Colonel Quintana was ecstatic. He would be leading his men into action as a fully accredited brigade, alongside a battalion of the famous Avispónes. Not entirely as a junior partner, although he accepted that his men could not equal the achievements of the Hornets. No! General Welbeloved had said that he was unwilling to fight together with any soldiers that had not received some amount of instruction from the Hornets, because they would not be skilled enough.
Quintana knew of no others that had received the same amount of attention as his own men. Apart from the Hornets, that must make his men, surely, the foremost mounted soldiers in the world? Now Don Joshua had just confirmed that by asking them to ride with him.
Welbeloved observed the various changes in his expression as he was thinking this over. He was no mind reader, but he had a very shrewd idea of the way his thoughts were going. He was quite content with what he saw.
“We are to ride north, Don Luis, in extended line of squadrons. Each squadron shall detach its own pathfinder scouts and rearguard. The troops are to remain within sight of each other, as are the squadrons from which they come.
In open country, we shall try and spread to five miles or so, with the Avispónes riding on your left. I shall be honoured to ride alongside you until nightfall.”
“Any honour is entirely mine, Don Joshua. Shall Doña Mercedes be riding with you?”
Welbeloved smiled in amusement. “My wife has no official position with the Avispónes, Don Luis, except perhaps as patrona of the Spanish battalion. She does, however, have very strong opinions that she expects to be taken into consideration.
Fortunately, on matters to do with the Hornets her opinions have always coincided with mine, although her acquired talent with explosives has meant that we all defer to her in that field. At the moment, you may have noticed her attachment to our four new mortars. Their adoption by the Hornets is entirely due to her invention of a shell that explodes on landing. I had rather go looking for Bonnet on my own than suggest that this is not an entirely suitable occupation for a condesa of Spain.”
Quintana’s eyes were open wide with amazement coupled with amusement. He struggled in vain for a diplomatic reply. “With the greatest respect, My Lord, I think it best if also you do not suggest it in the hearing of any of my men. I know that they regard her as a reincarnation of El Cid, although I find it difficult to imagine our great hero referred to as La Cid."
Welbeloved roared with laughter. “How splendid! Do you imagine she knows? You do realise that as her husband I am allowed to tease her; but only when I am feeling particularly brave.” He was still chuckling when his mounted battalions were quite out of sight of the fortified town of Astorga.
Quickly, it became clear that wherever it was that Bonnet had come south through the Cantabrian Mountains, he was not going to come south through Astorga without taking the western road through Ponferrada or making a detour to the east through León.
If he came down to Ponferrada, his only option, if he wanted to join Marmont, was the road south-east to Astorga, straight into the middle of Santocildes’s army.
Unless the Spanish general was foolish, his three to one advantage ought to stop the French in their tracks, and even if this should not be so, it was unlikely that many French troops would be left to be able to reinforce Marmont.
Welbeloved was willing to leave that to both of them to argue about, while he covered the more likely route, a direct descent through or around León. He turned his forces northwest, aiming to the north of León and thinking in terms of bluffing a hopefully cautious Bonnet into making a wide detour to the east.
It was a cautious approach on his part. If they were going to meet Bonnet’s division, Welbeloved wanted to know about it before Bonnet. With potential odds of five to one against him, it was basic self-preservation to have first sight of the enemy,
The pace quickened when they approached León. Spanish informants told them that most of the garrison had gone south to join Marmont. Very possibly they could have frightened those remaining into submission, but it was not worth the time it would take. No one reported any sightings of another French force and it was imperative that they find out where Bonnet was and what he was trying to do.
By the third day, his force was once more stretched out from west to east and advancing cautiously northwards towards the looming mountains of Cantabria. The men were extended over a greater distance and concentrated on the five roads that came south from the mountains, converging on León.
Addenbrooke had two companies of Hornets available for each of the two major roads coming south from the direction of Oviedo. Quintana had his cavalry scouting cautiously along the three more easterly and poorer quality roads from the foothills in the north-east. The two wings were now twenty miles apart and communication was the major problem as the roads diverged more and more.
As was his habit, Welbeloved tried to imagine himself in the shoes of the enemy commander. It was more difficult than usual as Bonnet must feel rather like a tennis ball being sent from Dorsenne to Marmont, then back to Dorsenne and finally once more to Marmont. All this before it was realised that Wellington was on the move.
Anyway, as Welbeloved reminded himself, this last move was still only speculation. All he had to go on was the report that Dorsenne, in the north, was concentrating his forces farther east and that Bonnet hadn’t gone with them. The Asturias were said to be free of the French and the only way that Bonnet could have moved was south, maybe back to Marmont as a means of strengthening his garrisons?
Now that it was known that the French Army of the North had been passed from Dorsenne to General Caffarelli, it seemed reasonable to assume that Bonnet was now officially under the command of Marshal Marmont.
But had Marmont yet managed to send him orders to join him at Salamanca and to advise him that Wellington’s campaign had started?
It was hard to say, but reports from MacKay were a week old and nothing had been seen of an errant French army in the Asturias up to a week ago. A casual march south to take up garrison duties should have brought him as far as León well before now.
It hadn’t, therefore he was being shy. If he was being shy, he had found out that something was up. Maybe he had come down through the mountains above Ponferrada and seen the Spanish army moving east. It was certainly not the place to wish to be trapped in by a much larger force. The sensible move would be to retire and move east through the foothills, to pick up one of the roads south through León.
That could explain the delay, as surely, if he had come directly south from Oviedo, he would already be with Marmont in Salamanca. Maybe he was and no one had seen fit to warn Santocildes?
Welbeloved would have to wager that the French were to his north, searching for a clear path around what they believed to be a large enemy force. He established a field headquarters ten miles north of León and sent Addenbrooke with two companies of Hornets, one for each of the two roads north and northwest. Quintana took three of his squadrons to cover the three minor roads leading generally northeast. Waiting for news of contact, with two reserve companies and two squadrons was the hardest part, but he had to know where Bonnet was before he could do anything more.
Addenbrooke had read all the despatches and generally agreed with Welbeloved’s assessment. The missing week could certainly be accounted for by the discovery of the Spanish army at Ponferrada, but food, or the lack of it, always needed to be taken into account in this hilly and none too fertile country. It was quite possible, in his opinion that the French were taking their time and foraging thoroughly over as wide an area as possible.
They might, just possibly have built up small reserves of food in the Asturias, but they would need to keep these replenished as they moved. The southern foothills of the Cantabrian Mountains might be part, officially, of the great central plain of León y Castilla, but their contribution to the ‘breadbasket’ was marginal.
He had to cover the two most westerly roads and guessing that the most
westerly was the one that Bonnet might explore first, he allocated D Company, with Captain Dai Evans for the task. B Company, commanded by Ramon Hickson, went north on the slightly better road, a few miles to the east.
Dai Evans had been working hard to bring the marksmanship of his new company up to his own exacting standards and Addenbrooke went along with them to satisfy his curiosity about the effectiveness of Evans’s efforts. That was his excuse, as he had every confidence in Evans. In fact, he was choosing the road more likely to be used by the French. He did want to be where the action was and he couldn’t be in two places at once.
Evans was untroubled by the close presence of his commanding officer. Ever since he had first become a corporal, he had become accustomed to handling the lieutenants and captains above him in his platoons and companies. In each case they were senior in rank, but well below in skill and experience. He always deferred to them respectfully, because they were trained in the leadership qualities that he was only just developing. They had earned their rank in the ferocious training programmes that Welbeloved had developed.
Now he had his own company and a quartet of young, bright, enthusiastic, Spanish lieutenants who were mirror images of himself five years ago, though far more mature and developed than he had been then.
That was because they had all been taught to think as Welbeloved thought, not only just the junior lieutenants, but captains and colonels as well. He knew that Addenbrooke would never question what he was doing. It was inconceivable that he would have done it any differently himself, at least at the tactical level. Strategy was something that Dai was still learning about.
Welbeloved had explained to all his officers the strategy for what they were doing now. Dai could imagine a French division in the mountains to the north, trying to join its comrades for a battle against Wellington. He still had difficulty thinking much beyond that, although he had no problems with the idea of stamping on any tentacles probing south from that division. Tentacles was one way of looking at it, but he also visualised them as snail’s eyes on a stalk. If one hit them hard enough they would recoil into the snail and go looking for another way round. He was rather pleased with that imagery.
The road along which they were moving, as was almost inevitable, was running along the course of a small river coming south from the mountains. It was easy in that there was only the one way to travel; up the river valley. The route they had to follow was alternately restricted and open on either side, with cover mainly available by rocky formations or by wooded patches that grew more sparse, the higher they climbed.
The disadvantage was that their rate of progress could only be slow. Any enemy that they were likely to meet was certain to be well above them, probably concealed from below and able to survey the country below them from many points along their route.
Dai’s reconnaissance pathfinders were forced to move forward on foot for the most part, almost as if they were in permanent skirmishing order, along any stretch of the trail that could be observed from higher up. That seemed to be nine tenths of the way.
Only when they reached points giving a clear view ahead for some distance, would they signal for the company to make haste and close up. Then the men would wait patiently while the whole process would begin again.
All the first day and half of the following day were taken up in this manner. It was deadly boring and seemingly pointless with no enemy in sight, but it did give the men more practice in techniques of skirmishing and even increased their speed over the ground when they were not supposed to be seen. Any man that imagined that he could cut corners and neglect his normally exemplary standard soon had his ears blistered by his sergeant or corporal.
First contact proved to any potential backsliders that all their care had been necessary. Those of the small advance squad that had actually been moving, froze into immobility as a vanguard of half a dozen chasseurs appeared quite casually round a bend in the track only fifty yards away. They came out from behind the rocky spur that the Hornets had been aiming for and remained in position for ten minutes, while they subjected the half mile of slope in front of them to a scrutiny that was searching, but routine enough to show that it was just one of many that they had been doing all morning.
If the enemy was present, they expected to see colour and movement. The Hornets were neither colourful nor moving and some signal was given to bring the rest of the squadron forward as the vanguard moved on again.
Only the leading platoon of D Company had moved into the stretch that the chasseurs were now negotiating. None of the men was mounted and all of them were more or less concealed off the road that faithfully followed the stream along the more sedate reaches.
Their mounts had been left with the rest of the company, waiting behind the next bend of the River Luna and watching for the signal that the way was clear for them to advance farther.
Captain Evans studied the approaching chasseurs and then turned to look back thoughtfully at the shorter stretch of road descending to the next bend. He was sure that it was not long enough to catch both the vanguard troop and the following squadron on the same stretch. The vanguard would already be assessing the next stretch before the squadron was entirely onto this one.
He gestured to Lieutenant Perez of 4 Platoon. “Take your men back round the last bend, Martín. Wait for the full advance troop to appear and tempt them into attacking you.”
Leaving a couple of watchers at the bend, he led the other two platoons back down the valley almost to the end, making sure that the mortar team placed themselves in a position to target the bend that they had just left.
He spoke clearly to Addenbrooke as they rode back together. “Better it should be, Sir, if not so spread out they were. The entire squadron we could catch if it were possible to get in front and behind at the same time. Most gratifying that would be, but doing it this way, survivors shall get back to the army and tell them how they were routed. Vast numbers of attackers shall be reported, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Addenbrooke agreed. “What do you intend, Dai, with the mortar that you detached?”
Evans thought about the question. The answer seemed obvious to him. Addenbrooke must be testing him. “We don’t know yet whether they are alone, Sir. Two good men at the last bend I have left. The mortar shall be told if another squadron follows and a shell or two shall teach them their manners until we are ready to deal with them.”
Whether Addenbrooke had thought about this or not was immaterial. He was very quick on the uptake. “Excellent thinking, Dai, I knew you wouldn’t neglect the obvious. Better get the men under cover quickly now. That advance guard was moving with little regard for prudence.”
He was right, of course. The two watchers that Evans had left were signalling them into cover. 2 Platoon dismounted and went to ground. 3 Platoon collected their horses and moved behind a convenient copse. Everyone waited.
The French vanguard scouts repeated their routine at the bend. Perhaps marginally less time was needed to study the shorter stretch before them when they signalled to their squadron. Addenbrooke was right. Their brief survey satisfied them that the way was clear and they trotted with carefree abandon toward their next viewpoint.
Here they waited a little longer, until their squadron could be seen crowding around the previous bend. Reassuring signals were exchanged again and the vanguard disappeared from sight, leaving their squadron walking their mounts sedately toward the waiting Hornets.
Their progress came to an abrupt halt at the sight of 3 Platoon walking their horses in a double line across the road two hundred yards in front of them and halting in echelon, completely barring their way.
It was not what they were expecting at all. Their scouts must have trotted past all these horsemen and been quite unaware of their presence.
Then again, who were these scruffy, small collection of horsemen and how did they have the temerity to challenge a full squadron of chasseurs?
A bugle sounded out of sight, from their advance
troop, telling them that they also were being challenged. It was the bugle call that made up their minds for them. If it was a trap, then it was a pitiful sort of trap and their advance troop was in trouble on the other side of it. Their own bugle sounded the familiar order to trot, followed almost immediately by the call for a canter.
They had now come within the range of the modified carbines that were issued to the Avispónes, but Evans had been pulling every string he could and 2 Platoon had the breach-loading Baker rifles that Roberto the smith had modified.
They opened fire at the second that the bugle sounded the canter. Only fifteen shots at a time, every eight seconds, but they brought down all the leading riders and created so much confusion that when 3 Platoon joined in at one hundred yards, firing from the saddle in echelon, over half the squadron was unhorsed. Evans himself had picked out the commander.
Nothing in their experience had prepared them for this shocking confrontation. Those still mounted turned and fled, losing another dozen riders in the process.
Lieutenant Martín Perez had set up an almost identical trap farther down. He had equal numbers to the scouting troop and allowed only ten of his mounted men to challenge the troop after the four advance chasseurs were well past. They were the only survivors, having fled southward as soon as they witnessed the destruction of their comrades.
1 Platoon had remained in cover at the head of the first stretch of road, when about thirty very frightened riders came racing back past them. Captain Evans had told them that he wanted some of the chasseurs to go back and report. They obeyed him, but they were Spanish and their homeland had suffered for four years at the hands of the French. They obeyed orders, but their understanding of ‘some’ was more than two. Four chasseurs only were allowed to live and one of those was badly wounded, but still clinging to his saddle.
Addenbrooke went back to find Welbeloved and the rest of his Third Battalion. He was anxious to speak to Captain Hickson and discover whether this had been the sole incursion or if Bonnet was putting his feelers out along any other roads.
The Confrontation at Salamanca Page 10