SECTION IV: CHAPTER II

LANDING OF THE BRITISH: COMBAT OF ROLI?A

From the first moment when the Asturian deputies arrived in London, with the news of the insurrection in Northern Spain [June 4], the English Government had been eager to intervene in the Peninsula. The history of the last fifteen years was full of the records of unfortunate expeditions sent out to aid national risings, real or imaginary, against France. They had mostly turned out disastrous failures: it is only necessary to mention the Duke of York’s miserable campaign of 1799 in Holland, Stewart’s invasion of Calabria in 1806, and Whitelock’s disgraceful fiasco at Buenos Ayres in 1807. As a rule the causes of their ill success had been partly incapable leading, partly an exaggerated parsimony in the means employed. Considering the vast power of France, it was futile to throw ashore bodies of five thousand, ten thousand, or even twenty thousand men on the Continent, and to expect them to maintain themselves by the aid of small local insurrections, such as those of the Orange party in Holland or the Calabrian mountaineers. The invasion of Spanish South America, on the hypothesis that its inhabitants were all prepared to revolt against the mother-country—a fiction of General Miranda—had been even more unwise.

The ‘policy of filching sugar islands,’ as Sheridan wittily called it—of sending out expeditions of moderate size, which only inflicted pin-pricks on non-vital portions of the enemy’s dominions—was still in full favour when the Spanish War began. There was hardly a British statesman who rose above such ideas; Pitt and Addington, Fox and Grenville, and the existing Tory government of the Duke of Portland, had all persisted in the same futile plans. At the best such warfare resulted in the picking up of stray colonies, such as Ceylon and Trinidad, the Cape, St. Thomas, or Cura?ao: but in 1808 the more important oversea possessions of France and her allies were still unsubdued. At the worst the policy led to checks and disasters small or great, like Duckworth’s failure at[p. 221] Constantinople, the abortive Egyptian expedition of 1807, or the catastrophe of Buenos Ayres. Castlereagh seems to have been the only leading man who dared to contemplate an interference on a large scale in Continental campaigns. His bold scheme for the landing of 60,000 men in Hanover, during the winter of 1805-6, had been foiled partly by the hesitation of his colleagues, partly by the precipitation with which Francis II made peace after Austerlitz[178].

But the policy of sending small auxiliary forces to the Iberian Peninsula was quite a familiar one. We had maintained a few thousand men under Generals Burgoyne and Townsend for the defence of Portugal against Spain in 1762. And again in 1801 there had been a small British division employed in the farcical war which had ended in the Treaty of Badajoz. In the year after Austerlitz, when it seemed likely that Bonaparte might take active measures against Portugal, the Fox-Grenville ministry had offered the Regent military aid, but had seen it politely refused, for the timid prince was still set on conciliating the Emperor.

With so many precedents before them, it was natural that the Portland cabinet should assent to the demands of the Spanish deputies who appeared in London in June, 1808. The insurrection in the Iberian Peninsula was so unexpected[179] and so fortunate a chance, that it was obviously necessary to turn it to account. Moreover, its attendant circumstances were well calculated to rouse enthusiasm even in the breasts of professional politicians. Here was the first serious sign of that national rising against Bonaparte which had been so often prophesied, but which had been so long in coming. Even the Whigs, who had systematically denounced the sending of aid to the ‘effete despotisms of the Continent,’ and had long maintained that Napoleon was not so black as he was painted, were disarmed in their criticisms by the character of the Spanish rising. What excuse could be made for the treachery at Bayonne? And how could sympathy be refused to a people which, deprived of its sovereign and betrayed by its bureaucracy, had so gallantly taken arms to defend its national[p. 222] existence? The debates in the British Parliament during the middle days of June show clearly that both the Government and the Opposition had grasped the situation, and that for once they were united as to the policy which should be pursued. It is only needful to quote a few sentences from the speeches of Canning as Foreign Secretary, and Sheridan as Leader of the Opposition [June 15].

‘Whenever any nation in Europe,’ said Canning, ‘starts up with a determination to oppose that power which (whether professing insidious peace or declaring open war) is alike the common enemy of all other peoples, that nation, whatever its former relations with us may have been, becomes ipso facto the ally of Great Britain. In furnishing the aid which may be required, the Government will be guided by three principles—to direct the united efforts of both countries against the common foe, to direct them in such a way as shall be most beneficial to our common ally, and to direct them to such objects as may be most conducive to British interests. But of these objects the last shall never be allowed to come into competition with the other two. I mention British interests chiefly for the purpose of disclaiming them as any material part of the considerations which influence the British Government. No interest can be so purely British as Spanish success: no conquest so advantageous to England as conquering from France the complete integrity of the Spanish dominions in every quarter of the globe.’

Sheridan repeats the same theme in a slightly different key:—‘Hitherto Buonaparte has run a victorious race, because he has contended with princes without dignity, ministers without wisdom, and peoples without patriotism. He has yet to learn what it is to combat a nation who are animated with one spirit against him. Now is the time to stand up boldly and fairly for the deliverance of Europe, and if the ministry will co-operate effectually with the Spanish patriots they shall receive from us cordial support.... Never was anything so brave, so noble, so generous as the conduct of the Spaniards: never was there a more important crisis than that which their patriotism has occasioned to the state of Europe. Instead of striking at the core of the evil, the Administrations of this country have hitherto gone on nibbling merely at the rind: filching sugar islands, but neglecting all that was dignified and consonant to the real interests of the country. Now is the moment[p. 223] to let the world know that we are resolved to stand up for the salvation of Europe. Let us then co-operate with the Spaniards, but co-operate in an effectual and energetic way. And if we find that they are really heart and soul in the enterprise, let us advance with them, magnanimous and undaunted, for the liberation of mankind.... Above all, let us mix no little interests of our own in this mighty combat. Let us discard or forget British objects, and conduct the war on the principle of generous support and active co-operation.’

It may perhaps be hypercritical to point out the weak spot in each of these stirring harangues. But Canning protested a little too much—within a few weeks of his speech the British Government was applying to the Junta of Seville to allow them to garrison Cadiz, which was refused (and rightly), for in the proposal British interests peeped out a little too clearly. And Sheridan, speaking from vague and overcoloured reports of the state of affairs in the Peninsula, went too far when he extolled the unmixed generosity and nobility of the conduct of the Spaniards: mingled with their undoubted patriotism there was enough of bigotry and cruelty, of self-seeking and ignorance, to make his harangue ring somewhat false in the ears of future generations. Yet both Canning and Sheridan spoke from the heart, and their declarations mark a very real turning-point in the history of the great struggle with Bonaparte.

Fortunately for Great Britain, and for the nations of the Iberian Peninsula, we were far better prepared for striking a heavy blow on the Continent in 1808 than we had been at any earlier period of the war. There was no longer any need to keep masses of men ready in the south-eastern counties for the defence of England against a French invasion. There were no longer any French forces of appreciable strength garrisoned along the English Channel: indeed Castlereagh had just been planning a raid to burn the almost unprotected French flotilla which still mouldered in the harbour of Boulogne. Our standing army had recently been strengthened and reorganized by a not inconsiderable military reform. The system had just been introduced by which Wellington’s host was destined to be recruited during the next six years. Every year two-fifths of the 120,000 embodied militia of the United Kingdom were to be allowed to volunteer into the regular army, while the places of the volunteers were filled up by men raised by ballot from[p. 224] the counties. This sort of limited conscription worked well: in the year 1808 it gave 41,786 men to the line, and these not raw recruits, but already more or less trained to arms by their service in the militia. All through the war this system continued: the Peninsular army, it must always be remembered, drew more than half its reinforcing drafts from the ‘old constitutional force.’ Hence came the ease with which it assimilated its recruits. Meanwhile the embodied militia never fell short in establishment, as it was automatically replenished by the ballot. The result of these changes, for which Castlereagh deserves the chief credit, was a permanent addition of 25,000 men to the regular force available for service at home or in Europe.

In June, 1808, there chanced to be several considerable bodies of troops which could be promptly utilized for an expedition to Spain. The most important was a corps of some 9,000 men which was being collected in the south of Ireland, to renew the attack on South America which had failed so disastrously in 1807. The news of the Spanish insurrection had, of course, led to the abandonment of the design, and General Miranda, its originator, had been informed that he must look for no further support from England. In addition to this force in Ireland there were a couple of brigades in the south-eastern counties of England, which had been intended to form the nucleus of Castlereagh’s projected raid on Boulogne. They had been concentrated at Harwich and Ramsgate respectively, and the transports for them were ready. A still more important contingent, but one that lay further off, and was not so immediately available, was the corps of 10,000 men which Sir John Moore had taken to the Baltic. In June it became known that it was impossible to co-operate with the hairbrained King of Sweden, who was bent on invading Russian Finland, a scheme to which the British Ministry refused its assent. Moore, therefore, after many stormy interviews with Gustavus IV, was preparing to bring his division home. With the aid of Spencer’s troops, which had so long been hovering about Cadiz and Gibraltar, and of certain regiments picked out of the English garrisons, it was easily possible to provide 40,000 men for service in Spain and Portugal.

But a number of isolated brigades and battalions suddenly thrown together do not form an army, and though Castlereagh had provided a large force for the projected expedition to the Peninsula, it was destitute of any proper organization. With the[p. 225] expedition that sailed from Cork there was only half a regiment of cavalry, and the brigades from Harwich, Ramsgate, and Gibraltar had not a single horseman with them, so that there were actually 18,000 foot to 390 horse among the contingents that first disembarked to contend with Junot’s army. Transport was almost equally neglected: only the troops from Cork had any military train with them, and that they were provided with horses and vehicles was only due to the prescience of their commander, who had at the last moment procured leave from London to enlist for foreign service and take with him two troops of the ‘Royal Irish Corps of Wagoners.’ ‘I declare,’ wrote Wellesley, ‘that I do not understand the principles on which our military establishments are formed, if, when large corps are sent out to perform important and difficult services, they are not to have with them those means of equipment which they require, such as horses to draw artillery, and drivers attached to the commissariat[180].’ Without this wise inspiration, he would have found himself unable to move when he arrived in the Peninsula: as it was, he had to leave behind, when he landed, some of his guns and half his small force of cavalry, because the authorities had chosen to believe that both draft and saddle horses could readily be procured in Portugal. Such little contretemps were common in the days when Frederick Duke of York, with the occasional assistance of Mrs. Mary Ann Clark, managed the British army.

But the arrangements as to the command of the expedition were the most ill-managed part of the business. The force at Cork was, as we have already explained, under the orders of Sir Arthur Wellesley, the younger brother of the great viceroy who had so much extended our Indian Empire between 1799 and 1805. He was the junior lieutenant-general in the British army, but had already to his credit a more brilliant series of victories than any other officer then living, including the all-important triumph of Assaye, which had so effectually broken the power of the Mahrattas. In 1808 he was a Member of Parliament and Under-Secretary for Ireland, but Castlereagh (who had the most unbounded belief in his abilities, and had long been using his advice on military questions) had picked him out to command the expedition mustering at Cork. When its destination was changed from America to Spain, the Secretary for War still hoped to keep him in command, but the[p. 226] Duke of York and the War Office were against Wellesley[181]. There were many respectable lieutenant-generals of enormous seniority and powerful connexions who were eager for foreign service. None of them had Wellesley’s experience of war on a large scale, or had ever moved 40,000 men on the field: but this counted for little at head quarters. The command in Portugal was made over to two of his seniors. The first was Sir Hew Dalrymple, a man of fifty-eight, whose only campaigning had been with the Duke of York in Flanders thirteen years back. He had been Governor of Gibraltar since 1806, knew something of Spanish politics, and was now in active communication with Casta?os. The second in command was to be Sir Harry Burrard[182]: he was an old Guards officer who had served during the American rebellion, and had more recently commanded a division during the Copenhagen expedition without any special distinction. The third was Sir John Moore, and to being superseded by him Wellesley could not reasonably have objected. He was at this moment perhaps the most distinguished officer in the British service: he had done splendid work in the West Indies, Egypt, and the Netherlands. He had reorganized the light infantry tactics of the British army, and had won the enthusiastic admiration of all who had ever served under him for his zeal and intelligent activity. But Moore, like Wellesley, was to be placed under Dalrymple and Burrard, and not trusted with an independent command. At the present moment he was still far away in the Baltic, and was not expected to arrive for some time. Meanwhile Wellesley was allowed to sail in temporary charge of the expeditionary force, and still under the impression that he was to retain its guidance. His[p. 227] transports weighed anchor on July 12, and it was only on July 15 that the dispatch from Downing Street, informing him that he had been superseded by Dalrymple and Burrard, was drafted. It did not reach him till he had already landed in Portugal.

His political instructions had been forwarded as early as June 30. They were drawn up mainly on the data that the Asturian and Galician deputations had furnished to the ministry[183]. Both the Juntas had been unwise enough to believe that the national rising would suffice to expel the French—whose numbers they much underrated—from Spain. While empowering their envoys to ask for money, arms, and stores, they had ordered them to decline the offer of an auxiliary force. They requested that all available British troops might be directed on Portugal, in order to rouse an insurrection in that country (which was still quiet when they arrived in London), and to prevent the troops of Junot from being employed against the rear of the army of General Blake. In deference to their suggestions the British Government had sent enormous stores of muskets, powder, and equipment to Gihon and Ferrol, but directed Wellesley to confine his activity to Portugal. The Spaniards, with their usual inaccuracy, had estimated the total of Junot’s army at no more than 15,000 men. Misled by this absurd undervaluation, Castlereagh informed Wellesley that if he found that his own and Spencer’s forces sufficed for the reduction of Portugal, he might ‘operate against the Tagus’ at once. But if more men were required, an additional 10,000 bayonets would be provided from England, and the expeditionary force might meanwhile ask the leave of the Galician Junta to stop at Vigo—a halt which would have cost many weeks of valuable time. Wellesley himself was to choose a fast-sailing vessel and make for Corunna, where he was to confer with the Junta and pick up the latest information as to the state of affairs in the Peninsula.

In accordance with these instructions Sir Arthur preceded the bulk of his armament on the Crocodile, and reached Corunna in the short space of eight days [July 20]. He found the Galicians somewhat depressed by the disaster of Medina de Rio Seco, whose details they misrepresented in the most shameless fashion to their distinguished visitor. Bessières, they said, had lost 7,000 men and six guns, and although he had forced Blake and Cuesta to retreat on Benavente, those generals had still 40,000 troops under arms,[p. 228] and had no need of any auxiliary force. ‘The arrival of the British money yesterday has entirely renewed their spirits,’ wrote Wellesley, ‘and neither in them nor in the inhabitants of this town do I see any symptom of alarm, or doubt of their final success.’ This vainglorious confidence was supported by an infinity of false news: Lefebvre-Desnouettes was said to have been thrice defeated near Saragossa, and Dupont and his whole corps had been taken prisoners on June 22 in an action between Andujar and La Carolina—a curious prophecy, for it foresaw and placed a month too early the catastrophe of Baylen[184], which no reasonable man could have predicted. Almost the only correct information which was supplied to Wellesley was the news of the revolt of Oporto and the rest of Northern Portugal. It was clear that there was now an opening for the British army in that country, and as the Galicians continued to display their reluctance to receive any military aid, Sir Arthur went to sea again, joined his fleet of transports off Cape Finisterre, and bade them make for the mouth of the Douro. He himself put into Oporto, where he landed and interviewed the Bishop and the Supreme Junta. He found them in no very happy frame of mind: they had, as they confessed, only been able to arm 5,000 infantry and 300 cavalry, who lay under Bernardino Freire at Coimbra, and 1,500 men more for a garrison at Oporto. The rest of these levies consisted of 12,000 peasants with pikes, ‘and though the people were ready and desirous to take arms, unfortunately there were none in the country’—not even enough to equip the disbanded regulars. The Bishop expressed himself as much alarmed at the news of the disaster at Medina de Rio Seco, and his military advisers acknowledged that in consequence of that battle they had given up any hope of aid from Spain[185]. They asked eagerly for arms, of which the English fleet carried many thousand stand, and were anxious to see Wellesley’s troops landed. The place which they recommended for putting the army ashore was Mondego Bay, near Coimbra, where the mouth of the Mondego River furnishes an indifferent harbour, guarded by the fort of Figueira. That stronghold, it will be[p. 229] remembered, had been seized by the bold exploit of the student Zagalo; it was now garrisoned by 300 British marines, so that the disembarkation would be safe from disturbance by anything save the heavy Atlantic surf, which always beats against the western coast of Portugal. There was no other port available along the shore save Peniche, which was dangerously close to Lisbon, and guarded by a castle still in French hands. Nearer still to the capital, landing is just possible at Cascaes and a few other places: but there was no regular harbour, and Admiral Cotton agreed with Wellesley in thinking that it would be mad to attempt to throw troops ashore on a dangerous rock-bound coast in the midst of Junot’s cantonments. Mondego Bay was therefore appointed as the general place of rendezvous for the fleet, which had now begun to arrive opposite the mouth of the Douro.

As to the Portuguese troops, the Supreme Junta agreed that Bernardino Freire and his 5,000 men should go forward with the British army, while the new levies should blockade Almeida, and guard the frontier along the Douro against any possible advance on the part of Marshal Bessières from Castile. The Junta calculated that, if supplied with arms, they could put into the field from the three northern provinces of Portugal 38,000 foot and 8,000 horse—a liberal estimate, as they had, including their peasant levies, no more than 19,000 collected on July 25. They asked for weapons and clothing for the whole mass, and for a loan of 300,000 Cruzado Novas (about ￡35,000)—no very large sum considering the grants that were being made to the Spaniards at this time. Wellesley would only promise that he would arm the militia and peasantry who were lying along the Mondego in company with Freire’s regulars, ‘if he found them worth it[186].’ The Bishop undertook to forward from Oporto all the remounts for cavalry and all the draught-mules for commissariat purposes that he could get together. He thought that he could procure 150 of the former and 500 of the latter in six days.

On August 1, 1808, the disembarkation in Mondego Bay began, in the face of a heavy surf which rendered landing very dangerous, especially for the horses, guns, and stores. Many boats were upset and a few lives lost[187]; but the troops and their commander[p. 230] were in good spirits, for the news of the surrender of Dupont at Baylen on July 20 had reached them the day before the disembarkation began. Wellesley was convinced that General Spencer would have sailed from Andalusia to join him, the moment that this great victory made the presence of British troops in the south unnecessary. He was right, for Spencer, before receiving any orders to that effect, had embarked his men for Portugal and came into Mondego Bay on August 5, just as the last of the division from Cork had been placed on shore. It was therefore with some 13,000 men that Wellesley began his march on Lisbon[188]. But to his bitter disappointment the young lieutenant-general had just learnt that three commanders had been placed over his head, and that he might soon expect Dalrymple to arrive and assume charge of the army. Castlereagh’s dispatch of July 15, containing this unwelcome news, was delivered to Wellesley as he lay in Mondego Bay on the thirtieth, and he had to make all his arrange[p. 231]ments for disembarkation while suffering under this unexpected slight. Many men would have resigned under such a blow, and Wellesley with his unbounded ambition, his strong sense of his deserts, and his well-marked tendency to take offence[189] must have been boiling over with suppressed indignation. But he felt that to ask to be recalled, because he had been degraded from a commander-in-chief to a mere general of division, would be an unsoldierly act. To Castlereagh he merely wrote that ‘whether he was to command the army or to quit it, he would do his best to ensure its success, and would not hurry operations one moment in order to acquire credit before the arrival of his superiors[190].’

Meanwhile there were yet a few days during which he would retain the command, and it was in his power to start the campaign on the right lines, even if he was not to reap the reward of its success. His first eight days on shore (August 2-9), were spent in the organization of the commissariat of his army, which the Home Government had disgracefully neglected. Except the two troops of the Irish Wagon Train, which he had insisted on bringing with him, he had no transport at his disposal, and, as he wrote to Castlereagh, ‘the existence of the army depends upon the commissariat, and yet the people who manage it are incapable of managing anything out of a counting-house[191].’ All that could be got out of the country he utilized: the Bishop of Oporto had sent him a few horses which enabled him to raise his force of mounted men from 180 to 240[192], and to give some animals to the artillery[5], to add to those that had come from Ireland[193]. But though he succeeded in equipping his own three batteries, the two which Spencer brought from Andalusia had to be left behind on the Mondego for want of draught-horses[194]: the dismounted men of the 20th Dragoons had also to be dropped. For the commissariat the Bishop of Oporto had sent some mules, which were raised to a total of 500 by purchases in the country-side, while 300 bullock[p. 232]-carts were procured for the heavier stores by requisition from the neighbouring villages. It was only on the ninth that things were so far ready that the army could move forward. It was now divided into six small brigades under Generals Hill, Ferguson, Nightingale, Bowes, Catlin Crawfurd, and Fane: the third, fourth, and fifth brigades had only two battalions each, the other four had three[195].

Wellesley had resolved to advance by the coast-road on Lisbon, via Alcoba?a, Obidos, and Torres Vedras, and it was along the desolate shore ‘up to the knees in sand and suffering dreadfully from thirst[196],’ that his men made their first march of twelve miles to Lugar. The distance was moderate, but the troops had been so long cramped on shipboard that some of the regiments had fallen out of condition and left many stragglers.

The reasons which had determined Wellesley to take the coast route, rather than that which leads from the Mondego to Lisbon via Santarem, were, as he afterwards explained, partly a wish to keep in touch with the fleet for the purpose of obtaining supplies—for he found that the country could support him in wine and beef, but not in flour—and partly the fact that he had learnt that new reinforcements from England were likely to appear within a few days. The brigades from Harwich and Ramsgate, under Generals Acland and Anstruther, had sailed on July 19 and might be looked for at any moment. Sir John Moore, with the division from Sweden, was also reported to be on his way to the south, but could not be expected to arrive for some time. Having ascertained that the French force in Portugal was somewhat larger than he originally supposed, Sir Arthur wished to pick up the troops of Acland and Anstruther before giving battle. In this he was even wiser than he knew, for he still estimated Junot’s total disposable force at 18,000 men[197], while it was really 26,000. To have attacked[p. 233] Lisbon with no more than the 13,000 troops who had originally disembarked at the mouth of the Mondego would have been most hazardous.

Wellesley had at first intended to take on with him the whole of Bernardino Freire’s army. He had visited the Portuguese commander at Montemor Velho on the seventh, and had issued to his ally a supply of 5,000 muskets. Freire was anxious to persuade him to give up the coast route, and to throw himself into the interior on the side of Santarem. But the cogent reasons which compelled him to prefer the road which allowed him to keep in touch with the fleet, made him refuse to listen to this plan, and he invited the Portuguese general to transfer himself on to the same line. Freire so far submitted as to move to Leiria, where he met the British army on August 10. But here the two commanders came to hard words and parted. Freire, a self-willed and shifty man, was determined not to act in unison with Wellesley. Whether he wished to preserve his independent command, or whether he feared (as Napier hints) to oppose his raw levies to the French, even when supported by 13,000 British bayonets[198], he now showed himself utterly impracticable. He began by laying hands on all the stores of food in Leiria, though they had been promised to Wellesley. Then he made the absurd and impudent statement that he could only co-operate with his allies if Wellesley would undertake to provide rations for his 6,000 men. This proposal was all the more astounding because he had just been trying to persuade his colleague to move into the inland, by the statement that resources of every kind abounded in Estremadura, and that the whole British army could easily live upon the country-side! Wellesley’s men had now been subsisting for ten days on biscuit landed by the fleet, and it was ludicrous that he should be asked to take upon his shoulders the whole burden of feeding the Portuguese in their own country. Accordingly he utterly rejected the proposal, but he insisted that Freire should lend him some cavalry and light troops, and these he promised to maintain. The bulk of the Portuguese, therefore, remained behind at Leiria, their general being left free to take up, if he should choose, his favourite plan of marching on Santarem. But 260 horsemen—the skeletons of three old cavalry regiments—a battalion of Cazadores, and three weak line-regiments were placed at Wellesley’s disposition: they[p. 234] amounted to about 2,300 men[199], according to the Portuguese official figures, but the British commander repeatedly states that he saw no more than 260 horse and 1,600 infantry[200]; so it is probable that the regiments were somewhat under the estimate given by Freire. They were commanded by Colonel Trant, a British officer in the Portuguese service[201].

Turning once more into the road that skirts the coast, Wellesley marched on the thirteenth from Leiria, and reached Alcoba?a on the fourteenth. Here he got his first news of the French: a brigade under Thomières had occupied the village till the previous day, and he learnt that General Delaborde, with a weak division, was somewhere in his front, in the direction of Obidos and Roli?a.

Junot had received prompt information of the landing of the British in Mondego Bay; on the very day after it had commenced he was able to send orders to Loison to abandon his post in front of Badajoz and to march at once to join the main army. Meanwhile Delaborde was sent out from Lisbon on August 6 to observe and, if possible, contain Wellesley, till Junot should have concentrated his whole field-army and be ready to fight. He was told to expect Loison from the direction of Thomar and Santarem, and to join him as soon as was possible. For his rather hazardous task he was given no more than five battalions of infantry and a single[p. 235] regiment of chasseurs à cheval, with five guns[202]—not much more than 5,000 men.

Delaborde at first thought of making a stand, and compelling Wellesley to show his force, at Batalha near Alcoba?a, where John I had beaten the Spaniards, four and a half centuries ago, at the decisive battle of Aljubarotta. But, after examining the position, he found it so much surrounded by woods, and so destitute of good points of view, that he feared to be enveloped if he committed[p. 236] himself to a fight. Accordingly he drew back to Roli?a, leaving only a rearguard at Obidos to observe the approach of the British. At the same time he detached six companies of the 4th Swiss to garrison Peniche, thus reducing his available force to 4,350 men.

Wellesley, meanwhile, knowing himself to be close to the enemy, advanced steadily but with caution. He left behind his tents and other weighty baggage at Leiria, and moved forward with a lightly equipped army to Alcoba?a on the fourteenth, to Caldas on the fifteenth. On that day the first shot of the campaign was fired: four companies of the fifth battalion of the 60th and of the second battalion of the 95th Rifles discovered the French outposts at Brilos in front of Obidos, drove them in, and pursuing furiously for three miles, came on the battalion which formed Delaborde’s rearguard. This corps turned upon them, checked them with the loss of two[203] officers and twenty-seven men killed and wounded, and only retired when General Spencer led up a brigade to save the riflemen.

Next morning the French were discovered to have fallen back no further than Roli?a, where Delaborde had found the position that he had sought in vain at Batalha. The road from Caldas and Obidos towards Torres Vedras and Lisbon passes for some miles over a sandy plain enclosed on either flank by bold hills. The southern limit of the basin is a cross-ridge, which connects the other two: in front of it lies Roli?a, on the side-slope of an isolated eminence which overlooks the whole plain: a mile further south the road passes over the cross-ridge by a sort of gorge or defile, on the right hand of which is the village of Columbeira, while to its left rear lies that of Zambugeira. Though Delaborde had drawn up his men on the hill of Roli?a down in the plain, it was not this advanced position that he intended to hold, but the higher and steeper line of the cross-ridge, on either side of the defile above Columbeira. Here he had a short front, only three-quarters of a mile in length, scarped by precipitous slopes, and covered by thickets and brushwood, which served to mask the strength (or rather the weakness) of his division.

Discovering Delaborde drawn up on the isolated hill of Roli?a, where both his flanks could easily be turned, the British commander resolved to endeavour to envelop and surround him. He waited[p. 237] on the sixteenth till the rear of the army had come up, and marched at dawn on the seventeenth with his whole force—13,000 British and 2,000 Portuguese, drawn up in a crescent-shaped formation with the centre refused and the wings thrown far forward. On the right Colonel Trant, with three battalions of Portuguese infantry and fifty horse of the same nation, moved along the foot of the western range of heights, to turn the Roli?a position by a wide circular movement. On the left General Ferguson, with his own brigade, that of Bowes, and six guns, struck over the hills to get round the eastern flank of the French. In the centre the remainder of the army—four brigades of British infantry, 400 cavalry, half English and half Portuguese, with the battalion of Cazadores and twelve guns, advanced on a broad front in two lines, forming a most magnificent spectacle: ‘they came on slowly but in beautiful order, dressing at intervals to correct the gaps caused by the inequalities of ground, and all converging on the hill of Roli?a[204].’ Hill’s brigade formed the right, Fane’s the left, Nightingale’s the centre, while Catlin Crawfurd’s two battalions and the Cazadores acted as the reserve.

Delaborde had warned his men to be ready for a sudden rush to the rear the minute that the enveloping movement should grow dangerous. Waiting till the last possible moment, when Fane’s riflemen were already engaged with his tirailleurs, and Trant and Ferguson were showing on the flanks, he suddenly gave the order for retreat. His men hurried back, easily eluding the snare, and took post on the wooded heights above Columbeira a mile to the rear. Wellesley had to rearrange his troops for an attack on the second position, and half the morning had been wasted to no effect. He resolved, however, to repeat his original man?uvre. Trant and the Portuguese once more made a long sweep to the right: Ferguson’s column mounted the foot-hills of the Sierra de Baragueda and commenced a toilsome detour to the left[205]. In the centre two batteries formed up near a windmill on the northern slope of Roli?a hill and began to bombard the French position, while Fane’s brigade to the left on the main road, and Hill’s and Nightingale’s to the right deployed for the attack.

Wellesley had not intended to assault the Columbeira heights till the turning movements of Trant and Ferguson should be well[p. 238] developed. But, contrary to his intention, part of his centre pushed forward at once, and when it was engaged the other troops in the front line were sent up to its aid. The face of the hill was scarred by four ‘passes’ as Wellesley called them, or rather large ravines, up each of which some of the British troops tried to penetrate. On the extreme right the light companies of Hill’s brigade, supported by the first battalion of the 5th Regiment from the same brigade, delivered their attack up one gully. The second pass, just beyond the village of Columbeira, was assayed by the 29th from Nightingale’s brigade, with the 9th of Hill’s in support. The 82nd went towards the centre, while Fane’s two rifle battalions and the 45th tried the heights far to the left.

The 29th Regiment, urged on by the rash courage of its colonel, Lake, attacked some time before any other corps was engaged. It pushed up a narrow craggy pass, the bed of a dried-up mountain torrent, where in some places only two or three men abreast could keep their footing: the further that the battalion advanced, the more did the ravine recede into the centre of the enemy, and the 29th was soon being fired on from three sides. The right wing, which led, at last forced its way to the brow of the hill, and was able to deploy in a more or less imperfect way, and to commence its fire. In front of it were the few companies of the 4th Swiss, some of whom tried to surrender, calling out that they were friends, turning up their musket butts, and rushing in to shake hands with the British[206]. But before the 29th could fully recover its formation, it was fiercely charged from the rear: some of the French troops on the lower slopes of the position, finding themselves likely to be cut off, formed in a dense mass and rushed straight through the right wing of Colonel Lake’s regiment from behind, breaking it, killing its commander and capturing six officers and some thirty of its rank and file, whom they took back with them in triumph. The 29th reeled down the slope into a wood, where it reformed on its comparatively intact left wing, and then resumed the fight, aided by the 9th, its supporting regiment. About this moment the 5th and Fane’s rifles made other attacks on the two ends of the hostile line, but were at first checked. Delaborde and his brigadier,[p. 239] Brennier, had only four battalions on the ridge, as they had detached three companies of the 70th far to their right in the direction in which Ferguson was moving. But they held their ground very gallantly, waiting till the British skirmishers had begun to get a lodgement on the brow, and then charging each detachment as it tried to deploy, and forcing it down to the edge of the wood that covered the lower slopes. Three assaults were thus repulsed, but the British troops would not be denied—Wellesley wrote that he had never seen more gallant fighting than that of the 9th and the 29th[207]—and after each reverse formed up again and came on once more. After two hours of desperate struggles they made good their lodgement on the crest at several points: Ferguson’s troops (though they had lost their way and wasted much time) began to appear on the extreme left, and Delaborde then saw that it was time for him to go.

He retired by alternate battalions, two in turn holding back the disordered pursuers, while the other two doubled to the rear. His regiment of chasseurs à cheval also executed several partial charges against the British skirmishers, and lost its commander mortally wounded: the Portuguese cavalry refused to face them. In this way the French reached the pass behind Zambugeira, a mile to the rear, without any great loss. But in passing through this defile, they were forced to club together by the narrowness of the road, were roughly hustled by their pursuers, and lost three[208] of their guns and a few prisoners. The rest of the force escaped in some disorder to Cazal da Sprega, where Wellesley halted his men, seeing that it was now impossible to catch Delaborde’s main body. Two miles to the rear the French were rejoined by the three companies of the 70th Regiment which had been detached to the east. They then retreated to Montechique some fifteen miles from Lisbon, where they at last got news of Loison and Junot.

Delaborde had fought a most admirable rearguard action, holding on to the last moment, and escaping by his prompt man?uvres the very serious risk of being enveloped and captured by the forces of the English, who outnumbered him fourfold. But he had lost 600 men and three guns, while his assailants had only suffered to[p. 240] the extent of 474 killed, wounded, and prisoners[209], nearly half of whom were in the ranks of the 29th[210]. The French flattered themselves that they had somewhat shaken the morale of Wellesley’s men by their obstinate resistance: but this was far from being the case. The English had only put five and a half battalions[211] into the fighting line, and were proud of having turned the enemy out of such a position as that of Columbeira without engaging more than 4,600 men.

It is doubtful whether Delaborde should have fought at all: he was holding on in the hope that Loison’s division would come up and join him, but this junction was very problematical, as nothing had been heard of that general for many days. By fighting at Columbeira, Delaborde risked complete destruction for an inadequate end. It was true that if Loison was now close at hand Wellesley’s further advance might cut him off from Lisbon. But as a matter of fact Loison was still far away. He had reached Santarem on August 13, with his troops so tired by his long march from the Alemtejo, that he halted there for two days to rest them and allow his stragglers to come up. Marching again on the sixteenth, he was at Cercal, fifteen miles from Roli?a to the east, while Delaborde was fighting. He barely heard the distant cannonade, and rejoined the rest of the army at Torres Vedras, by a route through Cadaval and Quinta da Bugagliera, which crossed his colleague’s line of retreat at an acute angle [August 18].

It is true that if Wellesley had been accurately informed of Loison’s position on the seventeenth, he could have so man?uvred as to place himself directly between that general and Lisbon on the following day, by seizing the cross-roads at Quinta da Bugagliera. In that case Loison’s division could only have rejoined Junot by a perilous flank march through Villafranca and Saccavem, or by crossing the Tagus and moving along its eastern bank to the heights of Almada opposite the capital. But the English general’s object at this moment was not to cut off Loison, but to pick[p. 241] up a considerable reinforcement, of whose approach he had just heard. On the morning of the eighteenth the brigade of General Acland from Harwich had arrived off the Peniche peninsula, and its advent was reported to Wellesley, with the additional news that that of General Anstruther, which had sailed from Ramsgate, was close behind. It was all-important to get these 4,000 men ashore: they could not be landed at Peniche, whose fort was still in French hands, and the only other anchorage near was that of Porto Novo, at the mouth of the little river Maceira, twelve miles south of Roli?a. To cover their disembarkation Wellesley marched by the coast-road through Lourinh?o, and encamped on the heights of Vimiero. This movement allowed Loison, who moved by the parallel road more inland, to pass the English and reach Torres Vedras.

NOTE TO CHAPTER II

By far the best English account of Roli?a is that by Col. Leslie of the 29th, in his Military Journal, which was not printed till 1887 (at the Aberdeen University Press). He corrects Napier on several points. I have also found useful details in the letters (unpublished) of Major Gell, of the same regiment, which were placed at my disposition by Mr. P. Lyttelton Gell. Leslie and Gell agree that Colonel Lake led on his regiment too fast, contrary to Wellesley’s intentions. The narrative of Colonel Leach of the 2/95th is also valuable. The accounts of Landsheit of the 20th Light Dragoons, of Colonel Wilkie in Maxwell’s Peninsular Sketches (vol. i), and the anonymous ‘T.S.’ of the 71st (Constable, Edinburgh, 1828) have some useful points. Foy and Thiébault, the French narrators of the fight, were not eye-witnesses, like the six above-named British writers.