Wellington (17 page)

No sooner was he safe than there was heavy firing from the south. The leading French dragoons, trotting forwards through the ‘olive trees, much intersected by banks and ditches’ in front of the Spanish line, firing their pistols at sentries and stragglers here and there, were greeted by a volley from the Spanish infantry, fired at an impossible range. ‘If they will but fire as well tomorrow then the day is our own,’ observed Wellesley to an aide, ‘but as there seems nobody to fire at just now, I wish you would stop it.’
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Then ‘nearly 2,000 ran off … (not 100 yards from where I was standing) who were neither attacked, nor threatened with an attack, and who were frightened only by the noise of their own fire’. The carriages of Cuesta and Odonoju were swept away in the torrent, and the fugitives paused only to plunder the British baggage.

Wellesley’s men were still not in position when night fell, and he was busy bringing in the last of his divisions from across the Portina. He had intended to place his best division, under Major General Rowland Hill (known affectionately to his men as ‘Daddy’) on the key ground of the Medellín on his left, but a staff officer positioned them too far west, and led them to believe that they were in the second line. By now Wellesley was just behind the Pajar, receiving reports, when he saw muzzle-flashes to the north and heard the sound of heavy firing. He mounted and rode off to find out what was happening, though the darkness and confusing reports made this difficult. It transpired that a strong French division had crossed the Portina in three columns, and although the night and the broken ground caused them to lose alignment, they had surprised some of Wellesley’s King’s German Legion (KGL) – first-rate troops raised in the French-occupied kingdom of Hanover – and briefly seized the crest of the Medellín hill. Major General Rowland Hill could see the dark mass of troops, but thought that ‘it was the old Buffs [3
^rd
Regiment of Foot] as usual making some blunder’, so rode across with a staff officer to put them right. As he reached the crest, a French skirmisher grabbed him and almost dragged him from his horse, and his staff officer was shot dead. Although his mount was hit, he managed to get back to his division, threw a brigade into battalion columns and sent it against the Medellín. The crest was taken by the 29
^th
Regiment, and the position secured; both sides had lost about 400 men in the action. Wellesley spent the night up on the hill, rolled in his cloak, and was about at first light preparing to meet the attack he knew would come.

At 5.00 on the morning of 28 July 1809, a single French gun fired from the summit of the Cascajal, across the Portina from the Medellín, signalling the start of a general bombardment. Between fifty and sixty guns concentrated their fire on the Medellín, where Wellesley ordered his men to fall back behind the crest and lie down, so that most round-shot hissed harmlessly overhead. The smoke hung so thickly that it was hard to see what was happening, but the sound of musketry down on the brook told that riflemen and light companies in front of the main line were taking on the French skirmishers. Behind the latter marched three huge columns of French troops, each sixty men across and twenty-four deep, coming on steadily to the sound of fife and drum.

The imposing spectacle affected even Hill, causing him to swear, one of the two occasions on which he ever did so: ‘Damn their filing: let them come on anyhow.’
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As the columns advanced, Wellesley’s infantry moved over the crest and stood ready to meet them. The northernmost column, containing troops who had attacked the previous night, advanced onto unoccupied ground just north of the Medellín and was not seriously engaged; the other two met the British line and were driven back by its volleys. The British followed up, taking prisoners, but some of them pushed too far across the Portina and were checked by fresh French units on the far side.

There followed a long pause, during which French and British infantry went down to the Portina to get water – in one of those unofficial truces that were so common in the Peninsula – for it was already a very hot day. Sergeant Anthony Hamilton of the 43
^rd
Light Infantry saw how both sides took the opportunity to get their wounded away to the rear and then, ‘shaking hands, they mutually expressed admiration of the gallantry displayed by their opponents’.
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Wellesley used the lull to adjust his position, for he could see that a more general attack would come next. He moved some guns, a British cavalry brigade, Bassecourt’s Spanish infantry division, and a Spanish cavalry division to the northern end of his line, between the Medellín and the mountains. French artillery recommenced fire at about 1pm, 80 guns now pounding the line between the Pajar and the Medellín, and about 30,000 infantry then came on in thick columns.

As they met the line, it was the same story as the morning’s battle, with disciplined British firepower breaking the French columns as they tried to deploy into line. Yet the ending was different: as the columns melted back, Sherbrooke’s division, in the front line just north of the Pajar, went forward in pursuit. One of its brigades, Campbell’s, re-formed just east of the Portina, but the other three – including the Guards – carried on. Fugitives from the French first line passed through the second, comprising most of the uncommitted French infantry, which immediately counterattacked. Many of the British had not reloaded their muskets and were in disorder after the advance; they had little chance. Even so, they fought back hard. The Guards lost a quarter of their strength, but there was not one unwounded prisoner. Campbell’s brigade, which might have stood, found its field of fire masked by retreating British and it too was swept away. The French saw their chance, and perhaps 10,000 infantry in columns, accompanied by dragoons and artillery, began to move up to exploit the huge gap in Wellesley’s line.

When he saw Sherbrooke’s men advance, Wellesley – who described the move as ‘nearly fatal to us’ – began to shift troops to fill the space behind them. He dared not take much from the Cascajal, but chose a single battalion, 1/48
^th
, the biggest in the army, to close the gap. He ordered a cavalry brigade to move up from the rear, and directed Mackenzie’s division, down by the Pajar, to edge northwards. Wellesley had chosen his instrument well. The 48
^th
, gallantly led by Lieutenant Colonel Charles Donnellan, who still dressed in the style of the eighteenth century, with tricorne hat and white buckskin breeches, first swung its companies back like gates on their hinges to allow fugitives to pass through, and the line was re-established. As the British survivors passed through, they rallied with a cheer, and the new line stopped the French attack with yet another demonstration of those terrible volleys. Donnellan was mortally hit, but handed over command with old-fashioned courtesy: ‘Major Middlemore, you will have the honour of leading the 48
^th
to the charge.’ The infantry pushed forward to the line of the brook, and Cotton’s cavalry brigade charged the southernmost French column, which broke.

When Sir Walter Scott later asked Wellesley to have a history of Talavera written, he replied that ‘it would be as easy to write the account of a ball as of a Battle! Who was the Partner of Who? Who footed to each other? Who danced down all the couples?’
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Most historians write that the battle had now passed its crisis, and what followed was a cavalry charge which further diminished the standing of British horsemen in Wellesley’s eyes. Wellesley, however, thought that the charge took place
before
the first attack of the afternoon was repulsed and Sherbrooke’s advance. Whatever the precise timing, the events were clear enough. French columns had advanced north of the Medellín. They were composed of men who had fought the previous night and that morning, and were now past their best, so Wellesley decided to use his cavalry to check them.

The first line of horsemen, the 23
^rd
Light Dragoons and the 1
^st
Hussars KGL, charged the French infantry, who formed squares as they approached. The light dragoons, already travelling at speed, found a dry watercourse, visible only at the last moment, in their path. Some jumped it, but others came to grief. The survivors re-formed, charged the squares alongside the German hussars, and then went on to attack fresh French cavalry to the rear. The 23
^rd
lost almost half its officers and men in the action. However, Wellesley wrote approvingly of the charge in his dispatch, arguing that it ‘had the effect of preventing the execution of that part of the enemy’s plan …’
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By late afternoon, it was apparent that the French plan had indeed failed, and that night Joseph’s army withdrew across the Alberche ‘in the most regular order’, though it left twenty guns behind. Wellesley acknowledged ‘the great loss we have sustained of valuable Officers and soldiers in this long and hard fought action fought with more than double our numbers’. He had lost 5,365 men, over a quarter of his entire force, and although the French had suffered over 7,000 casualties, it was a far smaller proportion of their army. The battle had reinforced his conviction that his personal supervision was essential if things were to go well, and that only the firmest discipline could hold the army together in the face of a numerous and aggressive enemy. The 48
^th
set a clear example: not only was it mentioned twice in Wellesley’s dispatch, but he also did his best to ensure the promotion of Major Middlemore despite predictable unhelpfulness from Horse Guards.

Although Talavera was unquestionably a victory, it was not one which could be exploited. At first Wellesley thought, ‘We shall certainly move towards Madrid, unless we are interrupted by some accident on our flank.’ That accident materialised in the form of a thrust from the north by a powerful French army under Soult, and early August saw brisk manoeuvring in the valley of the Tagus before Wellesley began a long retreat to Badajoz. The alliance was under even more pressure, with Wellesley writing furiously to Castlereagh on 8 August that the ‘disgrace’ of the loss of the hospital at Talavera, with all its wounded, should be laid squarely at Cuesta’s door.

Richard, Marquess Wellesley, had just replaced John Hookham Frere as envoy to the central junta, and Arthur lost no opportunity to warn him that supplies were still not forthcoming, and ‘the army will be useless in Spain, and will be entirely lost, if this treatment is to continue …’
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‘A starving army is worse than none,’ he warned. ‘The soldiers lose their discipline and their spirit. They plunder even in the presence of their officers.’
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On 4 September 1809, a General Order warned against plundering, but with so little effect that a sterner version, three days later, reiterated threats of punishment and told officers that their lack of attention contributed to the ‘disgraceful and unmilitary practices of the soldiers’.
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The Spanish armies suffered two serious defeats in September, confirming Wellesley’s belief that he could not hope to remain there. He advised his brother to warn the junta against calling a parliament, because the
Cortes
, ‘a new popular assembly’, could do nothing but harm. At this stage Spain needed ‘men of common capacity’, not another talking-shop.

As he fulminated against plundering and ordered the commandant of Elvas to ensure that all men sent forward up the long line of communication had two good shirts and two pairs of shoes, Wellesley received some good news. He was to be given a viscounty for Talavera, but there had been no time to consult him over the title, so his brother William had made the decision for him. He wrote:

After ransacking the Peerage and examining the map, I at last determined upon Viscount Wellington of Talavera and Wellington, and Baron Douro of Welleslie in the county of Somerset – Wellington is a town not far from Welleslie … I trust that you will not think that there is anything unpleasant or trifling in the name of Wellington …

Arthur told him that he had chosen ‘exactly right’, but Kitty was not pleased, confiding to her diary that ‘I do not like it for it recalls nothing’, and it was small compensation for her agonies of worry. ‘Surely heaven will protect the good, brave man,’ she wrote later, ‘… with all my soul I wish he was at home.’ The title was gazetted on 4 September 1809, and on the 16
^th
Arthur signed a letter about ‘biscuits and cash balances’ to John Villiers, ambassador in Lisbon, as Wellington, adding: ‘This is the first time I have signed my new name.’
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Wellington, as we may now call him, at last, was not to fight another battle for more than a year. In the interim, he was busy both politically and militarily. Firstly, he set about securing Portugal. In a memorandum of 20 October 1809, he told Lieutenant Colonel Richard Fletcher, his chief engineer, that, while the French could not attack him at the moment, they would do so when reinforced. He knew that Napoleon had beaten the Austrians, and was now free to concentrate on the Peninsula. Lisbon and the Tagus were crucial to the defence of Portugal, and their possession would also permit the British army to be re-embarked if all else failed. Fletcher was ordered to carry out wide-ranging surveys-Wellington listed twenty-one specific tasks – with a view to the construction of three lines of fortification covering the segment of Portugal between the Tagus and the sea. Rivers were dammed and roads broken up to disrupt the French advance, while forts, so close that their fields of fire could interlock, were built on high ground, with lengths of trench and rampart between them. The first line ran twenty-nine miles from Alhandra on the Tagus, through the town of Torres Vedras, to the coast just south of the Ziandre estuary. The second was some six miles further south, and the third, which was centred on Fort St Julian on the Tagus, covered an embarkation beach. Next, Wellington redoubled his efforts to increase the value of the Portuguese army, beginning the process of incorporating a Portuguese brigade in each of his divisions, and ensuring that the Portuguese
ordenanza
, the militia, was properly organised, and was prepared to destroy crops, food stocks, mills and ovens when the French advanced.