Salamanca 1812- Wellington’s Year of Victories Read online

  We of the 77th looked somewhat blank at the idea of remaining in reserve; and our colonel – a regular fire-eater – issued his directions with a grim countenance and a voice fierce from disappointment. Rest your souls in peace, brave Ridge and gallant Dunkin! O! though peace was little to your tastes in life. Finer fellows never cheered men to an assault; but Dunkin wanted that moderation and discretion which tempered Ridge’s bravery. They alone ordered the colours to accompany their regiment – a rash act – considering that our united numbers little exceeded three hundred firelocks, and one that might have much embarrassed us in the work we had in hand: but it was Dunkin’s fancy. Whilst waiting in the gloom, somewhat impatiently, for the return of the men sent for the ladders, and for Major Sturgeon’s appearance, we mingled in groups of officers, conversing and laughing together with that callous thoughtlessness which distinguishes the old campaigner. I well remember how poor McDougall of the 5th, recently joined from the staff, was quizzed about his dandy moustaches. When next I saw him, in a few short hours, he was a lifeless and a naked corpse. Suddenly a horseman galloped heavily, but hastily towards us – it was Picton. He made a brief and inspiriting appeal to us: said he knew the 5th were men whom a severe fire would not daunt, and that he reposed equal confidence in the 77th. A few kind words to our Commander, and he bade us God speed – pounding the sides of his hog-maned cob as he trotted off in a different direction.

  The 94th also moved up, as told by their anonymous officer:

  From the engineer’s stalls, there were given out to the 94th regiment a number of knotted ropes to assist in descending the ditch, and of felling-axes to remove and break down the impediments supposed to exist about the breach.

  Lieutenant Colonel Campbell, having set his watch at the headquarters of the Division, moved his regiment forward as soon as evening permitted, to the Convent of Santa Cruz, and to post under a loop-holed wall to the left of it, along which it had been intended to form a ditch which, however, was excavated to only the depth of a foot or two. This position was enfiladed by two light brass guns, mounted en-barbette on a projection of the Fausse Braie, but as the moon threw the shadow over the wall on this half-formed ditch, we were enabled to approach unobserved to within a hundred and twenty yards of the outer defences of the place. Here we waited until the moment arrived, at which as Colonel Campbell had been told, the storming party would leave the trenches; for although we had less ground to pass over to reach the breach than they, it was of importance that we should be there before them, in order to perform the duty of removing whatever might embarrass the attack.

  And in the dead ground behind the Upper Teson, and destined to assault the main breach, the 88th (Connaughts) were waiting for news, as Ensign William Grattan tells us:

  It was now five o‘clock in the afternoon, and darkness was approaching fast, yet no order had arrived intimating that we were to take a part in the contest about to be decided. We were in this state of suspense when our attention was attracted by the sound of music; we all stood up, and pressed forward to a ridge, a little in our front, and which separated us from the cause of our movement, but it would be impossible for me to convey an adequate idea of our feelings when we beheld the 43rd Regiment, preceded by their band, going to storm the left breach; they were in the highest spirits, but without the slightest appearance of levity in their demeanour – on the contrary, there was a cast of determined severity thrown over their countenances that expressed in legible characters that they knew the sort of service they were about to perform, and had made up their minds to the issue. They had no knapsacks – their firelocks were slung over their shoulders – their shirt-collars were open, and there was an indescribable something about them that at one and the same moment impressed the lookers-on with admiration and awe. In passing us, each officer and soldier stepped out of the ranks for an instant, as he recognised a friend, to press his hand – many for the last time; yet, notwithstanding this animating scene, there was no shouting or hazzaing, no boisterous bravadoing, no unbecoming language; in short, every one seemed to be impressed with the seriousness of the affair entrusted to his charge, and any interchange of words was to this effect: ‘Well, lads, mind what you’re about to-night’; or, ‘We’ll meet in the town by and by’; and other little familiar phrases, all expressive of confidence. The regiment at length passed us, and we stood gazing after it as long as the rear platoon continued in sight: the music grew fainter every moment, until at last it died away altogether; they had no drums, and there was a melting sweetness in the sounds that touched the heart.

  The first syllable uttered after this scene was, ‘And are we to be left behind?’ The interrogatory was scarcely put, when the word ‘Stand to your arms!’ answered it. The order was promptly obeyed, and a breathless silence prevailed when our commanding officer, in a few words, announced to us that Lord Wellington had directed our division to carry the grand breach. The solders listened to the communication with silent earnestness, and immediately began to disencumber themselves of their knapsacks, which were placed in order by companies and a guard set over them. Each man then began to arrange himself for the combat in such manner as his fancy or the moment would admit of – some by lowering their cartridge-boxes, others by turning theirs to the front in order that they might the more conveniently make use of them; others unclasping their stocks or opening their shirt-collars, and others oiling their bayonets; and more taking leave of their wives and children. This last was an affecting sight, but not so much so as might be expected, because the women, from long habit, were accustomed to scenes of danger, and the order for their husbands to march against the enemy was in their eyes tantamount to a victory; and as the soldier seldom returned without plunder of some sort, the painful suspense which his absence caused was made up by the gaiety which his return was certain to be productive of; or if, unfortunately, he happened to fall, his place was sure to be supplied by some one of the company to which he belonged, so that the women of our army had little cause of alarm on this head. The worst that could happen to them was the chance of being in a state of widowhood for a week.

  The 77th approached the Convent of Santa Cruz soon after 6.30.

  The awful stillness of the hour was unbroken, save by the soft-measured tread of our little columns as we passed over the green turf, or by the occasional report of a cannon from the walls, and the rush and hiss of its bore as it flew past us, or striking short, bounded from the earth over our heads ... We had approached the Convent, and whilst passing under its walls, we found there the Light Company of the 94th awaiting the hour of 7, when they were to commence brisk fire against the ramparts from the glacis, to distract the attention of the enemy.

  And there at the Convent the 77th were meant to halt. But instead they pushed on, ‘right forwards to the walls, which now loomed high and near’. He commented that ‘I imagine there must have been some new directions communicated by Sturgeon, who led us to our point of attack.’ Although his earlier reference to Donkin being ‘a regular fire-eater ... [who] lacked moderation and discretion’ hinted at a Colonel bitterly disappointed with his Regiment’s supporting role, and who was prepared to reject it.

  Anyway, forward they marched:

  We reached the low glacis, through which we discovered a pass into the ditch, somewhat resembling a wide embrasure, heavy palisadoed, with a gate in the centre ... Through the palisadoes were visible the dark and lofty old Moorish walls, while high over our heads was the great Keep or Citadel, a massive square tower which, as it was relieved against the sky, seemed like a giant frowning on the scene.

  We still were undiscovered, though we could distinguish the arms of the men on the ramparts, as they were levelled and fired from the parapets, in idle bluster, the balls whistling over us. The men with hatchets began to cut a way through the palisadoes, but the sound of the blows would not, I think, have been heard by the enemy who were occupied by their own noises, had it not been for the enthusiasm so characteristic of his country, wh
ich induced a newly-joined ensign, fresh from the wilds of Kerry, to utter a tremendous war-whoop as he saw the first paling fall before our efforts. The cheer was immediately taken up by the men and we all rushed through the opening, the two regiments mingled together.

  Sergeant John Jones, who was Orderly Sergeant to the 5th’s Major Ridge (who of course had preceded the 77th forward), said:

  After the first or second blow of the axes, the French sentinel directly over our heads called out, ‘Qui va la? Sacre bleu, Anglais’ and fired his musket ... Major Ridge now mounted one of the ladders and I closely followed him; at the same time he called out to Ensign Canch, who carried one of the Colours, to mount and show the men the way.

  So the 77th had caught up the tail of the 5th, doubtless to Major Ridge’s surprise, and thanks to Lord Wellington’s prescience in sending O’Toole’s Portuguese across the old Roman bridge to silence the cannon covering the ditch, the entry could have been worse:

  We were in the ditch heavily fired on from rampart and tower with musketry, but I do not recollect that they had any cannon bearing on us there; however, they tossed down lighted shells, and hand grenades innumerable, which spun about fizzing and hissing amongst our feet. Some smashed men’s heads in their descent, while others exploding on the ground tossed unlucky wretches in the air. I have seldom passed three or four minutes less comfortably; I think that time was consumed in bringing in and fixing the ladders against a wall to our left about twenty-five foot high, which I understood to be the extremity of the Fausse Braie. We crowded towards the ladders. Amongst the first to mount was the gallant chieftain of the 5th, but so many of his soldiers followed on the same ladder that it broke in two, and they all fell, many being hurt by the bayonets of their comrades round the foot of the ladder. Ridge’s ankle was sprained ... On raising my head to the level of the top of the wall, I beheld some of our fellows demolishing a picket which had been stationed at that spot ... Our ascent of the ladders placed us in the Fausse Braie-a broad deep ditch – in which we were for the moment free from danger. When about 150 men had mounted we moved forward at a rapid pace along the ditch, cowering in close to the wall, whilst over our heads we heard the shouts and cries of alarm and preparation. Our course was soon arrested by the massive fragments and crumbling ruins of the main breach, extending half across the ditch.

  So they had done their job. The ditches and fausse Braie were clear and no threat would imperil the men of MacKinnon’s brigade who, they supposed, would by now be clawing up the debris of the breach. They had been joined at the breach by the 94th under Campbell, on their shorter route, but where was MacKinnon? For, as the officer of the 77th wrote:

  The situation in which we now were placed was one of extreme danger and embarrassment. Instead of falling into the rear of a column supposed to have already carried the breach, we stood alone at its base, exposed to a tremendous fire of grape and musketry from its defences ... For a minute we seemed destined to be sacrificed to some mistake as to the hour of attack. On the appearance of the 94th, the fire of the garrison was redoubled – but after a moment’s consultation between the seniors, it was decided to die like men on the breach than like dogs in the ditch, and instantly with a wild hoorah, all sprang upwards, absolutely eating fire.

  Ridge’s Orderly Sergeant, John Jones, adds that he called out, ‘Up, my brave men! He and I ascending at the same time, and the mould being knee height and deep at each step.’

  The 94th too saw the chance for glory: ‘The breach was clear for attack ... and knowing that we would be immediately supported by the parties approaching the breaches [Colonel Campbell] gave the word to fix bayonets and mount ... And, not to lose a second of time.’ The French drums were beating to arms.

  MacKinnon’s brigade should by now have moved forward for, as the sapper John Burgoyne tells us, ‘The whole would be regulated by the attack of the 5th Regiment, ten minutes after which the rest would commence.’ But earlier, when MacKinnon and Campbell’s brigades were both still in their forming up places, ‘General Crauford, being late, an order was sent to detain General MacKinnon ... [who] hesitated, in consequence of the foregoing order, and some time was lost.’ When he did move, it was into the teeth of direct shot, shell and canister from the rampart embrasures and its forty-three guns and howitzers. The full moon had earlier been concealed by cloud, but now it thinned and cleared, and as Gratton with the 88th tells us, ‘The enemy had a full view of all that was passing; their batteries, charged to the muzzle with case-shot, opened a murderous fire upon the columns as they advanced.’ The 3rd Division lost heavily crossing the open ground to the glacis, ‘Ravaged by a tempest of grape from the ramparts,’ as Napier puts it, and some delay was further occasioned, right under the guns, whilst the hay-bag parties got forward to the outer ditch. Thus MacKinnon eventually arrived to find Campbell, Ridge and Donkin – his flank support – sweeping ahead onto the rough scree of the breach slope.

  No-one of course knew what lay in wait at the top, since no close reconnaissance had been practicable. It was probably for the best not to know in advance. Gratton gives the soldiers’ philosophy clearly enough:

  Men going to storm a breach generally make up their minds that there is no greater probability of their ever returning from it; and whether they die at the bottom or top of it, or at the muzzle, or upon the breach of a cannon, is to them pretty nearly the same.

  What was known, however, to every man in the storming parties was that the garrison had had enough time to prepare their surprises. Of particular nastiness, the flat top of the rampart wall – the promenade, shall we say – had been trenched across either side of the breach with breastworks protecting those firing out over the trenches. Since the breach was situated on a near-right-angle turn in the town wall, fire from these breastworks above the trenches would not only fall onto their direct attackers but could also be directed onto the backs of those parties attempting their neighbour. The trenches were ten feet wide and ten feet deep, that on the French left being a double trench, that on their right possibly a single; but above each flanks’ pits crouched a 24-pounder cannon triple-charged with canister. And that was not the end of the defensive arrangements, as we shall see. The 45th and the 88th were destined to take a closer look.

  The 45th’s History tells us:

  Whilst waiting for the hour fixed for the assault, an order arrived from Sir Thomas Picton to form a forlorn hope. The officers commanding companies were therefore called together and ordered to bring to the head of the column six men from each company for the purpose. They soon returned declaiming that every man present volunteered for the pre-eminence, and wished to know how they were to act, for the older soldiers claimed it as their right. The moment for the assault had arrived, and there was no time to be lost, so Captain Martin, commanding the Grenadier Company, put an end to all difficulties by requesting leave to lead as he stood with his company at the head of the regiment. This was very reluctantly acquiescenced in there being no time to make other arrangements.

  The Division and Brigade commanders (Picton and McKinnon) rode up on the frosty grass, the former calling out, ‘Rangers of Connaught! It is not my intention to expend any powder this evening. We’ll do the business with the cauld iron.’ Both generals having dismounted and placed themselves at the head of the 45th, the signal gun sent off Lieutenant William Mackie’s twenty-strong forlorn hope from the Connaughts, the 180 hay-bag sappers and Major Manners’ storming party of 300 volunteers drawn from the brigade as a whole.

  To their left, the Light Division measured up to take the Lesser Breach. Three companies of the 95th had already got forward into the ditch half way between the two breaches, turning right to clear MacKinnon’s left flank. The forlorn hope was twenty-five men under Lieutenant Gurwood of the 52nd, and Major George Napier of his regiment commanded the 300-strong storming party. At the very last minute, Lieutenant Theodore Elliot, who was present only as an off-duty engineer, was ordered to guide Napier to the breach (the officer
named in Fletcher’s orders had not turned up). ‘At the Convent,’ said Captain Ewart, 52nd,

  we found Lord Wellington, General Graham, with Marshal Beresford, and nearly all the general officers of the army. The 2nd Battalion 52nd were formed in column of three men in front (the 2nd Battalion close in rear of the 1st, both left in front) with the 43rd Regiment, formed in column of three in front, right in front, upon the right of them; so that the two regiments should enter the breach at the same time, preceded by the 300 men. The 95th Regiment and 3rd Caçadores were ordered to carry the ladders and bags filled with wool to enable the troops to get over the ditch easier. At a few minutes after 7p.m. the whole moved towards the breach.

  Johnny Kincaid of the 95th said,

  As soon as we turned the corner of the convent wall the space between us and the breach became one blaze of light with their fireballs, which, while they lighted us on to glory, lightened not a few of their lives and limbs; for the whole glacis was in consequence swept by a well-directed fire of grape and musketry ... The Portuguese sack-bearers mostly lay down behind their bags to await the result.

  The 300 yards of ground to the crest of the glacis was cleared at a run and the men jumped down the scarp, a depth of eleven feet, and rushed up the Fausse Braie under a smashing discharge of grape and musketry. The bottom of the ditch was dark and intricate, and the forlorn hope took too much to their left; but the storming party went straight to the breach. (Napier)