Salamanca 1812- Wellington’s Year of Victories

by Peter Edwards

  So with a superiority of 20,000 men, and especially of horse, on blood-soaked ground where all French honour screamed out for revenge, it seems the gloom of the afternoon – Jourdan said it was dark by 4pm – had settled on their spirits. For the last few days of this sorry tale will see only mild pressure to Wellington’s rearguard, a standard encouragement to retire across the border; no French intention now remained to bring him to a decisive battle. The Army of Portugal was detached to the city, and without it Soult would be reduced to capturing abandoned baggage and drunken stragglers. General Foy spoke for many in his Memoirs:

  We had an army stronger by a third than Wellington’s, infinitely superior in cavalry and artillery. Confident expectations of victory were in every man’s head. The chance had come of beating the English – perhaps of driving them from the peninsula. This fine opportunity, so splendid, so decisive, with so few adverse chances, has been let slip ... The King does not know how to show to advantage before his troops; he can speak with effect neither to his officers nor to the rank and file: he got absolutely wet through, rode home, and went to bed.

  We are fortunate in having several accounts of the rigours of the next few days. This is almost certainly because of the widespread anger felt by all ranks at the notorious Memorandum subsequently written by Lord Wellington, and which we will come to in due course. That Memorandum being so unfairly critical of his officers and men’s conduct, it encouraged the literary among them, in a form of self-defence, to pen their recollections of the circumstances. The best of the accounts, unsurprisingly, is that of William Grattan, who wrote with lightness and humour, and without that rather heavy Victorian sentimentality so frequently adopted. His is a long story, but it well conveys the robust approach to adversity we have come to admire in his writing.

  The rain fell in torrents, almost without any intermission; the roads could no longer be so called, they were perfect quagmires; the small streams became rivers, and the rivers were scarcely fordable at any point. In some instances the soldiers were obliged to carry their ammunition boxes strapped on their shoulders to preserve them, while passing a ford which on our advance was barely ankle deep. The baggage and camp-kettles had left us; the former we never saw until we reached Rodrigo, and the latter rarely reached us until two o’clock in the morning, when the men, from fatigue, could make but little use of them. The wretched cattle had to be slaughtered, as our rations seldom arrived at their destination before the camp-kettles, and when both arrived, there was not one fire in our bivouac sufficient to boil a mess.

  Officers as well as soldiers had no covering except the canopy of heaven; we had not one tent, and the army never slept in a village. We thus lay in the open country; our clothes saturated with rain, half the men and officers without shoes, nothing to eat, or, at all events, no means of cooking it. What then could be much worse than the situation in which the army was placed? But this was not the worst, because, from the nature of the retreat, and the pursuit, neither the cavalry nor artillery horses could be supplied with forage. The retreat each day generally began at four in the morning, in the dead dark of night; towards eight the army had gained perhaps a six mile, perhaps not five, start of the enemy. At ten they were at our heels. The rear, as a matter of necessity, for the preservation of the whole, was then obliged to face about and show a front, to enable the remainder to proceed on their retreat. The position taken up was, as a matter of course, according to the urgency of the moment, sometimes in a vast tract of ploughed land, where the troops were drawn up ankle deep in mud. In this position, those who were not fighting were obliged to remain, in their tattered uniforms, worn to rags after two years’ service, scarcely a good pair of shoes or trousers on any, and the greater part without the former. The ague had also attacked the bulk of the army, and as the soldiers picked up the acorns that fell from the oak trees (these, by the way, are the property of the pigs in Spain, but the pigs, fortunately for themselves, had not yet appeared in the woods we now traversed), many were unable to eat them, so much were they enfeebled by the disorder.

  Yet under all these privations, the soldiers, at least the ‘Connaught Rangers’, never lost their gaiety. Without shoes they fancied themselves ‘at home’, and there were few, I believe, who would not have wished themselves there in reality. Without food they were nearly at home, and without a good coat to their backs equally so! My man, Dan Carsons, came up to me, and with a broad grin said, ‘By gor, Sir, this same place,’ (at the time we were, and had been for hours before, standing in a wet ploughed field) ‘puts me greatly in mind iv Madrid.’ – ‘Of Madrid! Why, Dan, no two places can be more unlike.’ – ‘By Jasus, Sir, they’re as like as two paise, only that we want the houses, and the fires, and the mate, and the drink, and the women! But, excepting that, don’t the jaws iv the boys with the ague, when they rattle so, put your honour greatly in mind iv the castonetts?’ Dan’s joke was not quite so palatable as it might have proved at a more fitting opportunity, or in a more fitting place, for at that moment I felt a queer sort of motion about my own jaws, which in less than an hour proved itself to be a confirmed attack of ague. On this night the rain never ceased; the rations could not be cooked, having arrived too late, and the army had no food except biscuit.

  What I have related took place on the 16th. The following day matters became worse, the rain continued to come down in torrents, and in the passage of one river, out of ten that we forded, a woman and three children were lost, as likewise some baggage mules, which the women of the army, in defiance of the order against it, still contrived to smuggle into the line of retreat. The rations arrived alive (I mean the meat), as usual after midnight, but no kettles reached us for an hour after the poor famished brutes had been knocked on the head. Each man obtained his portion of the quivering flesh, but before any fires could be re-lighted, the order for march arrived, and the men received their meat dripping with water, but little, if anything, warmer than when it was delivered over to them by the butcher. The soldiers drenched with wet, greatly fatigued, nearly naked, and more than half asleep, were obliged either to throw away the meat, or put it with their biscuit into their haversacks, which from constant use, without any means of cleaning them, more resembled a beggarman’s wallet than any part of the appointments of a soldier. In a short time the wet meat completely destroyed the bread, which became perfect paste, and the blood which oozed from the undressed beef, little better than carrion, gave so bad a taste to the bread that many could not eat it. Those who did were in general attacked with violent pains in their bowels, and the want of salt brought on dysentery. A number of cavalry and artillery horses died on this night, and fatigue and sickness had already obliged several men and officers to remain behind, so that our ranks were now beginning to show that we had commenced, in downright earnest, a most calamitous retreat.

  A circumstance occurred on this day that so strongly marks the difference between the British soldiers and the soldiers of any other nation on such a retreat as we were engaged in, that I cannot avoid noticing it. I have already said that we had no means of cooking our meat, and that the soldiers and officers, for all shared the same privations alike, carried their meat raw, or nearly raw; consequently it was not an additional supply of ‘raw material’ that we so much needed as the means of dressing what we had. Nevertheless, towards noon, while a portion of the army was engaged in a warm skirmish with the enemy’s advance, which lay through a vast forest of oak, some hundreds of swine, nearly in a wild state, were discovered feeding upon the acorns which had fallen from the trees the autumn before. No flag of truce ever sent from the advance post of one army to the advance of another had a more decisive effect. Our soldiers immediately opened a murderous fire upon the pigs, who suffered severely on the occasion, being closely pursued on the route, which they followed with that stupid – and for them, on this occasion, fatal – pertinacity which the pig tribe are so proverbial for, namely, going to the rear when they ought to go straight forward. Had this herd of swine d
eviated from the old beaten track of pigs in general – had they, in short, gone forward instead of rearward – many valuable lives, in the eyes of the owners at least, would have been saved, because they would have soon reached the French advance, and our fellows, once more placed vis a vis with the riflemen of the grande nation, would have left off the pursuit – if for nothing else but to save their bacon! This rencontre, one of the most curious that came within my knowledge during my Peninsular campaigns, or indeed during my soujourn in this world, led to consequences the most comic as well as tragic. Colonel O’Shea, who commanded the cavalry of the French advance ordered to support the tirailleurs, was astounded when he saw the direction which the British fire took. He could not be mistaken; the fire of the advance of his own soldiers had slackened – ceased. It immediately occurred to him that some corps must have got in rear of our advance, and he galloped up to the tirailleurs to ascertain the real state of affairs. He was soon undeceived; but when he learned the cause of the retrograde movement on the part of our men, he could not avoid – and who could? – laughing heartily.

  Meanwhile the discomfited and routed pigs fled, and soon got out of the clutches of the advanced guard. The bulk of the fugitives took the road to their right, but here they were again wrong. Had those ill-fated animals known anything of the ‘rules of the road’, they would have kept to the left. On the right they were encountered by a nearly famished brigade that had received no rations at all in the preceding twenty-four hours; and when they were, as has been seen, so roughly handled by men whose haversacks were amply stocked with meat, what chance had they – I ask the question fearlessly – of any mercy from a body of famished, ferocious fellows? The question I have just put is easily answered. They had none to expect, and none did they receive. Neither age nor sex was spared; and out of this fine herd of swine, scarcely one in one hundred escaped unhurt. No victory was ever more complete; and the grunting and squeaking of the wounded pigs and hogs throughout the forest was a sad contrast with the merriment of the soldiers, who toasted, on the points of their bayonets – intended for other and more noble game – the mangled fragments of their former companions.

  Day was drawing to its close, and the 3rd Division, commanded by Sir Edward Pakenham, was about to retire from the ground it had held during several hours in face of the enemy, when a warm fire of musketry on our left led us to suppose we were outflanked. The officers of the staff galloped in the direction from whence the firing proceeded. Sir Edward did the same, but it was some time before they reached the scene of action. In the meantime the different regiments were so arranged as to be ready either to advance or retreat, as circumstances might require; and the French corps in our front made demonstrations of a similar kind. In this state of suspense we remained for nearly an hour, when at last Sir Edward returned, with the news that the firing was caused by a fresh attack on the pigs that had escaped the first brunt of the attack against them. He ordered the different advance posts to be placed, which he superintended in person; the soldiers then prepared to fell timber for fires, and some ran to an uninhabited village – they were all uninhabited on the line of our march for that matter – for the purpose of getting dry wood, that is to say, the doors and roofs of the houses, to enable us to light up the green timber, which was the only fuel we could command. The soldiers and officers of all ranks were nearly exhausted from cold and wet; and had the village in question belonged to the kind of England, much less to a parcel of Spanish peasants, it would have shared the same fate as the one in question.

  The party from the village soon arrived, some bringing doors, others articles of different kinds of household furniture, such as chairs, tables, and bedsteads; but nothing in the shape of food was to be found. No doubt, had it been day, something might be got at, but warmth was what we stood in need of more than food. Several of us still carried the parboiled beef of the night before, and, when the fires were lighted, we made a shift to roast it either on our swords, bayonets, or bits of sticks, which we formed into respectable skewers. This operation finished, the fire around which each group sat or stood, in order of companies, their arms regularly piled behind them, was replenished with green and dry timber, according to our supply of each or both. The soldiers then placed their knapsacks round the outer part of the circle, and, having given the best place to their officers inside the circle, all lay down together, or at their own choice, with their feet towards the heat of the fire. Some arranged in this manner, others did not lie down at all; and those who had captured a door, propped it up as a defence against the rains and winds. There were others who got a blanket and fixed it with branches of trees and stones against some uneven spot, and lay down in the mud. It was, in fact, all mud and wet; and in whatever manner we accommodated ourselves, according to circumstances, whether walking, standing, or sleeping, it was of little difference.

  Thus ended the operations of this day; officers and soldiers were placed exactly, or nearly, as I have described. Many were so feeble as not to be capable of the least exertion: others, on the contrary, were hale and stout, and I myself was amongst the number of the latter. I had lain some time with my feet near the fire, but I dreaded an attack of ague, and I walked about to keep my body warm, which was but thinly clad.

  The affair of the pigs featured in all the Memoirs of the 3rd and 4th Divisions who were lucky enough to be near the stampeding herds. Whole battalions broke ranks to chase what seems like each man his own pig, with bayonet or ball: Grattan’s 88th were far from alone that night in dining on half-cooked pork. It is said two dragoons were wounded in the pig crossfire and so, too, his Lordship’s sense of decorum, although whether there were truly two pig plunderers hanged is hard to ascertain. But this appropriation of Spanish goods was becoming far from unusual: Costello of the 95th tells us:

  Fortune favoured a few of us when, towards the middle of the night, one or two of our men brought intelligence that several cars laden with spirits and biscuits for the Spanish army were stuck fast in the road. The temptation to our hungry maws could not be resisted. We left our fires, and screened by the darkness of the night, got up to the cars and managed to get a portion of both biscuits and aguardiente. But the Spanish guard discovered our fellows and commenced firing on them. This was quickly returned and several were, I believe, shot. The firing continued all night, which alarmed the chief part of our army. Had the offenders been discovered, it would not have been difficult to have foretold their fate, as the Duke’s orders were particularly strict against plunder, even although all the carts, unable to be moved, fell into the hands of the French next morning. Such were my feelings this night that, were it not for the liquor I drank, I believe I should have expired.

  Next morning, the 17th, French cavalry moved through the heavily wooded slopes down the flanks of the columns, at one stage capturing the baggage of the 7th Division including, wrote Costello several ‘children in panniers carried by donkeys; one grief-stricken Irish woman in particular seemed inconsolable at the loss of her child. However, the French desired to be as little encumbered as ourselves, and a few days later sent them back with a flag of truce.’ It is said the marauding dragoon squadrons got either side of the centre column through another blunder by QMG Gordon in sending back their covering cavalry screen ahead of the rearguard, the Light Division. Another casualty to the infiltrating French cavalry was the new commander of the 1st Division, the one-armed Edward Paget, who had ridden out with one orderly to investigate a widening gap between divisions. His capture by just three chasseurs was very sad, a stroke of luck for Soult, and a blow to the Allied cause. No wonder the intriguing semi-traitorous Colonel Gordon had few friends serving in the Peninsula, if rather more in the Whig Opposition at home, and Lord Grey particularly.

  It was about this time that George Simmonds, 95th wrote:

  Numbers of men were left behind, and several died. The road was covered with carcases of all descriptions and at every deep slough were found horses, mules, donkeys and bullocks mingled
together, some dead, others dying, all laden with baggage. It was a most disagreeable sight to a soldier to see everything going to rack and ruin without being able to prevent it.

  Later that day the centre column at last quit the woods halfway between Salamanca and Rodrigo, around the town of San Munoz and the river Huebra. Again no rations were available, and the men necessarily made do with acorns and, the rain having eased, cooked pieces of beef from such skeletal oxen as had collapsed en route. It was on the high ground beyond the Huebra that Soult got up some infantrymen and threatened the Light and 7th Divisions now deployed to defend the crossing. The not-altogether-truthful marshal subsequently wrote to King Joseph, ‘I had to give up the idea (of a combat of infantry and cavalry) the enemy showed us 20,000 men in position, including 3,000 horse and more than 20 guns.’ The men of the Light Division saw it rather differently. George Simmons:

  Our company extended, and were the last to retire down the inclined plain towards the river Huebra, followed a short distance by the enemy’s skirmishers. The high ground was covered with masses of infantry and cavalry, which was fun for them, but death to us. The enemy got up guns and infantry, and as the Light Division descended to pass the ford, which was rapid and breast-high, their guns cannonaded us and killed several men and some officers.

  Ned Costello was rather more specific:

  This day we were hard pressed by the enemy’s advanced guard, and I was in one of the two companies of ours which were ordered to cover the retreat of our Division. The French, confident in their numbers, pressed us vigorously, and we had difficulty checking their advance. Hotly engaged in skirmishing, I was about to take possession of a tree, when I beheld at the foot of it a poor woman. Unable to keep up with the regiment, she had sunk down exhausted. Poor soul! She seized my hands, and begged me to assist her; the enemy’s balls were rapping into the tree that only partially screened us. I was obliged to leave her as there seemed every prospect of most of us being cut off. The assembly sounded, and away we dashed, ‘devil take the hindmost’, in upon the battalion.