Salamanca, 1812

by Rory Muir

  The last part of the ascent was so steep that it was almost impossible for a horse to climb it; even the men did so with difficulty – but I had a horse that would do what scarcely any horse would attempt. It was not until I was close upon the summit that I knew what we had to contend with, for I found the ground, which had at a little distance the appearance of a gentle slope, formed a natural wall of I suppose between three and four feet high, at the top of which it spread out into a level table-land, on which the enemy were drawn up in line about ten yards from me. We looked at each other for a moment. I saw immediately that what we had undertaken was impracticable, as the men could not mount the scarped ground without first laying their arms upon the top, and even then in such small numbers that it would be absurd – but I also saw that we were so easily covered by ‘the wall’, and the enemy so exposed from head to foot, that if we fired they could not remain an instant. At this critical moment the head of Sir Noel Hill's column, which had followed me in support, was close up, and Hill himself called to me to ask what to do and what was before us (he could not see). I said, ‘Be quick, and let your leading company close up to this bank and fire away while the others deploy as fast as they can and fire as they get up – the enemy are exposed and we are protected by this parapet.’ To my horror Hill replied, ‘You forget we are not loaded!’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘we have no other chance. Load away as fast as you can.’ He gave the word of command, and the men were in the act – I was addressing some few words of encouragement as well as the breathless state of anxiety I was in permitted (my poor old Ronald with great difficulty keeping his position on the steep), and two or three of the storming party were trying to scramble up the scarp, when the whole line opposed to us fired, knocked me over and literally cut to pieces the few that had climbed the ‘wall’. My thigh was broken, and in falling, having no hold of the saddle, I could not in any manner save myself. Ronald made a couple of springs down the hill while I was falling, and this, together with the mangled bodies of those who fell back off the scarp on to the head of Hill's column, which in the confusion of loading was unable to see what was happening above, caused a sensation of panic which was complete.

  The French line followed up their volley by charging up the the edge of the scarp, down which they leapt when they saw our confusion.

  Sir Niel [sic] Campbell's Grenadiers, the left column and all, went! – the disaster was complete. I had fallen to the ground on the near side of my horse, it being the left thigh that was broken, and was in great agony owing to a sort of instinctive effort to use the broken limb in which the marrow also seemed to be breaking. A gallant little fellow, an ensign, who was adjutant of Hill's Regiment, ran up to me and put his arms under mine to try to raise me, and if his strength had equalled his courage and goodwill he would have carried me off, but he was of the smallest stature. I told him that my thigh was broken, and that it was of no use. The bayonets of the charging army were all but touching him before I could persuade him to save himself, and I actually pushed him away. A lot of the French ran over where I was, and amongst them an officer, cheering them on. As he passed over me, seeing me twirling about in frightful agony owing to the position in which I had fallen, he called out at the appalling spectacle my state exhibited. ‘Oh! mon Dieu!’ and then asked, ‘Est-ce-que vous êtes Anglais?’ I said, ‘Yes,’ and he pointed to a man by his side as he ran by and told him to save me. The man, who I suppose was a non-commissioned officer, did stop for a second or two, which perhaps saved my life. Some of the enemy then began to plunder those who had fallen, wounded, dying or dead, and several began at me. I was in Hussar uniform, and wore all my riches about me, with some smart things about my neck, which there was a scramble for. Most foreign soldiers, at least such as I have known, conceal their money in the waistband of the dress or inside the leg of the boot. To see if I had any such store some began cutting my clothes off, as you might have seen a sheep in the act of being shorn, and one began to pull off my boots. This was horrid, for my overalls were fastened down by curb-chain piping, and the attempt to get the boot off the broken limb was intolerable. I was soon left to go out of the world nearly as naked as I had first entered it.

  Just then my attention was called from my own state to a fine young fellow of the 1st Grenadiers, who was defending himself with his musket against four or five men who surrounded him, and who were all trying to bayonet him. I called to them to spare him as he was now their prisoner. Someone, who I believe was in authority, thought I wanted something for myself, and seemed disposed to ascertain what I stood in need of, but when he learnt I was appealing for the young Portuguese sergeant, he turned away. ‘Oh! as for these canaille!’ was all I heard, and how it ended I do not know, for I myself became an object of the same sort of extinguishers. Suddenly they were called off to re-form on their original position on the top of the Arapiles, and I and the bodies of my comrades were left to our fate.4

  Relations between the British and French soldiers in the Peninsula were remarkably friendly, with much mutual admiration, fraternization between the outposts and other gallant gestures. But this spirit extended only partially to the Portuguese soldiers under Wellington's command, and scarcely at all to the Spanish forces. At bottom, the goodwill rested on a sense of reciprocity as each army gradually learnt to trust the other: they were professional soldiers fighting in a cause which did not arouse their deepest passions, and could take a detached, admiring view of their opponents. The Spanish and Portuguese had a much greater personal stake in the war – many had private horrors to avenge – while they were not always as well disciplined. But these are generalizations: soldiers of any nationality were likely to be ill-treated and even murdered when first taken prisoner, just as soldiers of all armies left the ranks during and after a battle to plunder the fallen.

  Synge's account sheds light on other issues. He gives an example of the often hazardous role which an aide-de-camp might play in battle – imagine his prominence as he rode, clad in his brilliant hussar uniform, up the hill at the head of a small party of dark-uniformed infantry, a tempting and obvious target. His description of the Portuguese soldier who pretended to be hit in order to fall out and avoid the last stage of the advance highlights a common problem which is not always given sufficient weight. Many unwounded men found their way out of the ranks on various pretexts whenever a unit was heavily engaged. Some would pretend that their musket was broken, or that they were out of ammunition; others would assist a wounded man to the rear. Some did it purely from fear, others with an eye to plunder. The problem was universal, although good units suffered less than poor ones, and winning armies less than those which were being defeated; but it is impossible to quantify it.

  Synge comments on the fact that the French artillery could not sufficiently depress the muzzles of their cannon to fire effectively on the storming party, and that the supporting units suffered more. It was probably only because of this protection that the attack made as much progress as it did. It is also worth noting the intimidating sound of the guns, even when the storming party escaped their fire, posing another test of the morale and resolution of the advancing infantry.

  Several aspects of Synge's account are confirmed by Captain Dyneley, who watched the Portuguese attack from the Lesser Arapile.

  Our infantry, two Portuguese regiments, then stormed the hill which the French let them get to the top of before they opened much musketry. Then they did pepper them most dreadfully and beat them down again, and notwithstanding the fire we had upon them, they advanced within range of our canister which, however, it was impossible for them to stand, and they fell by hundreds. The enemy had a party without arms in their rear for the purpose of stripping and plundering our wounded, which I saw them do; for they had the poor fellows naked before they had been down two minutes.5

  However, in his next letter Dyneley admits that ‘the Portuguese, are just as bad, for in riding over the field a short time after, I found the poor wretches of Frenchmen lying in every
direction without a stitch of clothing on.’6

  Pack's attack proved a costly failure. His brigade probably lost about 470 casualties, or 18 per cent of its strength, and far from helping Cole, it added to the breach in the allied centre. Still, the consequences do not seem to have been serious. The French pursued Pack's fugitives, but did not venture on a serious attack on the Lesser Arapile – Dyneley rather exaggerates the importance of the part played by his guns in checking their advance. The 120th Ligne appears to have suffered much less than the other regiments in Bonnet's division – probably about 225 casualties, including lightly wounded men who soon returned to the ranks.7 Few of these would have been owing to Pack's infantry; more, perhaps most, to Dyneley's guns; but the regiment may also have lost casualties at other points during the battle. Indeed, it is even possible that one of its battalions took part in the attack on Cole's flank, or the fight with Clinton.

  Napier comments on Pack's attack that the Portuguese ‘were scoffed at for the failure, but unjustly, no troops could have withstood that crash upon such steep ground, and the propriety of attacking the hill at all seems questionable.’8 This conclusion is particularly valuable because Napier learnt in the Pyrenees in 1813 what excellent troops could accomplish. Nonetheless, it is worth asking what it was which made the task so formidable. Pack's brigade had a significant, although not overwhelming, numerical advantage (2,600 men compared to 1,800 infantry plus gunners). Against this there was the French battery; but it is the ‘steep ground’ which Napier emphasizes, not the French artillery. Climbing a steep slope slows the advance, depriving it of momentum and making the men breathless and disordered. Equally important is the psychological effect of the enemy being above, coming down upon the troops while the latter ‘look up’ to them as a child has to look up to an adult. Mentally as well as physically the advantage lies with those on the higher ground.

  Clearly the task was beyond Pack's brigade, and the decision to launch the attack, whether made by Wellington or by Pack, proved a mistake. It would have been better if the hill had been masked frontally, while a stronger force should have been sent to protect Cole's left flank, which would inevitably become exposed as he advanced. Still, there were ample reserves ready to contain the allied setback in the centre, while it would be unrealistic to expect that a battle fought on such even terms would not see some mixture of fortunes.

  Commentary

  Charles Synge's account, on which so much of this chapter depends, was written years after the events he describes. However, it was based on a notebook which he kept at the time, although, given the severity of his wound he probably did not write it up until some time after the battle. Some of the incidents he reports from other parts of the battle, such as Pakenham's attack, are probably inaccurate, and must be based on hearsay rather than his own observation. But his account of his own experiences rings true. The ascent of the Greater Arapile is just as he describes it, and the natural ‘walls’ of rock near its summit are still there today. His writing is free of the obvious vanity and self-importance which often distort first-hand accounts, and there is no reason to suspect that he exaggerates the events he describes, or his own part in them. The tale has been smoothed and rounded by frequent repetition, and the dialogue can hardly be verbatim, but almost all of the story can be accepted at face value.

  The one point where Synge's account appears doubtful is on the responsibility for the decision to attack, and its timing. This has already been discussed in the main narrative, but it is worth giving the evidence more fully here. Synge's version is detailed, circumstantial and at first sight convincing. Having said that Pack was ordered to protect Cole's left flank and rear, he continues: ‘We saw, that, having ascended the heights he [Cole] was being roughly handled and after some time, though fighting desperately, he was losing ground.’ And:

  In a short time Sir Denis received a message from Cole to send him some assistance.

  There appeared to Sir Denis Pack, and also to myself, to be so fierce a struggle just at this moment between Sir Lowry Cole's Division and the enemy, that it must be over, one way or the other, in a few minutes – long before we could get to his support, which at the shortest time would have been half an hour. He explained to the Aide-de-Camp who brought the message what the Duke's orders were, and that, if we moved to try to get to Sir Lowry, the fellows on the Arapiles would be down on our flank and rear before we got half way. In this dilemma he decided on rushing on the instant to try to carry our own hill, very properly arguing that if we succeeded we should soon be with Cole, and if we failed our attack must have the effect of preventing those on the Arapiles from detaching any men to add to Sir Lowry's difficulties.9

  But against this there is Wellington's explicit statement, made only two days after the battle that the Fourth Division ‘was obliged to give way … after the failure of Brig. Gen. Pack's attack upon the Arapiles’. And Charles Vere is just as definite:

  At this moment, it became evident that the danger to which the left of the line of the two Brigades of the 4th division was exposed, in their forward movement, had not been lightly estimated. General Pack had attempted to gain the height opposite to him (the highest of the Aripeles [sic]) and failed – and the left battalion of the Portuguese Brigade of the 4th division, had been arrested in its forward movement in the plain, by a movement of the enemy from behind the Aripeles upon it.10

  This sequence of events has been accepted without question by Napier, Oman, Fortescue and all other historians of the battle, but of these only Oman gives evidence of having read Synge's account. They may well be right: Wellington's contemporary statement must carry great weight, and it seems intrinsically more likely that Pack would launch such an ambitious attack if Cole's advance appeared to be prospering. On the other hand, Synge was on the spot and appears otherwise reliable. Given this it is impossible to decide the question with any confidence unless fresh evidence comes to light.

  Synge's account implies that Pack's brigade advanced directly up the north face of the Greater Arapile, but as we have seen they began their advance well to the west, beyond the Lesser Arapile. Presumably they actually advanced obliquely in a south-easterly direction. This would have made their approach march longer, but it would also have meant that they were not advancing quite so directly into the mouths of the French cannon. It is even possible that they clambered up the north-west corner of the hill, which is much more rugged than the middle of the north side, although Synge's reference to the rye he advanced through, the natural wall near the summit and the fact that he could remain mounted almost rule this out.

  Pack's choice of formation is interesting, and even rather surprising. The four grenadier companies under Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell which provided immediate support for the storming party were deployed in line. They probably amounted to about 400 men, giving a frontage of 130 yards or so (in two ranks), so it would not be difficult to maintain alignment if the ground was reasonably even. But there seems little advantage in advancing in line when the ground was so steep and rough, the men's muskets were unloaded and success depended upon the impetus of the attack. (Possibly the formation was chosen to reduce the damage inflicted by the French artillery.) Conversely, the remainder of the brigade formed in two columns, each containing two battalions minus their grenadier companies, or about eight hundred men. Synge does not say whether these columns were formed on a one- or two-company front: the former was probably more common in the allied army, but it would have produced a column with 50 men in each rank, 16 ranks deep. This would have been as heavy and vulnerable to artillery as anything used by the French in the campaign. Even if these columns had a two-company frontage, they would still have been 8 ranks deep. It is not a formation one expects to see Wellington's infantry employing in open battle, and perhaps it is putting too great a burden of interpretation on Synge's words to assume that it was actually adopted. After all, his main concern was with the troops leading the advance, not with the formation of the reserves.
>
  When Synge states that all the Portuguese infantry advanced with unloaded muskets, he presumably intends to exclude those members of the 4th Caçadores who were not part of the storming party, as their role was to provide some covering fire for the advance. He also refers to the ‘French line’ charging forward. This may or may not be intended to indicate that the French were deployed in line, but it was the obvious formation for them to adopt when defending a position such as the Greater Arapile. Finally, there is no doubt that Pack's brigade was thoroughly broken, although it probably rallied as soon as the French ceased their pursuit. Dyneley records an interesting incident which must have occurred during this panic: ‘At the battle of Salamanca I caught one [Portuguese] officer, with his sword drawn, running away. I stopped him short and made all the men at the guns hiss and abuse him, then gave him over to the 40th regiment, who hooted him from right to left; but the fellow did not care, he saved his head which was his object.’11 Such informal sanctions were far more common than formal accusations of cowardice in the face of the enemy, at least in the allied army. Even the best troops might break and run if caught by surprise or placed under intolerable strain, and this was understood, although they were expected to rally at the first opportunity.

  Pack's own account of the fighting is brief: ‘we advanced up the hill and were within thirty paces of the top when the hidden French reserves leaped on us from the rocks on our front and flank. I did what in me lay, but the Lisbon Volunteers disappeared sooner than smoke.’12 Lieutenant Ingilby, of Gardiner's company of Royal Artillery, attached to the First Division, says: ‘The Portuguese advanced to within musket shot of the crest of the hill, but were suddenly driven back and overwhelmed by the fire of the French, who had screened their force on the slope of the opposite side of the hill.’ Ingilby then adds a fresh detail, not recorded in any other account: ‘I was advanced to sustain the defeated Portuguese with two pieces, a gun and a howitzer.’ Presumably Ingilby, if he arrived in time, added his fire to Dyneley's and so helped encourage the French to withdraw back to the Greater Arapile. Ingilby's movement may have been supported by Wheatley's brigade of the First Division – there are obscure hints of this in the sources but nothing definite, while the trifling losses suffered by the brigade show that it was not seriously engaged.13 J. Scott Lillie of the 7th Caçadores, who had been driven from the Greater Arapile early in the day, criticizes the attack: ‘it was in my humble opinion an injudicious one, having been made at the point where I could not ascend on horseback in the morning.’ And he goes on to imply a much later time for the attack than any other account – when Bonnet's counterattack was already being defeated. But Lillie's account was written many years later, while on the day he was naturally preoccupied with the misfortunes of his own regiment, so his evidence may be safely disregarded.14 Finally, it is worth pausing to smile at Marmont's account of the episode in his memoirs. No one can blame the defeated marshal for seeking to make the most of whatever successes French arms achieved in the battle, but in claiming that Pack's brigade lost eight hundred dead he risks becoming the object of ridicule. The true figure, for the whole battle, was 102 killed.15