On 22 July 1808, HMS Crocodile nudged its way into the port of Corunna in northern Spain, with Lt. Gen. Sir Arthur Wellesley on board. Wellesley had sailed to Spain as commander of a 14,000-strong British force with the intention of supporting the people of both Portugal and Spain who had risen up against the invading French armies. Unfortunately, Wellesley was told in no uncertain terms by the local Spanish Junta that his presence, and that of his army, was not welcome, and he was advised to continue his journey along the coast of Portugal and seek help there. Wellesley departed Corunna on 24 July. Four years later – almost to the day – Sir Arthur, by then Lord Wellington, achieved one of his greatest successes on the field of battle when he defeated the French Army of Portugal under Marshal Marmont at the battle of Salamanca.
The road to Salamanca involved four years of hard slog for Wellington, who had to contend not only with numerically superior enemy forces, but with an anxious British government, worried lest its only army perished on the dusty Iberian plains. Added to this was the so-called ‘croaking’, the whispering campaign conducted by some of Wellington’s own officers who saw little prospect of success, and who advocated evacuating the Peninsula as soon as possible. This campaign reached its height during the spring and summer of 1810, although by the spring of 1811, when Massena’s starving French army had been forced from Portugal following its disastrous sojourn in front of the impenetrable Lines of Torres Vedras, even the ‘croakers’ could see some light at the end of the tunnel.
An incident during the battle of Vimeiro, 21 August 1808. Although it was fought four days after the battle of Roliça, this was Wellesley’s first important victory in the Peninsula and one which brought his name to the fore throughout Europe.
The crossing of the Douro, 12 May 1809. Following his return to the Peninsula, after having been acquitted of all charges arising from the Convention of Cintra, Wellesley drove Soult from Portugal in a daring operation which involved his men crossing the Douro beneath the very noses of the French, suffering very few casualties in the process. (After a painting by Simkin)
The British army’s campaign in the Peninsula began in August 1808 with a landing at the mouth of the Mondego River at Figueras. On 16 August the army fought its first action, near an old mill at Brillos, and suffered its first casualty of the war, Lt. Bunbury, of the 95th Rifles. The following day Wellesley’s army fought and won its first battle, at Roliça, although by later standards this was really nothing more than a large skirmish. On 21 August Wellesley defeated Delaborde at Vimeiro, his first major victory, and a battle which gave a clear indication how victory in the Peninsula was to be achieved. The dense French columns crumbled before the superior firepower of the British line, aided and abetted by Wellesley’s skilful choice of position and by the efficient use of his limited artillery. Sadly, and perhaps more ominous, was the behaviour of the British cavalry, on this occasion the 20th Light Dragoons, who performed the first of a series of ill-managed charges, something which was to continue right up until Waterloo some seven years later. But if the victory at Vimeiro ushered in the beginning of a long series of triumphs of the British line, it also marked one of the most controversial incidents of the Peninsular War, the notorious Convention of Cintra.
The convention was signed following an armistice, agreed between Wellesley and Gen. Kellerman, representing Junot’s French army. Prior to the signing of the convention, Wellesley had been superseded by two senior generals, Sir Hew Dalrymple and Sir Harry Burrard, who had arrived from England, while a third, Sir John Moore, was also on his way to Portugal. Under the terms of the convention, the defeated French army was allowed to sail back to France in British ships with all of its accumulated plunder as well as its arms. Naturally, this outraged the people in Britain and Wellesley, Dalrymple and Burrard were recalled to England to face a Court of Inquiry.
The 48th Regiment in action during the battle of Talavera, 27-28 July 1809. The battle was Wellesley’s first in Spain following his return to the Peninsula in April 1809. (After a painting by Simkin)
Meanwhile, the British army was driven from Spain by Marshal Soult who, on 16 January 1809, had fought the battle of Corunna against a British army under Sir John Moore. The resulting British victory allowed the army to embark in relative safety, although it cost Moore his life. The retreat to Corunna was also one of the more harrowing episodes of the war, as the discipline of many British units vanished amid the snows of the bleak Galician mountains. The episode was to be repeated in November 1812 during the retreat from Burgos, which was said by many to have been the more terrible of the two.
Wellesley was acquitted of his part in the Convention of Cintra and he returned to Portugal on 22 April 1809, when his ship, HMS Surveillante, sailed into Lisbon. Within just three weeks he had formulated his strategy for ejecting the French from Portugal and on 12 May, in one of the most daring operations of the war, his men crossed the River Douro and drove Soult’s men from the city of Oporto. By the end of the month Portugal was clear of the so-called Army of Portugal. From Oporto, Wellesley turned south to link up with the Spaniards under the ageing Gen. Cuesta, although the alliance between the two men was not one of the most productive. The Spaniards failed to make good their promises of supplies or, more importantly, transport. Moreover, Cuesta was loathe to take orders from Wellesley, whom, somewhat ironically, he regarded as an English heretic. The two men, however, did manage a degree of co-operation and by the summer of 1809 had concentrated their forces at Talavera. Here, on 27-28 July, with little or no help from his Spanish allies, Wellesley achieved one of his most hard-fought victories beneath the blazing Spanish sun. The two-day battle cost him some 5,000 casualties against 7,500 French, but it did earn him the title of Lord Wellington, Marquis of Talavera, a name first used by him when, on 27 September 1809, he signed himself ‘Wellington’.
The battle of Talavera ushered in a period of inactivity which was to continue until September 1810. During this 14-month period his army watched and waited on the Spanish–Portuguese border as Massena’s forces gathered in preparation for the invasion of Portugal. It was during this period that Wellington had to deal with the unease which was rife throughout his camp. Even senior commanders such as Robert Craufurd, whose Light Division found itself at the sharp end of operations on the border during the summer of 1810, saw little cause for optimism and was one of the ‘croakers’ Wellington complained of.
While Wellington’s army lingered, sometimes uneasily on the border, his engineers were busy supervising one of their commander’s great masterstrokes, the construction of the Lines of Torres Vedras. These three lines of fortification, with a fourth close to Lisbon itself, formed a series of barriers, both natural and man-made, which stretched across the 30- mile wide Lisbon peninsula. They dammed rivers and streams, constructed forts on hilltops, destroyed roads and constructed a variety of obstacles to make penetration by the French virtually impossible. A ‘scorched earth’ policy was carried out, as crops were either destroyed or absorbed into the Lines, while the population itself was resettled, leaving scores of villages and hamlets deserted. Wellington was absolutely determined that the French army would gain nothing from the land in front of his lines.
Craufurd’s Light Division in action on the Coa River, 24 July 1810. The summer of 1810 represented the most difficult period for Wellington in the Peninsula. The clamour from home, and from within his own camp, for an evacuation of the Peninsula reached its height during the summer as a result of a prolonged period of inactivity, coupled with several controversial minor actions. This drawing by Beadle shows the 43rd and 52nd Light Infantry and the 95th Rifles putting up a frantic fire to stem the French tide that was sweeping them back across the bridge over the Coa River.
British riflemen skirmishing in the Peninsula, after a painting by Dighton. The riflemen are armed with Baker rifles which proved the most successful weapon in the Peninsula.
The retreat to the Lines of Torres Vedras began in August 1810, and Wellington stopped only once, at the immensely strong position atop the ridge at Busaco, to turn and fight what was really just a delaying action. Massena’s divisions attacked Wellington on 27 September, but met with little success as his men were driven helter-skelter back down the very steep slopes which they had struggled up in vain. The victory was one of Wellington’s finest, and saw his Portuguese troops establish themselves with their previously unconvinced British allies. On the morning after the battle, however, Massena’s cavalry discovered a road which outflanked Wellington’s position to the north, and the respite for which Wellington had hoped was cut short.
A few days after Busaco Wellington’s men began to enter the Lines. None of the forts were manned by Wellington’s regulars, which was an unusual system of defence. Regular soldiers were to be used as a mobile force to counter any possible breakthrough by Massena, and the forts themselves were guarded by Portuguese militia and British seamen. Wellington’s fears were unfounded, however. When Massena arrived in front of the Lines, he looked up in surprise at what proved to be an impregnable position: the construction of the Lines had been effected in great secrecy. Ironically, reports from Royal Engineer officers who had been sent back to the Lines by Wellington’s chief engineer, Sir Richard Fletcher, suggest that they themselves had little faith in them, adding that the Portuguese troops would run at the sound of the first shot fired. Fortunately, this pessimism was misplaced and the Lines of Torres Vedras proved to be as successful as Wellington had hoped.
The battle of Fuentes de Onoro, 3-5 May 1811. This was Massena’s last battle in the Peninsula as he was recalled to Paris shortly afterwards. The battle, ostensibly an attempt by Massena to relieve the garrison of Almeida, ended in a hard-won victory for Wellington although he later said it was turned into a defeat when Brennier, the governor of Almeida, and his garrison made good their escape beneath the eyes of the careless blockading British troops a few days later. (After a print by Thomas St. Clair)
The 7th (Royal Fusiliers) make their attack during the closing stages of the battle of Albuera, 16 May 1811. It was one of the bloodiest battles of the war and was also one where Wellington was not present, the army on this occasion being commanded, somewhat controversially, by William Carr Beresford. (After a painting by Wollen)
Apart from a brief half-hearted attempt to attack the Lines at Sobral, Massena merely settled down in front of them to wait, for what we are not sure. In November 1810, faced with starvation, he pulled his army back towards Santarem in the hope that enough food could be found to sustain his troops. It was a futile hope, however, and in March 1811 he was finally forced to concede defeat and began his retreat north in the direction of Coimbra. There followed a number of fights – at Pombal, Redinha, Condeixa, Casal Nova and, notably, Foz d’Arouce – as Wellington harried Massena’s rearguard all the way to the Portuguese border. The last action of the retreat came on 3 April 1811 at Sabugal, until finally, Wellington drove Massena back over the border and into Spain.
On 3-5 May 1811 Wellington engaged and thwarted Massena at Fuentes de Onoro. The battle was an attempt by Massena to relieve the beleaguered garrison of Almeida, and was the last to be fought by the veteran French marshal as he was replaced by Marmont a few weeks later. Just 11 days later one of the bloodiest battles of the Peninsular War was fought at Albuera. Wellington took no part in the battle; the Allied army under Beresford was laying siege to the fortress of Badajoz and they abandoned this to meet Soult’s troops. The victory at Albuera was due almost entirely to the stubborn British infantry who refused to buckle in the face of a tremendous French onslaught. Severe British casualties were the price of this heroism, however, in a battle which later provoked much argument and bitterness as Beresford defended himself against widespread criticism of his command.
The storming of Ciudad Rodrigo, 19 January 1812, after a painting by Harry Payne. Many anachronisms appear, such as Belgic shakos, which were not worn, but otherwise a good representation of the attack. The ladders are also somewhat sturdier than the actual ones used. Indeed, many of the ladders were apparently made from chopped up wagons.
The storming of Badajoz, 6 April 1812, after a painting by Atkinson. The Light Division are seen mounting one of over 40 separate attacks which were delivered against the breaches but without success. The town eventually fell after the two diversionary attacks, at the castle and at the San Vincente bastions, succeeded.
There were a number of minor engagements and manoeuvring and counter-manoeuvring by both armies until December 1811, when Wellington was ready to begin the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo, the French-held fortress guarding the northern corridor between Spain and Portugal. After a siege of just 11 days, Allied troops stormed the town on 19 January 1812, although at some cost. Henry Mackinnon, leading the 3rd Division’s assault on the Great Breach, was killed and Robert Craufurd, commander of the Light Division, mortally wounded. The loss of Craufurd, who died on 23 January, was perhaps the greatest blow suffered by Wellington during the war. The storming of Ciudad Rodrigo was significant in that it was the first time Wellington’s army had taken a town by storm - the historian Sir John Fortescue goes so far as to state that it was the first time a British army had successfully stormed a European fortress. Little was done to maintain order afterwards, and a degree of plunder and misbehaviour occurred before discipline was restored. At Ciudad Rodrigo Wellington’s men got a taste of what could be expected in the event of a successful assault, a taste which they enjoyed to the full ten weeks later at Badajoz.
THE AFTERMATH OF BADAJOZ
Following the storming of Badajoz on the night of 6/7 April 1812 Wellington’s men went beserk and sacked the town in an orgy of violence. When Phillipon and his garrison chose to fight on despite the fact that the walls had been breached they waived all rights to mercy. Strangely enough, they escaped relatively unscathed afterwards when Wellington’s men turned on the inhabitants instead and the shocking scenes that followed the storming have gone down in legend as some of the most disgraceful in the history of the British army. The sacking of the town lasted for a full 72 hours and, as Napier wrote, ‘the tumult rather subsided than was quelled’.
The escalade of the San Vincente bastion at Badajoz, 6 April 1812. The attack by the 5th Division, intended purely as a diversion, was a key factor in the overall success of the storming.
With Ciudad Rodrigo in his hands, Wellington turned his attention to the mighty fortress of Badajoz, guarding the southern route between the two Iberian nations. The French garrison, commanded by the very able Baron Armand Phillipon, sat back confidently behind huge walls, 46 feet high in places, and awaited the British assault. Once again, Wellington’s men toiled in extreme conditions of rain and biting wind, with poor tools and regularly shelled by the French. When the assault finally came on the night of 6 April, the fury of the attack was met with equal violence by the defenders who employed every conceivable means to keep their assailants from gaining the breaches. Despite hurling themselves at the breaches over 40 times, the British and Portuguese attackers made little headway. Two diversionary attacks, both by means of escalade, finally ensured the town’s capture. The fall of Badajoz was followed by 72 hours of drunken debauchery as the triumphant soldiers, driven to the point of madness by the assault, sacked the place from top to bottom.
Wellington’s army staggered from Badajoz on 9 April and made its way back north to Ciudad Rodrigo which was being threatened by Marmont. The threat failed to materialise, however, and Wellington was able to stop and lay plans for the campaign that would, he hoped, see the Allies in Madrid that same summer. He was to be proved correct, of course, but first he would have to fight one of the most decisive battles of his career, Salamanca.