by Mark Urban
Our company was sent out from the Chateau … in order to support the 3rd Batt who were actually retiring from the ridge when we received the order to occupy it to support them. This was mentioned to the commandant who however had not sense to comprehend that it was not only useless but dangerous to send one company up to occupy a ridge on which we were not able to communicate right or left. However we were ordered to go.
Gairdner and Hopwood went forward, taking Corporal William Brotherwood and a platoon of men. When they reached the top of the ridge, there were French just a few dozen yards in front and musket balls flying all around. They began moving about, directing their men where to take up firing positions. Corporal Brotherwood was talking to Hopwood when a crack and a puff of red mist signalled that both men had been hit. Gairdner crawled across to them. Brotherwood was twitching and breathing his last. Lieutenant Gairdner reached out and held Hopwood’s hand. The back of his skull had been blown away, and Gairdner saw the grey flecks of his brain matter on the wet grass. A single bullet had gone straight through Brotherwood’s head before taking off the back of Hopwood’s – ‘Thus died uselessly two as brave soldiers as ever stepped.’
Costello, with the same party, was firing away like a man possessed, a little way along the ridge: ‘We received them with a fierce and deadly fire. They replied with spirit.’ Gairdner could see the French battalions forming up now in front of him and beginning their advance, with a beating of drums and the customary cries, ‘En avant, en avant Français, vive L’Empereur!’ To their left and right, enemy skirmishers were working around them. The position was quite untenable. Gairdner ordered a retreat back down to Arcangues: ‘I certainly never ran quicker in my life.’
Although the remainder of 2nd Company saved itself, a good many men of the outlying picket had been killed or captured. The 2nd Battalion baggage was also taken: a financial loss and a blow to their professional pride. Gairdner, puffing and panting, fell in with the remainder of his company, fuming at what had happened.
The French footsloggers pursued their advantage, coming marching down the slope, inspired by their officers as men began falling to well-aimed British shots. The forward French battalions were able to get right up to the outskirts of the village and throw themselves into a charge, but as the shouting men came forward, fusils and rifles were directed at them from every firing point. One French officer reported: ‘Although Clausel … got to the base of the church walls … the Anglo-Portuguese, in cover, poured a murderous fire on the attackers, while our weapons, soaked with rain gave only mediocre service.’ After an hour of this punishment, the French pulled back, carrying their wounded and leaving dozens of dead around the village. The day was decided once again, for the British had been rained upon just as much, by superior skill at arms.
Having taken the ridge, but failed to make any progress into Arcangues, the French wheeled up twelve cannon. This powerful battery would support a general attack on Arcangues by thousands of infantry. It took until midday for the French to place their battery, the gunners sliding and falling many times as they wheeled their pieces through the boggy fields.
Seeing the guns about 350 yards away on the ridge, the British knew that effective artillery fire could cost them dear. The 95th’s officers had been trained in a technique for shooting gunners at these extreme ranges: ‘Riflemen may be employed also with great success against field artillery … keeping up a steady fire, the enemy’s guns, if unsupported will soon be obliged to withdraw.’ This tactic had been rarely practised, even during the long years of the Peninsular War, and it required a remarkable degree of skill on the part of the shooters, for firing was rarely considered effective – even with rifles – beyond 100 or 150 yards. Some of the soldiers had done it before, though, against the batteries near Badajoz, for example, and the 43rd’s men were up for it too.
When the French battery opened up, its shells ripped through the dank air and smacked into the church tower, showering shards of masonry onto the men below. However, the French had fired barely half a dozen times when a hail of bullets began to fall among them. The defenders of Arcangues had to tip their muzzles up at an angle in order for the balls to carry all the way up to the ridgeline. But they could see their balls arcing through the sky and adjusted their shot. The French gunners were soon falling. ‘We kept up an incessant discharge of small arms, which so annoyed the French gunners that, during the latter part of the day, they ceased to molest us.’ The artillerymen fled back over to the safe side of the ridge. A general French offensive along the line of the River Nive had been defeated with more than four thousand casualties.
From their vantage point near the church, the Rifles could see some of their dead comrades lying on the Bassussarry hill, and at twilight, some French soldiers approached them. These men were saluted with rifle fire, the men of Leach’s company being determined to drill any dog who came to plunder Corporal Brotherwood or the others. Eventually a French officer came forward waving a white handkerchief, followed by men with shovels. Assuming them to be a burial party, the riflemen held their fire.
Gairdner looked back on the day’s events with considerable anger, noting in his journal, ‘Both Hopwood and myself were too aware of the useless danger we were going to meet to have done it without an order … Hopwood lost his life through the ignorance of the commanding officer and if Colonel Barnard had commanded this day Hopwood, Brotherwood and the other sufferers from the company this day would have been spared.’
The next day, the Light Division re-established its line of outposts on the ridge. There they were saddened to discover that Hopwood and Brotherwood had been stripped of all their belongings by the ‘burial party’ and had no more than a sprinkling of earth on them. Among the rank and file there was much close examination of the men and the place where they had fallen, the tale of how one bullet had killed two fine men being told around many a campfire in the following months.
Reports of the action at Arcangues spread quickly in the Army. The capture of the fourteen Highland Company men was an embarrassment to the 95th of a kind it had not experienced since the Coa more than three years before. One officer of the 43rd, finding himself away from the Light Division a few days later, was asked, ‘whether we had been surprised on 10 December? When assured to the contrary, he assured us that it was generally supposed to be the case … before leaving the main road, the same questions were put to us in another quarter, by an officer who had previously been in our own corps; which will give a faint idea how rapidly evil and malicious reports fly.’
There were those who envied the Light Division’s reputation, no doubt, and thought it rather a good tale to spread that they had been humbled. The flying about of these reports, equally, pricked the pride of those who saw themselves as the best soldiers in the Army. Captain Harry Smith later conceded: ‘This was nearer a surprise than anything we had ever experienced.’ These weasel words, however, were in a public work. The private verdict in Gairdner’s journal was quite blunt – the troops on the Bassussarry ridge, including those of a couple of divisions, had been ‘taken completely by surprise’. The cost, apart from the killed and wounded, was that forty men from the 1st/95th and 43rd had been taken prisoner, including Second Lieutenant Church – he of the bayonet in the charge up La Petite Rhune.
The lessons of all this were complex – hard enough to digest for those whose own pride was involved. Peace, looming as it was, had unsettled the usual regularity of the Light Division. Some felt they should make a desperate attempt to garner some personal glory before the fighting was over, hence Hobkirk’s conduct of 23 November. But for many other veterans the prospect of an end to the fighting had softened their usual vigilance and allowed the outposts to exist on terms with the French that were rather too friendly. It was the atmosphere of bonhomie among the pickets that allowed the British to be surprised. Perhaps it might not have happened under the iron grip of a Craufurd, prowling about the outposts day and night, or perhaps it would have made no differ
ence. Such speculation doubtless filled the long nights of officers drinking and dining in the chateau.
Those officers who had felt Colonel Barnard’s absence most keenly during the recent affair were delighted when he reappeared at Arcangues on 24 December, with Simmons in tow. His recovery had been remarkable, considering he had been shot through the chest, with a graze to his lung, the previous month. Despite the efforts of Army surgeons (who bled him prodigiously soon after his wounding), Barnard had been back riding his horse just a fortnight after the injury. He once again became a source of inspiration to officers or soldiers whose spirit might otherwise have been flagging.
Arcangues became remembered by most of them as a place where the division had suffered some costly mishaps, even though its defensive fighting on 10 December had turned back thousands of French troops and was among its most impressive feats of arms. However, the 95th had not yet been through its last great trial of the Peninsular War. This would come in the new year, in the dying days of Bonaparte’s empire.
TWENTY-THREE
Tarbes
January–March 1814
The columns that emerged from the little town of Rabastens, just north of Tarbes, on 20 March 1814 were full of confidence. The Light Division marched in the van as usual. Their chief, Lord Wellington, was among them, darting about in his plain coat, taking everything in with his owlish eye. Marshal Soult had suffered a succession of beatings since the beginning of the year and was now falling back on Toulouse.
The 1st Battalion riflemen had been given new suits, their previous ones having more or less fallen to pieces on their backs. Colonel Barnard wanted them to have as soldierly an appearance as possible and had managed to scrounge enough shakoes – the proper regimental headgear – for each man to wear. The 2nd and 3rd Battalions were still making do with forage caps instead of those black felt cylindrical hats. The general sense among the riflemen that their war was nearing its end had hardened into a certainty, for reports coming in the mail told them that the main Allied armies were pushing deep into northern France.
A mile or two up the road, looking up to the left at about midday, Wellington spied some French light troops on the ridge, moving among the gaps between thick clumps of trees. The general quickly ordered the 2nd Battalion of Rifles to fall out and prepare to sweep the enemy voltigeurs from the hill. These riflemen moved off from beside the road, extending as they went into the familiar chain, and began walking uphill.
The French general here, Jean Harispe, had a surprise in store for the Rifles. The test he made of them would be almost as tough as Sabugal in April 1811, and like that battle it came about – for the British at least – as something of an accident. Harispe had spent his war in Catalonia in the east of Spain and was not used to fighting the British – so it might be said he was not intimidated by them.
Harispe, a French Basque, knew the country around Tarbes intimately, having grown up just a few miles away. Behind the ridge that Wellington could see, there was a dip and then a further rise. Harispe had prepared a series of trenches on that piece of rising ground to the rear. This would allow him to ambush whoever came over the first ridge with several battalions of his own troops, arrayed on a hillside so that they could fire over one another’s heads.
This unpleasant surprise duly greeted the 2nd Battalion men (numbering about four hundred) as they cleared the initial ridge. One of the Rifle company commanders noted, ‘On gaining the summit of the hill we found a much larger force than was supposed to be there and we had to sustain a very severe fight against a large force before the remainder of our corps was sent forward to support.’
The six companies of the 1st Battalion and those of the 3rd Battalion now moved up the ridge. Costello recalled, ‘We went down the road at the “double”. As we passed them, some of our regiments of cavalry gave us an encouraging huzza.’
Many 2nd Battalion men were now dropping, falling under a withering fire of musketry. ‘The whole of their heavy infantry [was] drawn up on a steep acclivity, near the windmill, which allowed them to have line behind line, all of which could fire over each other’s heads, like the tiers of guns on a three decker.’
The French officers ordered a charge, seeing just skirmishers in front of them; they knew unformed men must fall back before a phalanx of cold steel. Harispe, wrote one Rifles officer, ‘having been accustomed for many years to oppose imperfectly organised Spaniards, probably did not calculate on so warm a reception’.
This charge drove the 2nd Battalion men back fifty yards or so and they now found firing positions among some stone-walled vineyards and orchards. The French battalion commanders were redressing their ranks and readying their men for another push forward when the 1st Battalion riflemen came trotting up, dropping into firing positions next to their 2nd Battalion mates. The French drums beat Old Trousers again, but these would-be chargers were discomfited by the 1st Battalion as it began to skirmish forwards. ‘This column was driven back by a rapid advance of the 1st Batt 95th Rifles and a close fire of a few yards literally mowed down the French officers at the head of the column with their drummers beating the “pas de charge”.’
Lieutenant George Simmons, seeing the French falter and begin to crumble, stood up to lead his men forward, but then, ‘a Frenchman took a long shot at me; the ball fractured my right knee pan and knocked me down as if I had been struck with a sledge-hammer’. Colonel Barnard, who commanded this battle of eighteen Rifle companies against a French brigade, had meanwhile sent the 3rd Battalion off to the right to turn the enemy flank. In the centre, ‘a heavy tirallade was then kept up in the vineyards between the riflemen and large bodies of French voltigeurs which caused loss to us as we had no cover and could not give up any of the ground we had taken’.
With the French falling back through walls and trees, the two sides blazed away in a withering contest of firearms. They were close enough for the Baker rifle’s advantages to be negated, the French being able to get aimed shots in over the twenty or thirty yards that separated them. The Rifles officers, leading their men forward, paid a heavy price, eleven becoming casualties. Captain William Cox, 2nd Battalion, got a ball in his left thigh, breaking the femur like a dry branch, and his brother John, still serving with the 1st, was shot in the right leg.
Harispe ordered a general withdrawal of his division, for there were other British formations advancing on his flanks and he needed to disentangle himself. With the enemy streaming back, the British buglers sounded the recall and Barnard’s companies formed up in case the French changed their minds and resumed the attack. Wellington rode up to see the 1st Battalion on top of the ridge, telling them, ‘Ah, there you are, as usual, just where you should be; not gone too far.’
Barnard found the general and insisted that he should come further, for there had been a great slaughter of the attacking French. Wellington told him, ‘Well, Barnard, to please you, I will go, but I require no novel proof of the destructive fire of your Rifles.’ The 95th’s officers were quite taken aback by the casualties: ‘The loss of the enemy from the fire of our Rifles was so great that one could not believe one’s eyes. I certainly had never seen the dead lie so thick, nor ever did, except subsequently at Waterloo.’
It is unclear exactly how many men the French lost. Official French returns indicate only around 180 killed and wounded. The Rifles officers, though, were adamant that the numbers had been substantial. Their estimates ranged from asserting that the French suffered as many casualties as the entire number of riflemen engaged (over a thousand) to suggestions that they had suffered double the British losses (those being 111 officers and men, killed and wounded), an estimate not so hard to reconcile with the official French figures. It is quite possible, though, that French casualties may have reached three or even four hundred, Lieutenant James Gairdner commenting in his journal, ‘I never saw on any occasion so many men killed by skirmishers as the enemy lost on this occasion.’
Although the French Army was pretty well knocked up
by this point in the campaign, the importance of the engagement at Tarbes was that it was the 95th’s own battle – a mass employment of Rifles which involved taking an entrenched position by frontal assault and then withstanding a countercharge by enemy assault columns. There had been no partnership with the 43rd or 52nd at Tarbes, as in so many other battles. It thus marked the final emphatic vindication of the 95th’s tactics and methods of the Peninsular War.
‘On the 20th the Army advanced near Tarbes and we had quite a 95th affair,’ Barnard wrote to Cameron, his predecessor as commanding officer.
I assure you the rifles were laid very strait … the enemy lost as many men as I think it possible to be knocked over in so short a time – the beauty of the business was that we were formed and ready for another attack in a few minutes. Lord W. saw the whole business and was most pleased with the rapidity with which the corps made its attacks and equally so with the quickness with which they got together when it was over.
Lest this seem too much like the 95th trumpeting its own achievement, it is worth quoting the views of a British officer from another regiment who was attached to the Portuguese army at the time of Tarbes: