodrigo, was made even more certain by the capture of a dispatch in cipher from Foy to Girard, warning him that he was under orders to follow Marmont across the Tagus and abandon Truxillo[707]. But Foy made no move for a fortnight more, and Wellington rightly concluded that he need be under no apprehension as to the concentration of the enemy, till he had received news that Truxillo had been evacuated. It was also clear that Marmont intended that Dorsenne should co-operate with him, and since that general, with all the disposable troops of the Army of the North, was beyond Astorga at the end of August, campaigning against the Galicians, there was no need to feel any alarm till this force should be known to have turned southward towards the Douro. On the third of September things began to look a little more exciting, when Dorsenne was reported to be starting from Astorga on his return journey: he made forced marches for Salamanca, where it was known that a convoy for the supply of Rodrigo was being organized[708]. But provisions were hard to collect in Leon, and Marmont had refused to begin his march of concentration till it should be certified to him that Dorsenne was nearly ready, and that the convoy had been got together.

Hence it was not till September 17th that the time of crisis began. On this day Wellington received the news that Foy had evacuated Truxillo on the 15th, and that Montbrun’s cavalry was crossing the sierra by the Puerto de Ba?os, with infantry columns following in its rear. On the previous day an intercepted letter informed him that the Salamanca convoy was to be ready on September 21st[709]. If Dorsenne had stopped in front of the Galicians, or if Marmont had been moving with only part of his troops, Wellington would have prepared to fight a battle beyond the Agueda. But it was clear from several intercepted dispatches that the Armies of Portugal and the North were about[p. 556] to unite in full force, and, as the British general remarked in a letter which lapsed into unwonted jocularity, ‘The devil is in the French for numbers[710]’. He had got to know that Souham’s strong division had come to the front to join Dorsenne[711], and that the guard-divisions, of Roguet and Dumoustier, with their attendant cavalry and artillery made up 15,000 men, and not 7,000 as he had hitherto supposed[712]. It was possible, nay probable, that the Army of the North would put at least 25,000 men into the field for the combined movement now pending[713], and Marmont, if he came in full force, might bring 35,000 more. It was impossible to stop such a mass of men in the plain east of Rodrigo, where the ground was all suited to cavalry operations, and where no good defensive positions were to be found. If the enemy were determined to relieve the place he could certainly accomplish his desire.

Wellington had a little more than 46,000 men under his hand at this moment. The total should have been higher, but all the newly arrived detachments had been in the Walcheren expedition, and the heat of the Spanish summer had brought out the fever which lurked in the bodies of the men who had served in that pestilential spot. Battalions which had landed at Lisbon in June with 700 or 800 men had gone down to 400 or 500 bayonets in September, though the marches had not been heavy[714]. Nor had the old Peninsular regiments escaped a touch of Guadiana fever during their stay near Elvas in July. Wherefore there were no less than 14,000 sick in the British army at this moment, and the force present under arms in the seven divisions on the Beira frontier was (excluding the Portuguese)[p. 557] only 29,000 sabres and bayonets. Of the Portuguese the seven infantry and two cavalry brigades serving with the main army made up about 17,000 men more[715]. With 46,000 men Wellington refused to offer battle beyond the Agueda to the combined French forces, which might well amount to 60,000 men, and could not be less than 53,000 or 55,000. But he was determined not to retire an inch further from Rodrigo than was necessary, being convinced that the enemy could only remain concentrated for a few days, and could have no serious intention of invading Portugal. Though he might not be able to fight in the open plain, he was prepared to defend himself in the skirts of the mountains, if the French should push out beyond Rodrigo. Here he had two positions already selected, the first at Fuente Guinaldo, where the rugged ground begins, the second by Rendo and Alfayates, in front of Sabugal, which was far more formidable: this was the ground which Spencer had been told to take up in April, when he had been left opposite Masséna during Wellington’s absence at Badajoz. The Guinaldo position, being less defensible by nature, was to be rendered strong by art. During its stay there in September the 4th Division sketched out an entrenched camp along the hills, but only two redoubts and some long lines of trench had been completed when the crisis came at the end of the month.

Meanwhile Wellington did not intend to retire on Guinaldo, much less on the Rendo-Alfayates position, unless he were forced to do so. He thought it likely that Marmont and Dorsenne would content themselves with relieving Rodrigo, and would push no further. Wherefore he directed that Picton and Craufurd, the generals in command of the two blockading divisions, should leave the Salamanca road open, when the French appeared in strength, but should not give back from the immediate neighbourhood of the fortress unless they were attacked in force. Craufurd might get behind the Vadillo, a torrent which falls into the Agueda five miles above Rodrigo. Picton was to occupy the isolated plateau on which lie the villages of El Bodon and Pastores, five or six miles south of Rodrigo. Here they[p. 558] were to stand, and to see what the enemy intended to do; probably they would have to retreat no further. This disposition, which was founded on a false psychological estimate of the character of Marmont, was to lead to trouble. The Marshal was more enterprising than Wellington had calculated, and (as affairs turned out) it would have been safer to concentrate the whole army on the Fuente Guinaldo position the moment that the Armies of Portugal and the North appeared in front of Ciudad Rodrigo.

SECTION XXIX: CHAPTER II
EL BODON AND ALDEA DA PONTE.
SEPTEMBER 1811

The long-threatened advance of the French for the relief of Ciudad Rodrigo began at last on September 22nd, when Marmont brought all the infantry of the Army of Portugal, save the single division of Foy, across the Sierra de Gata, and appeared with his vanguard at Tamames, the little town on the Leonese side of the mountains where del Parque had beaten Marchand in 1809. Foy alone had been left in New Castile, with orders to demonstrate from his base at Plasencia against Wellington’s posts between Castello Branco and Sabugal, where (as it will be remembered) the 5th Division was lying, placed on this side for the express purpose of warding off any attempt to strike at the communications of the allied army.

On the day that Marmont with five divisions of infantry and Montbrun’s cavalry began to debouch from Tamames, his colleague Dorsenne had brought forward the disposable portion of the Army of the North to San Mu?oz, a long march in front of Salamanca, and was in easy touch with the Army of Portugal. Dorsenne had concentrated four divisions of infantry—the two of the Imperial Guard under Roguet and Dumoustier, Souham’s newly arrived battalions, and the division so long commanded by Serras, but now under General Thiébault, the governor of Salamanca, which had been lying about the Esla and the Orbigo ever since 1809. He had also with him two brigades of cavalry, Lepic’s 800 sabres of the Imperial Guard, and Wathier’s chasseurs. The two armies joined on the 23rd, and showed a formidable total, larger than that which Masséna had collected for the battle of Fuentes de O?oro. For Marmont had brought 25,000 foot and over 2,500 horse, and Dorsenne a slightly larger contingent, about 27,000 infantry and 2,000 sabres[716]. This[p. 560] heavy force of 58,000 men, if artillery be reckoned in, was, as Wellington had always foreseen, more than the Anglo-Portuguese army could face. For including the division south of the Sierra de Gata, which was protecting the southern communications of the army, Wellington had with him as we have seen no more than 2,200 British and 900 Portuguese cavalry, about 25,000 British and 16,000 Portuguese infantry, or a total strength (including artillery, &c.) of about 46,000 officers and men of all arms. The risk of fighting in the open plain in front of Ciudad Rodrigo would clearly be too great, though by a retreat into the Portuguese mountains it would be possible to find a position which should compensate for the numerical deficiency of the allied army. If the French should press forward, it would clearly be necessary to retire on to better battle-ground, and Wellington’s ready eye had found two successive positions, as we have already stated, the one at Fuente Guinaldo on the foot-hills, the other between Rendo and Aldea Velha, in front of Sabugal, well within the mountains.

Meanwhile it remained to be seen whether the French, with the large force that they had collected, would content themselves with throwing a new convoy into Ciudad Rodrigo, a thing that could not be prevented, or whether they intended to press the allied army hard, and to endeavour to bring it to action—in which case the retreat into the hills would become necessary. On the morning of the 23rd Wellington, perfectly informed as to the position of the enemy, and fairly well able to estimate their numbers, wrote to Charles Stuart, ‘the French have not yet appeared, but I think they will before evening. I shall have my hands very full of business for the next three or four days[717].’ They were to be fuller than was convenient, and partly by his own fault.

On learning that Marmont and Dorsenne were at San Mu?oz with over 50,000 men, Wellington, if he had practised his accustomed caution, would have concentrated on Fuente Gui[p. 561]naldo, withdrawing the two divisions which lay close into Ciudad Rodrigo, the Light Division at Martiago, the 3rd Division on the heights by El Bodon and Pastores. It would have been sufficient to leave a cavalry screen as close to the blockaded fortress as was practicable. But for once he showed an unwonted tendency to take dangerous risks. He did not wish to fall back unless he were pressed, and he thought it extremely probable that the enemy had no further design than to revictual Rodrigo. Refusing to give up valuable ground unless he were forced to do so, he left Craufurd and Picton in their advanced positions all through the 23rd and 24th of September. He did not call Graham and the 1st and 6th Divisions in from the left, where their present position on the Azava covered the road to Almeida and the valuable accumulation of artillery stores at Villa da Ponte. Nor did he bring up the 7th Division to his head quarters at Fuente Guinaldo, where he lay for these two days with the 4th Division alone.

The cavalry at the head of the French column appeared in the plain beyond Ciudad Rodrigo on the 23rd, as Wellington had expected, and communicated with the place. It was in no way hindered, as the British cavalry fell back beyond the Agueda by order, and left the Salamanca road open. On the 24th a very large force was up—observers on the heights of Pastores saw a great mass of cavalry in the plain below them, and four divisions of infantry, one of which was made out by telescopes to belong to the Imperial Guard, from its high plumes and bearskins[718]. It was presently discovered that an even larger mass was close behind, encamped on the Guadapero stream, beyond the low hills which lie east of Ciudad Rodrigo. But on this day the enemy, though he had some 4,000 cavalry in his front line, made no attempt to push forward either against Picton or against Craufurd. This quiescence on his adversary’s part evidently made Wellington conclude that he need fear nothing, that the French had come merely to revictual their garrison, not to take the offensive against the allied army. He left his divisions in the scattered posts which they were occupying, with sixteen miles between Graham on the left and[p. 562] Craufurd on the right. And he neglected the fact that his concentration point at Fuente Guinaldo was only fifteen miles from Ciudad Rodrigo, where the leading section of the French army, over 20,000 strong as he had seen, was already encamped. If it should march suddenly forward on the 25th, the 3rd Division was only five miles from its outposts, on the heights of Pastores and El Bodon, and there was no other division save the 4th placed directly to cover Fuente Guinaldo. If the flank divisions were called in on an alarm, Graham was fifteen miles from Fuente Guinaldo, Craufurd eleven, on the other side of a river with few fords. And by the time that they could concentrate, the French van might be supported by the large reserves which were known to be lying behind Ciudad Rodrigo. It is one of the best-known axioms of war that the concentration point of a scattered army must not be within one short march of the base from which the opponent can strike.

Wellington was so far right in his judgement of the enemy’s designs, that it was true that Marmont had come forward without any definite intention of forcing on a fight, or of advancing far into Portugal. His subsequent offensive move, however, was provoked by his discovery that the allied army was quite close to him, but wholly unconcentrated. On the morning of the 25th it occurred to the Marshal that it would be desirable to find out by reconnaissance whether Wellington had been making any provision for a regular siege of Ciudad Rodrigo—whether he had been collecting fascines and gabions in the neighbouring villages, or had brought up heavy artillery close to his blockading line[719]. If this should turn out to be the case, the knowledge of it would have a serious effect on all the future movements of the Army of Portugal. For a siege is a different thing from a blockade, and, if Rodrigo were in danger of actual leaguer, his own army would have to canton itself in regions less remote from the Portuguese frontier than those which it had hitherto occupied.

Dorsenne was persuaded to assist the Army of Portugal in a great reconnaissance, which was to push back Wellington’s[p. 563] cavalry screen and see what lay behind it. In the morning of September 25th the two cavalry brigades of the Army of the North went out on the Carpio-Espeja roads to sweep the line of the Azava, with Wathier in command. At the same time Montbrun took the bulk of the cavalry of Marmont, two brigades of dragoons and two of light horse, and advanced along the southern road, that which runs from Ciudad Rodrigo past El Bodon towards Fuente Guinaldo. Only one infantry division, that of Thiébault, the weakest in the two armies, was put under arms to support the cavalry, and even these 4,000 men did not leave the immediate vicinity of Ciudad Rodrigo—they merely crossed the Agueda and halted. The two reconnaissances brought on two separate engagements, at a distance of ten miles from each other, of which one had no importance, immediate or ulterior, while the other led to sharp fighting and revealed to the French the weakness of Wellington’s position. The cavalry screen of the allied army was formed as follows: Madden’s Portuguese division lay along the line of the lower Agueda, which was not threatened this day. Anson’s brigade held the line of the Azava, and lay across the Carpio road. Alten’s brigade was strung out along the low hills from south of Carpio to the upper Agueda near Pastores, and had one of its squadrons detached with the Light Division beyond that river, in front of Martiago. Slade’s and De Grey’s brigades were far to the rear, behind Fuente Guinaldo, in Villar de Toro and other villages along the Coa river, and only came up to the front after midday on the 25th.

Wathier’s insignificant engagement on the lower Azava may be dealt with first. About eight in the morning the pickets of the 14th Light Dragoons detected a strong column of cavalry coming out of Rodrigo, and were forced to retire from Carpio and other posts beyond the stream. The enemy could be counted from the hills above, and it was noted that they left six squadrons beside Carpio in reserve, and were advancing with eight more. These crossed the river and felt their way cautiously towards the heights. They were coming straight against the front of the 6th Division, and Graham sent out the light companies of Hulse’s brigade to line the wood which covered the position which he was holding. The two British[p. 564] cavalry regiments (14th and 16th Light Dragoons) gave back to the edge of the wood also, and formed up close to their infantry supports. Misliking the look of the long belt of trees which hid all from him, Wathier halted four squadrons more on the flat ground just beyond the Azava, and moved the other four towards Graham’s unseen line. This advanced guard consisted of the Lancers of Berg and the 26th Chasseurs. When they were feeling their way up the slope their leading squadron was charged and driven back by a squadron of the 14th. The main body, however, picked up the beaten unit and advanced again: when they had got close to the wood, the light companies of the 11th, 61st, and 53rd fired a volley into them, and while they stood staggered by the unexpected salute four squadrons of the 14th and 16th charged them, broke them, and chased them for two miles down to and across the Azava[720]. The French reserve left close to that stream retired at once, covering the broken squadrons. The French lost one officer and ten men killed, and five officers and thirty-two men taken, mostly wounded. The British loss was very small—an officer and ten men wounded and one man missing.

Wathier stayed in line at Carpio, without making a further advance, till evening, and reported that the English were in position with all arms beyond the Azava, and not inclined to give way. This was important news, for, if there were infantry so far north, it was clear that Wellington had not yet concentrated his army on the Fuente Guinaldo line.

Montbrun’s reconnaissance, along the Fuente Guinaldo road, turned out a much more lively and important affair. He started out with a heavy column consisting of two brigades of his own dragoons and two of light cavalry[721], which came into touch with the vedettes of Alten’s brigade almost the moment that it had crossed the Agueda, for the British outposts lay within two[p. 565] miles of Rodrigo. Driving straight before him, Montbrun pierced the screen, and pressing up the slope found himself in the middle of the scattered fractions of the 3rd Division, which Wellington had only just begun to draw together when he saw that the reconnaissance was being made by no less than 2,500 horse. There was not time to concentrate, because the posts of Picton’s battalions were too close to the enemy, and the position was unsatisfactory. Graham, who had surveyed it a few weeks before, remarks in his diary that it was ‘by no means favourable—extensive, yet very narrow, and the right thrown back across the plain towards the ford by Pastores, where there is little advantage of ground but a bank and a little water-run[722].’

At the moment when Montbrun broke through the cavalry screen, Picton’s infantry was strung out on a front of six miles—the 74th and three companies of the 5/60th were at Pastores, near the Agueda, the remainder of Wallace’s[723] brigade (the 1/45th and 1/88th) was three miles south-west of Pastores in the village of El Bodon. Colville’s brigade and the Portuguese were equally split up—the 1/5th and 77th, with the 21st Portuguese in support, being on high ground across the road from Rodrigo to Fuente Guinaldo, in the centre, while the left section of the front of the division (94th, 2/83rd and 9th Portuguese) was on lower ground, two miles west of Colville, in the direction of Campillo. Alten’s cavalry brigade, having sent a squadron of the 11th Light Dragoons to watch Craufurd’s front, beyond the Agueda, and having strong pickets out to right and left, had only 500 sabres left as its main body. These five weak squadrons (three of the 1st Hussars K.G.L., two of the 11th Light Dragoons) were across the high-road, near the 5th and 77th, and with them the two Portuguese batteries under Major Arentschildt which formed the divisional artillery of Picton.

Marmont, on discovering the scattered position of the Allies, could hardly believe that they had nothing more in his front than what he saw—four groups of two or three battalions each, with huge gaps between them. He suspected that Wellington must have reserves close behind, not thinking it likely that he[p. 566] would have kept infantry so close to Ciudad Rodrigo unless he were in force to resist an attack. He accordingly resolved not to send for his infantry from the rear and engage in a serious action, but to direct Montbrun to drive in one section of the hostile front with his heavy column of cavalry, and so to discover the exact strength and position of the Allies[724]. It was lucky for Wellington that the Marshal limited his ambitions to this modest scheme. Montbrun resolved to break in the allied centre, across the high-road, and advanced up it, leaving on his left the two fractions of Wallace’s brigade in Pastores and El Bodon. If he could pierce the centre, this wing would be in a disastrous plight, being cut off from its line of retreat and its power of rejoining Wellington at Fuente Guinaldo. Accordingly the whole of the French horse came up against the position across the road, where Colville’s two battalions and Arentschildt’s batteries blocked the way, while Alten’s five squadrons were covering their flank. The contest was of an abnormal sort, 2,500 horse with one battery attacking a smaller force of all arms—1,000 infantry, 500 sabres, and two batteries[725].

It was most important to Wellington that the detachment across the road should not be driven in, and he gave orders that it was to hold its ground to the last possible minute, in order to allow the battalions in Pastores and El Bodon time to escape from their compromised position, and to fall into the line of retreat behind the detaining force. His command was well obeyed, and a most gallant struggle was kept up for more than an hour, under the Commander-in-Chief’s own eyes.

Montbrun came on with three columns abreast, each formed of a brigade, while a fourth brigade formed his reserve. His left column tried to turn the right of Alten’s cavalry, his centre column attacked its front, his right column, supported by a[p. 567] horse-artillery battery, moved up against the Portuguese guns and their infantry supports. There was fierce fighting all along the line: the allied horse, aided by the steep slope in their favour, made a wonderful fight against the superior numbers of the enemy, who had to attack in each point on a narrow front, since only parts of the hillside were open ground suitable for cavalry movements. Each time that the leading French squadron neared the crest it was charged and thrown back. The 11th and one squadron of the Germans dealt with the flank attack, the rest of the legionary hussars with that in the centre. The defence was most desperate, consisting in a long series of partial charges, in which one or more of the defending squadrons beat back the head of the hostile advance, and then retired under cover of the others. Montbrun, having six or seven regiments with him, was always able to launch a new attack up the hillside the moment that the last had been foiled. The colonel of the German hussars wrote that from first to last the enemy came on nearly forty times, yet never was allowed to reach the crest: the individual squadrons of his regiment and of the 11th had charged eight or nine times each[726].

Meanwhile, to the right of the plateau which the cavalry defended so gallantly, the third French cavalry column had attacked the Portuguese batteries whose fire was sweeping down the road. A dragoon brigade, though suffering heavily from the grape poured into it as the range grew close, succeeded in making its way to the guns, and burst in among them, capturing four pieces; the artillerymen had held their ground to the last, and earned Wellington’s praise for their steadiness. But the pieces were not lost; close in support of them was the first battalion of the 5th regiment under Major Ridge, who, when the hostile horsemen halted for a moment around the captured guns, attacked them without hesitation in line. The battalion advanced firing, and with three volleys broke the dragoons, who were blown with their charge and in much disorder. They recoiled down the hill in complete rout, and[p. 568] the Portuguese gunners were able to get their pieces in action again and resume their very effective fire[727]. This was a rare example of a successful attack on cavalry by infantry in line: it could not have been tried against intact squadrons, for there was no flank-support for the 5th, and an enemy in good order would have turned the battalion and cut it up from the side. But Ridge saw that the French were in complete disarray, and unfit for the moment to man?uvre, wherefore he was justified in trying the dangerous-looking movement which had such complete success.

The French at last gave up their frontal attacks; it is said that when the trumpets blew for one more advance, the Allies saw the regiment at the head of the column refuse to move forward. Montbrun thereupon tried a move which he might well have made half an hour earlier; he began to extend his hitherto concentrated brigades, and thrust one of them into the gap between the hill that he could not force and the village of El Bodon.

Wellington then gave back; Picton and the two battalions in El Bodon had by this time evacuated it, and were, as ordered, on their way to the rear. The still more compromised detachment in Pastores had also got away, and was making for Fuente Guinaldo by a very circuitous road: it forded the Agueda, went ten miles on its further side, where no French were as yet visible, and then recrossed again near Robleda, joining the 4th Division at dusk.

The second period of the combat of El Bodon—to give its usual name to the engagement—was less bloody than the first, but quite as exciting. Wellington’s order of retreat was that the two batteries of Arentschildt with a cavalry escort went first, then the 21st Portuguese, which had remained in reserve all through the earlier fighting, then the 5th and 77th in a single square[728], and lastly two squadrons of the German hussars,[p. 569] which remained on the position till the last moment. This column, retreating along the high-road, had in front of it, and ultimately caught up, the other fractions of the 3rd Division, Picton’s two battalions which had come in from the right, and the 94th, 2/83rd, and 9th Portuguese, which had fallen into the road from the left. But in the first hour of the retreat these detachments had not yet been overtaken.

Montbrun pressed on fiercely, the moment that he saw that the hill so long held against him had been abandoned, and beset the retreating column on all sides as it marched along the flat. The hussars in the rear were driven in by overwhelming numbers, and had to retire to the neighbourhood of the 21st Portuguese. This left the square composed of the 5th and 77th exposed to the full force of the enemy. Montbrun caused it to be charged on three sides at once; but the British infantry showed no disorder, reserved their fire till the enemy was within thirty paces, and then executed such a regular and effective series of volleys that the dragoons were beaten off with loss, and could not close at any point. The German squadrons then turned back and charged them as they retired in disorder.

This repulse checked the French for half an hour, but presently they were up again, not only hovering round the two squares, that of the 5th and 77th and that of the 21st Portuguese, which brought up the rear, but riding all down the side of the division, which now formed one long column of march. But they dared not charge again: Montbrun merely brought up his horse-artillery battery, and plied the enemy with fire from several successive positions. It was not ineffective, but the allied infantry refused to be troubled with it, and continued to march as hard as they could along the high-road. ‘For six miles across a perfect flat,’ writes an eye-witness, ‘without the slightest protection from any incident of ground, without their artillery, and almost without cavalry (for what were five squadrons against twenty or thirty?) did the 3rd Division continue its march. During the whole time the French cavalry never quitted them: six guns were taking the division in flank and rear, pouring in a shower of round shot, grape, and canister. This was a trying and pitiable situation for troops to be placed in, but it in no way shook their courage or confidence: so far[p. 570] from being dispirited or cast down the men were cheerful and gay. The soldiers of my own corps, the 88th, told their officers that if the French would only charge, every officer should have a nate horse to ride upon. General Picton conducted himself with his usual coolness. He rode on the left flank of the column, and repeatedly cautioned the different battalions to mind their quarter-distance and the “tellings off.” We had at last got close to the entrenched camp at Fuente Guinaldo when Montbrun, impatient that we should escape from his grasp, ordered his troopers to bring up their right shoulders and incline towards our marching column. The movement was not exactly bringing his squadrons into line, but the next thing to it, and they were within half pistol-shot of us. Picton took off his hat, and holding it over his eyes as a shade from the sun, looked sternly but anxiously at the French. The clatter of the horses and the clanking of the sabres was so great, when the right squadrons moved up, that many thought it the preliminary to a general charge. Some mounted officer called out, “Had we not better form square?” “No,” replied Picton, “it is only a ruse to frighten us, and it won’t do.”[729]’

Montbrun’s bolt, indeed, was shot. For by this time troops were coming out from Fuente Guinaldo to cover the retreating division, De Grey’s heavy dragoons, who had just come up from the Coa, at the head of them. The French horse slackened their pace, and finally drew off. Half an hour later the retreating column had taken up its destined position in the half-completed entrenched camp where the 4th Division was awaiting it.

This long straggling fight cost the Allies only 149 casualties. The cavalry had lost 70 men[730] in their long fight to hold the hill, which they so long guarded, on the flank. Of the infantry the 1/5th and 77th had lost 42 men, not by the sabres of the cavalry whom they had driven off so serenely, but by the artillery fire which followed. The other eight infantry battalions of the 3rd Division, British and Portuguese, had lost only 34 men in all, mostly, it is to be presumed, by the cannonade during the[p. 571] retreat. The Portuguese gunners had only 5 men hurt—a light loss considering that the enemy’s dragoons had been among their pieces for five minutes.

Montbrun’s loss is nowhere accurately stated, but was probably about 200 at the least. Thirteen officers had been hit in the four brigades engaged, and though cavalry was more heavily officered in proportion to its numbers than infantry, we can hardly suppose that where 13 officers fell less than 190 rank and file were killed or wounded[731].

Wellington was lucky to have paid no greater price for his rash maintenance of a position so dangerously close to the walls of Ciudad Rodrigo. If Marmont had brought up infantry close behind his great cavalry force, the 3rd Division would have suffered far more; it might even have been destroyed. But there was, as we have seen, only one French infantry division under arms on the morning of the 25th, that of Thiébault. Three more were encamped beyond Rodrigo, the rest were still some miles to the rear, halting by the Guadapero river. Marmont sent for Thiébault, when he had discovered the position and the weakness of Picton’s scattered brigades. But, luckily for the British, Dorsenne had also dispatched orders to this division, which formed part of his own Army of the North. He had been alarmed at the strength of the Allies on the Azava, which Wathier had discovered, and had told Thiébault to march to his right and support the cavalry on the Carpio road. When Masséna’s aide-de-camp arrived, to hurry up this infantry, it was found to have gone off some miles to the north-west; and though promptly recalled it did not reach the ground in front of Fuente Guinaldo till late in the evening. Deprived of Thiébault’s battalions by this chance—one of the many results of a divided command—Marmont summoned up the three divisions which lay on the other side of Rodrigo. Not having been warned for service on this day, they took some time to get under arms, and more to file over the narrow bridge over the Agueda. They only reached and joined the Marshal and Montbrun a short time before Thiébault arrived. Thus all day[p. 572] Marmont had no infantry in hand, with which to support his cavalry[732]. But at nightfall he had 20,000 bayonets at the front, and the five rear divisions, left hitherto on the Guadapero, were also coming up, and had reached and passed the Agueda. There would be nearly 60,000 men at the front by noon on the 26th.

Wellington’s position at Fuente Guinaldo was therefore very hazardous. When night fell on the 25th he had only assembled in the half-finished entrenchments the 3rd and 4th Divisions, Pack’s independent Portuguese brigade, and the cavalry of Alten, De Grey, and Slade, or about 15,000 men. He had sent orders to the other fractions of his army to concentrate there, but it was certain that some, and possible that others, of them would not get up on the morning of the 26th. The concentration orders had gone out too late. Graham was directed to unite the 1st and 6th Divisions and McMahon’s Portuguese at Nava de Aver, abandoning the lower Azava to a rearguard composed of Anson’s cavalry. He was, as he wrote to his brother-in-law Cathcart, ‘amazingly relieved’ to have permission to draw in towards the centre[733]; but the orders came late and did not go far enough—at Nava de Aver, which he reached at noon on the 26th, he had 13,000 men collected, but he was still twelve miles from Fuente Guinaldo, and the road to that point by Puebla de Azava was not out of reach of molestation by the French. It was only in the afternoon that he received a second dispatch, telling him not to move on Fuente Guinaldo, but to get behind the Villar Mayor stream, and march by a circuitous route, through Villar Mayor and Bismula, to join the main army at a point more to the rear[734]. The Commander-in-Chief had resolved to evacuate Fuente Guinaldo.

Thus, by his own fault, Wellington was short of two divisions and a brigade from his left, in the perilous afternoon hours of[p. 573] the 26th. And on his right also he was weak, owing to the fact that he had deliberately left Craufurd upon the Vadillo, beyond the Azava, till the 25th. At the moment when the combat of El Bodon began, tardy directions were sent to Craufurd to move the Light Division to join the army, by the ford of Carros, near Robleda, high up the Azava. For it was no longer possible for him to use the easy passage by the ford of Zamorra, close under Pastores, since the French had gained possession of it when they thrust the 3rd Division southward. Craufurd, leaving only cavalry pickets along the Vadillo river, retreated that night to Cespedosa, a few miles south of his former post at Martiago. But he refused to make a night march to the ford of Carros, because the road was rough and difficult, and he thought it likely that his column might get astray and that some or all of his baggage might be lost[735]. Very possibly he was right, but the result of his not starting from Cespedosa till the dawn of the 26th was that, all through the long morning hours and early afternoon of that day, he was not in line at Fuente Guinaldo, where his chief wished to have him. He only got there, after a fatiguing march of 16 miles along the upper Agueda and over the ford of Carros, at four o’clock, when dusk was drawing near[736]. Meanwhile Marmont had been, for all the day, in a position to attack Wellington with very superior numbers.

It has often been remarked, especially by French critics, that Craufurd and his men were in grave danger on the afternoon of the 25th and the morning of the 26th, since if Marmont had sent out a heavy column on the right bank of the Agueda, to push the Light Division, it would not have been able to use the ford[p. 574] near Robleda, and must have fallen back into the rough country at the sources of the Agueda, where it might have been overtaken, and have suffered heavily for want of a road that would have served for its baggage. The danger has been exaggerated: though the baggage might very probably have been lost, there was nothing to prevent the troops from taking to the hill-paths, and getting to Payo or the passes of Gata by some circuitous route. All that a hot pursuit could have done would have been to make Craufurd unable to reach Fuente Guinaldo, as he actually did, upon the 26th. This would, no doubt, have been something of an advantage to the French. But Marmont would have lost the services of the force sent in pursuit, which would have had to be very strong, since no mere detachment would have been able to venture near the Light Division, on pain of being brought to action and defeated[737].

It seems that Marmont’s quiescence in front of the half-occupied camp of Fuente Guinaldo, during the perilous hours of the morning and noon of September 26th, was caused by a reluctance to tackle Wellington when he had taken up a position and was offering battle. He writes in his Mémoires that, ‘as the day wore on, I had 40,000 men assembled, within cannon-shot of the English front. But the enemy was known to have collected if not all, at any rate a very great part of his force, and was in an entrenched position. Much tempted to take advantage of the union of the Armies of Portugal and the North, and to make a stroke for victory, I passed the day in studying the English position. Attacks made without careful preparation during the recent campaigns [i. e. Bussaco and Fuentes de O?oro] had succeeded so badly that I was deterred from inconsiderate action. Moreover General Dorsenne, who was only under my command accidentally and by his own consent, had no wish for a battle, and this rendered the enterprise more delicate. Then, too, if we tried our luck and were successful, we were not in a condition to make profit of a successful engage[p. 575]ment, by pursuing the English into Portugal if they were beaten. So finally I gave up the idea of forcing on a fight[738].’

There is an amusing picture of Marmont’s hesitation drawn by General Thiébault in his clever but malicious autobiography. In this a very different r?le is attributed to the commander of the Army of the North: ‘At nine o’clock the Marshal and General Dorsenne rode to the front with their glittering staffs. The troops were put under arms at once. But the great men descended from their horses and got out telescopes, with which they began to study the English position. “Yes,” began the Marshal, determined to see that which was not visible, as he peered through the large glass balanced on the shoulder of one of his aides-de-camp, “Yes, my information was correct. The right of the English line is flanked by an inaccessible declivity.” General Dorsenne and I had excellent telescopes, but we could not see any such precipice. Dorsenne told the Marshal as much. Taking no notice of his remark, Marmont continued, “The whole camp is protected by closed redoubts.” Dorsenne, after exchanging some words with me, replied that he could only make out a few points at which earthworks had been thrown up. The Marshal, ignoring the observations of his interlocutor, went on, “And, just as I have been told, these closed redoubts are armed with heavy guns of position forwarded from Almeida. Nothing can be done[739].” He forthwith adjourned his reconnoitring, and invited the generals to a heavy and sumptuous meal, served on silver plate in front of the line. After the feast Montbrun remarked, “The English position is impregnable—the thing that proves it so is that Wellington is offering us battle upon it. We shall never make an end of him by running at him head down; that would have no good result.” Marmont soon after delivered his decision that Rodrigo, having been relieved, and the position of the English being too strong, he intended to advance no further, and should retire next day.’

If Thiébault’s report of Montbrun’s words and Marmont’s attitude be correct, it is clear that Wellington had by mere ‘bluffing’ brought the enemy to a standstill. He was using[p. 576] the reputation for caution which he had gained in his former campaigns as a moral weapon. The syllogism, ‘Wellington never fights save when he has his army in hand, and has found a good position; he offers to fight now; therefore he feels himself safe against any attack,’ seemed a legitimate logical process to Marmont and Montbrun. So the English general had hoped; but he did not know how entirely successful his demonstration had been; and thought that the reconnaissance followed by a halt, which he had observed in the morning, meant that the enemy was going to bring up his last reserves before attacking. The rear divisions of the Army of Portugal were seen to arrive in the French lines when the day was far spent. Wellington supposed that Marmont had been waiting for them, and would use them for a great combined attack on the 27th. He had no intention of awaiting it, even though the Light Division had reached him, and instead of ordering the other absent units of his army to close in upon Fuente Guinaldo, sent orders to them all to place themselves in the second position, nine miles to the rear, which he had chosen as his real battle-ground.

The force at Fuente Guinaldo decamped after dusk, leaving the Light Division and the 1st Hussars K.G.L. to keep up the bivouac fires along the whole line till midnight. Marching in two columns, one by the direct road by Casillas de Flores and Furcalhos, the other by a secondary path through Aldea da Ponte, the whole reached the positions in front of Alfayates where Wellington was ready to make his real stand. On the morning of the 27th the main body was joined by the 5th Division, which came down from Payo in the Sierra de Gata, having found no enemy threatening the passes in that direction. The 7th Division also arrived from Albergaria. Meanwhile Graham, with the 1st and 6th Divisions and McMahon’s Portuguese, had arrived at Bismula and Rendo, and so was at last in close touch with the main body. The whole of Wellington’s 45,000 men were concentrated, and, well knowing the strength of the position which he had now reached, his mind was tranquil. The front was hidden by a strong cavalry screen, Alten’s brigade covering the right, De Grey’s and Slade’s the centre, and Anson’s the left, where Graham’s divisions lay.

[p. 577]Marmont was so far from guessing that his adversary would abandon the position of Fuente Guinaldo, that he had ordered his own army to retreat towards Rodrigo, at the very moment that the Allies were absconding from his front. During the early hours of the night of the 26th-27th, the two adversaries were marching away from each other! But at midnight Thiébault, who was in charge of the rearguard, noted that the fires in Wellington’s lines seemed few and flickering, and that his sentries had got out of touch with those of the British. A reconnaissance soon showed him that there was nothing left in his front. Prompt information was sent to Marmont, and the Marshal had to reconsider his position. He determined to follow up the retreating enemy, not with the fixed intention of bringing him to action, but rather that he might be ready to take advantage of any unforeseen chance that might occur. But the pursuit could not be rapid or effective, for during the night the bulk of the Army of Portugal had been marching back towards Ciudad Rodrigo. Montbrun’s and Wathier’s cavalry were still at the front, but only two infantry divisions, those of Souham and Thiébault, both belonging to the Army of the North. The Marshal dared not press his enemy too hard, lest Wellington should turn upon him, and find that only 11,000 infantry were up on the French side. While the countermarch of the other seven divisions was in progress, the vanguard must not commit itself unsupported to a general action.

Accordingly Wellington’s retreat was not seriously incommoded. Montbrun, followed by Souham’s division, took the road by Casillas de Flores and Furcalhos: Wathier, with Thiébault’s infantry in support, that by Aldea da Ponte. Montbrun ran about noon, against the Light and 5th Divisions and Alten’s horse, drawn up in position in front of Alfayates, and considered them too strongly placed to be meddled with. Wathier, on the western road, was stopped in front of Aldea da Ponte by the pickets of the 4th Division and of Slade’s dragoons. This village lay outside the intended line of battle of the allied army, but so close in front of it that Wellington had resolved not to let it go till he was pushed by a strong force, since it was the meeting-place of several roads and well placed for observation.

Wathier halted facing Aldea da Ponte, till Thiébault came[p. 578] up and assumed the command, being senior to the cavalry general. Seeing that the village was worth having, Thiébault resolved to attack it, and drove out the light companies of the Fusilier brigade by an advance of the three battalions of the 34th Léger, one of which cleared the village while the other two turned it on each flank. Wellington, observing that the enemy had only a single division on the ground, refused to allow Aldea da Ponte to be so lightly lost, and sent against the French the whole Fusilier brigade in line, flanked by a Portuguese regiment in column. This advance forced Thiébault’s first brigade back from the village, and thrust it northward some way upon the road. Here the French rallied upon their second brigade, and formed up with Wathier’s horse in support. Wellington would not push them further, and contented himself with having recovered Aldea da Ponte and the junction of the roads[740].

At dusk, however, Montbrun and Souham came up and joined Thiébault, with the column which had followed the Furcalhos road. Souham determined to try again the attack in which Thiébault had been checked, and assailed Aldea da Ponte just as the light was failing. The Fusiliers were driven out of the village, and Wellington refused to reinforce them, or to allow them to make a second counter-attack, because he did not wish to get entangled in heavy fighting in the dark, or to expend many lives upon keeping a place which was outside his line, and formed no essential part of it. There had been much skirmishing all through the afternoon between Slade’s two cavalry regiments and Wathier’s chasseurs, in which neither party had any appreciable losses, nor gained any marked advantage.

The Anglo-Portuguese casualties in this rearguard action were just 100, of which 71 were in the Fusilier brigade, 13 in the Portuguese battalions which had covered its flank, and 10 in Slade’s cavalry. Thiébault says that he lost 150 men, a very[p. 579] probable estimate[741]; he adds that the British lost 500, and that he was engaged against 17,000 allied troops—which, considering that he fought no one save the three battalions of the Fusilier brigade, one regiment of Portuguese, and Slade’s horse—3,300 sabres and bayonets—seems sufficiently astounding. It may serve as a fair example of his method of dealing with figures.

Next morning Wellington’s line was drawn back into the position in which he had determined to fight, with the French column at Aldea da Ponte lying two miles in his front, on the lower ground. This position, which was about seven miles long, was covered on either flank by the ravine of the Coa, which here makes a deep hook or curve, with the town of Sabugal at its point. The right wing was formed of the 5th Division, holding the village of Aldea Velha on a steep hill by the source of the Coa. The right-centre, which projected somewhat, was composed of the 4th and Light Divisions ranged in front of the town of Alfayates, close by the convent of Sacaparte[742]. From that point westward the line was taken up by Pack’s and McMahon’s Portuguese brigades on each side of the village of Nave. Finally, the left consisted of the 1st and 6th Divisions under Graham, reaching from near Rendo as far as the bridge of Rapoulla. This wing was covered in front by the ravine of a torrent flowing into the Coa. The central reserve was formed of the 3rd and 7th Divisions with De Grey’s and Slade’s dragoons, drawn up behind Alfayates. Alten’s light cavalry brigade was with the Light Division, its pickets thrown out on the Furcalhos[p. 580] road; Anson’s brigade was placed in front of Nave and Bismula, with its advanced vedettes watching the French in Aldea da Ponte. The position was well marked, high-lying, and masked by woods and ravines. Its only fault was that the Coa ran round its rear, with only two bridges, those of Sabugal and Rapoulla da Coa, though there were at least six or seven fords in addition, and the stream was low, and passable almost everywhere for infantry. A defeat, however, would probably have meant much loss of artillery and impedimenta, though Wellington had sent great part of his baggage over the Coa, and detached all his Portuguese horse and the Portuguese brigade of the 6th Division to cover its retreat. No position is perfect, but Wellington did not think he could possibly be evicted from this one, which was as strong as Bussaco and not nearly so long. ‘He wished to be attacked, being confident of success,’ wrote Graham three days later[743].

But his adversaries would not oblige him. After coming up to Aldea da Ponte, and rebuking Thiébault and Souham for engaging in a profitless skirmish on the preceding day[744], Marmont took a long survey of the position of the allied army, and refused to advance any further. The reasons which he had given for not attacking at Fuente Guinaldo on the 26th, when he still had a good chance of accomplishing great things, were doubly valid on the 28th. After reasserting to Dorsenne and the other generals that Wellington’s army was concentrated (which was now quite true) and that his position was far too strong to be meddled with, and adding that, even if there were a successful action, he could not pursue Wellington into the mountains for want of food, he gave his final orders for retreat. The main body of the army, which had not come further forward than Fuente Guinaldo, began to retire that same night towards Ciudad Rodrigo. The two infantry divisions at Aldea da Ponte[p. 581] and the cavalry of Montbrun and Wathier brought up and covered the rear. By the morning of the 29th the crisis was over, and Wellington was dictating orders for the breaking up of his army and its distribution into cantonments.

After retiring to Ciudad Rodrigo Marmont and Dorsenne parted company on October 1st, and each dispersed his troops into cantonments. The Army of Portugal recrossed the Sierra de Gata, and was distributed by divisions in the same regions of New Castile that it had occupied in September. On returning to his head quarters at Talavera, Marmont received the report of Foy, commanding the only section of his army which had not taken part in the recent campaign. That general had been ordered to demonstrate from Plasencia against Wellington’s rear during the revictualling of Ciudad Rodrigo. With six battalions and a regiment of light cavalry, about 2,800 men, he had taken the direction of the pass of Perales. He reached Moraleja at the foot of the mountains, near Coria, on September 27th, the day of the combat of Aldea da Ponte. Next morning he started to ascend the Sierra, and his advanced guard got to Payo on the 29th. There it was discovered that Marmont and Dorsenne had abandoned the offensive, and started on their retreat for Ciudad Rodrigo on the 28th, so that no French troops were anywhere in the neighbourhood, while Wellington’s whole army was near Alfayates, only fifteen miles away. Fearing to be discovered and overwhelmed, Foy returned to Plasencia by forced marches: his demonstration had been some days too late to be of any use. If he had appeared in the Perales pass on the 25th, while the 5th Division was still holding Payo, Wellington would have had to keep that force detached to protect his flank, and could not have withdrawn it to join the rest of his army on the Alfayates-Rendo position. But Foy came up only when the campaign was over, and his movements had no effect whatever.

The best commentary on this five days of man?uvring between El Bodon and Alfayates is that of the war-tried veteran Graham. ‘It was very pretty—but spun rather fine. Had the enemy behaved with common spirit on the 26th, we should not have got away so easily from Guinaldo. I should have preferred, after it was ascertained that the enemy’s force (54,000 infantry and[p. 582] 6,000 horse) was too formidable to be attacked beyond the Agueda, drawing back our infantry to the ultimate position (Aldea Velha, Alfayates, Rendo) which could have been made infinitely stronger during the interval. There would have been no risk whatever, nor any appearance to the troops of retreat. The enemy, as you can see, might have amused us before Fuente Guinaldo, and, by a night march from Ciudad Rodrigo, have massed at San Felices, and so have crossed the river in force by the plain of Fuentes de O?oro. Then, pushing on rapidly by Nava de Aver, he would have tumbled us back in confusion. I thought this would have been his course, from his superiority in cavalry and artillery—all that country is like Newmarket Heath for galloping across. However, all is well that ends well[745]!’

The fact is that Wellington on the 25th made one of his rare slips. He judged that Marmont would not advance beyond Ciudad Rodrigo, and so left his troops dispersed along a vast front. When, contrary to his expectation, his enemy fell upon the 3rd Division, and pushed it back to Fuente Guinaldo, the chosen concentration point of the Allied army, he was for twenty-four hours in the gravest danger. For if Marmont had struck hard again at noon on the 26th, there was no mass of troops collected to oppose him. Craufurd and Graham would have been driven off sideways on eccentric lines of retreat, and the 3rd and 4th Divisions must surely have suffered considerable loss in the hasty retreat to Alfayates which would have been forced upon them. For on the 26th Marmont would not have been handicapped, as he was on the 25th, by having no infantry at the front to assist his numerous and daring cavalry. It may be added that, if the army had failed to concentrate at Alfayates, Almeida would have been in danger, and what was still more important, Dickson’s great siege-train at Villa da Ponte would have been exposed—unless indeed Graham, driven away from his proper line of movement, might have moved westward and covered it. But speculations as to the merely possible are fruitless.
SECTION XXIX: CHAPTER III
THE END OF WELLINGTON’S CAMPAIGNS OF 1811.
ARROYO DOS MOLINOS. SEPTEMBER 1811

The moment that he had satisfied himself that the French were all in full retreat, and were clearly about to disperse to their old garrisons and cantonments, Wellington also broke up the army which had been lying on the Alfayates-Rendo position. On the 29th September Graham received orders to retire with the 1st and 6th Divisions to regular winter quarters in the interior of Beira, about Guarda, Celorico, and Freixadas. The 7th Division was sent southward to Penamacor. But the 3rd, 4th, and Light Divisions returned to the frontier of Spain, to establish the same sort of distant blockade (or rather observation) of Ciudad Rodrigo, which they had been keeping up in August and September. The Light Division once more crossed the Agueda, and occupied its old position at Martiago and Zamorra. The 4th Division watched the Agueda from Gallegos to Barba del Puerco[746]; the 3rd Division, in reserve behind the other two, was cantoned at Aldea da Ponte and Fuente Guinaldo. The three light cavalry brigades of Anson, Alten, and Slade took in turns the charge of covering the front of the Light and 4th Divisions along the Agueda; the two brigades not on duty were kept twenty miles to the rear, about Freixadas, Goveias, and Castel Mendo. De Grey’s heavy dragoons and the head quarters of the cavalry division were close behind, at Alverca. Soon after the line of observation along the Agueda had been taken up, Wellington found it possible to send cavalry pickets forward to Tenebron and Santi Espiritus, on the other side of the Agueda, so as to block the road between Ciudad Rodrigo and Salamanca. But these were mere posts occupied by half a troop—there was no intention of risking any serious force in such advanced positions. Meanwhile a more effective[p. 584] hindrance to communication between Rodrigo and Salamanca was provided. Julian Sanchez and his guerrilleros were pushed forward to their old haunts along the Yeltes, and overran the whole country-side. Carlos de Espa?a’s Spanish infantry brigade also recrossed the Agueda, and took up a forward position facing Ledesma.

Thus the posture of affairs on the frontiers of Leon was restored to the same aspect that it had displayed in the early autumn. It was clear that when Ciudad Rodrigo again needed to be revictualled, it ought to be necessary for the French to make another great effort, and to concentrate once more an army of 50,000 men. Marmont had thrown a great convoy into the place, but his calculations as to the time that these stores would suffice to feed the garrison had been wrecked, by the fact that his own army and that of Dorsenne had lived on the magazines of Rodrigo for five days, and had consumed more than 200,000 rations. It had been intended that the convoy should feed Rodrigo for six months, but only two months’ food remained for its garrison of 2,000 men after this enormous deduction had been made. Meanwhile Wellington thought that there was nothing to be accomplished in the north for some time. His ultimate design was to make a serious blow at Ciudad Rodrigo, when he should learn that the disposition of the armies of Dorsenne and Marmont rendered such a blow practicable. As long as they lay so close together as to make their rapid concentration possible, he did not intend to press matters. But two indispensable preliminaries for the regular leaguer of Rodrigo were being perfected. Dickson’s great siege-train was being completed at Villa da Ponte, and the repairs to the walls of Almeida were at last finished. It was Wellington’s intention to transfer the siege-train to Almeida when that fortress was absolutely secure against an attack. Placed there, it would be in a position to move up against Rodrigo in two days, when the time for action should come. But it was not till November was far spent that the order to move forward reached Dickson; meanwhile the roads between Villa da Ponte, Pinhel, and Almeida were put in good order, by a corvée levied on the local peasantry[747].

[p. 585]The dispositions of the enemy remained the all-important factor in the situation, and for the next two months Wellington was scrutinizing them with the greatest care. The Army of Portugal, after it had recrossed the Sierra de Gata, had been distributed by divisions in much the same cantonments that it had occupied in September, save that no force was sent to the distant southern post of Truxillo, to keep up communications with Drouet in Estremadura. Foy’s division, which had held that town during the early autumn, was reduced to such a state of dilapidation, by its late march in the mountains, that Marmont sent it to rest at Toledo, in comfortable cantonments. He replaced it at Plasencia, its later base, by the troops of Brennier. The 2nd Division (Clausel) occupied Avila and its province; the remaining three divisions (Ferey, Maucune, Sarrut) settled down at Almaraz, Talavera, Bejar, Oropesa, and the intermediate places. Montbrun’s heavy cavalry remained near head quarters at Talavera; the light cavalry was placed with Brennier, along the line of the Alagon, to watch the frontier of central Portugal.

Dorsenne meanwhile executed a similar dispersion of his army. He left at Salamanca only Thiébault’s division, strengthened by some light cavalry, and one brigade of Souham’s[748]. The other troops that he had taken to Ciudad Rodrigo in September were sent back to Valladolid, Benavente, Palencia, and other posts in the valley of the Douro. The Army of the North ceased to threaten either Portugal or Galicia: but there was one task that it had to execute in order to replace itself in the position that it had held in the summer. Napoleon had protested at the time against the evacuation of the central Asturias and Oviedo by Bonnet’s division, and had ordered that this region should be reoccupied as soon as was possible. The troops told off for its invasion were the same which had held it during the last twelve months, the division of Bonnet. To support their movement through the pass of Pajares, Dorsenne took to Leon one of his two divisions of the Guard, placing the[p. 586] other at Valladolid. Thiébault’s and Souham’s divisions alone were left in front line, facing towards Portugal and Galicia. Bonnet’s expedition against the Asturias was executed with complete success; indeed it met with hardly any opposition. General Losada, who had occupied Oviedo after its evacuation, with the 1st Division of the Army of Galicia, judged himself too weak to fight. He abandoned the pass of Pajares after a mere skirmish, and made hardly a greater effort to defend the passage of the Nalon, withdrawing westward towards Galicia as the French advanced. Bonnet occupied Oviedo on the 6th of November without any fighting, and its port of Gijon on the 7th. Finding that Losada had retreated behind the Narcea, he sent a brigade under Colonel Gauthier to pursue him. This column reached Tineo on November 12th, but soon had to retire, for the Spaniards had scattered themselves in small bands among the mountains, and had turned back to attack Gauthier’s line of communication with Oviedo, as well as that between Oviedo and the pass of Pajares. Bonnet found that to maintain himself in the central Asturias was all that was in his power. He could not at the same time provide garrisons for Oviedo, Gijon, and the neighbouring places, and also put in the field a force strong enough to menace Galicia. In fact his fine division of 8,000 men was practically immobilized in the district that it had seized. It is more than doubtful whether the Emperor was wise to direct that the central Asturias should be once more occupied. He deprived the Army of the North of one of its five fighting divisions, and left the force holding Leon and Old Castile too weak to restrain Wellington, when it had at the same time to contain the Army of Galicia and to hunt all the Spanish irregular forces. Julian Sanchez in the plains of Leon, and Porlier and Longa in the mountains of Cantabria, were enemies whom it was impossible to neglect. If left alone they executed feats of great daring—it will be remembered that the former had surprised and captured Santander in August[749], and though his ventures in the autumn were less fortunate, they kept many hostile columns busy. Sanchez, on October 15th, executed a very ingenious coup de main. The garrison of Ciudad[p. 587] Rodrigo possessed a herd of cattle, which was habitually sent under guard to graze a mile or two from the ramparts. Watching his opportunity, on a day when the governor, Renaud, was inspecting the beasts, he swooped down on him, and carried him off with his escort and his cattle, though they were barely out of cannon-shot of the fortress. Thiébault, who commanded in the province of Salamanca, had great difficulty in getting into Ciudad Rodrigo General Barrié, whom he chose as Renaud’s successor (November 1st, 1811).

Between the Tagus, therefore, and the Bay of Biscay matters had come once more to a deadlock after the short campaign of September 24th-29th, 1811. For the following three months neither the Allies nor the French made any serious movement, with the exception of Bonnet’s invasion of the central Asturias. The main armies on both sides were dispersed. Wellington, with his troops distributed into cantonments, was waiting his opportunity for another and more effective blow at Ciudad Rodrigo; Dorsenne was striving to put down the guerrilleros, by hunting them ineffectually with many small columns—a task which he found more difficult now that he was deprived of Bonnet’s powerful division. Marmont, with his troops dispersed from Plasencia to Toledo, was practically waiting on Wellington’s movements, and showed no signs of wishing to take the offensive. His quiescence was not in the least affected by an Imperial dispatch sent from Compiègne on September 18th, which reached him shortly after his return to the valley of the Tagus[750]. In this document a most ambitious plan of operations was proposed to him. Berthier explained that the Emperor took it for granted that Ciudad Rodrigo would have been revictualled for three months before October 1st, and that the Army of Portugal would have received the cavalry drafts which General Vandermaesen was bringing from the north[751]. When these had arrived Marmont would have 41,000 men present with the colours. Let him march with this force into[p. 588] Estremadura, pick up Drouet and the 5th Corps, which should be placed under his orders, and lay siege to Elvas. Soult should be asked to find him 3,000 cavalry, and he would have a force of 57,000 men, which would be more than Wellington would be able to face. For if the English general hurried to save Elvas, a course which he was almost bound to take, he would probably leave two divisions in front of Almeida to ‘contain’ Dorsenne and the Army of the North. Though he would pick up instead the corps of Hill, which had so long been lying in the Alemtejo, yet he would still have no more than 45,000 men of all nations, even including Casta?os’s Spanish levies. This would not be enough to cope with 57,000 French: if Wellington fought he would be beaten; if he did not, he would lose Elvas, the most important fortress of Portugal. ‘This is the only movement, M. le Maréchal, which can bring back honour to our arms, free us from the defensive attitude in which we lie, strike terror into the English, and take us a step forward to the end of the war.... The prospect of capturing a great fortress under the eyes of the English army, of conquering a province of Portugal which covers our Army of the South, of uniting to your forces 25,000 men of that army [the 5th Corps and the cavalry] should serve you as incentives for glory and success.’ Berthier then grants that it is just possible that Wellington may refuse to march to the relief of Elvas, and reply to the menace against that fortress by invading Leon and falling upon Dorsenne, who would be too weak to face him. If he does this, the Army of the North may retire first to Salamanca, then to Valladolid, then even to Burgos. At the latter point, having called in all its detachments, it would be 50,000 strong, and able to ‘contain’ the allied forces, even if Wellington had brought forward every available man. But Marmont might take it for granted that his adversary would do nothing of the kind: he would hurry south to save Elvas and cover his base at Lisbon. If he left no troops behind him on the Coa, Dorsenne should dispatch 15,000 men of the Army of the North to Estremadura, and bring up the force before Elvas to a total of 62,000 men, a number which Wellington could not possibly resist. Elvas must infallibly fall. Only one caution was added to this scheme of[p. 589] campaign: Marmont must be sure that Wellington had not a siege-train at Almeida, or any other place near Ciudad Rodrigo. For if he were to answer the French movement on Elvas by laying formal siege to Rodrigo, Dorsenne would not be strong enough to prevent him from taking it, and the Army of Portugal would have to turn back to the rescue from its distant position in the Alemtejo.

This last caution was, in effect, a fatal block to the whole plan. For Marmont, during the El Bodon campaign, had heard of the existence of Wellington’s siege-park at Villa da Ponte. And he had also found in the cantonments of the 3rd and 4th Divisions a stock of gabions and fascines, whose preparation could only mean that the British had been contemplating regular siege operations at some future date. The wood and wickerwork had been burned[752], but there was nothing to prevent Wellington from replacing it at short notice.

Yet even if Marmont had not been aware of the existence of Dickson’s guns, the plan proposed to him was not so tempting at a second as at a first glance. He was well aware that such parts of it as depended on the loyal co-operation of his colleagues might not work out easily. Would not Soult find some excuse for refusing to send the 3,000 cavalry from Andalusia? Could Dorsenne be trusted to dispatch 15,000 men to the Alemtejo, if he discovered that Wellington had left no serious force on the Coa? And even if he did show such an unwonted self-abnegation as to detach two of his divisions to such a distant destination, would they get up in time for the crisis? For if Wellington marched promptly with his whole army, by Alfayates, Castello Branco, and the bridge of Villa Velha, he would be at Elvas many days before Dorsenne’s detachment, which would have to take the circuitous route by Bejar, the bridge of Almaraz, Truxillo, Merida, and Badajoz. Supposing that the whole allied army came down from the north, and picked up Hill and Casta?os, it would consist of well over 60,000 men, and the Army of Portugal when joined by Girard’s corps would only make 57,000 men if Soult sent his cavalry, or 54,000 if (as was more likely) he found some excuse[p. 590] for refusing his co-operation. Could 54,000 men lay siege to a first-class fortress, and at the same time provide a covering force strong enough to fend off 64,000 of the Allies? If they tried to do so, would not the covering force be beaten in all probability? And it was probable that Wellington would come to save Elvas with every available man, for he knew that Dorsenne was not able to make any serious irruption into northern Portugal. The Army of the North could not collect more than 27,000 men for field operations (as the late campaign had shown) and such a force, destitute of stores and acting at short notice, would not get far into the wilderness of the devastated Beira, much less threaten Lisbon.

These arguments, in all probability, must have occurred to Marmont, but we have no proof that he used them. In his reply to Berthier, written at Talavera on October 21st[753], he takes another line—he reports that the difficulties of supply are so great that he has, after returning from the relief of Ciudad Rodrigo, dispersed his army from Plasencia to Toledo. He is beginning to collect great central magazines at Navalmoral, near Almaraz, which will serve for his army when next it is massed either for offensive or defensive purposes. Meanwhile, till the magazines are formed, he asks for the Emperor’s leave to wait with his troops in their present positions. Wellington, he thinks, can do nothing serious for want of numbers, and the dispersion of his army into cantonments has been caused by the difficulty of feeding his men in the highlands, from which he has just retired. If, nevertheless, he tries some forward movement into Estremadura, the Army of Portugal is well placed for falling on him in the valley of the Guadiana. As for offensive plans, nothing can be done till magazines are formed, but he hopes to submit a scheme of his own to the Emperor when leave has been granted.

But meanwhile Napoleon’s mind had swerved away from the scheme for an attack on Elvas and the Alemtejo, which had been formulated in the Compiègne dispatch of September 18th. Just a month later Berthier writes, by his orders, from Amsterdam, to lay down a wholly new plan. This dispatch of October[p. 591] 18th contains the germ of the great central error which was to make possible Wellington’s sudden offensive move of the following midwinter, and the capture of Ciudad Rodrigo—the exploit which was to be the turning-point of the whole Peninsular War. Suchet had now started upon his long-projected march on Valencia, with which we shall deal in its proper place. He had made a good commencement, but had been brought to a stand before the walls of Saguntum. The Spaniards had begun to reinforce their eastern armies, and the Emperor realized that Suchet needed support. Therefore the army of Wellington ceased for a moment to be the central point on which his attention was fixed. ‘Le principal objet aujourd’hui est Valence,’ writes Berthier in obedience to his master’s changed opinion. And he thereupon instructs Marmont that the Army of the Centre will have to stretch itself eastward to Cuenca, to support Suchet, and that in consequence the Army of Portugal will have to ‘facilitate the task of the King of Spain,’ i. e. spare troops to occupy those parts of New Castile from which Joseph must withdraw men for the expedition to the Valencian border. This was but the beginning of the scheme, which was to end by distracting a great body of Marmont’s host to the shore of the Mediterranean, out of call of their commander. As we shall see, the Duke of Ragusa was finally ordered to make such a huge detachment to aid Suchet, that Wellington at last got his opportunity to strike, when the Army of Portugal was so lowered in numbers that it could not hope to restrain him. The first hint came in the above-cited orders of October 18th; in the second crucial dispatch, that of November 21st[754], Marmont is told not only that he will have to ‘facilitate the task’ of King Joseph, but that he must select a body of 12,000 men to march at once on Valencia, and set aside 3,000 more to keep up the line of communication with the expeditionary force. ‘We are informed,’ continues Berthier, ‘that the English army has 20,000 sick[755], and barely 20,000 able-bodied men with the colours, so that they cannot possibly try any offensive enterprise.’

[p. 592]This is a typical result of the endeavour to conduct the Peninsular War from Paris as head quarters. On the wholly false hypothesis that Wellington’s army is reduced to a skeleton, and can do nothing, the Emperor orders his lieutenant to detach a third of the Army of Portugal beyond the reach of recall. But the English, though indeed there were many sick, had not 20,000 but exactly 38,311 men with the colours at that moment, not to speak of 24,391 Portuguese, of whom the Emperor (as usual) took no account in his calculations[756]. Wellington had been patiently waiting for months for the moment when the Army of Portugal should no longer be able to ‘contain’ him. The Emperor was obliging enough to provide the opportunity in December 1811, and when Montbrun had marched with two divisions of foot and one of horse to the other side of the Peninsula, Wellington struck, suddenly and successfully. ‘The movements of Marmont’s army towards Toledo, to aid Suchet as is supposed, have induced us to make preparations for the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo,’ wrote Wellington on the 28th of that month[757]. On the 9th of January, 1812, the place was invested; on the 19th it fell; and then followed in rapid succession all the triumphs of 1812. There were other circumstances, to be mentioned in their due place, which facilitated Wellington’s advance: but the departure of Montbrun’s 15,000 men for Valencia, by the Emperor’s direct command, was the main governing fact. It is impossible to deny assent to Marmont’s bitter criticism on the orders that kept coming to him during the autumn and early winter of 1811. ‘Napoleon was at this period living in a non-existent world, created by his own imagination. He built structures in the air, he took his[p. 593] desires for realities, and gave orders as if ignorant of the true state of affairs, as if the actual facts had been purposely hidden from him[758].’ It was no use to tell him that magazines were non-existent, that numbers were low, that roads were impracticable, that communications were intercepted, that he had undervalued the enemy’s forces; he continued, with all serenity, to ignore tiresome hindrances, and to issue orders grounded on data many weeks old, often on data which had never been true at any moment, but which it suited him to believe. And so the catastrophe of 1812 came nearer.

We have now taken the operations of Wellington and his chief adversaries, Marmont and Dorsenne, down to the winter of 1811. But there still remains to be told the story of the autumn months in the secondary fields of operations in southern Spain. The doings of Soult in Andalusia have been followed no further than July and August, when, returning from the relief of Badajoz, he freed Seville from the menaces of Blake, and forced the Murcian army to take refuge with undignified haste within the boundaries of its own province[759]. Nor has anything been said about the operations of Hill in Estremadura, where he lay opposite Drouet and the French 5th Corps from August to December. With these subsidiary affairs we now have to deal.

Soult’s victorious campaign on the border of Murcia, and the flight of Freire’s army homewards, had reaffirmed the French domination in eastern Andalusia, to the extent that the large towns and the main lines of communication were again safe. But the Alpujarras were still in arms, and Ballasteros was giving much trouble from his new base in the extreme south. Excited by his presence, the Serranos of the Sierra de Ronda spread their incursions on every side, as far as Osuna and Marbella, in spite of all the efforts of Godinot, who had been told off to crush them. The strength of Ballasteros’s position was that he had behind him two secure places of refuge—the old Spanish lines in front of Gibraltar, with the great fortress behind them, and, thirty miles away, the newly-repaired stronghold of Tarifa, which had been held since the late winter by a detachment of[p. 594] the British garrison of Gibraltar. Avoiding serious combats, and confining his ambition to the surprise of small posts and the cutting off of detachments, Ballasteros made himself such a nuisance to the French that Soult at last prepared a great combined scheme for surrounding him. Godinot’s force, operating from the north, was to work in unison with two other columns under Generals Barrois and Sémelé, sent out by Victor from the lines in front of Cadiz. The concentric advance only succeeded in driving Ballasteros southward, not in trapping him. He evacuated San Roque and Algesiras, and went under the protection of the cannon of Gibraltar, from which secure position he defied the enemy (October 14th-15th). For a moment 10,000 French lay before the English fortress, but they had not come prepared for a siege, and soon departed when their provisions failed. Godinot then made a dash at the much weaker walls of Tarifa, but was caught on the march along the seaside road—the only one that cannon could take—by a squadron of British warships, which did him so much damage that he drew off inland without even reaching his objective (October 18).

Meanwhile Ballasteros, slipping out from under the cover of Gibraltar the moment that his enemy was gone, followed Sémelé’s column, which was returning to the Cadiz lines by a separate route, and surprised it at Bornos (November 5). The French (1,500 men of the 16th Léger) cut their way through the enemy with the loss of only 100 men[760]; but a Juramentado battalion which was accompanying them threw up the butts of its muskets and surrendered en masse or dispersed, and a howitzer was captured.

Soult was incensed at the failure of his great combined movement, and laid the blame on Godinot, who after a stormy interview with his chief at Seville committed suicide. The chase of Ballasteros began again, with a new set of hunters; but, as we shall see in a later chapter, was destined to prove fruitless. Nor did a serious attempt to beleaguer Tarifa with a heavy siege-train come to any good. But its siege, though commenced in the last days of the old year 1811, belongs rather to the cam[p. 595]paign of 1812, and will be dealt with in the next volume of this work.

There remains only to be considered the state of affairs in Estremadura, where we left Hill with his two divisions, facing Drouet and the 5th Corps, in July. Their forces were not unequal[761], and each had been given by his commander a defensive rather than an offensive r?le. Soult had directed Drouet to see that Badajoz was not molested, to keep up communication, via Truxillo, with the Armies of Portugal and the Centre, and to risk nothing. If the Allies detached more troops into the Alemtejo, he was to make no attempt to face superior numbers, but to call without delay for help to his neighbours, and to retire on Merida or on Monasterio as seemed more suitable at the moment. But it was judged unlikely that Wellington would be able to make any serious detachment southward, so long as he was ‘contained’ by the Army of Portugal, which lay in the valley of the Tagus, ready to move towards Ciudad Rodrigo on the one hand, or Badajoz on the other, as necessity might dictate. Meanwhile here, as everywhere else in western Spain, the French had completely abandoned the offensive, and their plans contemplated the parrying of Wellington’s strokes, rather than the delivery of any blows of their own. The scheme for an attack on the Alemtejo, which Napoleon had suggested to Marmont[762], was never within any measurable distance of being put into practical operation. By this time the only part of the Peninsula in which the Imperial armies retained an offensive posture was the east coast. Suchet had started on that Valencian expedition which was to have such brilliant success in itself, but was to indirectly destroy the French hold on Spain, by calling away troops from opposite Wellington at the critical moment in the midwinter of 1811-12.

[p. 596]Hill’s orders from Wellington corresponded very closely to Drouet’s orders from Soult. That is to say, Hill was to content himself with ‘containing’ the French force opposite him; to see that Elvas and Campo Mayor were covered, to make no attempt on Badajoz, and to apply for aid to his chief in the event of an increase of the hostile force on the Guadiana. The summing up of the situation, in the original dispatch which Wellington wrote to Hill when he left for the north, is simply that the force in Estremadura must pair off against Drouet. ‘My wish is that you should observe the movements of the 5th Corps. If the 5th Corps should move off to cross the Tagus at Almaraz, you will then march to cross the Tagus at Villa Velha, and proceed on by Castello Branco to join this [the main] army.... If the 5th Corps should, instead of crossing the Tagus, man?uvre upon you in Alemtejo, I request you to move upon Portalegre, and there either stand their attack or not, as you may think proper, according to your notion of their force as compared with your own. If you cannot stand their attack, you will retire by Gavi?o towards Abrantes, and thence across the Zezere, taking the line of the Tagus, with Santarem on your right[763].’ It being possible, though not likely, that Marmont might make an advance against the central Portuguese frontier north of the Tagus, from the Zarza la Mayor and Coria district, Hill was directed to keep one British and one Portuguese brigade in the direction of Castello Branco, as a nucleus on which troops coming from north and south might concentrate, for serious opposition to an invasion. This precautionary move was made in August, and the detachment remained north of the Tagus till September, when Foy’s removal from Truxillo, and Marmont’s march to the relief of Ciudad Rodrigo, showed that there was no longer any possible danger in this direction[764]. Meanwhile the main body of the allied force in Estremadura lay about Portalegre, Villa Vi?osa, and Santa Olalla, waiting for developments of the enemy’s plans which never came about. For Drouet kept very quiet, generally with his head quarters at Zafra, and a strong detachment at Merida, as anxiously expectant of Hill’s movements as Hill was of his.

[p. 597]All this time the space to the north of Hill’s cantonments was occupied by the small remains of the Spanish Army of Estremadura, still under Casta?os. Since the Captain-General had sent off Carlos de Espa?a to the borders of Leon, he remained with the rest of his troops in the hilly region between the Guadiana and the Tagus, with his head quarters at Valencia de Alcantara, and part of his infantry in Albuquerque, which fortress he was engaged in repairing. His advance lay at Ca?eres, observing the French garrison in Truxillo, with which it often bickered. But Casta?os occasionally sent a flying column out under Morillo or Penne Villemur to beat up the cantonments of the 5th Corps south of the Tagus. They ranged as far as La Serena and the Sierra del Pedroso, and on one occasion got even to Benalcazar on the very border of Andalusia, whose garrison Morillo surprised and captured[765]. Such raids were profitable for distracting the enemy, and gave Drouet much trouble. But as Casta?os’s whole force did not amount to much more than 600 horse and 3,000 foot, the menace was not a serious one. In the thinly peopled region of northern Estremadura it was impossible to get recruits to fill the old cadres, and the army did not grow as the commander had hoped. The regiments remained mere skeletons.

The removal of Foy’s division from Truxillo in September, when Marmont drew him in to co-operate in the relief of Ciudad Rodrigo, had serious consequences in Estremadura. It will be remembered that, when the campaign of El Bodon was over, the Army of Portugal did not send back any detachment to reoccupy Truxillo—the connecting-point between the Armies of Portugal and of the South. The responsibility for keeping touch was thrown on to Drouet, who had already quite enough ground to cover with his 14,000 men. But he was forced to send a strong detachment northward from Merida, or his communication with Marmont would have been wholly intercepted by Morillo’s habitual raids. Accordingly Girard’s division of the 5th Corps was moved up to occupy the front between the Guadiana and the Tagus, leaving the whole stretch from the Guadiana south[p. 598]ward to the Sierra Morena held by only one division, that of Claparéde[766], and two cavalry brigades.

Wellington, seeing the weakness of Drouet, and knowing that Soult had crushed the Murcian army in August, and therefore could find some reinforcements for Estremadura if he should please, was for some time under the belief that Hill would see new troops brought up against him from the south[767]. He reiterated his old orders: ‘If you only had cavalry, you certainly have infantry in sufficient numbers to beat the 5th Corps out of Estremadura. But your cavalry is not sufficiently strong. I think, however, that you are able to prevent the 5th Corps from doing anything, even though Soult should add to it another division.... You must proceed with great caution, and endeavour to have the best intelligence of the force Soult brings with him.... Canton your troops (as soon as you find the enemy are serious in their advance upon Badajoz) nearly on the ground which we occupied with the army in the end of June and the beginning of July [the Caya position].... If you should find Soult collects in too great force for you, retire upon Portalegre, and thence, if necessary, upon Gavi?o and Abrantes. It appears to me, however, scarcely possible for Soult to bring such a force as to be able to attack you at Campo Mayor, or to cut your communications at the same time both with Elvas and with Portalegre.... If Soult should bring a large army into Estremadura, with the view to enable the Army of Portugal to co-operate in the invasion of Valencia, I shall reinforce your corps with some infantry and nearly all my cavalry—and I think we shall soon have back again the Army of Portugal. If Soult comes only to throw provisions into Badajoz, I am afraid we cannot prevent it under existing circumstances[768].’

[p. 599]Soult, however, neither came in person to Estremadura with a large force, nor even drafted another division into the province to succour Drouet, who got no reinforcements during the autumn. He was at this time wrapped up in the internal affairs of Andalusia, and had no intention of sending troops away, unless there was urgent necessity for it. Hill, therefore, seeing that the 5th Corps had received no succours, and remained spread out on the long front from the Tagus to the Sierra Morena, while its two divisions were not in supporting distance of each other, asked for leave to make a blow at Girard, whose position was decidedly dangerous, because of his remoteness from Drouet’s main body (October 15). Wellington saw the opportunity and gave instant consent: ‘I should approve of adopting the measure, which should be effectual, and should drive Girard from Ca?eres over the Guadiana, if you think you can do it without risking the safety of Campo Mayor and Ouguella. It appears to me you are too strong for Girard in every way, if the other division of the 5th Corps has not crossed the Guadiana[769].’

Circumstances were at this moment very much in Hill’s favour, for Girard, seeking new regions to plunder for food, and angered by the raids of Casta?os’s detachments on the road from Merida to Truxillo, had just marched to drive the Spaniards back. Sweeping them before him, he had advanced as far as Ca?eres, fifty miles from his base at Merida, and was raising contributions there. He had with him his own division of twelve battalions, a provisional brigade of cavalry under General Bron[770], and one battery—in all about 5,000 foot and nearly 1,000 horse. Hill could concentrate against him a much larger force, while still leaving something in front of Drouet, who (as he had taken pains to discover) was cantoned about Zafra with the rest of his corps—Claparéde’s division, and the bulk of the cavalry. He was not in a position to accomplish anything against Campo Mayor or Elvas, for his troops were scattered over the country-side, and he showed no signs of any intention to move.

On October 20th Hill wrote to Casta?os to say that he[p. 600] relied on the help of Morillo’s infantry and Villemur’s cavalry for a blow at Girard. He himself would bring up Howard’s and Wilson’s (late Abercrombie’s) brigades of the 2nd Division, nine battalions of Portuguese[771] and Long’s cavalry brigade. The column would consist of 3,000 British and 4,000 Portuguese infantry, 900 horse and two batteries. To this Casta?os could add about 2,000 infantry and 600 horse, so that a striking force of 10,000 men would be collected. Meanwhile there would be left in Portugal, to make a front against Drouet, if he should move, the remaining brigade (Byng’s) of the 2nd Division[772], four battalions and two cavalry regiments of Portuguese[773], and a British cavalry brigade under Le Marchant recently arrived from home, which lay at Castello Branco, but could be called south if required.

The essential part of Hill’s scheme was that Girard should be attacked and brought to action before he was aware that there was anything in his front save the Spaniards whom he had just hunted out of Ca?eres. If he were to discover that there was a large Anglo-Portuguese force in his front, he would probably retire by forced marches upon Merida. It was therefore necessary to concentrate the striking force with suddenness, and to move it with the greatest possible speed. On October 22nd the three infantry and one cavalry brigades were collected at Portalegre. On the 23rd they made a tremendous march, thirty miles across the steep Sierra de San Mamed to the Spanish fortress of Albuquerque. Here Hill received news from Casta?os that Girard was still at Ca?eres, and had sent out flying parties to Arroyo del Puerco and other places, sweeping the country-side for food. The allied column at Albuquerque was as near Merida as the enemy, and had every chance of intercepting him if he continued quiescent. Morillo and Penne Villemur had moved to Aliseda, twenty miles from Albuquerque, and could join the British force next day. On the 24th Hill advanced to[p. 601] Aliseda and Casa de Santillana, and picked up the Spaniards. Next morning Penne Villemur’s horse drove the French outposts out of Arroyo del Puerco. When Girard’s cavalry screen had been driven in, Hill’s whole column made a night march to Malpartida, only eight miles from Ca?eres, but learnt, after some delays, on the morning of the 26th that Girard had left Ca?eres on the preceding afternoon by the Torremocha road, making a leisurely journey towards Merida. He had just received vague rumours that there was an Anglo-Portuguese force coming from Portugal, and thought it well to draw near to his base. Thus Hill’s precautions had not been altogether successful. Girard’s departure was tiresome to Hill, as the night-march to Malpartida had taken the allied columns too far to the north, and the enemy was now between them and his own base. But if it was too late to intercept him, there was still time to pursue and overtake him, unless he should chance to quicken his pace. Before dawn on the morning of the 27th Hill turned his face southward, and marched on Torremocha; but when he had reached the pass of Trasquillon he was informed by the peasantry that Girard had left Torremocha, marching for Arroyo dos Molinos on the other side of the Sierra de Montanches. The General called on his troops to make a final effort—if Girard halted at Arroyo dos Molinos it was possible to cut him off by continuing the long march. The men responded well to the appeal, and by nightfall on the 27th the two British brigades were at Alcuescar, five miles south-west of the camp of the French, and the Portuguese and Spaniards close behind at Don Antonio. Girard had only gone twelve miles that day—the Allies no less than twenty-eight, in abominable weather, across two rough mountain ranges. It is astonishing that the French general had not made more haste, and still more so that, with three cavalry regiments for reconnoitring, he had not hit upon the track of the Allies. Bron was evidently a poor director of cavalry—his 1,000 men should have sufficed to sweep the whole country-side. But it is said that Girard was convinced that Hill had gone to Ca?eres, and would listen to no warnings[774].

[p. 602]At half-past two o’clock on the morning of the 28th the weather was still tempestuous, as it had been for the last twenty-four hours, and Hill, covered by the driving rain, marched in the dark on Arroyo dos Molinos, and covered the five miles which separated his comfortless bivouac from the French head quarters without meeting a single hostile vedette. He was able to arrange his force within half a mile of the little town undiscovered, and to make his provisions for blocking all the three roads by which Girard might escape. Arroyo dos Molinos lies under the shoulder of the precipitous Sierra de Montanches, with no track going directly northwards from it, but with country roads to Truxillo, Medellin, and Merida diverging north-eastward, south-eastward, and south-south-westward. Hill directed Wilson’s brigade, supported by three Portuguese battalions, to march round the town on its southward side, and block the Truxillo road, while the rest of the infantry should attack the enemy in front, and the cavalry, both English and Spanish, should form a central column which should seize the Merida and Medellin roads and prevent the escape of Girard southward.

Not a Frenchman was seen till Howard’s brigade, leading the advance of the main body, ran upon a picket half a mile outside Arroyo, the men huddling together under trees with their faces away from the driving rain and the approaching enemy. Most of them were captured, but some escaped to warn Girard, who till this moment had no knowledge that a British column was within striking distance of him. As it chanced, the French general had been preparing to start early, and Remond’s brigades (the 64th and 88th of the line), escorted by one cavalry regiment, had marched an hour before on the Merida road, and were now three miles away. Girard had not, therefore, even his whole force assembled, but only the six battalions of Dombrouski’s brigade (34th and 40th of the line[775]), two cavalry[p. 603] regiments and half a battery with him—not more than 4,000 men—while 10,000 of the Allies were converging upon him from three separate quarters. At the moment when the first shots were heard on the Alcuescar road, his infantry was just getting ready to march, his baggage and a rearguard of one battalion were still in the street of Arroyo dos Molinos, many of his horsemen had not yet saddled up, and he himself was breakfasting in the Alcaide’s house.

Within a few minutes of the first alarm the 71st and 92nd, at the head of Howard’s brigade, burst into the little town, drove out the battalion that was holding it, and captured the whole of Girard’s baggage and many prisoners. General Bron was taken in the doorway of the house which he had been occupying, just as he was about to mount. Hurrying out on the other side of the place, the advancing British found Dombrouski’s brigade hastily forming up for the march. Girard had ordered an instant retreat along the Merida road. The formation of his troops was soon disordered by the fire of the advancing 71st, followed by that of three guns of Arriaga’s battery, which galloped out to the town end and opened on the nearest regiment. The column, however, started off, and had gone a little way, when it discovered the allied cavalry advancing along the Merida road to meet it, Penne Villemur in front, Long in support. Girard, seeing this road blocked, bade his chasseurs and dragoons hold off the British and Spanish horse at all costs, and turned the infantry column towards the Truxillo road, which skirts the precipitous foot of the Sierra de Montanches. His cavalry became engaged in a confused fight, first with Penne Villemur’s Spaniards and then with the 9th Light Dragoons and the 2nd Hussars of the King’s German Legion. Being outnumbered, they were soon broken, many were taken, and the rest scattered and tried to get off in small parties.

The infantry, making the best speed that it could, but closely pursued by Howard’s regiments and the Spanish brigade in their rear, finally reached the spot where the Truxillo road turns the corner of the sierra, a mile and a half outside Arroyo dos Molinos. By this time the rain had ceased, and the mists dispersing showed the Frenchmen Wilson’s brigade marching hard to cut them off, and less than half a mile[p. 604] away. Both parties started to run, and the three light companies of the 28th, 34th, and 39th, who were well ahead of their regiments, reached the road just as the leading French battalion was pushing across their front. Only 200 men were up, but Blakeney (commanding the 28th company) saw that if the hostile column were closely attacked in flank, even by a small body, its progress would be stopped, and a few minutes’ delay would bring down both Wilson’s and Howard’s brigades upon it. Accordingly he led in person the charge of some scores of the men nearest him against the throat of the French column[776]; they were not exterminated (as might have been expected), for Girard, who was present at the spot, told his men not to stop to fight, but to escape by leaving the road and dashing uphill along the rocks of the sierra above. He himself with the leading companies got clear, hitting on a place where the side of the precipice was not too steep to climb, though the officers had to turn loose their horses before they could start on the scramble. The main body of the column was less lucky. An absolutely impassable line of cliffs was above them, and after reaching its foot a thousand men, in two or three disorderly masses, had to halt and lay down their arms to the eager pursuers from both the British brigades, who were converging upon them. A few got away by incredibly dangerous climbing, and joined Girard on top of the sierra. Meanwhile Morillo’s Spanish infantry had taken an easier path up the heights, far to the left, and started in pursuit of the remnants of the French. They kept up the chase for eight leagues, and took or slew many stragglers. But Girard, Dombrouski, and four or five hundred men, bearing with them the eagles of the 34th and 40th, escaped eastward, and, after much wandering in the mountains, crossed the Guadiana at Orellana, beyond Medellin, and got back to join Drouet. Other small parties and many of the cavalry straggled in later, but Girard’s force had practically[p. 605] been destroyed. Nearly 1,300 prisoners had been taken, including General Bron, commanding the cavalry, the Prince of Aremberg, colonel of the 27th Chasseurs,[777] the chef d’état major of the 5th Corps, and more than thirty other officers. In addition the French lost their three guns and a contribution of 5,000 dollars levied on Ca?eres a few days before. Hill’s loss was insignificant—seven men killed and seven officers and fifty-seven men wounded. Penne Villemur’s Spaniards, who had behaved with excellent spirit, had about thirty casualties.

After the fighting was over, Hill directed Long’s cavalry, with the Portuguese regiments, who had not been engaged, to march on Merida, supporting them with Howard’s brigade when it had rested. It was hoped that Remond’s column, which had escaped the disaster of Arroyo dos Molinos by its early march, might be caught up. But the French brigadier had a long enough start to render this impossible: warned by fugitive cavalry of the fate of his chief, he marched through Merida without halting, and retired towards Drouet by way of Almendralejo.

Hill, after following his vanguard to Merida on the 29th and stopping there two days, returned by Wellington’s orders to his old cantonments at Portalegre, which he reached on November 3rd.

‘It would have been useless,’ wrote Wellington, ‘for him to push on his operations beyond the Guadiana—for Drouet would simply have retired before him,—and equally so to remain at Merida.’ By this somewhat cryptic phrase the British commander-in-chief meant that if he had chosen to direct Hill, after his success at Arroyo dos Molinos, to march against Drouet’s main body, there can be no doubt that he might have driven it into the Sierra Morena. This would have caused Soult to come to its aid with all the available troops that could be collected in Andalusia. The reason why no such orders were issued was that the British general did not wish to provoke Soult to concentrate. Hill could do nothing against the Army of the South if it came against him in force. But if it continued disseminated through all the four kingdoms of Andalusia, as it was at present, with one mass of troops opposite Cadiz, another at Granada, and the small available field force busily engaged in hunting Ballasteros, it was not to be feared. As to the uselessness of stopping at Merida, Wellington[p. 606] meant that Hill, if posted there, would have been liable to be cut off from Elvas if Soult should come up in haste from Andalusia to reinforce Drouet—as was extremely likely. Wellington was contented with having broken up a French division, and cut the communication between the Armies of the South and of Portugal for a time. For when Girard was driven out of the space between the Tagus and the Guadiana, Soult could no longer communicate with Marmont.

Napoleon recalled Girard in disgrace, which he well deserved for his reckless want of caution: his maltreated division was given to General Barrois. But he was afterwards pardoned, and survived to die, still a general of division, doing good service at the battle of Ligny.

In the first moment of alarm, after hearing of Girard’s disaster, Soult had expected to be pressed, had sent 4,000 infantry to reinforce Drouet, and had begun to collect other troops at Seville. But finding that Hill had no further intention of striking at the 5th Corps, and that Badajoz was not even threatened, he reverted to his earlier plans, left Estremadura alone, and continued to hunt Ballasteros, and to make preparation for his next important move—the siege of Tarifa. Drouet, for his part, having recovered from the dismay into which Girard’s defeat had thrown him, once more began to move his troops northward with caution. On December 5th he reoccupied Almendralejo, on the 18th he pushed Dombrouski with a brigade to Merida, and once more opened up communication with the Army of Portugal by way of Truxillo. But the road was not to be long open. Just before the year 1811 was out (December 27th) Hill was sent forth a second time against the 5th Corps, with far more serious intentions than in October, for this expedition was part of Wellington’s preliminary movements for the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo. It will be dealt with in its proper place.

For all intents and purposes the march to Arroyo dos Molinos forms the last episode of the campaign of 1811. Its main interest was that it showed Wellington in offensive mood, ready to take advantage of the scattered condition of his enemy. It also made it clear that in Hill he had an executive officer of the highest merit—but this was known before to all who had studied[p. 607] the career of that much-loved and well-served general, for whom the 2nd Division would do anything. There was no more popular promotion during the whole war than that which made him a Knight of the Bath in reward for his little campaign.

December had now arrived—the fatal detachment of 15,000 of Marmont’s men to Valencia had been ordered by the Emperor. Wellington was ready for his long-projected blow at Ciudad Rodrigo. How sharply it was delivered will be told in another volume.

The End