The Confrontation at Salamanca

by Geoffrey Watson

  They all left to warn their commands to be prepared for anything and Welbeloved braced himself for the inevitable encounter with his wife.

  Two weeks ago she had confirmed, quite calmly and unconcernedly that she knew that she was carrying their third child. The birth was likely to be in January next and there was plenty of time to see off Marmont before she needed to retire to Santiago del Valle to await the arrival.

  Naturally, Welbeloved did not see things in quite the same reasonable light. He had since been casting about for ways of resting the Condesa away from the imminent hostilities with the French. He was devious enough to consider re-deploying all the mortars back to their separate companies until the battle was over. After all, he had never actually appointed her to the command of all the batteries.

  The trouble with that idea was that no one else had the overall command of the guns and he was convinced that all his commanders would side with the Condesa, even to the point of mutiny, should he suggest it.

  Normally, his wife would never question any decision he made in his command of the Hornets, but normally they agreed on everything. Now, anything he decided for her benefit and for the safety of their unborn child was certain to be regarded as chauvinistic and therefore totally unreasonable.

  He thought briefly and despairingly of appealing directly to Wellington, before realising that he too was completely in awe of the formidable woman and would refuse to upset her in the slightest degree.

  All that was left to him was to ensure that the combined mortar batteries were always to the rear of the Hornets when in action and never exposed to direct fire from enemy guns. Even that decision was patently the most futile example of wishful thinking, he would do what he always did and deal with every new threat entirely on its merit.

  * * *

  Pom appeared again after midday on the following day. The note from Wellington was terse but clear. Welbeloved. Marmont has humbugged me as I half suspected. Two French divisions are retreating across the Duero at Toro without offering action.

  Take your division immediately towards the bridge at Tordesillas. Advise me if Marmont is across the river and impede any drive on Salamanca until I can re-deploy the army to meet him.

  Wellington.

  Pom waited quietly until Welbeloved had finished reading the despatch, as soon as he looked up, he elaborated quietly on all that was not there.

  “Lord Wellington has had to withdraw several divisions to meet the threat of this feint, Sir Joshua. Two of them were from the Salamanca road, south of the bridge at Tordesillas.

  It leaves the only other viable crossing of the Duero almost unguarded and his lordship believes the feint is intended to allow Marshal Marmont to bring his army, unchallenged onto the south bank.

  The road to Salamanca shall be open and his lordship needs at least twenty-four hours to re-deploy his divisions to block it. Your naval division is the only force that can reach the area in time and I am to travel with you and report back to him, whatever occurs.

  I am carrying his written authority for you to assume command of any of our forces in the area, no matter what seniority the officers on the spot may have.

  Finally, he tells me that you shall appreciate the humour when I ask why you are not already on the move?”

  Welbeloved smiled quizzically. “Both of yew, and yew in particular, Li, should know us better than that. From the moment yew appeared, our two brigades broke camp. I shall be leading the Spanish Iberian Brigade straight up the Salamanca-Tordesillas road and Lord George shall take the German and Portuguese Brigade on a sweep farther to the east.

  Go with Lord George, Li. Yew shall act as our liaison officer and authorise Lord George to take command of any of our troops in my name. I am sure he shall enjoy that.

  Welbeloved was in a thoughtful mood as he led his Spanish Brigade in an extended line of companies and squadrons on either side of the road toward Tordesillas. The bridge that Marmont was thought to be using was about twenty miles to the northeast and it was now mid-afternoon.

  Lord Wellington was as yet uncertain whether Marmont was crossing the river or not and would surely have been told by now whether any of his patrols had seen the French moving before daylight.

  If Marmont had started at dawn, he would want to have at least two divisions securing his bridgehead before he established a column of march.

  Welbeloved called Addenbrooke and Quintana to him and warned them to expect the first French probes after ten miles, when logically they ought to be thinking of their bivouacs, ready for a sustained push in the morning.

  “Until then, Gentlemen, study the ground over which we travel. Note particularly all those places where we can deny passage to massed infantry, if only for an hour at a time; any river crossing or restricted place where they shall be forced to bunch together in their advance toward Salamanca. I confide that we may use every one that is suitable or nearly so.”

  In the event, both brigades of Hornets advanced to within six miles of the bridge at Tordesillas before they met cavalry patrols advancing cautiously.

  Perhaps Marmont could not believe that his deception had been so successful and was concentrating on bringing his entire force onto the south bank of the Duero and consolidating his position before offering battle?

  His cavalry patrols might indeed have moved farther south with their probes, but both brigades of Hornets were in greater numbers and mauled most terribly the four squadrons that they encountered, without deigning to dismount from their steeds. The French army stopped and settled down for the night with their entire force concentrated within little more than a quarter circle of five miles radius.

  The Hornets withdrew a mile from the mass of campfires, fed themselves and watered their horses. The Portuguese and Spanish battalions then moved back on foot and occupied selected defensive positions that they could be confident of occupying for an hour or so.

  The strongest of the positions was allocated to a couple of companies of green-clad riflemen who had accepted Welbeloved’s authority with a great deal of relief. A battalion of line infantry had been sent smartly back toward Salamanca to meet up with other forces that Welbeloved hoped were well on their way.

  Two squadrons of light dragoons were in bivouac alongside the German Hornets and Quintana’s cavalry. Welbeloved had explained to their colonel exactly what he wanted them to do in the morning and made Günther Roffhack responsible for starting them off at the right time and place. Finally, Pom had been sent back to report to Wellington with details of the known French deployment and what the Hornets were hoping to do until the army was in position to face them again.

  The French were astir well before sunrise. Their whole army ought to be on this side of the Duero by this time and today, no doubt, they would be hoping to strike toward Salamanca and find the British and Portuguese army scattered across the countryside.

  Both brigades of Welbeloved’s men were in position. The Brigada Ibéricana straddled the road to Salamanca. Vere’s German and Portuguese had found some good defensive areas about a mile farther east. Both were employing similar tactics by using the squadrons of light dragoons that Welbeloved had absorbed into his command.

  It was still too dark to see the vivid colours of their uniforms, but that didn’t matter. They would be visible enough in half an hour for the French to recognise them for what they were.

  “Good morning, Colonel! It looks as though it shall be ideal conditions for what I have in mind for yew. I know yor lads are itching to have a tilt at the enemy.”

  Colonel Matthews peered at him through the gloom. “Good morning, Sir Joshua. My boys are always happy to mix it, although when we met yesterday I was wondering whether discretion might serve us all better than taking on the whole French army.”

  “Then we shall get along famously, Colonel. I do not mind taking on greater numbers, because my men are equipped to do so, but I hate vain posturing. It gets people killed to no purpose.

  What I need is discipli
ne, discretion and strict attention to yor bugle calls. I confide that the French shall start with reconnaissance by their cavalry; probably chasseurs.

  I suggest that yew post yor squadron by troops across the two hundred yards between this slope and yonder wood. I need the French to see yor uniforms and know exactly what they are facing.

  With any luck, two or three squadrons shall set out to teach yew to mind yor manners. Yew must stand and ignore them, while they charge yew. I have two companies of sharpshooters in place who shall play havoc with them.

  When I blow my whistle, feel free to attack, but do so through a fifty-yard gap that my men shall clear for yew.

  Strict discipline shall be needed to bring yor squadron back before they collide with the whole French army. That has to be a matter for yor own judgement.

  Have I made my wishes clear to yew, Colonel? Are yew content that yor squadron shall be able to stand and be confident that my men shall stem the first assault?”

  Matthews looked at him in amazement. Finally he forced a reply. Never in my entire service have I questioned an order given to me, Sir Joshua. I shall not start now.

  If I have any reservations, it is only that I have never seen cavalry incommoded by skirmishers, but my men shall do their duty, no matter what.”

  “That is my point, Colonel. I do not give orders in the way yew understand. Yew are responsible for yor command. If yew have any doubts about yor ability to comply with my wishes, please retire to the rear and I can have a Spanish squadron in yor place in minutes. They have worked with my Hornets before and have complete confidence in the deadliness of my skirmishers.”

  Matthews really did start to stutter. “Y-you are s-suggesting, Sir, that your Spanish irregulars are more worthy than m-my men? I do protest, Sir, in the strongest terms.”

  Welbeloved held up his hand. “Please do not be irritable, Colonel. I am merely saying that they know that we can smash the Frogs and that your boys have understandable doubts.

  May I have yor commitment or otherwise before the French can see us more clearly?”

  Matthews was clearly incensed but was left with no choice to make, as Welbeloved knew very well. “I shall regard your request as an order, Sir. My men shall do their duty, whatever the outcome.”

  “Very well, Sir. I am most obliged. Please work to my whistle and allow my men to remove themselves from yor path when yew start yor charge.”

  A mile to the east, George Vere was having a very similar conversation with Matthews’s second-in-command. The difference was that he had less patience than Welbeloved and he worded his request as an order. He had also made sure that the light dragoons had spent some time with Roffhack’s Germans on the previous evening. Natural competitiveness ensured that no questions were asked whatever doubts they may have had.

  Even this early in the morning, with a fine beginning to a clear, hot, summer day, the whole front of Marmont’s Army of Portugal was shrouded in a fine haze of dust, stirred up by more than forty thousand pairs of feet and three thousand cavalry horses. They had not yet started marching.

  Half a mile away from where the Hornets were waiting, movement could be seen. As was to be expected, men and horses were the first to be identified, moving out in front of marching columns that were likely to be light infantry intermixed with horse artillery.

  Soon, the vanguard of the mounted troops would emerge and have a clearer view of the way ahead. That was when the vivid red and blue tunics and white breeches, glittering brass and steel of the light dragoons would attract attention and bugle calls would alert the entire army.

  And so it did come to pass, thought Welbeloved as he mused on the inevitability and predictability of the enemy reaction.

  They were still moving over a restricted front because the army was taking the easier path promised by existing roads and tracks. What looked like three squadrons of green chasseurs could be seen as not quite separate groups, before they had formed into reconnaissance order with their vanguard troops riding out ahead.

  By rights, they should have paused for a lengthy look at the flamboyant and obvious challenge in front of them, but there had to be a sense of urgency throughout the whole army to break out of their crowded bridgehead.

  Bugle calls sent two of the squadrons trotting, deploying outwards to present a front of twenty riders apiece. Troop commanders were ahead of both bodies, most of them standing in their stirrups in the vain assumption that they could see more clearly over the dust haze.

  Closing the distance to four hundred yards, they finally decided that an attack could be completed. The decision was perhaps encouraged by the calm indifference of their intended prey.

  The canter was sounded and two hundred or more glittering swords flourished as the charge reached its middle momentum. The rifles of Captain Dai Evans and his company opened the account for the Hornets, followed immediately by the few carbines of B Company, skirmishing to the left of the road.

  It was all over in a matter of seconds. Both squadrons went down like swathes of corn in front of a scythe and Welbeloved’s whistle brought riflemen to their feet, running to the sides to make a fifty yard gap, through which Matthews urged his light dragoons.

  They were full of verve and fire and crashed into the disorganised chasseurs. Generally, they behaved as Welbeloved had requested, but could not quite shed all their bad habits; straight into a canter in order to get into contact more quickly, overlooking the fact that a completely untouched reserve squadron was lurking behind the fleeing survivors of the leading two.

  Fortunately, Matthews had his wits about him. The reserve squadron could do nothing when so many of the riders bearing down on them were fleeing Frenchmen.

  The light dragoons crashed on through and into the reserves creating instant havoc and almost immediately heard the recall sounded by their buglers. Most of them responded well and retreated immediately. Those that allowed the fury of battle to close their ears, perhaps seven or eight only, continued to slash and hack until overcome by the greater numbers against them.

  They did confuse the chasseurs to the extent that by the time they thought of a counter charge against the retiring light dragoons, the chance was lost.

  Welbeloved had seen the masses of infantry moving into sight in column order. His two reserve companies of Avispónes and an ‘acquired’ company of green-clad riflemen moved into position to challenge them. Quintana’s cavalry occupied the position that the dragoons had started from.

  Matthews’s head was high as he and his men picked their way back through the ranks of horsemen. The Hornets greeted their return with three short, traditional naval cheers that was their ritual greeting for a job well done. The riflemen joined in in their own fashion.

  “That was a famous charge, Colonel. I have never seen better and shall so inform Lord Wellington.” Welbeloved was indeed impressed by their discipline. He was quite prepared to have seen half of them succumb to a blind blood lust.

  “As yew see, we shall now have a much more difficult task if we are to delay those infantry. Should yew consider a favour to help me? I do urgently need advance information of any French outflanking moves along the banks of the Duero on our left. Are yor men still able to perform this favour for us?”

  Matthews was flushed with pride at the generous acknowledgements of his men’s achievements. “No question at all, Sir Joshua. We are on our way and I am forever in your debt for your patience with my doubts about your people’s amazing competence.” The dragoons trotted away, leaving the Hornets and green riflemen to face several divisions of angry Frenchmen.

  A mile away to his right, Colonel Lord Vere had dealt with a very similar situation in an almost identical manner. His squadron of light dragoons was now reconnoitring to the east while he and his men faced another part of the French army that he might hope to delay, but could not deny for long.

  The preliminaries with the cavalry had delayed the French breakout by perhaps two hours and the mass of men gathered at the fa
r end of the wide valley showed that the pressure was all forward or the vanguard troops risked being trampled by those behind.

  It meant that the enemy had no room for manoeuvre and that the attack was almost certain to be a mass of skirmishers, followed closely by lines of heavy infantry to push their way through by main force. The whole width of the wide valley was filling up with skirmishers; so many that they would be almost certain to get in each other’s way. As they advanced, the area behind them would fill with line regiments, full of confidence that their contribution to the fight would never be needed.

  At least Welbeloved could count on the fact that no artillery would get involved. They would kill more of their own men if they tried to open fire.

  The mass of men advanced steadily. It was as inevitable as the tide flooding quietly across a flat beach and almost as silent. No vainglorious officers prancing along in front. That would only happen when they closed to within fifty yards and the men needed encouragement.

  Addenbrooke’s Spanish battalion now had about four hundred rifles. They would start firing steadily into the mass of men at quarter of a mile and the company of greenjackets would start picking out targets at about the same distance.

  Two hundred carbines could join the party when the enemy reached two hundred and fifty yards; well before any of them could even attempt to reply.

  Two hundred yards behind the mass of skirmishers, the blue and white uniforms of the line infantry were moving out of column into lines that would sweep along the width of the valley and bring their massed muskets to blast their enemy out of existence: but only when they could get to within fifty yards.

  In the meantime, while the heavy infantry deployed into line, the skirmishers opened the gap between them and came within range of the rifles.

  The first shots were relatively few in number and came from the fifty very best marksmen out of all four companies, but over half of them from Captain Dai Evans’s specialists. They fired in quite a leisurely way, picking out any officer or sergeant that could be distinguished by a distinctive uniform.