The Confrontation at Salamanca

by Geoffrey Watson

  It was a robust start to the meal, but her command of french was greater than that of Cholmondeley or even her husband and she was able to tell equally as many tales as well as embellishing the ones that the men started.

  Possibly there was no need to elaborate, as Rabuteau had already seen the Hornets in action and the recent obliteration of the chasseurs was still fresh in their minds. Great play was made of the many successes that the Hornets had had getting over defended walls, coupled with the latest triumph in effectively capturing Gijón by getting into the town before the landing of the marines.

  It was difficult to believe that all this had been planned and executed by the baby-faced boy in the impossibly smart, dirt-coloured uniform, with the insignia of a major on his sleeve, or that the tall, good-looking woman was probably more dangerous than a massive Imperial Grenadier.

  Over some of Colonel Leclerc’s cognac, after they had finished off some excellently cooked fish, MacKay casually suggested that either or both of the prisoners, having already given their parole, might consider carrying his terms to the governor of the diminished garrison.

  “All I ask of you, Messieurs, is that you take him my conditions and give him your own honest opinion about what he should do. What that opinion is, must be entirely your own decision, but I shall set out the alternatives, as I see them, to an honourable capitulation, with guarantees of safe conduct.

  I estimate the remaining garrison as close to three hundred men. By tomorrow morning, I shall have four companies of Royal Marines, four companies of Frelons and two thousand Spanish partidas. It shall give me an advantage of ten to one.

  That is an advantage that I do not need, Messieurs. The Frelons have already examined the walls. Two nights ago, a couple of your sentries disappeared. It is unfortunate that they were in the wrong place and would have seen our reconnaissance squad if we had not killed them. They were guarding the walls at the time.

  You may wish to check their absence with the governor, but it demonstrates that I can put five hundred Frelons over the walls at any time I choose.

  I do not like quoting the so-called conventions of war, but when a garrison is captured after refusing terms, their safety cannot be guaranteed.”

  There was a violent exclamation from Colonel Leclerc at this. “You would not be so barbaric as to enforce such a convention, Colonel MacKay?”

  MacKay looked at him with what he hoped was his compassionate expression. “Naturally, we should not, Colonel, but I have promised the commodore who sent the marines that I would return them to him undamaged. It shall be the guerrilleros, perforce, that I have to let into the town. They have many, many old scores to settle.

  Also, I understand that when your troops entered Oviedo in the year nine, the town was brutally sacked despite Marshal Ney’s assurance to the contrary. The citizens of the town have no love for French troops. The garrison must guard its back from within as well as from without.

  When the Royal Marines arrive tomorrow morning, the governor should look upon them as potential protectors for his outnumbered and hated garrison.”

  As aide to King Joseph, Rabuteau had found it necessary to acquire a certain diplomacy not normally required of soldiers. He shrugged. “I have no reputation to lose in this business. I am willing to carry your terms to the governor. I am even willing to inform him of your masterly appreciation of the situation. I cannot urge him to any course of action; that is entirely his responsibility. I shall, however bear his reply to you.”

  MacKay looked enquiringly at Colonel Leclerc, who shook his head. “I am already disgraced for surrendering my command. Nothing I could say to the governor could be interpreted in any other way than an attempt to justify my own actions.”

  MacKay rumbled his disagreement. “It is no disgrace to have saved the lives of your men, Colonel. Believe me, they would all be dead now if you had not made the right decision. I do not doubt that Colonel Rabuteau shall support you. You would both be dead if you had acted as your heart urged you.”

  * * *

  Colonel Rabuteau made his lonely way to the east gate and was admitted immediately. In spite of all the arguments that MacKay had put forward, he knew that the French did not look kindly on any of their governors or commanders who surrendered their strongholds without making a stout resistance. Even holding out valiantly did not save some of them from Napoleon’s malice and at the very least, they could wave farewell to any thoughts of further advancement.

  Three hours later, the red tunics of the marines came into view and Rabuteau had still not returned. MacKay set in motion a plan for an impressive demonstration as a last gesture, before launching an attack under cover of darkness, early the next morning.

  The appearance of the redcoats was a signal that seemed to spur the French into activity on the walls around the east gate. MacKay walked over to speak to his wife, who had emplaced all four of the company’s mortars behind piles of rubble, some two hundred yards from the gate.

  “It is a matter o’ regret, Querida Mia, that Rabuteau seems unable tae influence the governor tae capitulate. Ye hae noticed, nae doubt, the activity on the walls, close tae the gate? Did ye smoke the twa guns, one on either side?”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “Who could not notice them, my dearling? Two of the mortars are laid on each one. It appears to be a narrow parapet there, only enough platform for the guns, but I wager with you that both shall be hit by one of the first two shots from the mortars.”

  “An’ if ye win, what is the forfeit I must pay?”

  “In public, only a kiss, my love. Later I shall demand rather more, but I think you shall not regard it as a forfeit.”

  “Be ready then, minx, it looks as if Rabuteau returns and I should really dislike the Hornets tae suffer frae the grapeshot o’ those guns.”

  Rabuteau was very Gallic. He shrugged resignedly and theatrically after he had dismounted. “I really think that the governor would prefer to bow to the inevitable and capitulate. Unfortunately he is convinced; and not without reason, I have to say; that he would be taken to Paris and shot if he made no attempt to deny you entry.”

  MacKay nodded. “I thought that would be his reaction when you were delayed so long, Colonel. Perhaps you shall now join your colleague. Feel free to observe while we attempt to convince the governor that denying us shall be very expensive for him.

  He turned. “Juanita! Please dae as ye promised. Algy! When the mortars engage the guns, get the marines tae deploy out o’ range, but where they can be seen, then loose the Hornets as we agreed.”

  He followed Rabuteau to the ruins of a building that gave a good view and protection from grapeshot. The three colonels then watched in silence.

  Either side of the gatehouse, the guns were run in and out again, possibly charged with grape against an expected infantry assault. The embrasures on the walls, stretching out from the gate, were crowded with blue uniforms, two or three muskets poking out from each gap.

  MacKay scowled. There must have been a hundred men on the walls about the gate. The rest of the walls had to be denuded of defenders. He could have put two companies over at different places against minimal opposition. Then he too shrugged. Wait and see how this plan developed.

  Juanita’s mortars opened fire and MacKay trained his glass on the gatehouse. Every shot exploded on impact, instantly demonstrating the effectiveness of the Condesa’s percussion detonators. All shots were within twenty feet of the guns, one exploding over the wall into the town and the other three against the walls and the gatehouse.

  In the pause while the mortars were reloaded, the guns on the walls blasted grapeshot without being too concerned about their aim. The first shells had already convinced the gunners that the embrasure offered insufficient protection against this frightening new projectile.

  The blast of grapeshot had also acted as a signal to the Hornets. Two companies broke from cover and advanced at the trot, spreading out to find whatever cover could be afforded within a hundred
to a hundred and fifty yards of the walls and gatehouse.

  All had rifles. At that range, most of them could guarantee to hit a melon. The embrasures were packed with melon-sized targets and as two of the next mortar shells landed within feet of the guns, more than two hundred were able to concentrate on the heads showing through less than fifty embrasures.

  It was meant to be a conventional split volley, but in the few seconds before each marksman’s partner was to fire, there was no target to be seen. The embrasures were empty and firing died away completely.

  The mortars, desperate for practice with live rounds, did manage one more salvo before Juanita stopped them. This time they were so accurate that there was no need for marksmen to pay any more attention to the gun embrasures.

  There was silence, other than for a few screams of agony from wounded men on the walls and in the town. The faces of the French colonels were pale and shocked. Even Rabuteau, who had experienced the power of the Hornets in the past, looked horrified at the totality of the slaughter.

  Half an hour later, there was hope that the killing was at an end. The tricolore was hauled down from over the gatehouse and shortly after, the governor came out of the gate alone, to try and ensure that he could surrender to the British rather than the guerrilleros. He might still be worrying about being taken to Paris and executed, but the loss of almost a third of his remaining garrison in a matter of minutes, drove out all thoughts of personal honour. In any case, he was likely to spend the next year or so as a prisoner in England, out of reach of Napoleon’s firing squad.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was almost exactly a year since Captain Diego Blanco had survived the bloodbath of the Battle of Albuera, where the courage and steadfastness of some of the Spanish regiments had so impressed General Welbeloved that he had invited volunteers to train with the Hornets in the hope of gaining selection to the Spanish Third Battalion.

  Nearly six hundred hopefuls had volunteered and three months of intensive training had weeded out over half. Training for the officers was even more intensive; only nine had survived and Diego was the only one who had retained his rank as captain and had been given C Company to command. The other eight were lieutenants in C and D Companies, serving under more experienced officers from the original Hornets.

  When he looked at the eager faces of the young soldiers that were his present charge, even those of the officers, it struck him forcefully how naïve and unsophisticated they really were. It should be remembered that these were the elite of the Spanish Sixth Army, who had received some tactical and technical weapons training last year from Colonel MacKay.

  Then he reflected that only last year, the difference between them and himself was only the few months experience that he had received in hit and run raids against the invaders. He had no battle experience before going through the bloody slaughter at Albuera.

  Now he could look back at that terrible experience over the vast distance of twelve months. His recollection was of something crude, primitive and almost unthinkingly brutal, with two opposing masses of men manoeuvring desperately to bring the greater number of muskets to bear on the enemy at a range of no more than thirty yards.

  Not that the close range was any guarantee that the musket balls would hit their target. One of the facts that he had learned since training with the Hornets was that most muskets had a smooth bore gauge of close to three-quarters of an inch. The balls that they used were normally less than that, a poor fit to aid loading through the muzzle.

  Inevitably, much of the charge escaped around the edges, reducing the velocity, but more important, the balls bounced from side to side as they travelled down the barrel. Depending on where the last contact was at the muzzle, the ball would travel in the direction imparted by its last bounce, which was usually anywhere except where the musket was pointing.

  Additionally, the last contact imparted a spin to the ball and sent it in a curved trajectory, quite independent of that caused naturally by gravity. Putting it bluntly, hitting a barn door at twenty paces was a matter of luck and any soldier killed by a musket aimed at him at that range, was truly unfortunate.

  He was fortunate that the men that he would be leading and training over the next two or three weeks had already been shown how to improve their standard muskets by polishing the bore and making their own lead balls so that they fitted snugly and didn’t bounce.

  Apart from teaching them the skills of skirmishing, there was not much more that could be done, other than frequent practice, to help their marksmanship. That really was enough to make them dangerous, if not lethal at fifty yards and give them an enormous advantage over the French.

  Added to fitness, the art of concealment and other soldierly skills imparted by Sir Joshua, Hamish MacKay and himself meant that they had every chance of becoming elite light infantry, capable of holding their own with the very best of the French and even the English Rifles, although with only a fraction of the deadly range of the latter.

  It was now his responsibility over the next two weeks to make them even better than they were already. He was in command of nearly two battalions of elite soldiers. That was usually the command of a full colonel or a lieutenant colonel at the very least. He wondered briefly how Sir Joshua would react if he were to hint that the pay of a colonel would be most acceptable, if only for the two weeks that he was doing the job?

  Perhaps not a good idea!

  His Hornet officers and sergeants; indeed every Hornet in his company: were spread among the light infantry companies and he was quietly amazed at the way they were accepting the responsibility for improving the deadliness of the men that they were, in effect, commanding.

  As a rough guide, all his lieutenants and sergeants were each responsible for a company and every Hornet was leading a platoon.

  Strictly speaking, the captains and lieutenants of the Sixth Army were in official command, but nowhere had he seen any evidence that suggestions from the Hornets had been questioned or disputed. If a Hornet said do it this way, even a captain jumped to do it this way.

  And not as commanded, because traditionally now, the Hornets were rarely ordered to do things. They knew what to do in almost any circumstances and only needed to be advised about which particular role it was their turn to carry out.

  It had therefore become quite normal for each man to use this method when instructing all his trainees. He would explain what was needed and suggest how the Hornets would do it. The platoon commander would then give the orders. It was good for both parties. It made the Hornets think carefully about matters that by now had become entirely automatic and it made the officer realise that there were very few ways of doing something satisfactorily and that it was his responsibility to choose the one most suitable for the problem before him.

  Once out of the mountains after the first week, the light infantry spread north and south and practised various arts, from flanking awkward positions to storming startled villages that had not seen French foragers for several weeks.

  It was made quite plain that they were able to do this so freely because they were assured that their cavalry screen ahead of them had made certain that no Frenchman was within miles.

  The cavalry screen had indeed made certain that their infantry was undisturbed in their training activities. The first three squadrons had merged with three companies of Hornets and spread out in full battle order, once they had moved out of the Cantabrian Mountains. They were then on the route toward Astorga, that was one of the early stages of Sir John Moore’s headlong retreat, over three years ago, that saved his army from complete disaster against overwhelming numbers of Marshal Soult’s veterans.

  Lieutenant Colonel Addenbrooke had half expected to be able to spice up the training of the first three squadrons by mopping up a few foraging parties before they got into the mountains of León.

  He and they were disappointed. The French had not been seen on this side of the Montes de León since the last sizeable foraging party had left some weeks ago
. Even the citizens of Ponferrada gave them a welcome somewhat short of rapturous, as if to make plain that they were quite happy to be left alone by Frenchmen and Spaniards alike.

  It was therefore the second three squadrons, taking their turn to merge with the Hornets as they entered the León Mountains and starting to explore all the valleys and villages before the last fifteen miles to Astorga, through the pass of Manzanal.

  The mountains themselves were an inconvenience: large mounds of rock dropped down south of the Cantabrians to make it difficult to move from the great bowl centred on Ponferrada, to the plains of León. That may possibly be a slur on their importance, considering that some of them are over six thousand feet. Then again, although that is a respectable height for many countries, in Spain it is barely significant.

  Once across, the valleys of the south-eastern foothills were fertile areas and the site of many villages, some approaching the size of a small town. The three Hornet companies; merged with the three squadrons; became three independent half-battalions and went looking for foragers.

  It quickly became apparent that the garrison of Astorga was not expecting trouble and that very little had occurred to disturb their peaceful existence since Santocildes had escaped into the northern mountains last autumn.

  French foraging parties were out gathering what supplies they could find, bearing in mind that harvests were six months in the past and that root vegetables, early greens, cattle, goats, sheep and pigs were all that could be expected. Only the vegetables were a certainty. The villages were mostly in the hills and livestock could be out of sight within a very short time of a foraging party being sighted.

  That was why cavalry units were the preferred foragers in the hills. They could appear at dawn and be into the villages before any livestock could be hidden. They did not have to be in vast numbers either. With no regular Spanish troops to worry about, a single squadron could deal with four adjacent villages at the same time. Most guerrilla bands would need three or four times the numbers to tackle a regular cavalry unit. Even a unit as small as a troop was safe from them if the rest of their squadron was close by.