The Confrontation at Salamanca Read online

  Everything appeared to be going exactly to plan and he suddenly realised what the itch was that he had not been able to scratch. It was nearly an hour since the start of the assault and nothing had gone amiss. For the first time ever, he had not had to alter his orders or even rely on his officers to use their initiative to counter an unforeseen move by the French.

  It looked as if there was nothing to worry about and that in itself ought to be a cause for concern.

  Then the French drums started up and lines of blue-clad infantry began to advance with a mass of glittering bayonets. He relaxed and watched the fight develop.

  From where the barque was now anchored, there were extended lines of French soldiers, but as they began to advance along the quay, those lines were constricted into something like their traditional attacking column.

  That was the moment that the two platoons of Hornets started to shoot. For the men concerned, it was almost leisurely. They could only see about ten targets at a time and there were sixty Hornets. It worked out as ragged volleys of ten shots at a time, every four or five seconds. Every volley obliterated the head of the column.

  To make it worse, the great guns on the barque could operate against the whole length of the column and their grapeshot was even more frightening than the Hornets. Within a minute, the only Frenchmen to be seen were the hundred or so unfortunates stretched out on the ground.

  Everyone else had fled for cover behind any building available and the leading boats of the flotilla were still twenty minutes away.

  The last time Algy had been here there were several batteries of guns that the French had tried to bring into use. Now, it seemed as though all the artillery had left to swell the numbers concentrating to the east. None as yet had been in evidence. In fact, as the first of the marines arrived and scrambled onto the jetty, Algy started to think of B Company and the role he had entrusted to them.

  * * *

  Having rendered the cliff battery useless, Lieutenant Moore had rejoined B Company. All four platoons were now blocking the road from Gijón to the east.

  They were scattered in cover some half-a-mile from the town gates ‘to await events’ as Major Cholmondeley had expressed it.

  Brevet Captain Colston had been waiting on events since before dawn and even Moore and his platoon rejoining had done little to relieve the tedium. In fact, he was starting to imagine that because he was the newest and therefore the most junior company commander, he had been chosen for a task that might not see any action at all.

  He was fully aware of Algy’s plan to surprise the French by an invasion of marines from the sea and he guessed that he was hoping to overawe them into surrendering without too much loss of life.

  Knowing how enthusiastically the French usually fought, he thought that was a trifle ambitious. It could be a really nasty business, winkling out hundreds of angry Frenchmen in and around buildings where nobody would have much of an advantage.

  He heard the opening volleys and recognised the flatter sound of the rifles. Then the great guns were joining in and he was quite unable to tell whether they were friend or foe, other than by remembering that the first objective of the Hornets was to cut out the barque that was there.

  The firing only lasted for a very short time and that again was how things generally went for the Hornets. He was just wondering whether the French had indeed been persuaded to yield, when the east gate opened and the enemy began to pour through, form up and march quickly in the direction that Algy had anticipated when he had placed B Company where they now were.

  His opinion of his new battalion commander, already high, went up by several degrees. He remembered clearly his words before dawn. “I shall be pleased if you may take B Company, Derek and sit astride the road to the east. I wager that the troops left in the town are not more than garrison quality and shall have little appetite for real fighting.

  If they do not fancy surrendering, they shall run for it. If that is their choice, let as many leave the town as you see fit before engaging the van. It may give us the chance to follow them out and catch them between us.”

  Evidently he had guessed right, which meant that the rest of the plan had gone as expected. Now it was up to the new boy to stop them and convince them that surrender was inevitable.

  Naturally, he must wait until the last possible moment, ideally so that the last of them had left the town before he opened fire. He passed word that no one was to shoot before he blew his whistle, then he focussed his small telescope on the gate.

  He had bought the glass when he was first commissioned. It was polished, bright and handsome, just the thing to make an impression on his young, fellow officers. All that could be said for it now was that it improved the natural long-range vision of his eyes by a small degree.

  It was a clear, beautiful morning when they first burst forth from the gates and he could see them quite clearly. Now he was cursing the instrument silently but savagely.

  Perhaps a better glass might have helped, but Spanish dust was notorious for obscuring things and four-five-six hundred pairs of French feet were in a hurry and only the nearest ones could be seen clearly.

  He shrugged resignedly. He would wait until the vanguard was within a hundred yards before he blew his whistle. If they were in that much of a hurry to escape, the rearguard ought to be clear of the town by then.

  He became equally resigned to the almost farcical outcome after he blew his whistle. All that could be seen at the time were the first half-dozen files of men, apparently marching out of a large dust cloud.

  B Company opened fire and slaughtered the head of the column and many of the dimly seen figures behind. The vanguard turned and fled back into the dust. A few speculative shots followed them, but Colston blew the cease-fire, as there was no target left to shoot at.

  .

  CHAPTER 4

  Outside the walls of Oviedo, the partidas were being much more co-operative. Hamish MacKay had set the two commanders to a task that appealed to them and even more so to their men. The fact that they had a very good chance of deceiving the garrison added enormously to the enthusiasm with which they went about it; like a crowd of overgrown children.

  He knew that the comparison was apt. They really were big children and as guerrilleros, they were fighting the invaders on their own terms; mostly hit and run. Speak to any Spaniard at this time and you were likely to find a passionate patriot who was determined that the French must be expelled from Spain; by the partidas or the small, scattered army units; even the British heretics would be tolerated.

  They could all agree about that and most of them also agreed that it must be done by anyone except themselves. It was one reason why so many joined the guerrilla bands. Anything was better than waiting to be conscripted into the dangers, privations and harsh discipline of the regular forces.

  What MacKay had them doing was play-acting and they were enjoying it immensely. Those without horses had marched past the walls of the town and set up camp within sight, but far enough away not to be a tempting target for any guns on the walls.

  The camp was a sham. Bivouacs and campfires were there and during daylight hours, much activity was the order of the day. During the night, some fires were kept alight and sentries could be seen silhouetted against them.

  Farther back and out of sight, redoubts and defences were thrown up across the road to the east and the true camp was placed behind them, both for the infantry and the cavalry.

  Groups of horsemen moved about quite freely, flaunting themselves in fact, but mostly working at trying to convince the French that they were solely guerrilleros and that no regular forces were involved.

  If the garrison was determined to hold the town and refused to take the bait, MacKay would have to wait until something had been achieved at Gijón and the bring the rest of the battalion here, together with as many marines as Commodore Cockburn was willing to contribute. Something could surely be attempted with such a force combined with as much of the element
of surprise as could be achieved?

  In the meantime, he was trying to assess the degree of irritation that the French were feeling, being penned in by an undisciplined mob of guerrilleros (to their thinking) of only twice their strength, at least half of whom were horsemen. The partidas had been ingenuously co-operative in letting the French count their numbers.

  He prayed that it must be absolutely infuriating that the guerrilleros should appear to be so impertinent, unless unwittingly they had been too honest about revealing their strength. Would it look too good to be true? Any commander worth his salt would be extra wary if such was the case.

  Patience was required and he was not sure that his unpredictable allies had much of it. There was no movement from the French for the first three days and schoolboy games could become boring if repeated too often.

  He tried his normal practice of putting himself into the position of the enemy commander. It was difficult because he did not know whether the fellow had orders to hold the town at all costs or whether Dorsenne had intended gradually to pull out all his forces, to concentrate them in the east.

  All he could do was guess what the timing of any attack might be, if it happened at all. A night attack was not generally favoured, as one needed to be able to see an enemy in order to shoot him. The French had tried it at Talavera, but without success. Gathering one’s troops in the dark before dawn was another matter. That had nearly succeeded at Buçaco. The French had twice secured a foothold on the ridge before being thwarted.

  It seemed the most likely option in this case, but he must be prepared for anything, or nothing.

  The fourth dawn proved that he and the French commander were thinking along the same route. He was awakened early with the news that numbers of men were gathering together behind the east gate. The sound of horses was carrying clearly over the walls.

  The Hornets were all in position within half-an-hour and a messenger was on the way to warn the guerrilleros. The sky was lightening when figures appeared in the half-light, emerging from the gate and forming defensive lines, through which a couple of squadrons of cavalry trotted.

  From all the details put together by the Hornets, this must represent the entire complement of cavalry in the garrison. They halted at a short distance and columns of infantry followed them out and formed up behind them. All this had been achieved in the dark or almost dark, without bugle calls or loud commands. It was a serious attempt to catch the guerrilleros napping and teach them a lesson that they would not forget.

  At some unheard word of command, the horsemen led the way and four company-sized blocks of infantry tramped after them, almost on their heels. A cavalry charge against unprepared men was on the agenda first and if that only succeeded in forcing the guerrilleros into squares, then three or four hundred infantry deploying into line could shoot them to pieces. The last move at the gate was when the defensive cordon withdrew inside again.

  The two companies of Hornets quietly withdrew, moving back toward their horses. Mounting quickly, MacKay sent C Company circling to the left and led D Company toward the right flank of the advancing infantry. In the meantime, the French cavalry was disappearing at a canter into the first camp of the guerrilleros and was just beginning to realise that the last of its temporary occupants could be seen scampering to the safety of a line of makeshift, but quite formidable redoubts, stretching across the shallow valley some five or six hundred yards farther on.

  A loud alarm signal should now be ringing in the mind of the cavalry commander. It wasn’t, but although it was no point of cavalry practice to attack emplaced, defensive structures, he decided that he did need to inspect them so that the infantry should know what it was up against.

  They disappeared from sight to do the inspecting shortly before the marching column of companies became aware of the two companies of mounted Hornets approaching far too rapidly from their right and left rear.

  They knew immediately that they had been tricked and were about to be attacked by what they thought of as cavalry.

  Their drill was superb, amazingly impressive given that they had so little time to react. The first two companies marched into hollow square, as did the two companies of the rearguard. Two hollow squares bounded by a double line of men; twenty-five men to a side, with a second twenty-five immediately behind them. Two hundred men facing outwards, all with glittering bayonets presented like a porcupine.

  They didn’t stop there. The squares were about fifty yards apart and in a complicated manoeuvre they edged toward each other until they could merge into a single hollow square of twice the size.

  Both companies of Hornets halted to watch this demonstration of precision drill and saluted the final manoeuvre with hearty applause and cries of approval, as if they were all seated in a theatre rather than the saddles of their horses.

  It was difficult to make out how the French regarded this demonstration of approval. It was not something that they normally encountered and it might have seemed as if they were being mocked. MacKay thought he recognised a cavalry officer mounted in the middle of the square, talking earnestly to an infantry officer next to him. That would have to wait. There were other things that needed doing with more urgency.

  The two companies of Hornets swept past the square, out of range of their muskets, dropping off two platoons each on the slightly higher ground on two of the opposite sides of the square. Half a dozen of the wagon-train Wasps herded their abandoned horses away from danger.

  The other four platoons went on ahead of the square and joined together, forming up in echelon across the road, facing in the direction that the French cavalry had disappeared.

  For the first time in action for the First Battalion, the two mortar platoons of Wasps, followed in their wake and uncoupled their two mortars, ready to fire in the direction of the square or the other way, in the direction of the cavalry, as circumstances dictated.

  Silence fell on the combatants. The square was not going anywhere and the Hornets had settled down to make sure that it didn’t, while waiting to see whether the cavalry would return to try and interfere.

  MacKay now used his Dolland glass to confirm his first impression of the hussar officer. He was certain that it was the same one that the Hornets had captured before, a couple of years ago in Galicia, when their strength had only been two platoons. What was his name?

  He made his decision, snapped his glass shut and walked his horse toward the square with his kerchief tied to his raised Ferguson.

  Commandant Rabuteau recognised him when he was halfway across the ground separating them. It was evident that he had risen in rank in the intervening time. He looked very grave as he leaned over and spoke to his fellow infantry colonel again.

  MacKay reined in within speaking distance, across the double line of bayonets and removed his bonnet, bringing forth a similar response from the two officers. He addressed himself firstly to Rabuteau.

  “May I offer my felicitations, Monsieur. It now appears to be Colonel Rabuteau whom I address. I have no doubt that your promotion has been well merited. I count myself fortunate to meet you again.”

  Rabuteau smiled thinly. “I would that I might share your feelings, Lieutenant, although I see that fortune has favoured you even more than I can claim. Am I correct in thinking that I too must address you as colonel as well as complimenting you on your now excellent command of my own tongue? I seem to recall that you relied on La Belle Comtesse and also upon a fearsome Spanish lady for such conversation at the time.”

  MacKay bowed his head. “You are correct, Colonel. The Frelons have indeed prospered. The Comte d’Alba now commands a division, of which the men you see form part of the First Battalion. The fearsome lady is no less fearsome, but I have been brave enough to marry her. It has improved my knowledge of the spanish tongue as well as the french we now speak.”

  He had been watching his mounted platoons while they had been talking. Half of them were dismounting and going to ground. It was an indication that the c
avalrymen were returning. He raised his bonnet again.

  “I have to break off our interesting conversation until my men have dealt with your cavalry. Perhaps you shall have the opportunity to introduce your fellow officer when I return? I do not recommend that you move until then. My men on either side can kill half of you in about thirty seconds, as I am sure that you remember.” He trotted away toward his skirmishers and pulled out his glass again to see what the French horsemen were doing.

  The two squadrons of chasseurs-à-cheval had just discovered that they may have miscalculated both the strength and the valour of their opponents, even if they were only Spanish guerrilleros.

  In open country they would have been confident that they could rely on their training and discipline to overcome double their numbers.

  When more than double their numbers came pouring out from behind redoubts and defences in a relatively restricted valley, it seemed sensible to consider a tactical withdrawal and support from the infantry that was following.

  Then to find that a line of horsemen was blocking their line of retreat caused them to make an instant decision about which enemy they wished to engage. They were in a scrape and there could only be one choice; more than double their strength behind and a thin line of less than half their strength in front.

  What they had no time to try and understand was why their infantry was standing in a large, hollow square when there was only half a squadron of mounted men in sight? It was an enigma that would have to wait to be resolved later. First they must smash the impertinent line before them and then turn on their first challengers with the help of their infantry.

  Their bugles formed them into two squadrons; two masses of men due to lack of time. Nevertheless they were a formidable force, still under strict control and were already moving into a trot. It all looked easy for them.

  The first sign that all might not be as it seemed was when the two mortars gave their distinctive cough from behind the line of Hornets. The sergeants in command of the units had practised with them diligently in finding the exact range with standard shells. This was the first time that the Condesa’s percussion-cap-fused shells had seen action for the First Battalion.