It was a clever calculation, shooting against a moving target and the shells burst on impact among the two squadrons, bringing down half a dozen riders each. It also caused great alarm and quite disrupted the standard routine of walk-trot-canter-charge. The chasseurs were driven into a single, disorderly mass and it might be thought more fearsome because of it.
The dismounted line of Hornets didn’t think so. To them it concentrated their target so that if they missed the moving targets of the leading riders, they could count on hitting the ones behind.
The first volley was aimed to hit either horse or rider. With their targets moving at a distance of three hundred yards or more, fallen horses quite disrupted any charge and were of course a bigger target to hit.
The initial split volley from sixty rifles almost halted the attack altogether, with falling horses bringing down others behind them. Those that recovered and continued to press forward became individual targets and the shots merged into a continuous discharge directed more toward the rider than the horse.
By the time the attack got to within the hundred-yard mark, over a hundred horses were down or riderless and the sixty mounted Hornets fired a leisurely split volley.
Equally leisurely, they holstered their rifles and drew their swords with a flourish. Their intent was to charge and finish off the action, but instead they sat still and merely watched.
The surviving chasseurs had received such a mauling that they had no stomach for anything more. They turned their mounts back to escape and found themselves facing hundreds of screaming, mounted guerrilleros, intent on avenging four years of defeats.
Those chasseurs on the flanks set spurs to their horses, meaning to circle round the line of Hornets and their own infantry and race their pursuers back to the safety of the town walls. Those that strayed too close to the Hornets holding off the infantry, quickly learned to mind their manners.
The Hornets left the skirmish line to recover its horses and form up with the mounted men once more. They turned as a body to face the square again.
MacKay looked at his watch. The whole encounter had taken less than ten minutes. He hoped the lesson would not be lost on the infantry commander. He trotted back to the square to resume his interrupted conversation.
“I do apologise for leaving you so abruptly, Messieurs. Perhaps, Colonel Rabuteau, now shall be an opportune moment to name your colleague. Any further bloodshed has to be avoided, if at all possible.”
Rabuteau nodded gravely. “Let me present Colonel Leclerc, who is in command of these soldiers. I have been informing him about my previous meetings with you, but nothing I could tell him is half as convincing as your contemptuous treatment of the two squadrons of veteran chasseurs that we have just witnessed.”
MacKay and Leclerc removed their hats again. “Colonel Leclerc, I do pray that our treatment of the chasseurs did not convince you that we are contemptuous of our enemies. I have always found French soldiers to be brave and worthy foes. So much so that we have to be more ruthless than normal, or they would make us suffer in their place.
We are fortunate to have rifles that are very accurate and can be loaded simply and quickly. Colonel Rabuteau can confirm that one of my men is able to kill four men in one minute at more than two hundred paces. Those that are in place around you are not within the range of your muskets, but can wound mortally every one of your men within a minute.
Nevertheless, it would grieve them to slaughter so many brave men, Colonel Leclerc, so needlessly. I do entreat you to order your men to lay down their arms.”
The colonel straightened himself and lifted his head. “I thank you, Colonel MacKay, for your consideration. It is, of course, quite unthinkable that a French regiment should capitulate without firing a shot in their own defence. It is therefore my intention to order my men to engage yours and if we cannot prevail, we shall die honourably as French soldiers.”
MacKay racked his brains. He could sympathise with the French dilemma, but it was more to do with the colonel’s and therefore his regiment’s honour than rational assessment. “Tarry for just a few seconds, Colonel. My Frelons are marines and I have encountered a similar situation at sea. We trapped a smaller vessel, denying her any chance of escape. If she fired at us she could do no significant damage, but we should then be forced to fire back and sink her.
It was accepted convention that she would be allowed to discharge a broadside away from us. I think the act was called pour l’honneur du pavillon. She had demonstrated her willingness to fight and could survive with honour. If your men were able to shoot their muskets toward the walls of Oviedo, my men would consider that an honourable gesture and would guarantee your safety from our excitable Spanish allies if you were then able to lay down your arms.”
Leclerc and Rabuteau put their heads together briefly. MacKay could not hear what they were saying but it looked like an argument. Then they both nodded at something that Rabuteau said and Leclerc gave an ultimatum.
“Your suggestion has much merit, Colonel. However, we are not at sea and if we do not shoot at our enemies in our own defence, there is no honour. We shall then fire one volley in the direction of your men and shall stand our ground when they reply to it. Then our survivors shall pile their arms and submit.”
He hesitated and added with a wintry smile. “I shall be grateful if your men shall be kind enough to kill no more of my men than we ourselves shall injure, then if they have to kill someone, perhaps they shall be satisfied with me?”
MacKay did not hesitate. He thought he knew what Leclerc intended, but could not be sure. He had no idea whether he was an honourable man, but he was certain that Rabuteau was. “If that is what you wish, Messieurs, my men shall respond entirely as is appropriate. Allow me a short time to speak to my commanders before you demonstrate your aggression.”
He cantered in a circle around the French, pausing to give concise instructions to the three waiting groups of Hornets before positioning himself, mounted, behind the two skirmishing platoons of C Company. He watched with interest.
The fur cap and the bicorn of the two colonels were raised toward him in unison. It was the signal for orders to be shouted and muskets to be raised on all four sides of the square.
MacKay watched carefully. They were all aimed directly outward from the sides of the square and the angle that he could see on those pointing left and right from where he sat, was half way between the horizontal and the vertical: forty five degrees in naval navigation terms. They were endeavouring to fire over the heads of the Hornets.
Given the intrinsic inaccuracy of the muskets, there was still a possibility of stray rounds inflicting damage, but it ought to be enough to clear even the mounted Hornets lined up on the third side.
Speculation ended with a precisely timed, thunderous volley from all sides of the square, followed quickly by a full-throated naval cheer from the Hornets and a volley from half the rifles, directed harmlessly away, not only from the square, but also from those Hornets who were directly opposite each other.
There was no evidence of any damage to anyone and the square broke up quietly. The men filed past the two colonels, throwing their muskets onto a growing pile.
The skirmishing platoons stood up and moved in to organise and fraternise on the friendliest of terms with their erstwhile enemies. The mounted Hornets herded all the horses together, then moved to surround the scene and make it plain to the many curious guerrilleros wandering back from their pursuit of the cavalry, that the French were prisoners of the Hornets and not to be mistreated.
Nevertheless, all these prisoners and an as yet unknown number of wounded chasseurs had to be guarded until they could be taken off his hands and a quick calculation of numbers told him that three hundred of the garrison were still within the walls of the town.
CHAPTER 5
The barque was back alongside the quay to allow Algy and his boarding party to step ashore and take charge of the search for the missing garrison.
Th
e last person that he expected to see at that moment was Commodore Sir Charles Cockburn striding along the quay with only the faintest of limps to remind him of the time when he had nearly lost his leg during Nelson’s failed landing at Tenerife.
He concealed his surprise. After all, Cockburn and Welbeloved had been inseparable since Napoleon had been fighting in Egypt. They had been in the forefront of most of the fighting all those years ago and he really should have expected to see him heavily involved when so many of his men were risking their lives.
He raised his bonnet and got a beaming smile in return. “I wish you joy of your impressive success, Major Cholmondeley. I found it most intimidating, the way that Welbeloved always contrived to beat the French, one way or the other, but I doubt that he ever achieved such a complete success, so quickly. Do not let me delay your further actions: I have no doubt you need to find out where they have all run to.”
“Thank you, Sir Charles. Do please pardon my preoccupation. I have to set things in motion without delay.” He turned and gave brief, concise orders and the Hornets dashed away. Turning back, he was quite relaxed. “Sir Joshua personally trained all his officers to think and act as he should do himself. You still have to thank him for the way matters turned out today.
There has to be an element of good fortune involved here. I expect he has often before invoked his Dame Fortune? I realised half an hour ago that this was proving to be an unique experience. General Welbeloved always maintains that no plan of action ever survives the first two minutes without the amendment of some detail or having to change everything completely.
It is now approaching two hours and the Frogs are co-operating to a far greater degree than I could have believed possible.
Using your marines has probably been the key so far. They may be unhappy that they have seen so little action, but their very presence has, I am almost certain, convinced the enemy that he has been trapped and outnumbered. I do suspect….”
He stopped speaking as they both heard volleys of rifle fire to the south, beyond the town walls.
He smiled with satisfaction. “Perhaps you may care to walk with me, Sir Charles. I took a small gamble that the remaining garrison troops should not have the stomach to contest the town seriously and that they might make a break and run for it.”
Leading the way toward the town gate, he continued to talk animatedly. “My B Company has placed itself across the road to the east that they must use to escape. That short outbreak of rifle fire ought to have been when the French vanguard found them.”
Cockburn looked at him questioningly. “I do detect a different sound to what I may have expected. Can you really tell the difference between the sound of rifles and muskets?”
Algy grinned. “Most certainly, Sir Charles. The rifles have a smaller calibre and the ball is forced out of the barrel with a deal more energy. It gives a much flatter sound. Those were surely the Hornets and I have not yet heard any muskets in reply.”
He looked at his watch. “A Company followed them out of the gate and shall now be looking to welcome them back when they try to seek safety behind the walls again.”
As if on cue, they walked through the east gate as A Company opened fire on the mass of fleeing soldiers heading toward them.
Confusion reigned. Hundreds of pairs of feet running backwards and forwards stirred up vast clouds of dust to add to that already raised by the marching men. Very little wind was about, to stir it up without blowing it away. The Hornets had ceased firing. There were figures moving in and out of the dust quite randomly between the line formed by A Company, stretching outward from the gate and the mounted line of B Company, having recovered their mounts and walking them slowly, with drawn swords, driving the French back toward the walls.
Algy turned to Cockburn. “Do you speak the french, Sir Charles?” Getting a nod of confirmation, he handed over the speaking trumpet that he was still carrying. “Pray shout at them, Sir. Tell them to stand still, put down their muskets and then walk slowly to the town gate where they shall be safe.”
Cockburn grinned happily. He had always had a good voice and his time at sea had trained it to be heard in storm force winds. He bellowed in french at the dust cloud, ordering those inside to stand still. It had an immediate effect. Most of the noise ceased. He told everyone to drop their muskets and walk toward the sound of his voice with their hands in the air. Figures appeared from the dust to be taken into custody and seated in lines on the ground.
In half an hour, there were lines of dejected men sitting, waiting to be told what to do and a small group of officers who had given their parole and were only too anxious to co-operate.
Algy was faintly surprised that none of the French had made any attempt to escape at either end of the two lines. Then he thought it through and came to the conclusion that they regarded captivity by the English as infinitely preferable to making the attempt to run to safety through hostile countryside, where capture was certain to bring a demeaning and agonising death from vengeful peasants or guerrilleros.
All that remained to do now at Gijón was take possession of the port and restore the local administration. Sir Charles was happy to take the prisoners off his hands and ship them out, after shepherding them through a hostile town to the harbour.
In fact, he could leave everything here in the hands of the navy, trusting in Sir Charles to look after the interests of the Hornets in the small matter of prize money for the privateer barque and the snow that had been captured.
Cockburn was still a little out of breath at the speed with which everything had been cleared up here. He had agreed immediately to everything that Algy asked. He understood more than most, the importance of; once started; keeping the enemy on the run.
He even agreed without a murmur that four companies of marines should march off with the Hornets toward Oviedo. If the mere sight of red tunics had proved so successful at Gijón, there was a very good case to be made for flaunting them before Oviedo if the garrison had not yet surrendered.
One of Nelson’s dictums: Lose not an hour: was just as applicable on land and the Hornets and marines started in the early afternoon. Fifteen miles to Oviedo was an easy half day march for any infantry unit, but the marines spent their lives on board ship where there were few opportunities to stretch their legs.
Algy suspected that they would need to spend a night in bivouac, if they were to be fresh when they arrived. He left B Company to travel with the redcoats and pressed on to find out what MacKay was doing with the rest of his command.
Only three or four miles from Oviedo, he found out. The columns of prisoners, uneasy under the escort of guerrilleros, trudging down to Gijón, told their own tale. It was not yet the complete capitulation that the number of prisoners would seem to indicate. The Spanish escorts told him about the games they had been playing and how most of the garrison had been tempted out and destroyed.
An hour later and he could see for himself. MacKay was delighted with his report and even more so to learn that the marines were on their way to add a little colour to the proceedings. “One o’ the colonels that we captured is an aide to King Joseph and also by way o’ being an old friend. We captured him and his despatches in Galicia on twa occasions, when I was a very new lieutenant.
I hae been dallying wi’ the idea o’ sending him back into Oviedo in the hope that he may influence the governor tae give in. He is, though, far tae honourable tae dae so unless he is convinced that it is the best thing for the French tae dae.
Now that you are here, the twa colonels and we shall hae dinner together. They shall surely find it entertaining when I ask ye tae tell o’ some o’ your adventures wi’ a few hints about how we hae taken the odd fortress or twa.
I am told that your man not only keeps ye impossibly smart, but also cooks a superb meal wi’ nothing but a wee bit bread and dripping. May I borrow him and put him tae work on some o’ the French stores we took?”
The Hornets never travelled with the equipment th
at most commanding officers found essential, but the French infantry colonel had his personal tent and canvas furniture in one of the wagons they had taken. It was perfectly adequate for the impromptu dinner party for five that MacKay provided.
The fifth seat was taken by Juanita, Mistress MacKay, who had rejoined with the two mortars and was still furious that she had missed the first time in action of the other two.
She also greeted Colonel Rabuteau politely, but there was still a lack of warmth in the greeting. Entirely understandable for Rabuteau when he remembered their first encounter, shortly after he was first captured, when she and other women were recovering from a mass rape after French cavalry had foraged in their village.
Those were the women that had started MacKay’s ‘harem’ and she had grudgingly promised Rabuteau that she would respect his status as prisoner at that time, but told him that she and her sisterhood would kill him if ever they had the chance when he was released.
This was the second time since then that he had met her and he had been a prisoner both times. It was something of a relief, as he had no doubt that she had meant what she had said. Nevertheless, he was very wary in his overtures when she was introduced to Colonel Leclerc and himself.
She saw he was troubled and recalled his genuine fury when the facts of the rape had originally been revealed to him. It was time to set him at his ease. “Much time has passed since the original atrocity, Colonel Rabuteau. Since our recapture of Badajoz, I realise that there are savages in every army, not only the French. All that still separates them is that Badajoz was in blood lust after a bloody battle and your dragoons cold-bloodedly indulged their lust on helpless villagers. We shall not talk about it any more. I no longer get so much satisfaction from killing Frenchmen.”
The Confrontation at Salamanca Page 6