Three brown clouds of German Hornissen moved out in double time in front of the red-coated line of infantry, each squadron making for a different column of French infantry. The fat Portuguese column remained in position, guarding the right flank from attack by cavalry. In military terms it was an almost perfect setting for a defensive attack; if such a term might be used; with the advantage to the troops that were in line, as against the French three columns that were advancing more quickly.
All that was missing from the French attack was Napoleon’s daughters; the battle-winning cannon beloved of the Emperor. Welbeloved guessed that they were all in action in support of the divisions that were the first to open the assault.
He was wrong! No sooner had the though crossed his mind than he caught a glimpse of a troop of three guns; a small battery; galloping alongside the column on his left.
This was a complication he could well do without. Those guns could stand off, beyond the range of any of Cole’s muskets and riddle his line with grapeshot. More to the immediate point, any of his own men inside the spread of the shot, were also likely to be hit. It wouldn’t be intentional; grapeshot was rarely personal, it liked to share its effects generally and generously.
Even the carbines carried by the Hornissen would probably be outranged. Because Roffhack’s men had been leaning towards the idea of cavalry/infantry rather than skirmishing infantry who rode horses, like the rest of the Hornets, he had so far directed the still meagre supplies of modified Baker rifles toward the British and Portuguese companies as a matter of greater priority. In the Hornissen, only Roffhack, Hagen and the four captains carried Bakers and all of them were leading their companies into action.
Then he grinned. He, Roffhack and Hagen were leading the three companies and the captains were acting as their shooting partners. He turned to Fischer. “Otto, there is a three-gun battery galloping into position on the right flank of those columns. Yew, Weiss and Müller have the only rifles that can be spared to deal with it. Take yor two colleagues to that small mound over on the left. Even if they are not within killing range, I am content that yew may keep them quiet.”
Fischer yelled for Weiss on his right and they collected Müller on their way to the small knoll that Welbeloved had indicated.
The three companies of skirmishers had by now advanced to within the killing range of their carbines. All of them made a leisurely selection of the best positions available and vanished from the sight of the advancing columns, leaving them with the chilling prospect of the long line of redcoats, still a quarter of a mile distant, but marching towards them at a measured pace, not slowly, but not as fast as their normal marching step.
The heads of the French columns had stopped moving forward. Instead, they were each deploying outwards as the following files caught up with the fronts of the columns. They had left it very late to deploy; almost too late. Whether the unusual sight of five hundred brown-clad skirmishers had affected the judgement of their commanders, it was impossible to say.
When they finally came face to face with the line of redcoats, they would still be at a disadvantage, gun for gun, but the odds looked possibly less than the five to one that Welbeloved had forecast.
Welbeloved’s whistle blast was echoed by Roffhack and Hagen. Clouds of powder smoke rose all along the front and each shot was personal, aimed to kill or disable.
It was strange that it worked out that each French column had deployed about the same number of men across its front as there were in the three squadrons of skirmishing Hornets and that was when the Hornets opened fire.
The French wouldn’t open fire until their visible enemies; the redcoats; were less than a hundred yards away. They would not fire at the skirmishers at all. Skirmishers were an irritant to be endured until the lines came to close quarters. In any case, hardly any of the line infantry was trained to shoot at individual targets, even if they could see them.
They hadn’t met skirmishers like this before. They found that it was suicide to stand in the deployed line. Men were falling faster than the thousands pushing forward in the columns could replace. There was no further advance. They just struggled to maintain the semblance of a line, while the redcoats inexorably closed the quarter mile gap.
The only relief they had was momentary, when the line of redcoats closed to a hundred and fifty yards, having marched past, over and around all the Hornets. The skirmishing ceased and the scarlet line marched grimly on.
The Redcoats advanced steadily to within fifty yards. In the few seconds between the cessation of the sniping and the halting of the British line, the French rushed as many men into line as they could.
Then the slaughter began. Both sides blasted at each other, volley after volley, from a distance of no more than thirty paces in some parts. Bodies piled up on top of each other and neither side would give way.
Welbeloved led the Hornissen back to their horses. The three captains rejoined, looking most self satisfied, having killed most of the gunners at over four hundred yards and completely silenced the battery.
The squadrons ranged themselves alongside Harvey’s column of Portuguese, who continued their advance along the flank of the left-hand French column. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The mass of men marched steadily alongside the French, who were bravely maintaining a vicious firefight against impossible odds.
The column was halted, dressed, turned to face the French and ordered to present their muskets to deliver the first volley.
It was twenty minutes since the French and the British had commenced firing upon each other and the first volley from the Portuguese into their flank was the signal for the French to break. The survivors of nearly six thousand men of General Werlé’s brigade fled the field, leaving a third of their number dead and wounded in heaps over a very small area.
Only the Portuguese battalions were in any condition to pursue and they were recalled when Soult lined up dozens of cannon across the Albuera stream.
The flight of Werlé’s brigade was the turning point. All the rest of the French retreated, even the brigade that was making headway through the village itself. Welbeloved’s theory that Soult was unaware that Blake’s Spaniards has already joined the allied army proved to have been correct.
It had been a bloody and pitiless encounter. Soult’s tactics had been masterly and deserved greater success. Success that might have been his if the Spaniards of Blake, Ballesteros and Zayas had not stood as firm as rocks against his best infantry and cavalry.
If the sheer bloody-mindedness of the British Redcoats in Stewart’s division had not made them continue fighting, when some of their own commanders thought they were beaten.
Soult lost nearly a third of his fighting force and retreated toward Andalucia to recover, losing another three hundred and fifty of his cavalry on the way, to a clever ambush by Lumley’s British cavalry, who were shadowing their retreat.
The unwise use of columns; even columns in ordre mixte; resulted in greater losses overall for the French. Even so, over four thousand British were lost, together with nearly fifteen hundred Spanish and four hundred Portuguese. It was a defeat for the French, though at a cost to the victors such that Wellington was later reported to have said that many more such victories would see the end of the British army in Spain.
The Hornissen had survived with hardly a scratch, largely thanks to the extinction of the gun battery by the three captains. The other two companies had been less fortunate. Two men were dead from each company and another five wounded, including Captain Addenbrooke. He had a ball in his shoulder that seemed likely to deprive him of the use of his left arm, if he survived. Lieutenant Colston was appointed to the temporary rank of captain of B Company, pending Addenbrooke’s recovery, or otherwise.
CHAPTER 15
Wellington returned to Elvas three days after the battle of La Albuera, bringing Picton’s and Houston’s Third and Seventh Divisions with him. The losses during the battle had been so appalling that Beresford had s
hown all the signs of an imminent breakdown. Wellington had lost no time in sending him back to his post in Lisbon as Head of Organisation, Recruiting and Training of the Portuguese army.
His report on the battle was so dominated by his losses that it read very like a defeat and had to be rewritten by one of Wellington’s aides, to show it as the victory that it undoubtedly was.
A pyrrhic victory was how many people described it, but for the French it was a defeat that had cost Soult nearly a third of his army. Perhaps more importantly, it had been a battle between the previously almost invincible French and a mixed army of British, Portuguese, Spanish and German allies under the command of a general who was not Wellington.
That fact alone should have been a dreadful warning to the whole of the French army. A mixture of four different armies, standing in defence, in line, had repelled a French army using the French system and led by one of Napoleon’s foremost marshals. The French tactics had been brilliant, but they had met with mulish stubbornness from the British, which was expected, but also equal stubbornness from two of the Spanish divisions, all of which had denied Soult a victory.
Discussing the role played by the Hornets and the enthusiastic endorsements from Cole and Zayas, Welbeloved was amazed at Wellington’s bitter criticism of the Spanish and only grudging acknowledgement of the part played by Blake, Ballesteros and Zayas with their divisions.
The single refusal to move by the survivors of Gebora had been exaggerated by some of the English commanders as an excuse for the appalling losses that they had suffered and Wellington had not been unwilling to listen to them, possibly for political reasons. It provided the government at home with arguments to counter the inevitable attacks by the Whigs on everything to do with the war in the Peninsular and the commander-in-chief in particular.
Never one to mince his words, Welbeloved spoke out. “I am gratified, My Lord, for yor tribute to the achievements of my men. As yew have not yet had my own report, yor information must have been derived from Cole, Ballesteros, and Zayas and I am naturally grateful to them.
It is therefore, more than usually unfortunate that the other reports that yew have been given on the conduct of the two Spanish divisions appear to have fallen so far short of the actual truth. I do not speak of the troops under Castaños, but I am convinced that, but for the fortitude of the other two divisions, the result of the battle could have been quite otherwise.”
Wellington’s expression had changed from cheerful congratulation to thunderous. He took his time before he replied. Time to reflect on his respect for the man who was criticising his sources. “Nothing you have done so far has given me cause for anything but admiration and respect, Welbeloved. What you now tell me is that those divisions did not in fact need to be rescued and taken out of the fighting for fear of them running away.
Consider that they were the first to be attacked and that their casualties were only fifteen hundred. The British and Portuguese divisions that relieved them lost three times that number. That alone justifies the criticism.”
He glared at Welbeloved as if the matter was closed, daring him to continue the argument. Welbeloved looked quizzical.
“Consider, My Lord that Zayas’ division had two companies of Hornets skirmishing for it and that their line fought a larger French division to a standstill, inflicting many more casualties than they took. They were also attacked in the rear by French cavalry and fought them off as well. They did not ask to be withdrawn and it was only because the column that they were fighting was recoiling from their fire that a successful changeover was achieved with Stewart’s division.
Soult acted quite brilliantly in sending nearly all his army against the Spaniards on our right wing and they held him long enough to ensure that Stewart could arrive in support. Then, when Cole thrashed Werlé’s column, Soult packed up and went away.”
Wellington was still frowning, but his tone was more conciliatory. “You make an admirable advocate for our Spanish allies, Sir Joshua. I have to admit that Ballesteros told me something very similar, but then Castaños also bragged about how steady his troops had been, when they didn’t engage the enemy at all and refused to move when ordered to do so.
This gave me no confidence in anything else they said and I must now apparently, be much more diplomatic about it in my despatches to London.”
He relaxed into joviality. “Talking of Cole’s masterly intervention, he claims that although he was acting without orders; for which I commend him; he did so because you witnessed one of Beresford’s aides being taken by the French. No doubt that is possible, although Beresford cannot recall mislaying one of his staff?”
Welbeloved’s eyes crinkled with amusement, although his face assumed an expression of shocked amazement. “How can that be, My Lord? His aides were galloping all over the battlefield and the French cavalry were everywhere. Certainly, Sir William shall have sent for Cole. I doubt the battle should have been won without him.”
Wellington feigned exasperation. “You insist on telling me that you had no hand in this decision, Sir Joshua?”
Welbeloved smiled innocently. “Lowry Cole is an experienced senior officer and he made the right decision. We agreed that what I had seen must have been the aide with his orders being intercepted and he was grateful when I offered the Hornets to guard against the French cavalry while he advanced in line, which was really his only option. Other than that, nothing should be taken away from his battle-winning decision, made at exactly the right time.”
Wellington stared at him for ages without blinking. “Thank you, Sir Joshua, for speaking so frankly. Without question, I have a much clearer picture now of certain aspects of the battle that were a little obscure. It is time now to speak of other things.
You shall certainly be aware of how well MacKay and his men served me at Fuentes de Oñoro. I understand that he has been with you since the siege of Acre in ’99? That should explain why he is so competent yet so exasperating and wanting in respect for some of his senior officers.”
“Indeed, My Lord, it is something that I have been bringing to his attention for more than ten years now. I fear that he is irremediably set in his strange Scottish ways.”
“I was thinking more in terms of rebellious ex-colonials, Welbeloved, but let it lie. I have charged him with an embassy to the Spanish army in Galicia, such as it is.
The general there goes under the name of Santocildes and has a conscript and largely untrained army of about twenty thousand, mostly in garrison, but with a few squadrons of horse. I have asked MacKay to take a couple or three companies and go and see if he can stir him into life.
Masséna has been replaced by Marmont, who is going to have to reorganise his army before he can be much of a threat to anyone, but Masséna did it in a few weeks and I shall not wager that Marmont shall not be as quick.
At any event, I want Santocildes to threaten the north of Spain and keep Marmont and Bessières, with his Army of the North, out of our way. MacKay is to offer his help and talk him into doing something.”
“Yes, My Lord. Pom brought me a despatch from MacKay. He has taken one of the Portuguese companies and has sent to Santiago del Valle for the British and Spanish companies there to join him. I am replacing them with B Company and G Company from here. They have to rest and make up their losses after the recent battle and the Spanish one of the two is taking two or three hundred Spanish recruits and half a dozen young officers with them. With any luck, enough of them shall survive the training programme to give us an extra company of Avispas.
Apparently Zayas was so impressed with the improvements that our lads made to his men’s marksmanship and so incensed that his division was taken out of the action, that he has encouraged many of his men to volunteer for selection and training with the Hornets.
He does want all our rejects back though. He’s promised all of them a step up in rank, even if they are not quite good enough to be Hornets.”
Wellington looked thoughtful. “Pom tells
me that Gonçalves has sent Dodds back to Oporto to train some Portuguese recruits. Together with your new Spaniards, does that suggest that you shall have enough for a Portuguese and a Spanish battalion in addition to the Germans and your original British?”
“Not unless yew are prepared to countenance a battalion of only two companies, or perhaps three if the Spanish training goes well, My Lord. We have been fortunate so far with the quality of the men who can be trained up to our standards.
The difficulties we have, come when we look for suitable young officers. So much more is expected of them than from the men they have to lead and those men are probably better soldiers than say, most of the lieutenants in our army.
It is much more difficult for the Spanish and Portuguese companies. Most of the officers from those nations have come from their decadent aristocracy, which has now lost all the talent that made their conquistador ancestors great.
If we can find two or three officers from these Spaniards and Gonçalves accepts a couple of the hopefuls in Oporto, I can give yew two small battalions of about four hundred men. They shall both still have only two companies, but they shall be of five platoons and their platoon strength shall increase to forty men.”
“That does sound like the best arrangement that can be achieved for the present, Sir Joshua. Shall you require any recommendation from me to the Admiralty, to increase your command? They are paying for your brigade after all and Parliament is never over-generous with their appropriations.”
“Any word from yew, My Lord, shall be valuable, but may I suggest that it be done unofficially, in correspondence with Admiral Harrison. He manages our affairs almost outside the control of the Admiralty, but should certainly welcome ‘private’ letters from yew. He could produce them in confidence to keep our detractors quiet and the Admiralty sweet.”
“It shall be done as you suggest. Now, I am concerned that Soult shall be back as soon as he has collected more troops. I am detaching General Hill with my Second and Fourth Divisions, together with the cavalry and the Spaniards. He shall keep watch for French interference while we get on with besieging Badajoz.
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