From this letter, as well as from many other letters, one sees how very little was known, even to senior officers of regiments, as to what was going on, or what was likely to happen. This is a matter which is often forgotten by the layman, who is apt to think, when reading the history of a campaign, that the regimental officers failed on certain occasions to appreciate the situation, and therefore failed to do the right thing at the right moment. Whereas, in nine cases out of ten, in all probability the regimental officers were completely in the dark as to the intentions of the commander of the forces; and if the officers knew little of the operations in progress, or of the reason for movements, the men in the ranks knew still less. Thus we constantly find in the Peninsular letters and journals of regimental officers and soldiers—at any rate at the beginning of the war—expressions of distrust in the generals, grumblings at having to perform forced marches for no apparent reason, and disgust at being ordered to retreat at the moment when they expected to give battle. But, as the war progressed, the men learned to take things as they came, and made no attempt to reason out the whys and the wherefores of strategical movements. The discipline which had been drilled into the soldiers taught them that it was not necessary for them to exercise their reasoning powers until they were in actual touch with the enemy, and the officers seldom thought ahead of the immediate tactical situation.

It must be remembered that a century ago few of the rank and file could read or write, and few of the regimental officers were students of the theory of the art of war. It was not possible, therefore, for these officers and men to work out any great strategical scheme, especially as they had no means of learning anything of the enemy's movements going on at a distance. Hints and rumours filtered through from the staff officers, and were greedily seized upon for discussion in the bivouacs, but in the generality of cases they were quite erroneous and frequently misleading. So the regimental officers contented themselves with living in the present, without troubling about problems of strategy, and they were quite unable to fathom the mystery of the part played by politics in the war. It will be noticed that Sam Rice, at the time a senior regimental officer, in his letters declines to discuss politics, and says little about strategy.

In the vast store of literature dealing with the Peninsular War, there are many volumes of officers' letters and journals, principally of officers who served on the staff, and so to a certain extent behind the scenes. Moreover, the majority of these books were written up and edited years after the war had come to an end, and after every movement in the various campaigns had been thoroughly discussed. There are few books by regimental officers containing their views written down at the time and not altered before publication, and in such as there are we find questions of strategy either avoided or dismissed in a few words, and even questions of tactics only vaguely referred to. For but vaguely did these regimental officers ever know whither they were going, or for what purpose, from one month's end to the next. It was enough for them to be told that their regiment would march at a certain hour in a certain direction, and that what would happen afterwards would depend on circumstances. As soon as touch was gained with the enemy, the regimental officers and the men were given a general idea of the existing tactical situation and what it was intended that they should do. But even then they were not told all, and as often as not they went into action knowing no more about the dispositions of the enemy than they could see with their own eyes. Consequently there were occasions when, with a little more information—a slight dispersal of the "fog of war"—they might have crushed their enemy beyond recovery, instead of merely crippling him.

Why information about the enemy should have been withheld it is difficult to understand, and it must have been most irritating. Of the intentions of their great chief, officers and men never expected to be informed, and they had neither the desire nor the ability to probe into them. To Wellington himself this inability on the part of his army to forecast his plans was probably an immense satisfaction, for, he must have argued, if his own troops could not see through the veil, it was not likely that the enemy would be able to do so. And, naturally, for a general to be sure that his plans are kept secret, with a possibility of his being able to blind and deceive his adversary, is a great asset in war. On the other hand, it is an undoubted fact that Wellington carried this matter of reticence to extremes; he seldom took even his staff into his confidence; any information which he collected he kept to himself; and only on rare occasions did he discuss his plans with anyone. The wisdom of such an attitude on the part of a commander-in-chief may, of course, be questioned, on the grounds that if he were unfortunate enough to be killed at the critical moment, the next senior officer would be in the awkward predicament of having to formulate a plan of his own on the spur of the moment. It may be argued that Wellington's plans were so thoroughly worked out in every detail that there was no loophole for failure, and no doubt as to what was intended. That may have been so; but there is no proof, for fortunately it was never put to the test, and the great man saw all his plans brought to a finish. Still, it is well known that Wellington realised to the full the danger of his policy of reticence; and it is on record that he himself expressed the opinion that had he been placed hors de combat by the shot which passed over his head and wounded Lord Uxbridge at Waterloo, the British and their Allies would have suffered defeat. His generals may have chafed under such an autocratic rule, yet they, as well as the whole army, had absolute confidence in their leader—at any rate after the first year or two.

But the "grand puzzle" about which Rice wrote on the 19th August was not so intricate as he seems to have thought; for Wellington had made up his mind all along to attempt the capture of Ciudad Rodrigo, and had only cantoned his troops about the Tagus in order to deceive the enemy as to his intentions. He was now moving his army up towards the fortress with all speed, hoping to reduce it before it could be re-victualled for a siege. But in this he failed, for a convoy of stores of all kinds had reached the place while Wellington's troops were still at a distance from it. The 51st had remained at Villa Mayor until the 22nd September, had then marched to Guinaldo, and on 25th to Albergueria. Rice by this time had been forced to go to hospital, and on the 26th September he wrote from Aldea da Ribeira: "I have been confined to my bed for these eight days with a violent attack of dysentery, accompanied by a good deal of fever. I think the former is in some measure conquered. Am taking bark, for I am most terribly low and hipped—all alone in a most miserable village. How I shall get on I know not. The task is arduous for an invalid in this most horrid of countries. The regiment is a league in advance; a retreat or an action must take place within twenty-four hours, for the French are only distant five leagues from our outposts. Our army is in a wretched state; they say 30,000, with an immensity of officers, sick; in short, you see nothing from morning to night but misery. You must not consider my case desperate, so I beg of you not to alarm Fanny."[62]

His next letter was from Celorico, upon the Mondego, 12th October 1811—

Shortly after this the 51st went into winter quarters at Pena Macor, while Wellington perfected his arrangement for converting the blockade of Ciudad Rodrigo into a siege. That the regimental officers did not take a very bright view of the situation is evident from the following letter from Major Rice:—

So 1811 closed, and was followed by a year of strenuous work for the British troops—a year of great victories, yet one also of arduous marches, vast hardships, and heavy casualties. And Major Sam Rice managed to "struggle on" to the end of it.

CHAPTER IX.
CIUDAD RODRIGO AND BADAJOZ.

While resting in cantonments when no operations were in immediate prospect, the army in the Peninsula forgot its hardships, and indulged in such recreations and amusements as it was found possible to organise. Everything was done by the officers to keep up the spirits of the men, though, since the age of playing games had not yet come, there was little for them to do, beyond repairing their clothing and shoes preparatory to the next campaign. The officers, however, were able to amuse themselves in a variety of ways; when not on short rations most regiments kept a certain number of pointers and greyhounds, and many of the officers shot and coursed regularly; fishing was also to be had in the rivers and streams; and each division usually kept a scratch pack of hounds. Wellington himself throughout the war hunted a pack which he had got out from England, and in many parts of the country provided excellent sport for his headquarter staff and any officers who cared to join in. Nor were balls and other social entertainments forgotten, and whenever a portion of the army was in the neighbourhood of a town the Spanish ladies showed no unwillingness to enjoy gaieties offered to them. But perhaps the greatest amusement was that provided by private theatricals, which were held on every possible occasion for the entertainment of the men. Several divisions had their own theatres, the parts of both sexes being played by the officers, and everything being done well—even to printed programmes. With such recreations, and with periodical race meetings, the idle time passed pleasantly enough; and when the men were again called upon to take up arms, they did so cheerfully and with renewed vigour.

During this winter of 1811-12, however, the officers of the 51st had few opportunities of hunting, for, until the first week of January, they were kept at Pena Macor on the look-out for the enemy, in daily expectation of receiving orders to march. Still, they managed to enjoy themselves, as is vouched for by one of the ensigns. "We led a most agreeable life," says young Mainwaring; "the neighbourhood abounding in game, our days were spent in coursing and shooting. In the evening there was always a party at someone's quarters, where cigars, egg-wine, and good-humour generally sent half of us tipsy to bed. Three times a-week a division club, formed by the German Light Brigade in an empty convent, added to our amusements, and brought us all together. Here was dancing, music, and cards; a faro bank for those who were disposed to lose their money; two military bands for the youngsters to dance to: and a sutler's room, where was every species of refreshment at most moderate prices. Many a wild mad scene have I been witness to, and perhaps partaker in, at this club, but all was in perfect good-humour; no arguments or strife; nothing but the ebullition of health and youth. Our generals and our superior officers joined in and added to all our pleasures and amusements, as in the field they shared all our privations and hardships."

On the 9th January Major Rice wrote hastily—

On the following day came the long-awaited orders to move, and the 7th Division, marching through Sabugal and Alfayates, reached Guinaldo on the 13th January, and thence pushed on towards Ciudad Rodrigo. The division, however, was not destined to take part in the actual siege operations, or in the terrific assault which terminated them, its special duty being to stand off and cover the siege of the fortress by guarding the passes of the Sierra de Gaeta against an inroad by the enemy from that direction. The 51st, with their headquarters at the village of Pajo, furnished four officers' piquets on the mountains in front of the two principal passes, in situations fully exposed to the rigours of winter, the ground covered with several feet of snow, and wolves howling round the sentries throughout the night. Yet in after years the officers looked back on this unpleasant duty almost with pleasure, remembering only that, when not on piquet, they enjoyed excellent woodcock shooting!

Meanwhile Wellington had pushed on the siege works with astounding rapidity, had effected practicable breaches several days earlier than he expected, and on the evening of the 19th January assaulted and carried Ciudad Rodrigo. Then the 7th Division, no longer required at the passes, was withdrawn to the vicinity of the fortress. In a letter, written from Fuente de Guinaldo on the 27th January 1812, Major Rice says—

Early in February the 51st moved to its old quarters at Pena Macor, and thence, a little later, commenced the march towards Badajoz, the reduction of which fortress Wellington had determined to attempt at once. The 7th Division was again detailed for covering duty, and, with the 6th Division, was placed under the command of General Graham. Crossing the Tagus at Villa Velha, the two divisions reached Elvaz, and bivouacked close to Fort La Lippe until the arrival of the army destined for the investment and siege of Badajoz.[66] Then Graham crossed the Guadiana by the bridge of boats above that place, and moved into position to the south-east. A short letter from Major Rice, dated Puebla, two miles from Zafra, 19th March 1812, describes what was taking place:—

Nothing very brilliant, however, was done by Graham's corps, although it certainly carried out its rôle, and prevented any attempt of the enemy to raise the siege. Nor was this an easy task, for Graham displayed considerable activity, and endeavoured to do something more than merely to hold the French in check. Discovering that a small body of the enemy was occupying Llerena, eight leagues distant from his headquarters, the general ordered the 51st and 100 German riflemen to make a forced march and surprise the place. The garrison, however, had received information of the threatened attack, and evacuated Llerena, which was immediately occupied by the 51st. Yet, within a few hours, the regiment learned that Soult was making a night march on the town with 5000 men, and the small British force, in its turn, was obliged to beat a hasty retreat. Graham waited a day or two, and then determined to turn the tables on Soult. He issued sudden orders for his whole corps to march on Llerena and surprise Soult's force, and the 51st again took part in the enterprise. Everything went well throughout the long march, and just before dawn the troops approached the town. The surprise was thought to be complete, and success seemed certain, when, of a sudden, there arose a panic, which had the most dire consequences. General Graham and his staff had ridden, unknown to the troops, on ahead of the columns to reconnoitre, and were fired upon by a single vedette. They immediately galloped back to the columns, with the unfortunate result that they were mistaken for the enemy's cavalry. Major Rice, writing a week afterwards, thus describes the affair:—

All this firing, of course, put an end to surprise, and by the time that order was restored and the advance resumed, Soult and his five thousand had slipped away. After a short stay at Llerena, Graham moved on to the ground upon which had been fought the battle of Albuhera; and while there the troops heard in the distance the desperate firing which resulted in the capture of Badajoz.

It will be remembered that, twice during the previous year, the fortress had been besieged and unsuccessfully assailed. On each of those occasions Wellington had directed his attack from the north, intending first to capture the detached work of St Christoval, in order to establish batteries there preparatory to an assault on the castle. For his third attempt he adopted a new plan, and decided to attack from the south, capturing the Picurina outwork, breaching the bastions opposite to it, and then delivering the assault. The trenches were pushed rapidly forward; Picurina was carried by assault on the night of the 25th March, and the breaching batteries were immediately established. For ten days they battered the walls of the fortress, until the necessary breaches were effected, when Wellington gave immediate orders for the assault to take place; and on the night of the 6th-7th April 1812 occurred one of the most bloody struggles in the annals of war—a struggle the horrors of which lived in the memories of the surviving assailants for ever afterwards. The breaches defied all attempts; time after time assaults were delivered and beaten back; and the ditch became filled with dead and wounded. Elsewhere, however, fortune favoured the assailants, the 3rd Division entering the place by the San Vincente bastion. Thus Wellington captured his second fortress in 1812, but at the cost of 5000 men out of the 21,000 engaged.

The scenes which followed the fall of the place are indescribable; the victorious troops gave themselves up to plunder and licentiousness of every description. Drink drove them mad, and no one could control them. There is no denying the fact that fearful crimes were committed by the British soldiers in Badajoz that night, for each man carried his loaded musket and his bayonet, and brooked no interference with his revels. Yet these men were not hardened criminals, for in their sober moments they would have shuddered at the very mention of such crimes as, under the influence of drink, they themselves committed. They started to enjoy themselves—to hold high carnival—but they were drunk with success at the outset, and, even before the wine-vaults had been sacked, the carnival became the wildest and most lawless ever held. But with this great tragedy scraps of comedy occasionally mingled, and some of the scenes would, at any other time, have been considered highly entertaining. Dressed as monks and nuns, or wearing the gay clothes of Spanish ladies, grizzled and begrimed veterans danced and sang through the streets; and when eventually they were driven out of the town, they wended their way to their bivouacs, wearing these same garments, and staggering under the weight of such plunder as they had collected.

Quartermaster Surtees, who had an opportunity of seeing for himself many of the horrors of this night and of the next day, tells the hideous tale, in his 'Twenty-five Years in the Rifle Brigade,' sufficiently fully to enable one to realise how utterly demoralised a well-disciplined army can become almost at a moment's notice. His remarks on the reason for this are of particular value, because he had risen from the ranks and was intimately acquainted with human nature as represented by the private soldier, and because he was a man who thought deeply. He concludes his account of the sacking of Badajoz in the following words:—

Major Rice's next letter was written on the 10th April 1812, from Camp in front of the Albuhera River, Beresford's position of the late bloody fight—

On the 19th April he wrote again, from Niza:—

The somewhat desponding tone of this letter is perhaps an indication of the writer's weariness of soul—a weariness produced by constant marching about without any apparent prospect of doing any good. The senior regimental officers, who had the welfare of their men at heart, and who understood, from long experience, that the soldiers' powers of endurance had limits, ever dreaded a breakdown, and their fears grew greater when they saw their regiment being harassed for no clear purpose. This is evident from their letters, as is also the fact that when once they knew that they were marching for the definite object of meeting the enemy and of giving battle, they cast aside their fears and prepared their men for the coming struggle. But let us get behind the scenes and see what was really happening at this particular time.

After the capture of Badajoz Wellington spent no time in inaction. General Graham was placed in command of the fallen fortress, and was given sufficient men to repair its defences and prevent its recapture by the enemy; while the bulk of the army marched away. Soult, who had been hastening from the south to the relief of the French garrison, and who had been held in check by the covering troops, on hearing that all was over, turned about and withdrew towards Seville. Marmont, however, had succeeded, while the siege was in progress, in invading Portugal and penetrating to Castello Branco. Wellington now advanced against him; but the French general, forbidden by Napoleon to attempt to form a junction with Soult, saw that little was to be gained by advancing farther. His first impulse was to fight, but he remembered that the rivers in his rear were in flood and would impede his withdrawal in the event of defeat, so he deemed it more prudent to retire behind the line of the Agueda river, and there await developments.

Meanwhile Wellington was straining every nerve to meet the heavy combinations which the French were bringing against him. King Joseph, in supreme command of the French in the Peninsula, was in occupation of Madrid, and thence issued orders to his subordinate generals, who, however, lacked confidence in the military plans of their chief—a fact which proved of the greatest advantage to Wellington. United action on the part of the French generals would have placed the Allies in a grave situation; but fortunately the three French armies were at this time widely separated, and Wellington contrived so to deceive his adversaries that they were quite unable to say against which force he intended to operate. Soult in Andalusia felt certain that the Allies would invade that province; King Joseph imagined that the Spanish capital would be the immediate objective; while Marmont, away to the north, had every reason to believe that Wellington was bringing all his strength against him. As a matter of fact, the original intention of the British commander had been to carry the war into Andalusia, but, abandoning the idea (for political and military reasons), he determined to attack Marmont. Yet, by means of false reports and ostentatious movements, he contrived to continue to deceive Soult as to his real plans.

Before following Marmont, however, Wellington deemed it necessary to prevent Soult and the army of Andalusia from reinforcing him. Soult, south of the Tagus, would have to cross that river before marching to the assistance of Marmont; his pontoon trains had been captured in Badajoz, and the only means of crossing the river was by the bridge of boats which Marmont had constructed at Almaraz. The importance of this crossing was well known to the French, who had consequently thrown up three strong forts and a bridge-head to protect it; but the destruction of Almaraz, with its bridge and its stores, was essential to Wellington's plans, and, though doubtful of the possibility of its being carried out, he ordered General Hill to make the attempt. As events turned out, the surprise of Almaraz was one of the boldest enterprises of the war, and by the 18th May Hill had done all that was required of him. But until the work had been completed, whither Hill had taken his force and for what purpose were things known only to Wellington, who had halted the remainder of his army to await news of the result of Hill's mission.

Writing from Castello Branco, 22nd May 1812, Major Rice describes what was going on—

From the latter part of this letter it is evident that Wellington had taken the opportunity of some leisure time to overhaul the discipline of his army, and his methods were drastic in the extreme. Even before he had witnessed the outrages committed by his men at Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, he had been appalled by the indiscipline of his troops in disregarding orders concerning marauding. The British army was operating in a friendly country, and it was therefore all the more important that the inhabitants and their property should be treated with due respect. The French, on the other hand, were at war with Spain, and if, therefore, they pillaged and laid waste as they went along, it was perhaps no more than the inhabitants expected, though it is only fair to the French generals to state that, as a rule, they did all in their power to suppress marauding and pillage. It must be admitted that it was most difficult to impress upon the British soldiers, marching on the heels of the French through a country already pillaged, that it was a sin to take the goods of the people, and doubtless at an early stage of the war the men got into the habit of taking from the inhabitants of the villages any food or provisions of which they were in want. As time passed matters went from bad to worse, and the men did not stop at food, but began to plunder the inhabitants of their money and valuables. Wine-cellars were discovered and entered, with the result that drunkenness and outrages of every description became common. Wellington, alive to the gravity of the situation, issued stringent orders which, had they been carried out, would have put an end to these evils; but there were no means of carrying them out, and all this he represented from time to time to the home authorities. He pointed out that under existing circumstances it was impossible to bring home to the offenders the offences which they had committed, and he recommended wider powers to courts-martial and the formation of military police. He did not complain of the discipline of regiments as a whole, but he wrote in the strongest terms about the absence of discipline to be found in detachments, which, of necessity, were always out in various parts of the country; and he drew particular attention to the number of malingerers who filled the hospitals principally for the purpose of plundering when on the march. "The disorders which these soldiers have," wrote Wellington to Lord Liverpool, "are of a very trifling description; they are considered to render them incapable of serving with their regiments; but they certainly do not incapacitate them from committing outrages of all descriptions on their passage through the country, and in the last movements of the hospitals, the soldiers have not only plundered the inhabitants of their property, but the hospital stores which moved with the hospitals, and have sold the plunder. And all these outrages are committed with impunity; no proof can be brought, on oath, before a court-martial that any individual has committed an outrage, and the soldiers of the army are becoming little better than a band of robbers."

On the top of all this came the wild orgies which accompanied the sacking of Badajoz; and Wellington determined to adopt the strongest measures in order to restore the discipline of his army. We may say here, and without in any way belittling the military genius of England's greatest soldier, that Wellington knew nothing of the finer processes of producing and maintaining discipline among British soldiers. He was not of the school of Sir John Moore. He had no sympathy with the soldier, or indeed with the officer. He spoke of the men who won his victories for him as the scum of the earth and as the sweepings of the jails, and he treated them always with coldness, amounting almost to contempt. Probably he was the hardest master under whom men ever served, for at all times he governed by the lash, and he never hesitated to shoot or hang an unfortunate soldier, if he deemed it necessary to make an example. That these executions were not sometimes necessary we do not pretend to say, but the method of carrying them out, in the face of the whole army, served only to brutalise it. Officers and men became callous even of the capital punishment, and judging by the letter quoted above, Major Rice thought little of condemning to death half a dozen men for possibly trivial offences. Several of Wellington's generals, taking their cue from their chief, flogged and hanged freely, with the result that there was no love lost between them and their men; but, like the dog who licks the hand that beat him, these soldiers would follow their commanders without questioning, and perform for them prodigious acts of valour. Few of the Peninsular generals were really popular with their men, but Graham and Hill were exceptions. The latter, though a brilliant leader, was always sympathetic, and endeared himself to all ranks, who spoke of him among themselves as "Daddy Hill," though he was barely old enough to have been the father of any of them.

The feelings which the soldiers had towards Wellington ("Old Douro," as they called him) are well described by an officer of the 51st:[70]—