Flashman in the Peninsula by Robert Brightwell Read Free Book Online Page A

army would cut and run when the French attacked like we had the previous year.
    General Craddock, the commander of the small British force that had remained from the previous expedition, welcomed Wellesley and his officers onto the quay. We were ushered into a nearby palatial building and provided with refreshment, while Wellesley and Craddock retired to the next room to discuss matters in private. Soon afterwards I saw several grim faced officers of the local garrison being ushered into their room and a few of us newcomers began to deduce that all was not well. Eventually the doors of the inner sanctum were thrown open and Wellesley himself invited us in with the words,
    ‘Gentlemen, you had better hear this for yourselves.’ We trooped in with a feeling of foreboding and gathered around a large table covered with maps in the middle of the room. ‘It seems our Spanish allies have suffered something of a setback,’ Wellesley coldly continued after we were all settled. ‘Colonel D’Urban, you were there, perhaps you would be so kind as to give my officers a first-hand account.’
    ‘Certainly sir,’ replied D’Urban, moving forward to the table and re-arranging the maps. It was the first time I had met Ben D’Urban and I got to know him quite well while in Spain. He was a capable soldier and later administrator, especially in South Africa where they have named a town after him. Now, he briskly directed our attention to a large map showing the fork of two rivers near a town called Medallin. To cut a detailed briefing short, the Spanish under Cuesta thought they could trap and attack Marshal Victor’s forces. Cuesta had the advantage of total numbers with twenty-three thousand men against Victor’s seventeen and a half thousand, although Victor had slightly more guns and cavalry. The French were trapped in the fork of the two rivers while Cuesta arrayed his army in an arc of four ranks of infantry between the riverbanks, with cavalry on either flank. The plan was to simply march them towards the French.
    ‘What reserves did Cuesta have?’ interrupted Wellesley.
    ‘None sir,’ said D’Urban awkwardly. ‘He thought that as he advanced and the rivers got closer together, his ranks would thicken as his men had a shorter distance to cover.’
    Wellesley gave a snort of disgust and continued his interrogation, ‘How was he expecting the French to react to his attack? Did you not suggest keeping some force in reserve to address any French response?’
    ‘To be honest sir, I am not sure he had thought that far ahead, and General Cuesta is a very difficult man to give advice to, sir.’
    ‘Dear God,’ groaned Wellesley, ‘What an ally he is likely to be. Go on then, tell us the worst.’
    ‘Well sir, to start with things seemed to go well with the forward French positions retreating towards their main force and the Spanish advancing steadily. Then one of the French cavalry regiments seemed a bit slow to retreat, and the Spanish cavalry on the left flank advanced to speed them along. The French, who had started to ride away, suddenly turned in the smartest manner and charged at the leading Spanish regiment of horsemen... who seemed to get startled,’ he added lamely.
    ‘What do you mean, startled?’ demanded Wellesley.
    ‘Well sir, it seemed that some had not faced a charge before and instead of meeting it they turned and tried to retreat through the other Spanish squadrons of horsemen behind them causing confusion.’
    ‘Christ,’ exclaimed one of our cavalry commanders as he imagined the resulting chaos.
    ‘So,’ continued D’Urban ‘one French cavalry regiment succeeded in routing all three Spanish cavalry regiments on that side of the battlefield, and the other French cavalry nearby charged in to support.’
    ‘What did Cuesta do in response?’ asked Wellesley.
    ‘He galloped in front of the retreating cavalry to try and get them to rally, but they just rode him down. He was knocked from his horse