Can No One Win Battles if I'm Not There

by Geoffrey Watson

  Welbeloved found himself in a very delicate situation. Beresford had been impressed and grateful for all the help he had received from the Hornets since the start of this campaign, but it had been made clear that they were not under his specific command and that offended him greatly.

  If Wellington had been present, Welbeloved would have had no hesitation in accepting his orders, but he feared that Sir William would have no understanding of the talents of his special brigade and would use them recklessly and pointlessly.

  He therefore made up his mind that all the four squadrons and two companies should be held in reserve and picked on the Fourth Division as his hosts. They were deployed in the centre, but in reserve and back from the main combatants. Hidden by the hills, their commander had an excellent view of the proceedings over the entire front.

  General Lowry Cole commanding it, had been on the left wing at Buçaco and had a fair understanding of what the Hornets could do. He had no objection to having these formidable warriors waiting and maybe willing to support his division.

  The two men stood together on the high ground about half a mile behind the village. It was still early in the morning and the French massed battalions were forming up across the stream. It looked very much as if the attack was coming in exactly as expected, driving straight through the village.

  Welbeloved watched the advance and then turned his glass on the country behind it and to the sides. He lingered for some time before turning to Cole.

  “It all looks most impressive, Sir Galbraith, but I see no more than two French brigades in the attack. I’d estimate eight to ten thousand men, yet Colonel Roffhack’s boys estimated between twenty and thirty thousand on the march. Do yew see any sign of the rest of them?”

  “Not at all, Sir Joshua. I haven’t seen any of ‘em moving north either, except for a brigade of horse. Soult is probably playing tit for tat. He can’t see most of our men and he’s hiding as many of his own as he can. They’re probably behind all those trees to the south.”

  Welbeloved swung his glass to the south, but couldn’t get sight of anything past the woods. Cole had been distracted. An aide galloped up and asked for his Portuguese brigade to move forward to support Alten’s Germans in the village.

  Three thousand men moved forward out of cover and Welbeloved guessed that a similar number from Stewart’s Second Division were also reacting to the opening French attack. Inevitably, it would show Soult where most of his opponents were waiting, even if he still did not know how many he had to face.

  The difficulty with being an attacking general, Welbeloved mused, was guessing the number of troops he was going to have to fight. Because of Colborne’s vedettes and Roffhack’s Hornissen, the allies had a fairly accurate notion that Soult had brought between twenty and thirty thousand with him. Split the difference and Welbeloved would settle for twenty-five thousand, with an error of a thousand either way.

  On the other hand, Soult should know that the forces besieging Badajoz were about twenty thousand and would neither know nor care about any extra recruits from the Spanish army that he had thrashed so soundly only a few weeks ago.

  It is possible that he might not know about the two Spanish divisions that had marched up the Guadiana. Welbeloved couldn’t imagine him being unaware of it, but there was better than an even chance that he didn’t know that they were already here.

  Whether it would influence his battle tactics was another enigma. French successes against Spanish armies so far had been overwhelming and he would certainly not regard them as a serious threat; more of an irritant in the real fight between himself and the Anglo-Portuguese. They really had to be treated seriously, if only because of the amazing successes they had had in Portugal against that wily old campaigner, Marshal Masséna.

  He turned to Cole again. “Soult has less than half his army in sight in front of us, Sir Galbraith. Does this attack not appear to yew as lacking a little in commitment? Should yew be willing to describe it as a mere demonstration?

  I have surveyed this area during the last week and those woods and hills to the south can hide the entire French army. Am I correct in thinking that all our forces south of here are Spanish?”

  “That is my understanding, Sir Joshua. I follow your thinking in this. The attack in front of us does seem half hearted and we have seen no movement to the north. I fear that our brittle right wing is about to be tested and I for one shall be ready to move cautiously in support of the Diegos when they get whipped.”

  “Bravo, General! I am inclined to provide a little stiffening in advance.” He turned to find Vere. “George! Yew’ve been listening?”

  “As always, Sir Joshua and I agree with your assessment.”

  “In that case, why don’t yew take Addenbrooke and Hickson and go and find General Zayas? Hickson’s men have been improving his men’s musketry. Use yor judgement, but two companies of Hornets skirmishing in front of them could work wonders in keeping ‘em steady.”

  “I’m on my way, Sir! Günther! Shall you loan me one of your troops to help my wagon escorts bring our horses back here?”

  Two hundred and fifty men of B and G Companies spurred away, accompanied by a troop of Hornissen and thirty or so wagon escorts, all busily checking their weapons. This was as close as they were likely to get to the action, but they had all been trained as Wasps and could live in hope that something might happen to give them a chance.

  When they returned half an hour later, driving the horses, Welbeloved’s worst fears had been realised. Masses of French infantry and cavalry had burst across the Albuera stream in the south and hurled themselves at the amazed Spanish divisions. They were intent on routing them and rushing on to encircle the entire allied position.

  Suddenly, everyone was rushing south. Marshal Beresford was one of the first; galloping to Blake’s Spaniards and pulling them back to form a line at right angles.

  The French cavalry and most of the infantry in front of La Albuera also disengaged and moved south. Welbeloved watched them go. It was a brilliant display of battlefield tactics. From a determined assault on La Albuera, Soult had redirected the attack and almost the whole of his army was hammering at the outnumbered Spaniards holding the right wing.

  Stewart and Cole recovered their battalions from the village and Stewart’s division moved south in support. Cole was left in reserve without orders, presumably to support the King’s German Legion, left holding the village against a couple of enemy brigades.

  Welbeloved and the Hornissen stayed with him, waiting to see where the squadrons could be used to best effect.

  * * *

  Colonel Lord George Vere and the British and Spanish companies of Hornets reached the rear of the Spanish division. Commanded by General Zayas, the division was at right angles to its original position and standing in line on the right flank of Ballesteros’ division, each with a front of half a mile.

  A quick word with Zayas, asking permission and Vere led his men through the Spanish ranks and spread them out in skirmishing order, up to fifty yards ahead of the waiting line.

  In the tradition of the Royal Navy and Marines, the men of B Company gave a short but resounding cheer as they emerged from the Spanish ranks. Hickson quickly encouraged his men to do the same and it was echoed enthusiastically in Vivas by the waiting Spaniards.

  The scene before them was daunting. Two enormous columns of French troops were advancing toward the Spanish line and were less than half a mile away. The heads of the columns were now more or less stationary while they deployed into ordre mixte. This was an attempt to combine line with column, producing an enormous T shape and allowing the troops at the head of the T to use their weapons against the waiting line.

  It took a great deal of time to move from column to ordre mixte and in the meantime the French sent in their skirmishers. The ground between the two forces was swarming with voltigeurs and tirailleurs; the specialist skirmishers whose job it was to snipe at the enemy line and quite unsettle them before t
he two main forces clashed.

  The skirmishers were advancing rapidly, trotting forward and jumping over obstacles until they were within range. With a large stationary target; lines of men standing still and stretching for almost a mile; they did not need to aim precisely and would normally start their harassment from as much as two hundred yards, or as far as their musket balls were likely to carry.

  The weapons used by the Hornets could reach much farther than that, but they would be shooting at individual targets and were not inclined to waste ammunition blasting away at random at large masses of men. They waited patiently until the enemy skirmishers came bounding past two hundred and fifty yards, then concentrated on picking out officers and sergeants. With Roberto’s new cartridges, even the newest Vespa with his modified carbine, could hit his man at that distance.

  A very ragged volley opened the proceedings before the French could get within the range of their own muskets. All the tirailleurs and voltigeurs who were not at the front of their companies, realised with an enormous shock that their enemy was using the same tactics as themselves and that they were now the targets. Those in front didn’t realise it, as they were mostly dead or badly wounded.

  It was unheard of. Skirmishers did not fight skirmishers until those sacrés Rosbifs came into Spain. But those soldiers standing in line were not Rosbifs? Somewhere close to a thousand Frenchmen stopped bounding forward and started trying to skirmish.

  It didn’t help much. They had been taught to fire from the standing or kneeling position and then reload in the usual way through the muzzle while still standing or kneeling. To make matters worse, they all wore distinctive tall shakos, so that even kneeling they were a large and obvious target.

  The powder smoke told them where their tormentors were lying, but the most that they could see of them was the size of a man’s head and the drifting powder smoke did not help.

  By the time their line infantry had closed the gap to four hundred yards, any surviving skirmisher in front of the Hornets was flat on the ground and praying for his infantry to come close enough to give him the chance to escape.

  The carbines of the Wasps and Vespas continued to search out the skirmishers, while the riflemen now turned their attention to the great mass of infantry, advancing steadily and already within four hundred yards.

  Young French officers had a practice that never ceased to afford amusement to the British. No doubt proving their valour and elan while exhorting their men to great deeds, they would caper and dance out in front of their companies, often with their hats held up on the points of their swords. They would yell out constantly that the Emperor would reward the bravest and encourage them to greater efforts.

  The riflemen regarded their undoubted courage with the derision reserved for prancing popinjays and thinned them out at an alarming rate. Then the extended heads of the columns were within killing range of the carbine muskets and the slaughter began. French soldiers were falling all along the line, but those behind were just stepping over them and marching stoically onwards.

  The French halted briefly and delivered a volley of shots from perhaps five hundred muskets. It was largely ineffective at two hundred yards, but the smoke from the discharge hid them for several seconds, until the leading ranks had marched through it.

  The Hornets had now done all they could. Another thirty seconds and the French would be treading them underfoot. Vere blew a loud, prolonged blast on his whistle and the two companies slipped away. Addenbrooke took his company through the ranks behind him and Hickson led his men to the right to cover the Spanish flank against any possible cavalry assault.

  They found a furious mêlée taking place between hundreds of French dragoons and mixed Spanish and English horsemen. Nobody was giving any quarter, though it looked as though the allies were badly outnumbered. If the French triumphed, the whole of the rear of the Spanish line could be destroyed.

  Hickson deployed his men in great haste to cover the flank and right rear of the division and raced round to try and find Vere and B Company, filtering back through the Spanish ranks.

  Zayas and Vere had already seen the danger and Addenbrooke and his men joined up with Hickson’s company to put a defensive skirmish line at the rear of the Spanish division. At the same time, Zayas turned about his rear rank to face backwards just as all hell broke loose in front, between the French mixed column and the Spanish line.

  From a distance of forty yards, each side was delivering massed volleys into the other and men were falling in hundreds in both armies. The French had the theoretical advantage of greater numbers, but even in ordre mixte, they couldn’t bring as many muskets to bear.

  Whether G Company’s impromptu musketry training had had any effect or not, the French in front of Zayas’ division were now getting the worst of it, many visibly faltering.

  Through the smoke, Vere had a glimpse of the first units of Stewart’s division coming up in support. A column of redcoats; light infantry by the look of them; was marching down the flank of Ballesteros’ division and continuing down the flank of the attacking French.

  Then there was no more time to watch. The French dragoons had seen off the allied cavalry and it left the way open for a regiment of Polish Lancers to charge into the rear of the Spanish line.

  Vere blew his whistle and all the Hornets let fly while the lancers were still only trotting, three hundred yards distant. They were trying to keep them at a distance. There were far too many to be sure of keeping them out once they got into their stride. A satisfactory number of hits was registered and it had the desired effect. The regiment swerved violently to follow the dragoons who were circling at a distance to get round the rear of the Spanish forces.

  Those French in front of Ballesteros’ division were now being fired upon from the front and the flank. The redcoats had halted, turned into line and were hammering the flank of the French column. Thousands of the enemy had already fallen and the column was visibly staggering.

  Then, the sound of firing diminished almost to nothing. A sudden, unexpected downpour soaked all the powder in the pans and none of the muskets would fire. The Hornets, of course, had their own special canvas covers and could have carried on shooting. After all, they were specialists.

  There was no point as the French column was recoiling and the lull in the firing merely made it less difficult for them.

  The column of British light infantry was not so lucky. Just when they needed their weapons most, the rain denied them and the French cavalry that had circled the rear of the Spanish line, caught them in line, with their backs turned and unable to fire their weapons.

  Well over a thousand were cut down or captured and the hard-pressed French division was given the respite that was needed to let them withdraw. They tried. They only succeeded in getting inextricably mixed with their second column that had been suffering badly from the attentions of Zayas’ men.

  The unfortunate British brigade had occupied all the attention of the French cavalry and as the rain squall moved away, the rest of Stewart’s division arrived to relieve the shattered, but still fighting, Spaniards.

  After such a valiant resistance, the Spanish were by no means willing to retire quietly and many of their young officers approached Hickson to try and make him understand that they were not retreating; that they had been ordered to retire to make way for the British reinforcements.

  Hickson, being ever on the lookout for young officers and suitable recruits for the Spanish companies of the Avispónes, let it be known that there were still openings for any Spanish soldiers willing to submit themselves for intensive training.

  The leading French column had suffered appalling losses in its battle with the Spanish line and the British light infantry. The squall of rain and the cavalry’s rout of the British battalions, gave it the respite to retire and let the second column shoulder the entire burden.

  It was because they had been so close to each other in the approach march, that in many places there was just one g
reat mass of men from both columns mixed together. Great columns of over five thousand men become a gigantic problem when it is required that every man moves to the same position at the same time. When two such columns merge into a large fluid mass and officers and sergeants from many different regiments compete to shout orders all at the same time, chaos can and did ensue.

  This chaos gave the Spaniards time to retire and be replaced by Stewart’s infantry of the line, who were ready to engage at almost the same time as the French second column finally got itself into some sort of order.

  The French outnumbered Stewart’s men by almost two to one, but the British were in line and the French still in this compromise mixed order and still intermingled with soldiers from the first, shattered column. The result was that the British had nearly twice as many muskets in action and the next twenty minutes were probably the bloodiest of the whole battle, with both sides firing volleys into each other at less than thirty yards and Vere’s two companies continuing to contribute from either flank.

  CHAPTER 14

  Welbeloved remained waiting and fretting alongside the Fourth Division. No further orders had come for Cole’s division and its Portuguese battalions had returned from the village, leaving Alten’s K.G.L. light infantry to hold off the two French brigades still attacking it.

  Cole was obviously suffering anguish. The battle seemed to be intensifying to the south and bearing in mind the dubious reputation of the Spanish troops, it was impossible for him to understand why his division was left waiting when they could see Beresford’s aides galloping to Alten and to the Portuguese division farther north.

  Half an hour later, the Portuguese moved south. As soon as they appeared by La Albuera, General Alten took his K.G.L. Brigade and left the village to be disputed by the French and the Portuguese.

  It later transpired that Beresford had ordered the Spanish division closest to La Albuera to relieve the K.G.L., but they were the tag ends of the army thrashed at the Gebora and had refused to move. The Portuguese should also have moved farther south, but were distracted and drawn into the fight for the village.