Alas, for human ambition! The capital of the province fell three days after the above dispatch was written.
On the 8th January 1812 a start was made, and Ciudad Rodrigo invested. During the night the palisaded redoubt on the hill of San Francisco, which the French had recently constructed, was stormed and carried, but Wellington at once perceived that the enemy had made good use of their time by strengthening their works and fortifying three convents in the suburbs. “The success of this operation,” he writes, “enabled us immediately to break ground within 600 yards of the place, notwithstanding that the enemy still hold the fortified convents; and the enemy’s work has been turned into a part of our first parallel, and a good communication made with it.” Wellington encamped his men on the southern bank, which necessitated their fording the narrow stream, although he had built a bridge lower down the Agueda for munitions. It was no child’s play for the soldiers. Through icy cold water, across ground covered with snow and frost, and amidst a rain of shot and shell, these brave fellows went to their work, each division in succession. Some of them returned, others did not, for “The path of glory leads but to the grave.”
The convent of Santa Cruz was captured on the night of the 13th, followed on the 14th by the fall of the convent of San Francisco and other fortified posts in the suburbs. By this time batteries were within 180 yards of the walls. “We proceeded at Ciudad Rodrigo,” he tells the Duke of Richmond, “on quite a new principle in sieges. The whole object of our fire was to lay open the walls. We had not one mortar; nor a howitzer, excepting to prevent the enemy from clearing the breaches, and for that purpose we had only two; and we fired upon the flanks and defences only when we wished to get the better of them, with a view to protect those who were to storm. This shows the kind of place we had to attack....” Matters now became urgent, for advice had been received that Marmont was stirring. By the 19th the breaches made in the ramparts by the artillery were declared practicable. Wellington had already summoned the Governor to surrender. His reply was that “he and the brave garrison which he commanded were prepared rather to bury themselves in the ruins of a place entrusted to them by their Emperor.” The troops, consisting of the regiments of the 3rd and Light Divisions and some Portuguese caçadores, marched to the assault in five columns. “Rangers of Connaught,” cried General Picton to the “Fighting 3rd,” who were charged with the centre attack, “it is not my intention to expend any powder this evening; we’ll do this business with the cold iron.”
It was the task of Picton and his men to assault the great breach, while the 52nd, the 43rd, and the 95th regiments, assisted by two battalions of caçadores, assaulted the other. At the same time a brigade of Portuguese under General Pack was to make a feint at the Santiago gate, at the southern end of the town, and the light company of the 83rd regiment with another body of native soldiers were to scale the castle walls. As the columns advanced the moon, then in its first quarter, revealed their black outline to the enemy. They at once opened fire. No reply was vouchsafed by the Allies, who marched with fixed bayonets and unloaded muskets. It was not part of their plan to return a greeting made by men who were behind ramparts.
The Portuguese under Colonel O’Toole were the first to attack, closely followed by the 5th, 94th, and 77th regiments, the last supposed to act as a reserve. The Light Division, impatient of delay and not wishing to be rivalled in prowess, hurled themselves at the small breach without waiting for the bags of hay which were to be thrown in the ditch to assist them in crossing. Many of the attacking force literally passed over the shot-riddled bodies of the vanguard as they attempted to get through. Major George Napier, while leading his men, had his arm shattered, but still continued to encourage them; Robert Craufurd, the intrepid and cantankerous commander of the Light Division, fell mortally wounded; Major-General Mackinnon was blown up by the explosion of a magazine. Nine officers and eleven non-commissioned officers and drummers gave up their lives for their country during the siege and in the assault from the 8th to the 19th, the total loss in killed and injured being nearly 1000. The hand-to-hand fighting continued in the streets, and the town caught fire.
At dawn 1700 of the enemy surrendered, including the Governor. Marmont’s battering train, scores of field guns, and a plentiful supply of ammunition fell into the hands of the victors. Wellington had “great pleasure” in reporting “the uniform good conduct, and spirit of enterprise, and patience, and perseverance in the performance of great labor” on the part of the troops who had been engaged. As for the men themselves, they got drunk and sacked the place.
Wellington’s rewards for the capture of Ciudad Rodrigo were numerous. He became an Earl in Great Britain, a Duke in Spain, and a Marquis in Portugal. In addition he was granted an extra annual pension of £2000 by Parliament. Financial offers were also forthcoming from the two Peninsula Powers, but he declined them. “He had only done his duty to his country, and to his country alone he would look for his reward.”
Marmont was in ignorance of the siege until the 15th January. He then began to make preparations, but when he was ready the fortress had fallen, and he moved his army to Valladolid, to the north-east. Napoleon then sent orders to the Marshal that if he could not regain Ciudad Rodrigo he was to return to Salamanca, cross the frontier, and advance on Almeida. He foresaw that perhaps Wellington might turn his attention to Badajoz, which, in the Emperor’s opinion, would be a “mistake,” and that of necessity he would have to return to succour the Portuguese fortress: “You will soon bring him back again.” The British Commander also surmised that another attack on Ciudad was quite possible. Before setting out on his next bold enterprise he therefore put the fortifications in thorough repair, and brought up a reserve supply of 50,000 rations in case it should be besieged. Satisfied that the place could now offer a bold resistance to the enemy, and having also repaired the works of Almeida, he marched the greater part of his army to the valley of the Guadiana, and invested Badajoz, which is on the left side of that river, on the 16th March 1812.
Wellington fully appreciated the immense value of time, and if he did not actually work with his eyes on the clock, he always endeavoured to fix a definite date for his operations. Thus as early as the preceding January he had written to his brother from Gallegos, a little to the north of Ciudad, that it was probable he would be in readiness to invest the place “in the second week in March.” “We shall have great advantages in making the attack so early if the weather will allow of it,” he tells another correspondent. “First, all the torrents in this part of the country are then full, so that we may assemble nearly our whole army on the Guadiana, without risk to anything valuable here.71 Secondly, it will be convenient to assemble our army at an early period in Estremadura, for the sake of the green forage, which comes in earlier to the south than here. Thirdly, we shall have advantages, in point of subsistence, over the enemy, at that season, which we should not have at a later period. Fourthly, their operations will necessarily be confined by the swelling of the rivers in that part as well as here.” In order to deceive the enemy he remained behind with the 5th Division as long as possible and gave instructions for a report to be circulated to the effect that he was going to hunt on the banks of the Huelbra and Yeltes.
CHAPTER XV
Badajoz and Salamanca
(1812)
“I shall not give the thing up without good cause.”
Wellington.
Considerable energy was displayed by the troops in the siege operations at Badajoz, notwithstanding the persistent torrents of rain which soaked the men to the skin and filled the trenches as they worked. A bridge of pontoons was carried away and the flying bridges irretrievably injured by the swollen state of the Guadiana. The place was by no means an easy one to take, for strong outworks defended it, and Philippon, the French Governor, was a most able officer in whom his troops placed every confidence. However, good fortune did not attend the first sortie made by about 2000 of the enemy on the 19th March. They were “almost immediately driven in, without effecting any object, with considerable loss, by Major-General Bowes, who commanded the guard in the trenches,” to quote from Wellington’s official dispatch.
On the 25th an attack was made on fort Picurina, an advanced post separated from Badajoz by the little river called the Rivillas. Twenty-eight guns in six batteries were brought to bear upon it, and after dark the place was carried by storm, although it was protected by three rows of palisades defended by musketry. The garrison of the outwork consisted of about 250 men. Of these ninety, including the colonel, were taken prisoners, and most of the others were either killed or drowned in the swollen stream. An attempt was made to succour the brave defenders, but the soldiers were driven back before they could come up to the Picurina. The possession of this outwork enabled Wellington to place guns within 300 yards of the body of the place, and on the following day two breaching batteries began their work of destruction, with the result that on the 6th April three breaches were declared to be practicable.
At ten o’clock that night the attempt was to be made, the 3rd Division under Picton escalading the castle, the 4th Division with General the Hon. C. Colville attacking the bastion of La Trinidad, the Light Division commanded by Colonel Barnard the bastion of Santa Maria, General Leith’s 5th Division the bastion of San Vincente. The attack on the bastions was to be made by storming the breaches. Wellington stood on rising ground facing the main breach, accompanied by the Prince of Orange and Lord March.
“When the head of the Light Division arrived at the ditch of the place (the great breach) it was a beautiful moonlight night,” Sir Harry Smith relates with the authority of a participant in the action.72 “Old Alister Cameron, who was in command of four Companies of the 95th Regiment, extended along the counterscarp to attract the enemy’s fire, while the column planted their ladders and descended, came up to Barnard and said, ‘Now my men are ready; shall I begin?’ ‘No, certainly not,’ says Barnard. The breach and the works were full of the enemy, looking quietly at us, but not fifty yards off and most prepared, although not firing a shot. So soon as our ladders were all ready posted, and the columns in the very act to move and rush down the ladders, Barnard called out, ‘Now, Cameron!’ and the first shot from us brought down such a hail of fire as I shall never forget, nor ever saw before or since. It was most murderous. We flew down the ladders and rushed at the breach, but we were broken, and carried no weight with us, although every soldier was a hero. The breach was covered by a breastwork from behind, and ably defended on the top by chevaux-de-frises of sword-blades, sharp as razors, chained to the ground; while the ascent to the top of the breach was covered with planks with sharp nails in them.... One of the officers of the forlorn hope, lieutenant Taggart of the 43rd, was hanging on my arm—a mode we adopted to help each other up, for the ascent was most difficult and steep. A Rifleman stood among the sword-blades on the top of one of the chevaux-de-frises. We made a glorious rush to follow, but, alas! in vain. He was knocked over. My old captain, O’Hare, who commanded the storming party, was killed. All were awfully wounded except, I do believe, myself and little Freer of the 43rd. I had been some seconds at the revétement of the bastion near the breach, and my red-coat pockets were literally filled with chips of stones splintered by musket-balls. Those not knocked down were driven back by this hail of mortality to the ladders. At the foot of them I saw poor Colonel McLeod with his hands on his breast.... He said, ‘Oh, Smith, I am mortally wounded. Help me up the ladder.’ I said, ‘Oh, no, dear fellow!’ ‘I am,’ he said; ‘be quick!’ I did so, and came back again. Little Freer and I said, ‘Let us throw down the ladders; the fellows shan’t go out.’ Some soldiers behind said, ‘… if you do we will bayonet you!’ and we were literally forced up with the crowd. My sash had got loose, and one end of it was fast in the ladder, and the bayonet was very nearly applied, but the sash by pulling became loose. So soon as we got on the glacis, up came a fresh Brigade of the Portuguese of the 4th Division. I never saw any soldiers behave with more pluck. Down into the ditch we all went again, but the more we tried to get up, the more we were destroyed. The 4th Division followed us in marching up to the breach, and they made a most uncommon noise. The French saw us, but took no notice.... Both Divisions were fairly beaten back; we never carried either breach (nominally there were two breaches).... There is no battle, day or night, I would not willingly react except this. The murder of our gallant officers and soldiers is not to be believed.”
The attack on the castle was no less furious. Again and again the ladders were hurled back, but they were always put in place again, notwithstanding the fearful and continuous fire to which the assailants were subjected. Great beams of timber, stones, everything calculated to kill or maim a man were regarded as useful weapons by the defenders. Nothing came amiss to them in their determined defence. Scores of soldiers were flung down, when another minute of safety would have enabled them to secure a footing on the ramparts. They fell in the ditch, often injuring or killing others besides themselves. At last Lieutenant-Colonel Ridge managed to place two ladders at a spot which had not been used before, and where the wall was lower. The officer scaled one, followed by his men, and reached the rampart. The surprised garrison was repulsed, and very soon the castle was in the hands of the British. Poor Ridge did not live to reap his richly-deserved reward. He was killed before the conclusion of the assault.
A little while previous to the successful termination of the attack Dr James McGregor and Dr Forbes approached Wellington. “His lordship,” says the former, “was so intent on what was going on, that I believe he did not observe us. Soon after our arrival, an officer came up with an unfavourable report of the assault, announcing that Colonel McLeod and several officers were killed, with heaps of men who choked the approach to the breach. At the place where we stood we were within hearing of the voices of the assailants and the assailed, and it was now painful to notice that the voices of our countrymen had grown fainter, while the French cry of ‘Avancez, étrillons ces Anglais,’ became stronger. Another officer came up with still more unfavourable reports, that no progress was being made, for almost all the officers were killed, and none left to lead on the men, of whom a great many had fallen.
“At this moment I cast my eyes on the countenance of Lord Wellington, lit up by the glare of the torch held by Lord March. I never shall forget it to the last moment of my existence, and I could even now sketch it. The jaw had fallen, the face was of unusual length, while the torch-light gave his countenance a lurid aspect; but still the expression of the face was fair. Suddenly turning to me and putting his hand on my arm, he said, ‘Go over immediately to Picton, and tell him he must try if he cannot succeed on the castle.’ I replied, ‘My lord, I have not my horse with me, but I will walk as fast as I can, and I think I can find the way; I know part of the road is swampy.’ ‘No, no,’ he replied, ‘I beg your pardon, I thought it was De Lancey.’ I repeated my offer, saying I was sure I could find the way, but he said ‘No.’
“Another officer arrived, asking loudly, ‘Where is Lord Wellington?’ He came to announce that Picton was in the castle. He was desired instantly to go to the breach, and to request the stormers to renew their efforts, announcing what had befallen; and immediately Lord Wellington called for his own horse, and followed by the Prince and Lord March, rode to the breach.”
General Walker, leading the assault on San Vincente, experienced much the same rough treatment as the other divisions, but eventually succeeded in forcing his way into the town.
Philippon and a few hundred men managed to cross the Guadiana and found refuge in Fort San Christoval, only to surrender the following morning. The price paid by the victors in dead and wounded during the siege was nearly 5000 men; those of the enemy who laid down their arms numbered some 3800. The glory of the triumphant army was unfortunately tarnished by the gross misconduct of the men, and it was not until a gallows was raised that a stop was put to their evil ways.
Wellington was now anxious to meet Soult as soon as Badajoz was put in a state of defence, but when he received the ill news of the defeat of the French garrison the Marshal promptly retired to Seville. As Marmont was threatening Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo the British General had no alternative but to turn northward. He had to thank the Spaniards for this. By neglecting to provision the places they had practically placed them at the mercy of the enemy should he appear in considerable numbers. They were already blockading the latter place. “If Ciudad Rodrigo had been provisioned,” Wellington writes to his brother Henry, “as I had a right to expect, there was nothing to prevent me from marching to Seville at the head of 40,000 men, the moment the siege of Badajoz was concluded.” It was, of course, very important that the line of communication between Marmont and Soult should be impeded as much as possible, and Hill was given this important task. Failing to surprise Almarez, the General pushed on to Fort Napoleon, on the other side of the Tagus, which was captured as well as Fort Ragusa. False information alone prevented Hill from following up his victories. He was told that Soult was in Estremadura, and he withdrew to the Guadiana.
Wellington began his advance, and on the 13th June crossed the Agueda. On his approach to Salamanca he at once laid siege to three newly-erected forts, “each defending the other.” Marmont, knowing the likelihood of such an event, had wisely stored a good supply of food in them, so that there was a likelihood of their being able to hold out until he could succour them. The Marshal made one or two demonstrations to no good effect. He as obstinately declined to begin offensive measures as Wellington declined to be enticed to leave his strong position on the heights of San Christoval.
It took Wellington some time to secure the forts, which were well built and equipped, but on the 27th they fell into his hands, two by storm and one by capitulation. The last mentioned was being attacked when the flag was hauled down and would doubtless have been captured had not the commander given way before the British made good their assault. Marmont thereupon retired behind the Douro to await reinforcements.
After having destroyed some military works at Alba de Tormes and garrisoned the castle of Salamanca with Spaniards, Wellington pushed forward and engaged Marmont’s rearguard on the 2nd July. He took up a position on the left bank of the Douro, on the opposite side of that occupied by the enemy, who was shortly afterwards strengthened by the support of Bonnet’s division from the Asturias. Near Tordesillas, which with Toro and Tudela was held by the French, the Marshal took courage and fought an action with Sir Stapleton Cotton, who was in command of Wellington’s right, on the 18th July. To resist him was impossible, for he had secured all the bridges and many of the fords. The action began at dawn, and Cotton gallantly maintained his post, but the enemy managed to turn the left flank of the British position. “The troops,” says Wellington in his official report, “retired in admirable order to Torrecilla de la Orden, having the enemy’s whole army on their flank, or in their rear, and thence to Guareña, which river they passed under the same circumstances, and effected their junction with the army.”
Wellington fell back to within two miles of Salamanca, his left resting on the Tormes, his right abutting on two hills called Los Aripeles;73 Marmont secured the heights of Nuestra Señora de la Peña.
Many years after the battle of Salamanca, General Alava, a Spanish officer at the British headquarters, was at Wellington’s breakfast table at Walmer, and he regaled the company with the story of the great soldier’s breakfast on the 22nd July 1812. Croker has recorded it for us, with the comment that the Duke listened “as quietly as if it related to another person.”
“The Duke had been very busy all the morning, and had not thought of breakfast, and the staff had grown very hungry; at last, however, there was a pause (I think he said about two) near a farmyard surrounded by a wall, where a kind of breakfast was spread on the ground, and the staff alighted and fell to; while they were eating, the Duke rode into the enclosure; he refused to alight, and advised them to make haste; he seemed anxious and on the look-out. At last they persuaded him to take a bit of bread and the leg of a cold roast fowl, which he was eating without knife from his fingers, when suddenly they saw him throw the leg of the fowl far away over his shoulder, and gallop out of the yard, calling to them to follow him. The fact is, he had been waiting to have the French sighted at a certain gap in the hills, and that was to be the signal of a long-meditated and long-suspended attack. ‘I knew,’ says Alava, with grave drollery, ‘that something very serious was about to happen when an article so precious as the leg of a roast fowl was thus thrown away.’” Croker adds that “the Duke sat by with his head inclined, quite silent, but with a quiet smile which seemed to say that the narration was a good deal pleasanter than the reality had been.”
Wellington was able to seize the nearer hill but the French secured the other, while another miniature height named Nuestra Señora de la Peña was the centre of a most desperate conflict, which continued through the long hours of the day. Marmont made the fatal error of dividing his army, sending Thomière’s division to turn the British right flank, with intent to cut off all hope of retreat on the part of Wellington, should he wish to do so, by means of the Ciudad Rodrigo road. This movement separated the French left wing from the centre, and this it was that caused the British Commander to fling away the dearly prized leg of a chicken.
After looking through his glass with wrapt attention Wellington turned to his Spanish colleague with the words, “My dear Alava, Marmont is undone!” His active brain told him at once of his enemy’s mistake. Having made his dispositions he ordered Pakenham, his brother-in-law, to throw the 3rd Division into line and cross the march of Thomière’s columns. “It shall be done; give me your hand,” replied that energetic officer. He hurled the Portuguese cavalry, two squadrons of the 14th Light Dragoons, and the “Fighting 3rd” at the flank and rear of the French left. Other divisions under Cole, Leith, Bradford, and Cotton attacked the enemy in front. “No sooner was Pakenham in motion towards the heights,” says one who took part in the battle, “than the ridge he was about to assail was crowned with twenty pieces of cannon, while in the rear of this battery were seen Foy’s division, endeavouring to regain its place in the combat. A flat space of 1000 yards in breadth was to be crossed before Pakenham could reach the height.
“The French batteries opened a heavy fire, while the two brigades of artillery, commanded by Captain Douglas, posted on a rising ground behind the 3rd Division, replied to them with much warmth. Pakenham’s men may thus be said to have been between two fires, that of our own guns firing over their heads, while the French balls passed through their ranks, ploughing up the ground in every direction; but the veteran troops which composed the 3rd Division were not shaken even by this.
“Wallace’s three regiments advanced in open columns, until within 250 yards of the ridge held by the French infantry. Foy’s column, 5000 strong, had by this time reached their ground, while in their front the face of the hill had been hastily garnished with riflemen. All were impatient to engage, and the calm but stern advance of Pakenham’s right brigade was received with beating of drums and loud cheers from the French, whose light troops, hoping to take advantage of the time which the deploying into line would take, ran down the face of the hill in a state of great excitement, but Pakenham, who was naturally of a boiling spirit and hasty temper, was on this day perfectly cool. He told Wallace to form line from open column without halting, and thus the different companies, by throwing forward their right shoulders, were in a line without the slow manœuvre of deployment.
“Astonished at the rapidity of the movement, the French riflemen commenced an irregular and hurried fire, and even at this early stage of the battle a looker-on could, from the difference in the demeanour of the troops of the two nations, form a tolerably correct opinion of what the result would be. Regardless of the fire of the riflemen, and the showers of grape and canister, Pakenham continued to press forward; his centre suffered, but still advanced; his right and left, being less oppressed by the weight of the fire, continued to advance at a more rapid pace, and as his wings inclined forward and outstripped the centre, his right brigade assumed the form of a crescent. The manœuvre was a bold as well as a novel one, and the appearance of the brigade imposing and unique; because it so happened that all the British officers were in front of their men—a rare occurrence. The French officers were also in front, but their relative duties were widely different—the latter encouraging their men into the heat of the battle—the former keeping their devoted soldiers back—what a splendid national contrast!”
When the brow of the hill was reached the men were subjected to a murderous hail of fire from Foy’s division. Nearly all of Wallace’s first rank, as well as many officers, fell beneath it. But the others, urged by their commander, pressed on with fixed bayonets, and the French troops were forced backward. Thomière was amongst the killed, and many were taken prisoners in the rout which followed.
“Immediately on our left,” the narrative continues, “the 5th Division were discharging vollies against the French 4th; and Pack’s brigade could be seen mounting the Aripeles height, but disregarding everything except the complete destruction of the column before him, Pakenham followed it with the brigade of Wallace, supported by the reserves of his division.
“The battle at this point would have been decided on the moment, had the heavy horse under Le Marchant been near enough to sustain him. The confusion of the enemy was so great that they became mixed pell-mell together, without any regard to order or regularity, and it was manifest that nothing short of a miracle could save Foy from total destruction. Sir Edward Pakenham continued to press on at the head of Wallace’s brigade, but Foy’s troops outran him. Had Le Marchant been aware of this state of the combat, or been near enough to profit by it, Pakenham would have settled the business by six o’clock instead of seven. An hour, at any period during a battle, is a serious loss of time, but in this action every moment was of vital import. Day was rapidly drawing to a close: the Tormes was close behind the army of Marmont, ruin stared him in the face; in a word, his left wing was doubled up—lost; and Pakenham could have turned to the support of the 4th and 5th Divisions, had our cavalry been ready to back Wallace at the moment he pierced the column. This, beyond doubt, was the moment by which to profit, that the enemy might not have time to re-collect himself; but, while Le Marchant was preparing to take part in the combat, Foy, with admirable presence of mind, remedied the terrible confusion of his division, and calling up a first brigade to his support, once more led his men into the fight, assumed the offensive, and Pakenham was now about to be assailed in turn. This was the most critical moment of the battle; Boyer’s horsemen stood before us, inclining towards our right, which was flanked by two squadrons of the 14th Dragoons and two regiments of Portuguese cavalry; but we had little dependence upon the Portuguese, and it behoved us to look to ourselves.
“Led on by the ardour of conquest, we had followed the column until at length we found ourselves in an open plain, intersected with cork trees, opposed by a multitude, who, reinforced, again rallied, and turned upon us with fury. Pakenham, Wallace, Seton, and Mackie, rode along the line from wing to wing, almost from rank to rank, and fulfilled the functions of adjutants in assisting the officers to reorganise the tellings-off of the men for square. Meanwhile the first battalion of the 5th drove back some squadrons of Boyer’s dragoons; the other six regiments were fast approaching the point held by Wallace, but the French cavalry in our front and upon our right flank caused Pakenham some uneasiness.
“The peals of musketry along the centre still continued without intermission; the smoke was so thick that nothing to our left was distinguishable; some men of the 5th Division got intermingled with ours; the dry grass was set on fire by the numerous cartridge papers that strewed the field of battle; the air was scorching, and the smoke rolling on in huge volumes, nearly suffocated us.