Salamanca, 1812
Page 14
There are many other versions, with biographers and historians often introducing variations of their own either inadvertently or to make their narratives flow more smoothly. Some have Wellington on the Lesser Arapile, some behind the village; Napier has him taking a siesta! Others make him remark, ‘Mon cher Alava, Marmont est perdu!’, or combine incidents from several different versions into a composite, ignoring the inconsistencies which result. Young and Lawford worry that ‘there was no conceivable viewpoint from which Wellington could both eat his lunch and see the French’, but the story is too entertaining and too well attested for such quibbles to carry much conviction. Of course, we will never know exactly what happened, let alone the precise words Wellington used. Such anecdotes always lie in the debatable borderland between verifiable fact and the reconstructions of memory; they contain a grain of truth, but soon collapse if an elaborate superstructure of interpretation is built on top of them,83
Nonetheless, there is one important question relating to this story which does need to be considered here and, as it also involves a matter of time, the problems are compounded. Some historians, including Fortescue and Young and Lawford, put the ‘luncheon’ incident quite early in the afternoon, not long after the French first make their appearance on the Monte de Azan. According to this view, Wellington then gave orders for the Fifth Division to move from its position north of the Lesser Arapile to extend Cole's line beyond the village, and that it was not until this was done, almost two hours later, that the orders for the attack were issued. This sequence of events is supported by a literal interpretation of Wellington's dispatch, but creates serious difficulties. It makes a nonsense of Fitzroy Somerset's story, where Wellington sees the French error and immediately rides to Pakenham with orders to attack; while it less directly runs contrary to all the versions of the story which suggest that the resolution to attack was suddenly made and promptly executed. Further, it is hard to see what reason Wellington would have had to attack if all he could see was the leading elements of one French division advance onto the near end of the Monte de Azan. For the story to make sense the French must have overextended their left wing. It may be argued that this happened when Maucune continued his march until he was opposite the village; but the story is much more plausible if it is placed later, when Thomières's division began to advance beyond Maucune's position. This is Oman's view, and it supports his suggestion that Wellington decided to attack at about the same moment that Marmont was wounded.84
Chapter Four
Pakenham and Thomières
As soon as Wellington had decided to attack, he set off at a gallop to the far right of his army to instruct D'Urban and Pakenham on their part in the coming battle. By doing this in person he minimized the risk of confusion or misunderstandings – he could point out exactly where he wanted the allied troops to go, and answer any doubts or hesitation. D'Urban noted in his journal that ‘Lord Wellington came down from the neighbourhood where he had been examining the Enemy's left, at a rapid gallop accompanied only by Col. Delancey (but followed immediately afterward by Col. Sturgeon) and gave us orders for the attack verbally, – first to me (whom he had first met with) and then to General Pakenham.’1
Various anecdotes surround Wellington's meeting with Pakenham. According to Grattan, who always tells a good tale, if not always a reliable one, Wellington's ‘words were few, and his orders brief. Tapping Pakenham on the shoulder, he said, “Edward, move on with the third division – take the hills in your front, – and drive everything before you.” “I will, my Lord, by G—d!” was the laconic reply of the gallant Sir Edward.’ Years later Fitzroy Somerset told Greville that Wellington had ‘galloped straight to Pakenham's division and desired him immediately to begin the attack. Pakenham said, “Give me your hand, and it shall be done.” The Duke very gravely gave him his hand, Pakenham shook it warmly and then hastened off.’ Writing to his brother a few days after the battle, Pakenham himself gives a much more prosaic account of the episode: ‘At Three in the afternoon the 3rd Division received instructions to move in double column across the Enemy's Left, which was advantageously placed upon some strong heights, there to form line, carry the heights and sweep everything before it.’2 This preserves the gist of Wellington's orders: Pakenham would seize the Pico de Miranda, the height at the end of the Monte de Azan, thus turning the French flank, and then advance along the plateau, driving Thomières's division before him. D'Urban's two regiments of Portuguese dragoons,3 supported by the 1st Hussars of the King's German Legion and the 14th Light Dragoons, under Arentschildt, would support the outer flank of the infantry, protecting them from Curto's cavalry. As Pakenham's men pushed along the Monte de Azan, Leith's Fifth Division and Le Marchant's heavy cavalry would attack the French in front, catching them between two fires.
Pakenham quickly issued his orders. The heavy iron camp kettles in which the soldiers were cooking their meal were overturned and packed onto baggage mules to be sent to the rear, while the men cursed the slow-burning stubble which had been the only fuel they could find for their fires. The infantry regiments uncased their colours, checked the priming of their muskets and fixed bayonets. Colonel Wallace addressed the officers of the 88th, his own regiment and the largest in the leading brigade: ‘Gentlemen, the regiment is on this day, as it generally is on such occasions, tolerably strong, and (pointing to batteries which crowned the hill in front) we are likely to have a good deal of noise about our ears. I would recommend you to place yourselves in the centre and front of your companies, which will prevent any mistake.’4
Within a few minutes the division was under arms and moved off in several open columns. Captain James Campbell recalls:
To me, as Brigade-Major of the right brigade, Sir Edward Pakenham, in his quick decided manner, pointed out the direction we were to take, and desired me to tell Colonel Wallace, 88th regiment, the officer in temporary command of the brigade, to move on with as much rapidity as possible, but without blowing the men too much. We soon descended into a kind of valley, or rather hollow, and having brought up our left shoulders a little, we pushed on at a quick pace, but in excellent order, to the right; the side of the hollow towards the enemy concealing our movements from their sight.5
Campbell gives one of the few detailed accounts of the advance of Pakenham's division; otherwise we must rely on scraps of information and chance references which are often hard to reconcile – our understanding of what happened in this part of the battle is much less certain than many secondary accounts imply. Matters are not helped by Campbell's reference to Wallace's brigade as ‘the right brigade’, when other evidence makes it fairly clear that it formed on the left of the division. Campbell's expression may be careless, or he may use it because Wallace's brigade was the senior, leading brigade in the division, which means that it would traditionally, although not on this occasion, have formed on the right of the line, in the place of honour.
From Campbell's account it appears that Wallace's brigade advanced in a long, narrow, open column, with a frontage of a single company, and a considerable gap between each company, so that the whole could wheel into a line facing at right angles at a moment's notice. The second brigade marched parallel to the first to its right (west): if both brigades wheeled to face left, the second would automatically be in a position to support Wallace. The Portuguese brigade either followed the British infantry or formed a third column. D'Urban's and Arentschildt's cavalry were formed on the outer, or right-hand, flank of the infantry; if the infantry wheeled left, the cavalry could use their superior mobility to continue to protect this flank. The inner flank, to the left of Wallace's advancing men, was covered by a cloud of skirmishers, composed of the light companies of the British regiments, the three companies of the 5/60th attached to the division and the battalion of caçadores from the Portuguese brigade. On this side also were Douglas's battery of 9-pounder foot artillery, and apparently also Bull's troop of 6-pounder horse artillery.
The direction of the allied
line of advance is also uncertain. Many maps of the battle show Pakenham advancing from Aldea Tejada in a graceful semicircle, so that he approaches the Pico de Miranda directly from the west. But this is not supported by the – admittedly thin – first-hand accounts of the advance, while it makes nonsense of the formation described by Campbell. If the infantry approached the hill in this way, the troops in the rear would need to march the full length of the column before they could take their place in the line forming on its head, which would delay the advance and expose them for longer to enemy fire. If this had been the chosen route, it would have been more natural for the regiments of the first brigade to march next to each other in a line of battalion columns, with those of the second brigade following behind – a formation which would make deployment relatively quick and easy. If Pakenham's formation was to make sense he should not march directly towards the Pico de Miranda, but rather march south until he was level with it but further west. A simple left wheel would then bring his whole division into line facing east, ready to climb the hillside and advance along the Monte de Azan. This suggests that Pakenham left Aldea Tejada heading south-east, following a little country by-road which still exists today. After about a mile and a half he could then turn due south towards Miranda de Azan. This route has the great advantage of being screened from French observation for most of its length by the low ridge which extends to the north from just west of the Pico de Miranda.6
Further problems are posed by the nature of the ground at the Pico de Miranda. This western end of the Monte de Azan does not rise from a broad plain, but is closely confined by steep hills to the north and west and the village of Miranda de Azan to the south. It is difficult to see how Wallace's brigade, let alone Pakenham's whole division and its supporting cavalry, could deploy in such a limited space. Moreover, the Pico de Miranda itself is so narrow – only fifty yards across its flat summit – that the British line would have extended down its steep slopes and onto the ground beyond, while it would be difficult for the French to bring their full force to oppose them. First-hand accounts of the advance and subsequent fighting provide no solution for these difficulties, which remain intractable. Unsatisfactory though it may be, one can only note them and pass on.
Given this, it is not surprising that it is impossible to reconstruct the French movements convincingly. All we really know is that British accounts say that the French were flustered, in some confusion and still moving when Pakenham's men attacked them. It has generally been assumed that they were still continuing the advance along the Monte de Azan whose beginning had inspired Wellington to launch his attack. But as Young and Lawford point out, this implies that they were moving so slowly that they might as well have been crawling on their hands and knees.7 Two explanations suggest themselves. Thomières's initial advance beyond Maucune's position may have been quite limited, and it may only have been the belated discovery of Pakenham's advance which convinced him of the urgent need to occupy the whole of the plateau. Alternatively, Thomières's division may have originally deployed facing north, and the confusion been caused by the need to re-deploy to face an attack from the west.
Possible formation of Pakenham's division in its advance (heading towards the bottom of the page). (Not to scale, and there would have been more lateral space between the columns than is shown here.)
What is clear is that Thomières was heavily outnumbered. There were only three regiments in his division – the 1st Ligne (3 battalions, approximately 1,700 men), the 62nd Ligne (2 battalions, 1,100 men) and the 101st Ligne (3 battalions, 1,400 men) – which, together with the divisional battery, gave him a force of barely 4,500 men, compared to Pakenham's 5,800 or so. This was bad enough, but the 1st Ligne was not with the division at this point: either it had trailed behind, or Thomières had deliberately left it to try to fill the enormous gap that had opened between his division and Maucune's. Whatever the reason, the result was disastrous, for it meant that he had less than half Pakenham's force at the critical point.
Curto's light cavalry division should have done something to offset this imbalance, for his seventeen squadrons (about 1,800 men) heavily outnumbered D'Urban's 480 Portuguese dragoons and the six hundred or so men under Arentschildt. But Curto's movements are even harder to fathom than those of Thomières: the natural role for his light horse was to screen and protect the advance of the French infantry along the plateau, but this was not done, and it seems that the cavalry were both behind the infantry and to the south of the plateau. It is also quite likely that only one of Curto's two brigades was on hand at the critical moment: otherwise it is hard to explain why the French cavalry did not have a greater effect, even allowing for the poor quality of their horses.
As the allied force approached the Pico de Miranda, D'Urban rode ahead of his cavalry, accompanied only by a couple of staff officers. Clearing a clump of trees ‘a short way up the slope, I came suddenly upon the head of a French column of infantry, having about a company in front, and marching very fast by its left.’ D'Urban galloped back to the head of his brigade and led it forward in a charge that took the French completely by surprise. Nonetheless, the French fire was sufficient to check the momentum of the squadron charging frontally and to inflict some casualties, but the squadron on its right was able to wheel inwards onto the defenceless French flank. The battalion then broke and fled uphill, leaving many prisoners in the hands of the Portuguese.8
Meanwhile, the allied infantry had formed for their advance up the Pico de Miranda. Wallace's brigade was in the lead, still screened by a thick belt of skirmishers. The second British brigade followed in support, with the Portuguese brigade probably in their rear. Grattan claims that the line was formed from column without halting, thus disconcerting the French, but another source states that there was a brief pause during which ‘General Pakenham rode along the division, addressing, as he passed, a short but inspiriting speech to each battalion.’ Final preparations for close combat were made, and in each regiment some of the sergeants were summoned to the centre to help guard the colours.9
Pakenham's attack. The long columns have wheeled into line and Wallace's brigade, leading the advance, has gained the summit of the Pico de Miranda. (Much of this is conjectural, and the troop positions are at best approximate, while the depiction of the terrain has been deliberately simplified.)
The French were in some disarray. D'Urban's success had left them with only four battalions in good order to face the onslaught of twelve. Their artillery may have been withdrawn at this point, for the allied advance had been so rapid that it would have had little time to move into position, unlimber and open fire. But the British batteries of Douglas and Bull had now come into action, firing from a rise in the ridge running off to the north. Their fire must have added to the French confusion, for it would catch any troops, infantry or artillery, facing west in the flank and partly enfilade them. Nonetheless, Thomières had little choice but to hope that his infantry could check the allied advance – however desperate the odds – for Pakenham was now too close for the French to be able to retreat in good order.
The allied skirmishers pressed forward against their French counterparts, weight of numbers giving the allies a great advantage. Yet all did not go entirely smoothly, as William Grattan, who had no love of the Portuguese, delights in recording:
a number of Caçadores commanded by Major Haddock were in advance of us. The moment the French fire opened, these troops, which had been placed to cover our advance, lay down on their faces, not for the purpose of taking aim with more accuracy, but in order to save their own sconces from the French fire. Haddock dismounted from his horse and began belabouring with the flat side of his sabre the dastardly troops he had the misfortune to command, but in vain; all sense of shame had fled after the first discharge of grape and musketry, and poor Haddock might as well have attempted to move the great cathedral of Salamanca as the soldiers of his Majesty the King of Portugal.10
Despite Grattan's contempt, such incidents wer
e not uncommon in battle and could affect soldiers of any nationality.
It may have been at this time, or later in the combat, that General Thomières fell, mortally wounded, adding to the confusion and uncertainty in French ranks.
As soon as the British line was formed, Pakenham, hat in hand, personally led its advance. His own account, written just after the battle, is disappointingly vague: ‘These instructions your old companions executed in the most admirable style, and, in spite of every resistance, (for the Enemy's Columns remained firm till our line had closed within Ten Yards in the most distant point), were never brought to a check. The crash was magnificent!’11 Captain Campbell is rather more informative:
The enemy's skirmishers and ours now set to work, yet we did not wait for their indecisive long shots; but advancing still rapidly and steadily, our right soon came into contact with their left, which had opened a very heavy and destructive fire upon us, and which would have lasted long enough had the brigade been halted to return it, but it was instantly charged and overthrown. It was now evident to us all that Sir Edward Pakenham knew how to handle Picton's division.12
But for detail and atmosphere – although not for literal accuracy – it is impossible to improve on Grattan:
All were impatient to engage, and the calm but stern advance of Pakenham's right brigade was received with beating of drums and loud cheers from the French, whose light troops … [ran] down the face of the hill in a state of great excitement … [and] commenced an irregular and hurried fire… .