Salamanca, 1812

by Rory Muir

  Evidently one of Marmont's problems was that he lacked moral authority over his subordinates. He was younger than all his generals of division except Foy; his promotion was widely attributed to the Emperor's favour rather than merit; and he had never led an army to victory in battle. This produced a curious mixture of hesitation and uncertainty, combined with a natural confidence, even arrogance. Hence his foolish parade in front of the position at San Cristobal, and the council of war at which he favoured, or at least appeared to favour, a suicidal assault on the British position. Confident generals do not usually call councils of war, and Marmont's real purpose may have been less to seek advice than to implicate the army's generals in a decision not to attack, even if it meant risking the loss of the garrisons of the Salamanca forts – something which would certainly anger Napoleon. In the event the loss of the garrisons and the retreat to the Duero caused discontent within the army, adding to the pressure on Marmont. Eager for a victory or some triumph to establish his authority more securely, he was too wise to attack the allied positions directly, whether on the Duero or the Guarena. Relying instead on manoeuvres, he appeared on the night of 21 July to be on the point of achieving his objective of forcing Wellington to abandon Salamanca and retreat back to the Portuguese frontier; the campaign would be a success, and it might gain additional éclat if he could strike a blow at the allied rearguard.

  Marmont's subordinates were not easily impressed, for they were enormously experienced while still being fairly youthful. Of the six generals of division present with the army, the youngest was the 37-year-old Foy, and the oldest was Sarrut, who was forty-seven. All had joined the army at the beginning of the Revolutionary Wars or before, so that they each had nearly twenty years' experience of active service. None had been whisked up the ladder of promotion by a powerful patron as Marmont had, rather they had risen more slowly through a combination of merit, experience and long service; but by 1812 most were barons or counts of the Empire, and had often received other instances of Napoleon's largesse.

  General Clausel (not General Bonnet) was the most senior of the divisional commanders.18 He was two years older than Marmont and in the Revolutionary Wars had served in the Pyrenees, in Italy (at Novi, 1799) and at Santo Domingo under Leclerc. Returning home, he had been shipwrecked and spent some time in the United States. He had been made a general of division as early as 18 December 1802 and had held posts in Holland, Italy and Dalmatia, serving under Marmont in the Austrian campaign of 1809. He had then been transferred to Spain and had commanded a division in Junot's corps in Masséna's invasion of Portugal. Clausel has been much praised, both by contemporaries and by historians; Thiers is among the most lavish:

  General Clausel was young, vigorous both in mind and body, without much experience, it is true, and frequently careless, but imperturbably self-possessed, by turns cool and impetuous, keen-sighted on the battlefield, and although he had never … commanded in chief, as well fitted to bear the anxieties of such a position as the most experienced officer; esteemed by the soldiers on account of his valour, and loved by them on account of his bonhomie, he was the only one of their officers qualified to retain their obedience, and preserve their discipline by severity, without causing them to revolt.

  He ultimately rose to be a marshal of France in 1831.19

  Bonnet was four years older than Clausel, but eight months junior in rank. The son of a pastry cook, he had enlisted as a private soldier in 1786. In 1793 he lost his left eye at Hondschoote and was made a provisional general of brigade the following year. He fought at Hohenlinden in 1800 and at many other actions, but gained a reputation for a violent temper and a taste for plunder. He and his division had served in Biscay and Asturias since 1808. It was a frustrating command, but one which gave him considerable independence.

  Foy was the youngest of the generals, but he had joined the Army of the North as a lieutenant as early as 1792, when he was seventeen. Since then he had seen much varied service, including spells as chief of staff of a division and – in 1805 – of Marmont's corps, as well as taking part in Sebastiani's diplomatic mission to Constantinople in 1807. He had seen much service against the British in the Peninsula, including Vimeiro, Coruña, Oporto and Busaco. Masséna, faced with the Lines of Torres Vedras, sent him back to France to explain the problem to Napoleon, who was sufficiently impressed by the messenger to make Foy a general of division, even though Foy had voted against both the life consulate and the Empire. In politics Foy was a liberal, and like many liberals he rallied to Napoleon's cause in 1815 and fought at Waterloo. His long involvement in the Peninsula and his excellent diary make him a favourite French general for many British historians.

  General Maucune, commander of the 5th Division, was quite a different type. In the course of the Revolutionary Wars he had been shot in the left leg, wounded in the right arm by a bayonet thrust, shot in both thighs and again in the right foot, together with another unspecified wound. His medical record was further extended under the Empire when he was sent to the Peninsula: his right thigh was shattered at Santiago (23 May 1809) and yet again at Busaco, and he was hit twice more at Fuentes de Oñoro, after which his conspicuous bravery was rewarded by promotion to general of division. There is a vivid picture of him in the memoirs of Colonel Girard, the chief of staff of the 5th Division, who describes him as a bully who was determined to intimidate his subordinates and whose foul temper was notorious throughout the army. Girard's memoirs are far from reliable – they are complete with verbatim dialogue in which he always has the last word – but the picture of the general is convincing. Marmont is equally scathing about Maucune in his memoirs, blaming him for endangering his division by advancing too far on the morning of 17 July, ‘however it was Maucune's nature never to wait a moment before marching on the enemy.’20 Plainly Marmont has every reason to emphasize Maucune's impetuosity and disobedience, for they were central to his explanation of the disaster of the 22nd; but still, they accord with other descriptions of Maucune.

  The remaining generals are rather less interesting. Ferey had joined the army in 1788 and seen much action including Marengo and Austerlitz, where he commanded a brigade in Vandamme's division of Soult's corps. He had taken an active part in Masséna's invasion of Portugal, and his brigade had suffered much at the hands of the Light Division at Busaco. Oman links him with Maucune as a fire-eater, always urging action.21 The last of the generals of division was Sarrut, the oldest at forty-seven. He had distinguished himself in the early days of the Revolutionary Wars, but promotion had come slowly, for he was not made a general of brigade until 1803. He had commanded a brigade in Merle's division of Reynier's corps in the invasion of Portugal.

  Two of the French infantry divisions were commanded by brigadiers. Thomières, who commanded the 7th Division in place of Souham, had served throughout the Revolutionary Wars, first on the Spanish front and then in Italy where he took part in Napoleon's first campaigns. He also had some staff experience, including under Lannes in 1806–7, and had been at both Vimeiro and Coruña. Brigadier Taupin, who acted in place of Brennier, was another veteran of the Revolutionary Wars. When Marmont enforced his unpopular order requisitioning officers' supplementary horses, Taupin called his officers together in a village church.

  He ascended the pulpit and thundered against the abuse of horses in the infantry: he would make an end of all baggage carried on mules or asses, but most especially of officers' riding horses. ‘Gentlemen,’ he cried, ‘in 1793 we were allowed a haversack as our only baggage, a stone as our only pillow.’ Well – it was a long time since 1793: we were in 1812, and the speaker, this old and gallant soldier, had six baggage mules to himself.22

  The senior ranks of the allied army present a reverse image of the French, with an immensely experienced general at the head, but surprisingly little experience among his immediate subordinates. Wellington was now forty-three years old, and his first independent command of an army was twelve years before. His victories in India have often been
discounted both by contemporaries and historians: the context is too unfamiliar and the disproportion of the contending forces seems swollen beyond belief, as if strayed from the pages of Herodotus or Arrian. But Wellington had gained more than a reputation and a modest fortune in India: he had learnt to plan a campaign with unusual thoroughness, to handle an army under difficult conditions and to seize a fleeting opportunity to strike hard at the enemy. Since his return from India he had commanded a division in the Copenhagen Expedition and then been given the command of the small army sent to drive the French out of Portugal. The most striking aspect of this campaign, until it was overshadowed by the controversy surrounding his supersession and the Convention of Cintra, was Wellington's confidence, his refusal to be intimidated by the French and his deft handling of his troops. These qualities were again in evidence on his return to Portugal in April 1809: his aggressive assumption of the offensive against Soult at Oporto and the bold decision to advance into Spain. Talavera was a costly and ultimately barren victory, but it proved that well-handled British troops were equal or superior to good French infantry in battle. The defeat of Austria turned Wellington's attention to the defence of Portugal, despite the widespread opinion in his army that the task was hopeless. The result proved not only his ingenuity, thoroughness and breadth of judgment, but also his strength of character. The long months waiting for the French to begin their advance, and then Masséna's unexpected ability to hold his ground, first at Sobral, then at Santarem, placed an immense strain on the allied commander. Reward came with the rapid pursuit of Masséna's tattered army in the first weeks of spring, but the rest of 1811 proved disappointing as the French thwarted his attempts to take the frontier fortresses. Their fall, in the early months of 1812, reflected Wellington's careful planning and a willingness to pay a high price if the objective warranted it. No one predicted that the carnage in the breaches of Badajoz would be quite as terrible as it was, but after the failed sieges of 1811 no one expected it to fall easily.

  Wellington was a carefully calculating general. He could be very bold, as he showed at Oporto and, in a different way, in his advance to Talavera; and he could be very patient, as he showed when facing Masséna. He did not fight unless he thought he could win, and that he would gain from the victory. He had never yet been defeated in battle, nor had he been manoeuvred into a position where he had no choice but to fight at a disadvantage, and for the last three years he had been facing some of the finest generals in the French army.

  The successful defence of Portugal and the capture of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz had firmly established Wellington's authority in the army, but even his greatest admirers were puzzled and unhappy at his refusal to attack Marmont at San Cristobal and the subsequent course of the campaign. A number of reasons have been suggested to explain Wellington's caution. At the time Captain Tomkinson wondered if ‘orders from England might be to avoid an action if not prudent’.23 We now know that this is not true: Wellington's instructions gave him complete discretion in the conduct of his operations. However, Wellington may have been influenced by the very uncertain state of British politics at the time. The Prime Minister, Spencer Perceval, had been assassinated on 11 May; an attempt to carry on the government under Lord Liverpool had been defeated; several weeks of intense but fruitless political negotiations then followed, before Liverpool was confirmed in office on 8 June. His government was very weak at first and strenuous efforts to bring Canning into the ministry failed. Wellington had learnt of Perceval's assassination by 9 June, when he told Liverpool: ‘You have undertaken a most gigantic task, and I don't know how you will get through it.’24 He did not learn of Liverpool's confirmation in office until 29 June, that is until after the stand-off at San Cristobal and the fall of the Salamanca forts. In his congratulations to the new Prime Minister, he admitted that he had expected that the crisis would end with the Opposition coming to power and it is clear that he thought – quite correctly – that the new government's hold on office was still tenuous.25 Given that, until the spring of 1811, the Opposition had vehemently criticized both the commitment to the Peninsula and Wellington personally, and had then been converted only to a tepid, half-hearted support for the war, it is reasonable to assume that the thought that they might already be in office made Wellington more cautious at San Cristobal, especially as he had been stung by the taunt that at Talavera he had fought a useless battle in order to gain a peerage. Even when he knew that Liverpool's government had survived a vote of confidence in the Commons, he could have no faith that the ministry's majority would survive the shock of bad news, such as the defeat of the army in Spain. Wellington very seldom allowed political considerations to influence the conduct of his operations, but in June and July 1812 they were a powerful argument on the side of caution.

  However, there were other, equally substantial arguments. Wellington had no wish to fight a battle if a victory would bring glory but no tangible reward. He knew, although Marmont did not, that King Joseph was preparing large reinforcements for the French army. These troops would more than make up for the damage suffered in a partial defeat. To be useful, a victory would have to break Marmont's army completely and remove it from the balance of forces in central Spain, giving the allies the unchecked initiative and opening the road to Madrid. Wellington was still happy to fight in a defensive position, where the risk of defeat was minimal and where there was the possibility that a failed French attack would open the way for a devastating counterattack; but he would not risk much without the hope of substantial, lasting gains.26

  Underlying these calculations was another consideration: Wellington knew that his army could successfully hold and defend a position as it had done at Busaco and Fuentes; he was less certain of its ability to attack over open ground. The critical point at the battle of Talavera occurred in the centre of the allied line. Sherbrooke's division, including the Guards and two brigades of the King's German Legion, had been the object of the main French attack. The allies drove back the first wave of French troops, but were too impetuous and carried their counterattack too far, becoming disordered. As a consequence they were easy prey for the French reserves, and Wellington had only narrowly managed to stem this second attack by scraping together all his uncommitted forces.27 It was this impetuosity and ill-discipline which gave him cause for anxiety. It had cost the cavalry petty disasters at Campo Mayor (25 March 1811) and, recently, at Maguilla (11 June 1812), when an initial victory had been transformed into a rout; and no one could be sure that it would not equally affect the infantry. After the battle Charles Cathcart wrote home to General Graham:

  Lord W. has now seen that a British Army can attack as well as defend a position and I trust will in future place that confidence in them they so justly deserve. This is the first attack he has made and He was before this Trial afraid that their Impetuosity would be too great and render them unmanageable, the result has however proved the contrary.28

  An engineer officer attached to the Fourth Division confirms the point, writing after the battle:

  Lord Wellington has at length done what we have so long been wishing him to do, that is, attack the enemy; and it has been attended with the greatest success, as you will see by his Lordship's despatch. He had always expressed himself as afraid of the impetuosity of the British troops in attack, carrying them forward in disorder after the first driving of the enemy, and giving them the only chance they can possibly have of defeating us. The result of this last action near Salamanca has given our army a character of which many thought they were not deserving – that of the highest state of discipline and attention to their officers in the heat of action; which, with their very superior coolness and courage, has enabled them completely to defeat and drive before them a French army of nearly 50,000 men, in nearly as quick time as they could walk over the ground.29

  Wellington was an extremely self-reliant general, forming his own opinion and little inclined to consult, let alone to depend on, the advice of others. There was no grey e
minence whispering in his ear, and he did not tolerate presumption or interference. This self-sufficiency was fortunate, for in July 1812 the senior ranks of the army were remarkably thin. George Murray, the able and efficient Quartermaster-General, had returned home at the beginning of the year, and his place was still being temporarily filled by his deputy, Lieutenant-Colonel De Lancey. The Adjutant-General's office was also vacant: Charles Stewart, Castlereagh's half-brother, had left the army in April 1812, leaving Lieutenant-Colonel Waters to act as head of the department. De Lancey and Waters were experienced officers and quite capable of executing the routine business of their office, but had no wider influence on operations.

  The senior officer most in Wellington's confidence was undoubtedly Sir William Beresford, who had reorganized and re-trained the Portuguese army so successfully, but whose mistakes and failure of nerve at Albuera had irretrievably damaged his reputation as a fighting general. Wellington had a high opinion of him, while recognizing his limitations. After Albuera Beresford had suffered a breakdown, but had now largely recovered: Wellington kept him by his side, and throughout the campaign Beresford constantly urged caution and the avoidance of risk. This greatly frustrated Wellington's personal staff, who were overflowing with confidence and eager for action, and there is a story that Ulysses Burgh, one of Wellington's senior ADCs, met Beresford soon after the decision to attack had been made and said, ‘Well, we are going to attack at last, and you can't prevent it.’30 But if Beresford's moral courage was questionable, his physical bravery in action was undoubted: he had been slightly wounded on 18 July, while he would show considerable coolness under fire on the 22nd.

  Beresford's status in the army was rather controversial, for while his rank in the British army was relatively low, his position as a marshal of the Portuguese army gave him a claim – which was deeply resented – to seniority over all the British generals except Wellington. This only added to the concern of the British government about who would replace Wellington if he was disabled – a question which was further complicated by Wellington's own lack of seniority in the British army list and by his distaste for having a second-in-command. The problem was temporarily solved when Sir Thomas Graham joined the field army from Gibraltar in August 1811, for he was widely liked and respected, and he acted as commander of the First Division and only incidentally as the most senior British general in the army after Wellington. However, an eye ailment forced him to leave the army at the beginning of July, which left Sir Stapleton Cotton, the commander of the cavalry, as the next most senior officer. Even Wellington, who approved Cotton's dependability compared to that of more adventurous cavalry commanders, admitted that he was ‘not exactly the person I should select to command an army’.31 Opinion in the army was more forth-right: