The Confrontation at Salamanca

by Geoffrey Watson

  D Company set off in pursuit of the few chasseurs that had escaped. They were able to travel more quickly than before, assuming that any follow-up reconnaissance down this road would pause when they met the refugees and request reinforcements before continuing.

  What they did find and what Evans had been hoping for was a scene of some confusion with another squadron of chasseurs in the process of retiring and getting mixed up with a regiment of line infantry intent on advancing as ordered.

  A little patience was rewarded when they saw that orders had eventually been given. The whole mass sorted itself out and moved back up the valley. Evans thought gleefully of his previous fancy of a retracting snail’s eyestalk.

  * * *

  Lieutenant Colonel Addenbrooke found he was justified in his delayed suspicions that the French would send patrols down both roads. After all, the roads were no more than six or seven miles apart, even if they were separated by quite impressive and almost impenetrable hills.

  Because the heads of the valleys were so close, the French must have sent their patrols down them simultaneously. Hickson had not dealt with them with quite the same finesse as Evans. For one thing, he was not as obsessive about his men’s marksmanship as his friend. B Company had very few rifles as yet and if he wanted to get the best results, his men had to be more concentrated and the enemy tempted within two hundred yards.

  He was just as particular when it came to spotting the French first, but when he had done so he retired to a point where the road narrowed almost to a gorge and set one of his platoons across the road on horseback. The other three waited in ambush and almost annihilated the two squadrons of cavalry that thought to dispute the right of way.

  The result was more French bodies, but many more survivors for the Hornets to follow back to their army and the same eventual decision by the army to move east and find a way round these deadly detachments of Santocildes’s supposed army.

  Addenbrooke reached Welbeloved at the same time as the despatch from Hickson and all the reserve forces moved east to support Quintana and his squadrons guarding the eastern roads.

  CHAPTER 9

  Marshal Marmont was in no mood to stand and fight, just because Wellington had brought his army to Salamanca, looking for a confrontation.

  It was possible that he was surprised that Wellington’s reputation as a defensive general had not been justified by this sudden aggressive advance. But then, he was in a position himself, where he was garrisoning territory and had no offensive intent whatever until the Emperor had beaten the Russians and released more troops for Spain.

  He may have been alarmed by the size of the Anglo-Portuguese army, but he could not afford to concentrate his own forces against it until it was literally on his doorstep. Food was so scarce in Spain that an army of the size to combat Wellington would be starving if it was kept in Salamanca for more than a week. It seemed most unreasonable that the British should be able to bring all their food with them from Portugal.

  Unusually for a French general, he was having to wait and see what his opponent was doing before reacting to it. He retired some miles to the northeast with the sometime garrison of Salamanca and refused to think about a major battle until his divisions could all join him from every garrison in León and Castille.

  Salamanca was a university city with little means of defending itself. Marmont had recognised this and had no intention of holding it. He had, however, prepared for the possibility of an attack by building three small forts overlooking the main bridge over the River Tormes.

  This had been achieved by demolishing some university buildings and using the stone to reinforce the walls of three stout convents. Small garrisons of two or three hundred men each, were left to hold out for as long as possible and prevent Wellington being too enthusiastic in pursuit, while Marmont hovered nearby and gathered his forces as quickly as he could.

  The hope was that they could hold out for a couple of weeks, by which time the French might have enough troops concentrated to make Wellington abandon the city to give battle.

  The defences of the convents appeared strong, but not formidable. Wellington though, had brought no siege artillery and could only rely on three or four heavy guns to breach the walls. With much forethought, the defenders had been supplied with numbers of small artillery pieces with a clear line of sight to anywhere that could be used as an emplacement against them.

  It was two or three days before a serious bombardment could start and by the time it started to have an effect, the limited supply of heavy calibre shot ran out.

  In the meantime, the two battalions of Hornets had mounted a continual surveillance over Marmont’s growing forces and Captain Pom, with his small team was riding backwards and forwards to keep Wellington fully informed.

  By this time, only a week after the Anglo-Portuguese had started, Marmont already had more than thirty thousand men to the northeast. It was nowhere near enough to offer battle, of course, but typical of the French approach to warfare, a day later he advanced to the attack.

  Much of Wellington’s army was entrenched in the heights of San Cristobal, some six or seven miles northeast of Salamanca. Marmont’s forces still amounted to only two thirds of the allied strength, but either he wanted to get Wellington off balance, or he was desperately anxious to find out more about the strength of his opponents.

  He launched a probing attack on the village of Castellanos de Moriscos; a couple of squadrons of cavalry, perhaps a regiment of voltigeurs and a battalion of light infantry supported by a battery of eight-pounders.

  Captain Siegfried Werther and D Squadron of the German Hornets had watched the attack developing and alerted their sister squadrons on either side. They in turn reported minimal activity in their sectors. This pointed to a mere reconnaissance probe down the main road.

  Pausing only to give a bloody nose to the pathfinder squadron of chasseurs and send the remnants hastily back behind their voltigeurs; thus alerting the entrenched British infantry to the French approach; he took his squadron back behind the allied lines.

  The occasion seemed too good an opportunity to miss. He had been longing to try out the new mortar unit that was now attached to his squadron only in the last few weeks. Having spotted the French guns that were racing up to support their infantry, he emplaced the mortars just behind the British infantry line and pointed out the positions of the French guns to Sergeant Stein.

  Stein had been praying for an opportunity to try out his new toy. The endless ranging practice with standard, unfused shells could now be justified.

  Indeed it was. Six shots were needed to locate and destroy two of the batteries and the other two retired in haste, along with the voltigeurs and the rest of the probe when they discovered the strength of the allied emplacement.

  Werther led out D Squadron again and followed the enemy until the detachment joined with the rest of Marmont’s force, some ten to fifteen miles out.

  This early outbreak of hostilities between the Hornets and the scouting cavalry had attracted attention from other parties in addition to the waiting infantry. Lord Wellington, together with Colonel Vere and Lieutenant Colonel Roffhack had all arrived in time to observe the exchange of shots between Sergeant Stein’s lone mortar and the French guns. Wellington looked very thoughtful and asked them both to ride back with him.

  “I remember vividly, Gentlemen, how impressed I was when the Condesa demonstrated her new shell and it exploded on impact.

  I did not forget, but when she told me that supply was limited and that only enough could be made for the Hornets, I must admit that I put it to the back of my mind.

  With our present Board of Ordnance, it could not possibly be cleared for use by our gunners for the next ten years or more, but if you now have enough shells for your own use, you may be able to help with an irritating problem with regard to the three forts, that are still holding out in spite of our best efforts.

  Our heavy guns have damaged them, but the fools have run out o
f ammunition and no more can be had for another two days. We are trying an early assault, but I have no great expectations of success. The enemy does seem to have enough ammunition to supply a small division.

  I do not think that your exploding shells can do much damage to the walls, but they would surely be ideal for destroying the roofs?”

  Vere looked across at Roffhack, who looked back without expression. “I understand that these forts were religious buildings, My Lord. Do you happen to know whether the roofs are pantiles or something more substantial?”

  Wellington shrugged and grinned. “I have not made a study of ecclesiastical architecture, Lord George. What I can tell you is that the roofs have not been strengthened, as have the walls. I assume that they shall have internal wooden beams and braces. If so and you can blow me some holes, I shall let some of my twelve-pounders loose with red hot shot and try and burn them out.”

  “We shall do all we can, My Lord. Colonel Gonçalves has all four of his mortars in Salamanca. He takes his reconnaissance duties very seriously and feels that it is no place for artillery. He can use the confusion of your assault tomorrow to select his emplacements. If it is successful, he shall not be needed. If not, he can move in when it gets dark.”

  Next morning, four hundred light infantrymen attacked the San Cayetano convent and were bloodily repulsed, with a third of their number not returning, including General Bowes, their commander. Why San Cayetano was selected was a mystery to Vere as it was probably the least damaged of the three, having had very little attention from the heavy artillery.

  After noting that it possessed a tile and wood roof, Vere left Gonçalves to make his arrangements and dashed off to join the German battalion again. Roffhack had sent an early warning that Marmont was active again.

  Whether he was consciously using the sound of battle at the convents as a distraction was difficult to judge, but this time he had made a dash south with a substantial force and crossed to the south bank of the Tormes at Huerta. The bridge was at a right-angled bend in the river about twenty miles east of Salamanca.

  Roffhack, with half his battalion, had guessed his intention just in time and had managed to cross before him, to carry a timely warning to General Bock and his two regiments of dragoons, deployed between Huerta and Salamanca.

  It was a cat and mouse game, played at a slow pace. Marmont had sent a sizeable detachment across the river, presumably to create another distraction; to find out what Wellington’s dispositions were in that area, or even to try and put him on the defensive.

  Whatever the reason, they had to find out where the British were and get some idea of their strength before committing themselves to an attack. Vere and Roffhack watched the cautious, probing reconnaissance of some squadrons of cavalry, moving carefully in front of an unknown number of light infantry.

  Caution was very much the watchword with the mounted chasseurs. They were moving forward at no more than a walk and keeping circumspectly in contact with the following infantry. While they were being so careful, Roffhack was happy to retire before them. Bock’s dragoons were five miles away and at this rate of advance the French would have to bivouac for the night before they could come to blows.

  Vere found it irritating and grumbled to Roffhack. “Marmont is reckoned to be one of the best of Boney’s marshals, Günther. Don’t you find this little adventure rather pathetic? We know from your forward patrols that they have put less than a division over the river.

  We also know that, as at six hours ago, they haven’t moved a muscle anywhere else, so it has to be a feint without a deal of purpose, unless they are desperate to find out how we react to it.”

  Roffhack was amused, but tolerant. “If you had odds against you of three to two or more, George, should you not do everything you could to keep your opponent off balance until your army was reinforced from all your scattered garrisons?

  The speed of the French advance is such that they can scuttle back over the river if they find us too strong. Pom has told us that Lord Wellington has directed two divisions to counter this. That is ten thousand men less to bother Marmont north of the river.”

  Vere grunted. “You have to have the right of it, Günther. The devil of it is, that had we both battalions with us instead of only a couple of your squadrons, we could sweep round south and cut them off from the bridge. Unfortunately, even with the addition of Bock’s dragoons, that is too optimistic for our present strength.”

  It was Roffhack’s turn to grunt. “I had been entertaining similar thoughts, George. In point of fact, if there are two divisions and the dragoons against them tomorrow, I am tempted to let them get on with it and take my squadrons to cause what trouble I can, when they find they have no option but to go back over the river again.”

  Vere grinned widely. “Why do you not do exactly that? I shall go back and see what sort of fist Gonçalves makes of mortaring the convents. On my way I may call on General Bock, tell him what you are doing and let him know that he can have the French all to himself.

  We have only seen chasseurs in this detachment. His dragoons are all bigger and heavier. All he should worry about is catching them if they shy away from mixing it. They can surely gallop away quicker than heavy dragoons.”

  * * *

  As with most of the senior promotions in the Hornets, Fernando Gonçalves had risen rapidly from lieutenant to lieutenant colonel, commanding the 2nd Battalion, the Vespãos. This was not just because he was good at his job; all the Hornets would qualify on that score. It was mainly that his appreciation of situations was quicker than that of his subordinates and his appreciation of their skills; when superior to his own; enabled him to select the most qualified for any eventuality.

  He was also a great believer in looking after all the details and he had spent a lot of time, during the abortive assault on the San Cayetano convent, talking to his four mortar sergeants and also to Captain da Silva and the lieutenants of C Company.

  Each of his companies was rested in turn from their constant surveillance duties and C Company just happened to be free at this time to support the mortar teams.

  They had all watched with horror as four hundred British light infantrymen were repulsed bloodily by the hail of musket fire and artillery grape, losing a third of their numbers, including their general.

  The horror was mixed with a deal of indignation at the unnecessary waste of life. Unnecessary because if someone had thought to ask the Hornets or the rifles to keep a constant fire on all the embrasures and musket slits in the walls, the French rate of fire could have been reduced to almost nothing.

  As it was, the four lieutenants were busy making notes on every nook and cranny in the walls from which clouds of powder smoke issued and particularly the larger ports where the heavier ordnance was located.

  The large, cleared area around the forts presented few problems for the Hornets. When the buildings were razed there were inevitably the remains of walls and pieces of rubble that would hide a prone marksman.

  The mortar sergeants were not too concerned either. Anywhere within four hundred yards was ideal for a gun that could lob a shell from behind cover. Their main topic for discussion was how to adjust the trajectory of their shells so that they landed on a roof that was forty to fifty feet higher than the mortar. It was a problem that they had not encountered before, thus no one had any practical experience.

  Having watched many of the practice shoots in the past, Gonçalves tried to imagine the trajectory and place a forty foot building in the way so that the shell would hit the roof before the ground.

  Depending on how steeply the shell was falling at that point, determined how much farther it would have travelled in a level to level shot.

  There was no way he could work it out for himself, but he risked ridicule by drawing an imagined trajectory on the dusty ground. To his relief, the sergeants immediately grasped what he was trying to convey and started an animated discussion about how much distance they should add to their calculation
s in order to hit the attic rather than the ground floor.

  At least they all seemed to agree about what they should do and the discussion moved on to determine the best positions to site the mortars, with Gonçalves’s reputation apparently established higher than before.

  The guns were moved into the selected positions shortly before dawn, while it was still too dark for the defenders to see what was happening. Once emplaced, they were quite invisible to the French and the first that they would know about them was when the powder smoke from the first rounds billowed out from behind their protective barriers.

  When there was enough light to see, there would be four platoons of Vespãos hiding within two hundred yards and each man would be carrying a breach-loading, modified Baker rifle that would be seeking every puff of smoke that issued from the convent.

  Everyone relaxed. Six twelve-pounders were emplaced very carefully behind substantial earthworks, with three well-protected ovens serving two guns apiece. The smoke from these ovens could not be hidden and for obvious reasons they had to be placed within a few yards of the guns.

  They would dictate the timing of the bombardment. The start would be half an hour before the shot was a dull red: no more than that in case it distorted with the heat: the signal to begin firing would be given and the twelve pounders would fire a few standard ranging shots under cover of the fire from the mortars.

  Dawn came and every man waited. The amount of fuel required to bring two dozen iron balls up to a dull red heat was enormous and the time needed, with temporary and improvised ovens, was nearly impossible to calculate.

  Two hours after daybreak and the word was given. The four mortars gave their distinctive coughs and four clouds of powder smoke blossomed above them, revealing their positions to the enemy. Every mortar had played safe and underestimated the range, determined that the shell would not fly over and make it difficult to adjust.

  The twelve pounders joined in and they too had aimed low; the shot slamming into the high walls of the convent.