Occasionally the British came across the bodies of French stragglers upon whom the Portuguese had wreaked their revenge. The luckiest had been killed out of hand, but others had been gutted, or partially flayed, and one officer’s body had been discovered sawn in half, beside the bloodied blade of a tree-felling saw. In one village, during a brief lull in the rain, they came across a group of villagers standing round a circle of burning straw. In the middle a wounded Frenchman was screaming. Every time he tried to crawl out, the peasants drove him back inside the flames with their pitchforks, and threw more straw on to the fire. Before Oporto the British troops might have intervened to save the Frenchman, but they had seen enough of his comrades’ handiwork to spare him little more than a cold-hearted sideways glance as they marched by.
Each night the sodden redcoats found what shelter they could and lit fires to warm their cold bodies and attempt to dry their clothes. Meanwhile Arthur read the reports of his scouts with a mixture of frustration and grudging satisfaction. Soult was marching at a faster pace than his own men could manage, but only at the price of steadily abandoning his guns and wagons. Soon all he would be left with would be his footsore infantry and the starving, lame mounts of his cavalry.
In an effort to prevent Soult’s escape Arthur despatched a Portuguese column to try to march round the enemy’s flank and block their passage across the hills into Spain. Another column, led by Beresford, blocked any escape to Vigo in the north where Soult might join forces with Ney. At last, the desperate French commander abandoned the roads and led his forces over the mountains of Santa Catalina. As soon as he heard the news Arthur realised the chase was up. It was five days since they had set out from Oporto, and without abandoning his own guns and supply train he could no longer pursue Soult with the main body of his army. Riding on with his cavalry, he followed Soult’s tracks across the mountains and on the seventh day of the pursuit, as the cavalry descended towards the broken country of Galicia, Arthur halted his column.
No more than five miles ahead he could see the remnants of Soult’s corps, moving like a band of beggars across the landscape.There was little sense of order in the straggling mass of humanity and only a handful of cavalry formations retained enough discipline to form a rearguard.
‘We have them, sir!’ Somerset said eagerly. ‘We have but to charge and they will scatter to the winds.’
Arthur stared after his enemy for a moment and then shook his head.
‘Sir?’
‘Do you not know where we stand, Somerset?’ Arthur gestured to the ground before them. ‘That is Spain. I am forbidden from entering without the express permission of the Secretary for War.’
‘But sir,’ Somerset protested, pointing at Soult’s ragged column.‘One charge and they will break.’
‘Perhaps,’ Arthur mused. He had seen enough of the British cavalry in action to know how hot-headed they were. Far in advance of the rest of the army it would be rash indeed to permit them to mount any wild charge against the enemy. Besides, Soult’s men were hardened veterans of the Grand Army. Even now they would still form square and repulse any attempt by the British cavalry to break their ranks. He stiffened his posture in the saddle and continued to address his aide. ‘There is much to be risked in an unsupported attack, and little to gain. Soult’s men are beaten; he has abandoned every one of his guns. It will be quite some time before those men of his are ready to fight again.We have done our work, Somerset. Now it is time to retire. Time to turn and deal with Marshal Victor should he attempt to advance across the frontier.’
Somerset’s expression was bitter and crestfallen as he stared longingly at the retreating enemy column. Then he composed himself and nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then give the order for the cavalry to turn back.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Somerset wheeled his mount round to ride over to the colonel of the nearest regiment of dragoons. Arthur remained alone for a moment, staring out across the Galician countryside. For a moment his heart was heavy with the thought of giving up the pursuit. But for his orders he might have contemplated charging Soult’s exhausted soldiers. He could imagine the excitement of the charge, the mad thrill of pounding across the open ground towards the enemy. Yes, it would have been exhilarating, he thought. But he was a general now and his army needed him.There was no one better able to defeat the French in the Peninsula. He had added to his reputation with victories at Vimeiro and Oporto, and had humbled two of Bonaparte’s most valued commanders.
A fine start, he told himself.Yet there was more to do, much more, before Portugal and Spain were finally set free from their French oppressors.Arthur took one more look at the land of Spain and resolved in his heart that soon, very soon, he would lead his army into the heart of the Peninsula and succeed where General Moore had failed. He had no doubts about the magnitude of the task that lay ahead of him. Bonaparte had poured some quarter of a million of his men into Spain. But even though the British were outnumbered they had proved that they were the masters of Europe’s battlefields. They had shown the whole of Europe that the blue-coated legions that marched under Bonaparte’s eagles could be beaten time and again.
Arthur smiled with satisfaction. It could be done, as he had told Pitt, Castlereagh and the others. Soon, the French Emperor, safe in his palace in Paris, would be casting his gaze towards Spain with a heavy heart and knowing the first stab of fear that his empire was starting to unravel. As he considered the future Arthur felt the unshakable conviction that his finest hour was yet to come. He allowed himself a moment of pride, in himself and his men, and then smiled self-consciously for a moment.
Then, with a click of his tongue, Arthur eased his horse round and galloped back to re-join his army.
Author’s Note
Some historians consider the coronation of Napoleon, and his crushing victory at Austerlitz, as the high points of his astonishing career. Barely ten years earlier he had been a relatively unregarded artillery officer. At the time he became Emperor he was the master of Europe and commander of a formidable war machine.What is more, Napoleon had risen to the new throne on a combination of raw talent and plenty of luck. It is also important to remember that there was overwhelming popular support for Napoleon’s elevation from First Consul to Emperor. Armed with such a mandate Napoleon reformed the administration of France (and incidentally much of Europe) root and branch. Little escaped the attention of the workaholic Emperor who mastered a range of briefs to such an extent that he frequently surprised his ministers and experts with the depth of his knowledge of their specialities. There is no question that many of the changes that Napoleon made to the governance of France were effective and necessary. Along the way he ensured that meritocracy was given as much opportunity to flourish in civil society as in the military. I wish there had been space in this book to cover some of these changes in more detail but, as ever, there were decisions to be made about how much to include and in any case much of the positive legacy of Napoleon’s efforts only came to be fully appreciated in the years after his fall and are therefore outside the scope of this work.