Can No One Win Battles if I'm Not There

by Geoffrey Watson

  He was content with the arrangement, as the British officer in command was only second-in-command of the regiment and held the same rank as Roffhack. Apparently, the commander, holding Colonel’s rank, had elected to go out when Vere came back from Lisbon. Sheer snobbery of course: he could stomach having to take orders from an English colonel who was also a lord, but not from a German lieutenant colonel who wasn’t.

  It was an attitude that Vere particularly disliked and Roffhack could foresee that the colonel would have a challenging week when he finally presented himself.

  On the other hand, Lieutenant Colonel Stephens had few pretensions. While maintaining a healthy scepticism about all the tales he had heard about the Hornets, he really only wanted three things. He wanted his squadrons not to be disgraced in their behaviour in front of these hardened veterans. He wanted his high-spirited and happy-go-lucky young officers to discover, without too much grief, that they were not better than, or even equal to all the cavalry regiments opposed to them. He wanted his regiment to earn a reputation for gallantry without ostentation – perhaps not easy given the bright blue, green and red uniforms that they were wearing, most of them of recent issue and eye-wateringly vivid.

  The drab-uniformed, abundantly moustached squadrons that were leading them had provoked a certain amount of mirth at first. This had rapidly disappeared when the older and more experienced ones saw how quietly competent and even frightening these brown clad men could be.

  The reconnaissance agreed with General Hill, until they could establish regular sightings of d’Erlon’s forces, was the region east of Badajoz on both banks of the River Guadiana, as far east as the road running north/south between Cáceres, Mérida and Zafra. It was an oblong box of territory, about thirty miles east/west and sixty miles north/south.

  They would split up when they reached the Guadiana near Badajoz and each party would search its own thirty by thirty box.

  The road leading down to Badajoz through Alburquerque led through the typical semi-barren mountain country of the Extremadura; few towns and villages and those often many miles apart.

  These were not large mountains as the Spanish knew them; mostly two to two and a half thousand feet. It was a country of winter torrents that dried to a trickle or nothing at all in the summer, having carved out gorges, or arroyos, as they were known locally.

  The initial part of the journey was by column of troops, with one of the light dragoon troops attached to each Hornet troop and following in their dust.

  The first of the nasty shocks to the light dragoons was the practice of dismounting and jogging alongside their mounts for part of the journey. It kept the horses fresher and kept the men fitter and the light dragoons hated it, even though they were allowed to hang on to the saddles for the first two days.

  The second was not so much a shock as a rather humiliating surprise. They camped early, not too far from the Guadiana and the Hornets set up twenty man-size targets. Under man to man supervision, the light dragoons were given five shots each at twenty-five yards.

  In vain did the officers protest that, as gentlemen, they all used pistols. Everyone had to use a flintlock carbine and the results were appalling. After a demonstration single shot by twenty Hornets, all on target, the rest of the daylight hours were spent overhauling the carbines, polishing the bores and selecting well-fitting balls.

  The Hornissen had received their first twenty-five modified Baker rifles at the end of August. It meant that there were enough of their old carbines available to loan one to each officer and show them the loading sequence.

  Target practice was then carried out every evening until each man stood a chance of ‘killing’ his target four times out of five at twenty-five yards.

  A week later they returned to Portalegre. They had found numbers of the enemy north of the river, in the area of Mérida and Cáceres and had used all their Hornet skills to keep their brightly coloured companions from the view of any enemy scouting parties.

  The following week, shepherding two new squadrons, they already knew the most likely places to search in expectation of finding their French counterparts. Their enterprise was rewarded when they came across a whole company of infantry on a foraging expedition.

  The outcome was not pretty or sporting, but it did drive home to the light dragoons, all the lessons that they had been given about marksmanship.

  Roffhack allowed the brightly coloured light dragoons to show themselves. The French reacted quickly and almost instinctively by forming a protective square, bristling with bayonets.

  At this stage, most sensible cavalry squadrons would have left them alone, but it was almost a routine operation for the Hornets by now. Two of their troops dismounted and approached one side of the square in skirmishing order. They went to ground out of effective range of the French muskets and blasted away most of one of the sides of the square.

  The light dragoons were let loose and charged into the gap created, with strict instructions to accept surrender from everyone that offered it.

  Almost all of them did. Those who offered futile resistance died and were buried with the other victims of the Hornet’s volleys.

  It was nearly the end of their week away and time to return and report. The light dragoons were set to escort their prisoners back, while Roffhack conducted one more sweep, uncluttered by his cavalry friends.

  A and B Squadrons were back from Lisbon when they returned. Roffhack reported on all their adventures in the last fortnight, including mention of all the areas where they had come across enemy forces; mostly foragers. He also mentioned in passing why the commanding colonel of the first regiment had chosen not to take part in the first sweep.

  Being the heir to an earldom and also influenced by Welbeloved’s relaxed, colonial attitude to English class distinctions, Vere was much less tolerant than Roffhack in such matters.

  The colonel was expecting to ride comfortably with Vere while listening condescendingly to explanations on how the Hornets conducted their business. He was quite well rounded from good living and did not expect to be subjected to the same regime that his deputy had reported.

  In this he was correct. It was not the same, it was much more difficult. Perhaps it could be claimed that Vere was a mite sadistic when he insisted on two runs on the first day and the same on the second, but he was the commander of the patrol and had two weeks relaxation in Lisbon to make up for. Having invited the colonel to ride with him, he expected him to run with him as well.

  Quite unashamedly, he used the same well proven method as applied by both Welbeloved and MacKay. There were not that many women attached to the Hornissen baggage train, but those that were, had had the same hard training as the men. One of them was invited to lead the colonel’s horse while he ran alongside clinging to the saddle. She even received a special cheer from the light dragoons as she trotted back to her wagon at the end of the second run, while the colonel dragged his weary body back into the saddle.

  Very little was seen of the enemy by Vere and A Squadron, although, south of the Guadiana, Major Hagen’s squadron did surprise a squadron of hussars and set the light dragoons on them.

  Seeing that they were outnumbered, the hussars disengaged and fled, leaving a dozen casualties and prisoners. Fortunately, the light dragoons remembered the discipline that Vere and Hagen had been preaching all week and responded to the recall after only a short chase. Too often British cavalry would gallop at everything until their horses were exhausted and were too weak to get out of trouble when fresh opponents launched a counter charge. Vere counted this success as a small victory for common sense.

  On the fourth week of sweeps, he brought his men back and went straight to General Hill to report a build-up of troops. Nothing overtly aggressive, but a small division of three or four thousand men occupying Cáceres and spilling out on the roads to Portalegre and Badajoz.

  As he explained to the general. “There is no appearance of an offensive attitude. It is more as if they are making a rec
onnaissance in divisional strength with very little urgency attached to it. Perhaps they are hoping that we have gone away?”

  Hill was amused. “Perhaps they are indeed, but we cannot have them feeling free to march where they please. If it is only a division in and around Cáceres, I am of a mind to try and force an action. D’Erlon should have at least three divisions and the one you have discovered has to be either that of General Girard or General Drouet. Was there any sign of more troops farther to the south?”

  “Major Hagen took B Squadron south of Mérida again, Sir. I have not yet seen him back”

  Hill cocked his head on one side. “Maybe the horses I hear outside signal his return.

  Hagen was shown in. “They told me you had only just returned, Sir. I thought I had better report immediately so that Sir Rowland has a complete picture.” He addressed them both. “Captain Weiss has told me that you have found some French at Cáceres, but there is only company or squadron strength from Mérida to twenty miles south at Almendralejo.

  We managed to capture half-a-dozen prisoners who say they were part of Drouet’s division, deployed twenty miles farther to the east.”

  Hill got to his feet and moved to study a map on a table near the wall. “Those prisoners are just what we needed, Major Hagen. It now appears that General Girard is unsupported with his division around Cáceres.”

  He pulled at the lobe of one of his ears, as if coming to a sudden decision. “I am prepared to move out in the morning with a couple of divisions and some Spanish battalions from their Fifth Army. We shall move towards Cáceres. Shall you be willing to take your command out again and be my eyes, Colonel?”

  “With the greatest pleasure, Sir Rowland. Give us two hours to re-victual ourselves and Heinz Hagen shall go and double check towards Mérida. A Squadron shall be close to Cáceres by dawn and Roffhack and our other two squadrons can follow as soon as they get back from Lisbon. It is perhaps sensible not to encumber ourselves with cavalry squadrons on this occasion.

  * * *

  The present situation was quite normal for the divisions of General Hill’s army. There had now been a relatively long period of relaxation, mostly in hilly surroundings of pleasant beauty. Now, some ten thousand men were urged into rapid movement, eastward towards the enemy. Almost inevitably, as far as the soldiers were concerned, the autumn rains started in earnest at the very same time, with wet days and morning mists in all the valleys.

  General Hill had aroused almost all his army and had the willing assistance of Spanish battalions and cavalry squadrons from the Fifth Army. Near enough ten thousand infantry and two thousand cavalry were storming toward Cáceres, where General Girard and a division of more than four thousand men were being watched by three squadrons of Hornissen, with the fourth squadron thirty miles to the south, keeping watch for Drouet’s missing division.

  Vere had the Hornissen working as invisible eyes and ears for General Hill. They were not there to interfere with French movements; indeed they went out of their way not to be seen; but to try and ensure that Hill could manoeuvre his forces to catch Girard before he could join up with Drouet’s division.

  Naturally, the French were relying on cavalry scouting as usual and the first skirmishing took place between d’Erlon's French and Hill’s advance guard of British horsemen west of Cáceres.

  For one of the first times in the Peninsular, the British reinforcements outnumbered the French cavalry. All the enemy forces probing west along the route to Portalegre recoiled toward Cáceres and began to move south toward Mérida and the bridge over the Guadiana.

  Within hours, Hill had the news from Vere and moved to cut them off, making a detour around Cáceres and the rearguard that the French had left there.

  The weather was miserable, but Vere was positively buoyant. Scouting Hornets were difficult to see at the best of times. When it was raining and they were wrapped in their mud-coloured riding cloaks, enemy sentries would be fortunate to see them at twenty yards.

  Halfway down the road to Mérida, Girard left the road and moved his division east into the hills for the night and settled his forces in a village with the magnificent title of Arroyomolinos de Montánchez; literally the village with the mills in the gorge leading from the heights and small town of Montánchez.

  Vere surveyed what he could of the area with amazement. Girard could have very little idea that the British were within twenty miles. Either that or he was relying on the weather and the terrain to hide his division in this arroyo.

  Circling the area to make sure that the rain had not deceived him, Vere galloped back to find Hill, leaving Roffhack to deploy his three squadrons to cover the three main tracks out of the village and gorge.

  Hill and his divisions had been struggling across country through some wild hills and mountain marshes and were more than ten miles away when he found them. They were already making a bivouac for the night, but the opportunity Vere painted was not to be wasted. He led them on a wet, miserable, forced march until just before midnight, when they reached the village of Alcuéscar, some three miles short of the arroyo. There they rested for two hours while he described the area for Hill.

  “From this village where we are now, Sir Rowland, the village that the French occupy is due east, over that ridge, down into another arroyo that runs parallel with the French one. Cross the shallow River Aljucén and ascend the next ridge to view the Arroyomolinos about half a mile downstream of the village.

  An attack from there ought to drive the French either up the arroyo to the heights of Montánchez or force them to take a couple of difficult climbs over the ridge to the east.

  Should you need your cavalry to support the attack, they shall need to travel south-east for five miles to the confluence of the Arroyomolinos stream and the River Aljucén and shall need to start an hour before your infantry.

  At this moment, the Hornets are guarding the ways out, over the ridge and at Montánchez. If I may concentrate them at Montánchez I can undertake to hold it until whatever force you may spare shall relieve us.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. Your help has been quite simply invaluable. Go back to your men and put a cork in the upper part of the arroyo.

  I shall set my forces in motion immediately and when formed, I shall attack as soon as there is light enough to see. Be patient with us. If the rain has stopped by dawn you may wager on a dense fog. That may favour us and enable us to get close enough to surprise them, or they shall hear our approach and stand to arms.

  Whatever happens, they shall be confused and that is to our advantage. Do not expect to see much action before daybreak. I hate having to fight in the dark.

  * * *

  General Hill was quite correct. The rain stopped in the early hours and the hills were smothered in thick fog. Two infantry columns, having rested for a couple of hours after their forced march across difficult country, set out to scramble over two craggy ridges and form up on the road south of the village.

  It was only three miles, but it took the leading troops over three hours to cover the ground and the first glimmerings of dawn were showing before all the regiments were formed up, ready for the attack, on the road south of the village.

  The whole army was really doing its best to be silent; or as silent as thousands of men could be, who were stumbling about on a dark, foggy, wet, mountain road in the middle of the night. However, they did try and were successful enough that they could hear the French army rising before dawn only a short distance away, making so much noise of their own that they were supremely unaware of the danger lurking close at hand.

  It was just light enough to see when two regiments of infantry at the head of one of the columns, charged into the village, catching the French completely by surprise. Not even a vedette had been placed, so confident were they.

  The god of war was today wholly on the side of the allies, as the dense fog, as if by prearranged signal, lifted sufficiently for them to see what they were about.

  Very few of the Fr
ench were actually still in the village. For the last two hours they had been preparing to march away. They were formed up in two columns just outside the village, waiting to move off.

  The sudden appearance and the ringing cheers of the British infantry as they charged into the village, threw the columns into a panic. Bugles were blown. Orders were shouted and it was clear that they expected cavalry to be unleashed on them from the start, catching them exposed in column.

  Their drill was excellent; well practised and fast. Within five minutes they had formed themselves into squares and stood ready to defy the cavalry.

  The cavalry had not yet arrived and the Seventy-First Regiment lined the edge of the village and poured volley after volley into the squares, while the Ninety-Second ran out onto their flanks and formed line with muskets ready.

  French cavalry units then appeared to present the Ninety-Second line with a major problem, but allied horsemen had finally found their way through in numbers and a smart charge put the French horse to flight.

  The enemy infantry was not yet in full panic. Certainly they moved away as quickly as they could up the arroyo, but they moved in their battalions, in quick or double time and were ready to turn and fight if challenged closely.

  While all this had been taking place, General Hill’s second column had avoided the village entirely and slipped quietly past, forming lines of battalions alongside the retreat.

  When they were all in position, that was the time when it became every man for himself. A few hundred in the van, who had not been overhauled by the second column, ran for their lives up the arroyo towards Montánchez. They threw down their weapons and surrendered with alacrity when their leading men were wiped out by blistering fire from the Hornets.

  Only a few hundred managed to escape by climbing and scrambling up the rocky slopes and over the ridge into the hills. Many of those failed to survive the attentions of the local guerrilleros, thoughtfully warned to be prepared in advance by Roffhack.