CHAPTER XVI
The Battle of Salamanca
The gentle tinkle of convent bells, the lowing of distant oxen,and the cheery whistling and singing of the men of Wellington's1st Division awakened Tom on the morrow of his arrival in theneighbourhood of Salamanca. He shook off his blanket and rose,stretching himself, then inhaled the balmy summer air, and enjoyedthe hazy view over the heights of the Arapiles, a precipitous partadjacent to the city, and split into two portions, known as theSister Arapiles.
A thousand bivouac fires were smoking, a thousand and more busy cooksstruggled to prepare the rations for the day, while soldiers came andwent carrying ammunition, food, fodder, and water, or leading long,roped lines of horses up from the river.
What a bustle there was about the camp, what order and method, andwhat cheerfulness. A band was playing over by the headquarters tent,above which flew General Lord Wellington's flag. A battery of gunswent trundling by, the men in their shirt sleeves, for they weremerely taking up another position, and the business of the day hadnot begun.
And yonder were the enemy, some 42,000 strong, with 74 guns, withcavalry and every branch which goes to the completion of an army.Already these thousands were astir; the French bivouac fires hadbeen stamped out, and the morning meal eaten. There came the blareof trumpets across the breeze, drowning the peaceful tinkle of theconvent bells and the pleasant lowing of cattle. Drums rattled awayin the far distance, while dust began to rise over road and plain,as the battalions of the enemy marched hither and thither to takeup their posts for the coming conflict. For a battle was imminent.Wellington with much patience and forethought had prepared the wayfor it. He had cleared Portugal of the foreign invader. He hadcaptured Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, but at what cost and suffering!That last manoeuvre had wrecked the bridge at Almarez, and haddestroyed the huge stores collected there by the enemy. But now hewas face to face with one of their armies, Marmont's, the Duke ofRagusa, and was eager to try his strength with them, while they, todo them justice, were just as ready.
"Mr. Clifford, commanding the composite regiment of Portuguese andSpanish irregulars?"
The staff officer reined in his mount at Tom's feet and saluted.
"Here, sir."
"You will see that your men draw rations, and take their waterbottles filled, also ammunition; then march for General Pack'sbrigade and report to him. They are over there; you can see the darkuniforms."
He galloped away without waiting for Tom to reply, and they saw himracing across to headquarters. Other aides-de-camp were canteringfrom that same place, and in a little while bugles and drums weresounding amidst the British lines, while men were falling in byregiments.
"Parade present and correct, sir," reported Jack, riding up as Tomclambered into his saddle.
"Keep them as they are then, Mr. Barwood," came Tom's most politeanswer; for on duty there was no joking between these two youngofficers. "I'll say a few words to them first, before we move off.We've to join General Pack's Portuguese brigade, so our fellows willbe fighting alongside their countrymen to-day."
"Yes, sir; and they'll show 'em the way."
"And cover themselves with credit. They look well," reflected Tom,as the two rode on to the ground in front of their little corps, anddrew rein some few paces from them. "Smart; no doubt about it. Don'tsee a sign of funking."
"No, sir. Shall I call up the other officer and our non-coms?"
"Please, and quickly with it."
Alfonso halted before our hero, his face brimming over withenthusiasm. He saluted, and waited. Then came Andrews and Howeley,both old soldiers; for there was none of your short service then.The men of the British army, whether recruits or old stagers, filledtheir breeches and jackets, and gave good measure round calf andthigh and chest. The two riflemen were fine specimens of the 60th,and, being detached from their corps, seemed to hold themselves allthe better, as if to let all and sundry see what a rifle regimentcould do for its members.
"We join Pack's brigade," explained Tom. "They're posted about thecentre and are likely to be in the thick of it. I want you all toremember that this corps must set an example. We must hold the mentogether. If others of the irregulars bolt before the enemy, we won'thave the same said of our fellows. Now, men," he called out. "A wordbefore we march. There's the enemy before you, yonder is GeneralPack's brigade of Portuguese. We go to join them; let every manremember how this corps has behaved in the past. Hold firmly togetherand keep your wits about you. Your courage I know you will hold, forthat you have proved already. For the rest, keep your eyes on yourofficers, and recollect that when the press comes, if come it does,you are fighting for home and country."
A British regiment would have cheered the strangely youthful-lookingstaff officer. The mixed guerrillas from the hilltops of Spain andPortugal stared at him hard. There was a set expression on everybronzed face, a hard gripping of muskets, and a swinging of all eyesover to the enemy. And then came the word to march. They stepped outbriskly. Heads erect, muskets at the trail, their commander leadingthem, the little corps advanced to take its part for the first timein a general action. Nor did its smartness pass unobserved.
"What corps is that?" demanded the great Wellington, ever observant,his eyes in all directions. "All dressed in blue, I think, and--yes,some wearing the red cockade of Spain. What corps, please?"
"Mr. Clifford's, sir; recruited on the borders, and composed of 300Portuguese and as many Spanish hillmen. The only corps where the twonationalities have worked in friendship with one another. They werein that Ciudad Rodrigo affair, sir; also down at Badajoz."
The spyglass flew to the general's eye, and for a while he watchedthe corps striding along. Then he eyed the young commander.
"Good!" he exclaimed, thinking aloud. "They march like veterans.Their officer conducts himself like a tried general. There's no hurryabout him, but slap-dash-up smartness. If they fight as they marchwe've something to boast of. And with such an officer my littlemission is likely to receive attention."
He shut the glass with a bang and went cantering off towards theheights of the Sister Arapiles, a brilliant staff trailing out behindhim. As for Tom, he held on his way without swerving. Now passingbetween halted regiments, now halting his own command to allow ofthe passage of a battery or more of guns, which went by at a trot,obliterating all about them in the clouds of dust tossed up by thewheels and the hoofs of the horses. Meanwhile the sun flashed in thedistance from a forest of French bayonets, manoeuvring for position,marching this way or that, while a little later a battery took postaway on the shoulder of one of the sister heights, smoke billowedfrom unseen muzzles, while shot tore through the summer air, and camebounding and ricochetting towards them.
"Report, sir; General Wellington's orders," said Tom, halting hislittle corps to the front of Pack's brigade and reporting to thatofficer.
"Ah! Reinforcements or reserve!" came the answer, while the gallantgeneral smiled a welcome. "Smart men yours, sir. Name, may I ask,please?"
"Clifford, sir, General Lord Wellington's staff, seconded for servicewith irregulars."
And then the smile on the general's face broadened. He gripped Tom'shand warmly. "Ah! The twins, I know," he cried gaily. "The officerthe French refuse to fight, eh?"
Tom, with heightened colour, was forced to confess that it was so.Then he cast his eyes along the sitting lines of the Portuguesebrigade, garbed in its blue, and wondered how these rough levieswould conduct themselves. A moment later he was sitting erect toreceive his orders.
"March your command to our left, and fall in rear, to act as areserve with the companies already detailed for that service. Smartmen, Mr. Clifford, a smart lot of fellows!"
There were thousands of others in Pack's brigade who repeated thatopinion; for, seeing that Tom's men were standing while the remainderof the brigade were sitting, they were the observed of all observers.
"Halt! Dress on the right--smartly does it," came from Tom.
"Smartly does it!" Jack roared
in the stentorian voice becoming toan adjutant, and--we must confess it--with an accent which brought awhimsical smile to General Pack's face.
"Lively with it, boys!" shouted Howeley and Andrews together, using alanguage half English, a little Portuguese, and the rest nothing inparticular. "Lively does it! Dress up there on the left. 'Shun! Standat ease! Back there that swab away on the left."
Rigidly erect, the toes of their English-made boots forming a linewhich would have drawn a note of approval even from the lips of aliverish martinet, Tom's men stood at attention, muskets at theshoulder, bayonets already fixed. And then, with a clatter, they satdown, having piled their weapons.
"Two hours since we left camp; perhaps we'd better give 'em somegrub," suggested Jack, peeping into his own haversack. For whatevermay have been the duties of this ensign, he was still just theovergrown boy, always hungry, always ready for a meal.
"Always growing, that's the reason," he had often explained. "Musthave something at hand to build up an increasing framework."
How those two hours had changed the July morning! The sun swamredly overhead, approaching the vertical position; a few fineclouds flecked the sky; while the heights, the distant cork forestsheltering the French battalions, still looked peaceful enough. Butthere was the roar of guns in many directions. Away behind Pack'sbrigade, posted on an eminence, and sheltered by the stragglingbuildings of a farm, was a British battery, busily pumping shot overthe heads of the sitting brigade at an enemy then invisible to Tomand his comrades. The answering shot likewise shrieked above thebrigade, and more than once Jack pointed, while men scrambled totheir feet and looked about them as if terrified.
"Don't look well for later on," he jerked out crisply. "But you neverknow. Anyway, the bulk of them are taking matters coolly."
No wonder the peace of the land about Salamanca was disturbed; forto match the masses of the enemy Wellington had collected some40,000 men, including 3500 cavalry and 54 guns. These he had onthis eventful day beneath his eye, cut up into divisions, and soplaced that he could move his forces rapidly. His right rested onthe foothills of the Sister Arapiles, as yet unoccupied by our men,but at that moment being scaled by the French legions. His leftextended to the River Tormes, while he himself passed this way andthat, eagerly watching the movements of the enemy. Marmont was evenmore busy than Wellington, and there is little doubt but that hehoped by this general action to smash the power of the commander whowas now such a thorn in his side, and to cut him off from Portugalcompletely. His right manoeuvred persistently for the road to CiudadRodrigo, while his left marched on the Arapiles, and now occupied oneof the heights. For the rest, his centre was masked by a cork wood,through the gaps in which came the reflections from the flashingbayonets of his battalions.
A burst of firing echoed across the plain from the village ofArapiles, now occupied by our infantry. Flying figures were seenstruggling down the heights and forming up at their base. Shotplunged over the heads of Pack's sitting brigade and smote thosedescending ranks. And then came the rattle of drums, the cheers offrantic men, a red flash as muskets were exploded, followed by thepitter-pat of independent firing. Crash! Bang! Those guns behind thefarm pounded the advancing French, ploughing the ground about them.The cheers broke out even louder, and were drowned by a torrent ofmusketry which flashed round the post held by British infantry.
The same scene, diversified a little, was happening away on ourleft, where our battalions manoeuvred against Marmont's, holdingthem back from that all-important road. Elsewhere, when not activelyengaged, or making some countering move, troops sat down in theirformation, men nibbled at their rations, while a squadron of horseslowly cantered across a dusty part, into which the enemy's cannonball plumped in quick succession. Tom found himself actually feelingdrowsy, Jack Barwood looked as if he could willingly drop off tosleep, while some of the regiment were stretched full length, theireyes tight closed, not even bothering to open them when there came aclatter near at hand and a ball trundled and roared past them.
Down below those heights, to which we have referred so often, satWellington, wearied with long watching and counter manoeuvring,dismounted now, his spyglass in his pocket, and himself seated at amidday meal, which he needed as much perhaps as any of his soldiers.For the moment he could do no more. He was merely watching andwaiting. Thus he and his staff snatched a hasty meal, wondering whatthe result of the day was to be for them. Then came electrifyingnews--Marmont was extending his left. He was pushing his divisionsup into the Arapiles, leaving his centre denuded, while right andleft wings of his army were steadily getting farther and fartherfrom one another. It was the moment for which Wellington had beenwaiting; it was the moment of all others in which to strike. Thatcritical stage in the coming contest had arrived where one leader,in this case Marmont, attempts too great a task; while his opponent,watching him like a cat, sees the error, realizes the opportunity,and sends his men headlong to make the most of it. There, in fact,as Wellington looked through his spyglass, were the divisions formingthe French left separated from their centre; while, in addition tothis attempted enveloping movement, Marmont was still manoeuvringhis right, so as to close the road to Ciudad Rodrigo. Here, in fact,if we look closely into the circumstances, was an example of dividedforce, that for which Wellington was ever seeking. His acuteness,and the strenuous fighting of his men, had separated Marmont fromother French armies. Now Marmont's own dispositions had separated hisleft wing from its centre and right, and at this precise moment theopportunity had come to beat his army in detail.
Pakenham's 3rd Division was seated about our general. He had beenlunching with its officers, Pakenham being his own brother-in-law.Instantly he gave this gallant leader orders, and at once the men ofthe 3rd Division were on their feet. Forward they charged against theleft wing on the slope of the Sister Arapiles. Batteries thunderedagainst them; muskets sent a stinging hail of bullets against theface of the charging division; while cavalry emerged from a fold inthe ground and charged madly for the advancing British. But nonecould stay that gallant division. The men swept cavalry aside. Theylaughed at bullets and cannon shot. Leaving a thick trail of killedand wounded, they pressed the charge home, came to handgrips with theenemy, and then attacked them with the bayonet.
"Let them loose!" cried Pakenham; and at the command the ConnaughtRangers, ever a fine fighting corps, was sent into the midst of thethick masses of Marmont's left wing.
"Magnificent but dreadful!" cried Tom, a witness from the plainof the whole scene. "Look; our fellows are crumpling the enemy'sleft wing up! Our colours are right alongside theirs, with the menfighting all round. It's a grand movement!"
"The Portuguese brigade will fall in!"
The command rang out over that portion of the ground where Tom andhis men were stationed, and at once the men were on their feet.
"Dress up there on the right. Back in the centre. Nicely does it,men! Ready and correct, sir."
Jack Barwood, a grin of excitement on his face, rode up to Tom andreported the composite regiment to be ready.
"March!"
The brigade was in motion. Extending by battalions to left and right,its face was soon far wider than it had been. Pack led them direct tothat Arapile height still held by Marmont, and known as Hermanito.Guns blazed and thundered at the Portuguese. Shot plunged through theranks, sweeping men by half-dozens out of existence. Musket bulletsbegan to sizzle and whip about the ears of the brigade, and fell evenamongst the reserve marching some four hundred yards in rear. Tom'smen began to fall by the way. Was there a sign of flinching?
"Good plucked 'uns, to the backbone," muttered Jack, at Tom's sidenow, his face eager and tense. "Our boys will do well, sir. What arethe orders?"
An aide-de-camp had just galloped round, and had shouted instructionsto our hero.
"We're to charge up behind the men and support any part where theenemy are pressing," he said shortly. "I'm going to move off to theside a little; as we are we get all the shots and balls which missthe bri
gade in advance, and that isn't business. To the left thereare folds in the ground which will give us shelter. Look away upthere at Pakenham's 3rd Division."
The struggle was still progressing there, though the enemy's guns hadceased to thunder. Our scarlet-clad men could be seen mustering hereand there, and, though Tom could not himself know what was happening,that mustering told its own tale. For Marmont's left wing, sorecklessly moved away from the support of its centre and right, wasconquered. Three thousand of the enemy were already prisoners, withtwo much-coveted eagles and eleven cannon. The rest were scattered,some still contesting the ground, while the remainder had taken totheir heels. Indeed, all eyes were now on Pack's brigade.
"Charge! Up the hill and at them!"
The command rang out in Portuguese, and at once the irregularsstormed the height, their muskets at the trail, their bayonetsalready fixed. Ah, they were close to the summit! Breathless withthe climb, but eager for the conflict, they cheered as they gainedthe height. Then there came the roar and crackle of musketry. Twelvehundred French infantry emptied their muskets into the charginghost and came at them with fixed bayonets--fresh men against menblown after a stiff climb. There was the crash and clank of crossingweapons, and, later, cries of terror. Dismayed by the enemy's charge,straggling as is the case with infantry after a stiff climb, thePortuguese in engagement with Marmont's men turned tail and fled downthe hill, exposing the 4th Division on its flank to the attack of theenemy. Instantly French regiments poured up, guns crashed out, whilea hail of musketry was sent against that division by the ranks of theFrench.
"Double!" commanded Tom, emerging with his men a few moments earlierfrom a convenient and merciful fold in the ground, and realizinginstantly what had happened. "Double up there and cover the flank ofthe 4th Division. Now, halt!"
It took ten minutes perhaps to get into position, and all the whilethe enemy were advancing at a run to take the 4th Division in flank.But Tom's men were there before them, and, at his shrill whistles, atonce broke up into squares of double companies, one Portuguese andone Spanish being now associated together in all manoeuvres.
"Wait for the word to fire!" bellowed Tom, while Jack, and Alfonso,and Andrews, and Howeley repeated the order in stentorian tones."Fire by squares! Be ready to charge!"
Pandemonium reigned about them. A mass of cavalry swung of a suddenround the shoulder of the hill, and, skirting the French battalions,launched itself against Tom's devoted squares. Crash! Bang! A blazeof flame swept in their faces. Horses reared and fell with theirriders. A thousand desperate troopers galloped at the squares,slashing and cutting. Crash! Bang! The muskets flashed redly; thebullets tore through the scattered ranks of the cavalry.
"Load! Stand ready there. Ah! Reserves are coming up. That must bethe 5th Division. Men of the composite regiment, stand firm and youwill have saved the position here. Ready? Then forward."
The three squares advanced steadily against the advancing French.Men fell here and there, but their places were instantly filled. Thefaces of the squares, presenting in this case but a narrowed angleto the enemy, swirled with fire and flame. Smoke hid the men fromall observers, while a thunderous discharge came from their weapons.Then there followed the clink of ramrods. Bullets were driven homeon powder and wads, primings were renewed, while flints were drawnback. Then again was repeated the same thunder of muskets, the samered flaming flash, the same vomiting of sulphurous vapour. A minutelater the 5th Division came panting up, and at once the enemy werepressed back. Steadily the advance was maintained, and presently theenemy were fleeing.
"Form line!" bellowed Tom, standing in his stirrups and waving hissword, all oblivious of the fact that a musket bullet had shatteredthe blade, leaving him with but six inches of steel clinging to thehilt. "Line up with the 4th Division. Forward!"
"Forward!" shrieked Jack in his terrible Portuguese.
"Now's the time, me boys!" shouted Andrews, ever encouraging the men.
On went the scarlet lines of British, with the thin blue line ofTom's irregulars wedged in between. Wellington himself came canteringup, for now had come the very crisis of the battle. The 6th Divisiondoubled to the front with cheers of eagerness, while, away on theleft of our line, troops until then hardly under fire went to thefront.
Slowly at first, and then more swiftly, the enemy's regimentswere crumpled up. Marmont had by now been severely wounded, whilesuccessive generals had been placed _hors de combat_. Muddled bycounter orders, therefore, and no doubt scared by the dash of ourbattalions, the enemy retired all along the line, and was soon inretreat, protected by strong rearguards and followed persistentlyover miles of country by our men.
It would be impossible to detail every single combat which followed.Gallant regiments on the side of the French stood fast, holding theirground while their comrades retired to safety. But as night fell allwere in retirement, and here again were the plans of Lord Wellingtonupset by the very people who should have done their utmost to supporthim. For Marmont's army of the north was beaten. Capture of thesurvivors of this day's memorable fight would mean a French disaster,and to bring that about Wellington had long ago sent his Spanishirregulars to guard the fords across the River Tormes. Can we wonderthat that at Alba was deserted by the cowardly Spanish as the Frenchcame near? And thereby a decisive defeat was lessened. By the nextday, in fact, the French were across the river.
But Salamanca was won. The northern frontier of Portugal was freed ofthe enemy, and now, when we advanced into Spain still farther, we hadthis to content us--there were none of the enemy in rear to cut ourcommunications or to stampede our rearguards. They were to our front,and no Britisher fears an enemy whom he can see plainly.
But there were still rascals and traitors to be dealt with, asTom was yet to learn. Not that he gave a thought to them. For onthe evening of the battle, receiving an order from a gallopingaide-de-camp, he halted his men and set them down for a breather.Then the sound of clattering hoofs came to his ears, and there rodeout of the gathering gloom Lord Wellington himself, with a brilliantstaff about him. He drew rein within ten feet of the corps, nowdishevelled and lessened sadly in numbers, but erect as ever, anddressed with that precision for which they had become notorious.
"What corps?" asked Wellington, though he needed no information.
"Lieutenant Clifford's, sir. Composite corps; half-Portuguese andhalf-Spanish."
Tom's heart thudded as the general set his horse three paces forward.
"Ah," he heard him say, "I felt sure it was they! Mr. Clifford."
"Sir," answered Tom, lowering the hilt of his broken sword.
"Mr. Barwood and the other officers, commissioned andnon-commissioned," cried the general softly, causing all thoseindividuals to come to the front.
"Gentlemen," said Wellington, his tones not raised in the slightest,as if he were discussing a matter of little interest, and yetconveying by a subtle inflection of his voice that it was no ordinarymatter, "from the plain below we saw Pack's Portuguese turn tail andbolt. We saw the 4th Division heavily assailed. And then this corpswas thrust into the gap. It was a brilliantly-conceived movement, andit helped to save a situation which was critical. The forming of thecorps into squares was beyond all criticism. Mr. Clifford, you willbe good enough to give my personal commendations to your men, whosebravery is a pattern for all their fellows. Inform them that I holdthem in great respect, and that since the respect of a commanderis shown through his officers, who have done so well again, thoseofficers' names will be sent to England in my dispatches. March yourmen back to their camp, please."
Did the men of Tom's corps cheer? They shouted themselves hoarseafter our hero had spoken to them. They trudged across the fieldstrewn with killed and wounded with merry songs, and turned intotheir blankets when all was over as proud as any in Spain or Portugal.
As for Tom, he was too fatigued to even think. Once his wounded werecollected and his dead buried, a gruesome job for any commander, hedropped dead asleep in his blanket. He recked no
t of the work beforehim. His slumbering mind cared not a jot for the dangers of the taskwhich his commander had given him. If there had been fifty spies tocapture, if there had been fifty mysteries hanging about the personsof the rascal Jose and Tom's two relatives abducted from Oporto,that young fellow would still have slept. For he had fought hisfirst big engagement. He had done strenuous work, and nature calledaloud for repose for both body and brain before he took up otherresponsibilities. Till the morrow, then, we leave him till the risingsun awaked in his thoughts the memory of those urgent orders.