Part 2 of A Peninsular Journal

Bloody Badajoz

Elvas - part of the extensive fortifications

The problem about getting to Almeida was that the only option was to walk! There was a bus daily from the Portugese border fortress to Vilar Formoso, carrying school children on their way to the school at Guarda. Unfortunately it was a circular service that runs only twice a day, So I had to walk. It was about 15km, but I set off early before dawn so the Sun would not be too much of a problem...... I thought.

Within a couple of hours sweat was pouring from me as my pack did its best to slice my arms off, and my boots decided to raise a few blisters. The Sun was scorching, even at 8am, but I had no choice but to keep plodding on. Four cars passed me during the trip three going in the other direction, the fourth carrying a Brit family, who slowed down to stare at the fat guy, with the big blue rucksack, and the bright red face, before shooting off in a cloud of dust, but more of them later.

I eventually arrived at Almeida just before 11am, and my first thought was that the trip had been well worth it. I called at a local bar, drank loads of water, dumped My bag and went to explore. Almeida was a major fortress, built to guard the central potential invasion route into Portugal. Although able to sustain a large garrison and designed to withstand a major siege it had one fatal weakness, the failure to build bombproof powder magazines. Whether this was because of the difficulty of carving through solid igneous rock, or whether the engineers simply miscalculated that the medieval castle and cathedral, with their dungeons and crypts would serve, I don't know. But the decision was an accident waiting to happen.

Almeida - the site of the castle can be seen at the upper left of the town, the cathedral to the right below the white tower

When Ney deployed his army to attack the town, he could never have expected that the Cathedral would disappear in a  devastating explosion destroying the garrison's powder reserves, obliterating the castle,  barracks and large part of the town, as well decimating the garrison. Colonel Cox, the garrison commander, pressurised by his desperate Portugese subordinates, had no choice but to surrender the following day.

Standing in the open space marking the site of the Cathedral you gain a superb view of the extensive defensive works, and the strategically important road, actually more of a track, that trails its way across the river Coa, and zigzags its way up and over the mountains towards Guarda. It is easy to imagine, how the two major buildings within the town, standing at the highest point would have drawn the artilleryman's eye, and a storm of fire. Almeida is now a quiet sleepy town, but full of ghosts.

For those who have the cash available, there is a Pousada (state run hotel) in the town, and a couple of rather run down guest houses, although a better range of accommodation may now be available. (If any readers have visited recently and can update me on this I would be grateful).

I spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the terrain between the town and the River Coa. This was the scene of the famous action where Crauford's rashness allowed the Light Division to be caught with its trousers down by Ney's rapid advance. The Allies fought a brilliant fighting withdrawal to the river, and then a holding action blunting the French advance until the line was stabilised.

Ney

Reading the various accounts of this action I had wondered just why the British Infantry had not been totally cut up by the French cavalry. One sight of the terrain give you the answer. First the slopes are all terraced for cultivation. Each terrace broken up by irregular field boundaries, most often marked by dry stone walls. The fields themselves were mainly filled with groves of olive trees, which again would have broken up any French attack. In fact it was clear to me that the French Cavalry would only have been able to operate in small disorganised units. Even these would have been frighteningly effective if they surprised an isolated platoon, but did not really threaten the Divisional organisation.

The bridge on the Coa

The main French assault, like the Allied retreat would be tied to the winding road, which would be easily defended. The famous bridge over the Coa is spectacular, an arched grey monument. spanning a deep river gorge, with steep rocky walls. The river is now little more than a stream, thanks to a dam upstream, but must have been a major obstacle during the action. Once deployed amongst the rocks on the Portugese side of the bridge it would be a major task to dislodge the defenders. And once they were deployed at the summit of the mountain, they would be impossible to move without a full scale assault.

The bridge over the Coa, showing the difficult nature of the surrounding terrain

I plodded back to the bar, for a well deserved drink, food and to wait for the school bus. As I munched on my cheese and bread, I noticed my friends from this morning, the Brits on tour, sitting at a table by the window. I say noticed them, I could not miss them, talking loudly, shouting very poor Spanish at the barman, complaining about the food, knocking a glass of coke over and making no attempt to clean it up, and generally being as obnoxious as possible. It never fails to amaze me that some people decide to explore a country, go well off the beaten path, into rural underdeveloped areas, and then go mad when faced with simple food, toilets that are less than sparkling, people who do not speak a foreign language and all the other problems that the rest of us, after a moments thought,  would simply accept.

Vilar Formoso station

I caught the bus back to Vilar Formoso, and that night crossed back into Spain, to enjoy a few glasses with my friends in Fuentes. Very early next morning, with a throbbing head and a queasy stomach, I caught the steam train to Guarda. This is a trip I can heartily recommend, first because it take you through the mountains, revealing the difficulties of that terrain in a way that a car journey could never do. Second you get to meet and talk to so many people, who are happy to tell you all sorts of stories about the area, as well as encourage you to share their breakfasts.

Guarda- The Castello

Guarda itself is a town of strategic importance, like so many Portugese towns built on the crest of a steep hill, in fact it is said to be the highest town in the country, and the railway station is at the bottom of the mountain, and the bus station at the top (of course). Guarda stands at the the meeting point of two valleys, one running east to west leading to Coimbra and the costal plain, the other north south along the Serra Estrelle, so the town was important both in attack and defence of Portugal and at various times was the site of both French and Allied headquarters. The town itself is worth a look, the 17th century defence works are in good condition and the medieval castle is also of interest

Guarda

But I was not able to spend much time here as i had a bus to catch that took me south, parallel with the Spanish border, and through a whole host of small fortified villages that dot that troubled area. Names very familiar with anyone who has read Surtees, Simmons , Blakeney, Grattan, or Smith, as they were the billets of allied battalions, Portalegra, Belmonte, Monteforte. I was very tempted to jump off the bus a number of times, drawn by ruined moorish castles and barely changed villages surrounded by fortified walls. But I had only limited time and a very definite objective. My bus journey ended at Estremoz, a striking medieval town dominated by a  reconstructed dazzling white fortified palace, which is now a luxury hotel, another of the state run Pousada's. Every building seems to be a dazzling white, and it came as no surprise to be told that the area was the country's main source of marble, and as I tramped eastwards I passed a number of huge quarries that scarred the countryside.

Estremoz

After walking for a couple of hours, a local farmer offered me lift on the trailer towed by his ancient iron wheeled tractor. I of course accepted, and swapped apples, chocolate and glucose tablets for oranges, cheese and wine with the farmers other passengers. By the time I fell off the trailer I was pretty well sloshed, but spending the rest of the day tramping around Campo Mayor soon sobered me up. Apparently this town was devastated during the C18th when a lightening strike hit the powder store, killing hundreds of troops and citizens. Portugal does not seem a good place to stockpile powder. For those with a sense of the macabre there is a church in the town, the walls of which are totally covered in human bones including a full skeleton or two.

Estremoz

Campo Mayor is yet another fortified border town, dominated by a powerful medieval fortress which by the time of the Peninsular War was outdated and vulnerable to attack from artillery. In 1811 Mortier forced the surrender of a weak but brave Portugese garrison, who held on beyond all reasonable expectation.  A few days later the French occupying force commanded by Latour-Maubourg was suprised By Beresford, who drove the French back into Spain, and recaptured the town. Unfortunately in discipline amongst the Allied cavalry, so common in the period, prevented this victory from becoming a triumph. Still Campo mayor is an interesting place to visit, quiet, and comfortable with friendly locals. I spent the night in a cork grove a couple of miles out of town, and rose early the next day to complete the walk into Elvas about 15 miles away.

Elvas - Fort Gracas overlooking the town

Elvas, was the Allied headquarters for the campaign against my next objective, the Spanish city of Badajoz. The defensive works are still very much intact, and the town is surrounded by a number of outworks that crown the ring of hills. A number of these are still occupied by the Portugese military, and the arrays of ariels spreading over the stonework are testimony to this.

Elvas - The aqueduct

There is an amazing aqueduct at Elvas that took over a hundred years to build, and was designed to provide water to the population of the town and its garrison, when their demands overwhelmed the wells within the walls. However impressive the structure was, I failed to see how it might be defended from artillery fire if the outer forts fell, meaning that the fortress would surely be doomed.

Elvas - clearly indicating the extensive fortifications, the aqueduct is on the left

 I spent the night in a reasonable hotel, allowing myself the luxury of a shower and a decent meal. I was struck by the differences between Spain and Portugal.

First the language; although from the same latin base they sound very very different. In fact the first time that I heard Portugese spoken it sounded like Bulgarian or Russian to my uneducated ears. After a couple of days though I began to recognise the similarities with Spanish and was able to understand some of what was said to me, although I had no chance in trying to speak, and had to fall back on Spanish. This does not go down well, so always apologise, the Portugese are fiercely proud of their independence from Spain and some will refuse to respond to the Spanish tongue.

Secondly, and I do not feel comfortable saying this, but Portugal felt........well scruffier. The streets tended to be more untidy, less clean. The houses less well tended, the people less concerned about the way they dress. Now for a dust coated, sweat streaked, travel stained Brit to say this must sound a bit rich, and Portugal is economically a poorer country than Spain, but still I offer it as an observation, that reflects many contemporary Peninsular accounts. Having said that I found the Portugese people open, friendly and hospitable, having the edge perhaps on my experiences in Spain generally.

Third, and of primary importance, Portugal is so much cheaper for the traveller on a budget, especially if you buy food direcy from the farms you pass on route (hint....but make sure you have a ready supply of  tummy treatment). Cheaper food, wine, accommodation, vital knowledge for the budget traveller.

Next day, after a comfortable nights rest, and a light breakfast, I treated myself to a taxi for the short trip to the border. There loading myself up again like a beast of burden I crossed back into Spain. The border guards just waved me through after glancing at my passport, and I trudge along the main road, past the Coca Cola factory towards Badajoz, reflecting as I walked on the human chain that stretched from Elvas to the siege lines passing ammunition for the big guns. Just as I reached the outskirts of the town, I was joined by two green uniformed gentlemen of the Guardia Civil, I had noticed these two giving me the eye at the border crossing. I can only think they were bored and decided to follow me, because they took an uncommon interest in the contents of my Bergen that they emptied, turned upside down and inside out.

Badajoz from the West . the trees are within the castle bailey, indicating the extent of the fortifications

I suppose they were looking for drugs, they were certainly convinced that i was on drugs when i told them that I was interested in history and that was why I was heading to Badajoz. They simply did not believe me. Badajoz they told me had no history, and I should be heading for the Roman ruins at Caceres, a World Heritage site, that was not on My intinery. Luckily I was able to point out to them the fort of San Christobal, the outer slopes of which we were standing on, the Roman Bridge with its intact tete-du-pont fortification and the Moorish castle. After a five minute impromptu lecture they surrendered, either convinced by my remarkable knowledge of Spanish history, or deciding that I was a relatively harmless lunatic, who it would be more trouble that it was worth to arrest.

Las Palmas gate- from the Pharos bar

Wandering into the city, I was suprised at how busy the place was, you have to remember that I had been  trudging the rural backwaters for a week. Badajoz was a very busy place, with a pleasant enough Plaza Mayor housing a chunky cathedral. Having found a pharmacy to buy ointment for My right arm, which was swollen and somewhat septic with insect bites and sunburn ( handy tip, when sleeping in fields look out for ant nests), I then looked for some cheap accommodation. Just a couple of hundred yards from the castle I found a hostales, that seemed well maintained and the rooms clean and tidy. At only a few pounds a night it seemed a bargain so I booked in for two nights. Then went of to explore.

The defensive walls of Badajoz are extensive and in a fairly good state of preservation, but as I found time after time on my Iberian excursion little effort is made to maintain them as a possible tourist attraction. For example, the San Pedro bastion below the castle is in almost intact, but when I visited buried under tons of refuse, having been used as an unofficial dump by the citizens of the city. The moorish castle is also well worth the visit and in a far better state of repair than many British examples, but be warned it still holds a Spanish military hospital, and as a military installation so be sure to ask before taking photographs.

It is a little difficult from here to make out the scene of the allied siege assaults as the area of the Trinidad bastion, the San Roque, and the inundation have all been built around and modern buildings block your view, but they are still there to be explored, and looking down from the castle it is possible to make out the features of the action. You can walk down the defences to the site of the great breach at the Trinidad Bastion, which is still standing. Part of the surrounding area has been converted into a shady park, and the trees somewhat obscure the view, and a road passes through the walls at this point. 

On the other side of the river the outwork of San Christobal stands a superb testament to the strength of the original defences. At the time of my visit the place looked ready to accept a garrison, all that was required was new roofs on the internal buildings and a lot of weeding in the ditches and covered ways. (hint - if you are considering visiting Badajoz try and get hold of a copy of Badajoz - 1812, by Ian Fletcher, one of the Osprey history series. It is full of maps, photos, and practical guidance, as well as being a lot lighter than the tomes I was carrying. And it seems this series has recently been remaindered, I bought a copy at Partizan for a fiver from the energetic Mr Worley)

Badajoz is said to be a friendly place, and my experiences in the local Pharos Bar that night proved it. Beware though of the local favoured drink, Vino de Verrano, local red wine with cloudy lemonade, it tastes like Vimto, but after 9 or 10 your legs seem to stop working. And if you should go there and meet a guy who everyone calls "Lobo", be aware if you agree to go with him to meet his family, that his "mother" is the madam at one of the local bordellos.

As I staggered back to my digs that night, or was it morning my memory is blurred, I remember passing the birthplace of Godoy, the Francophile Chief minister who played such a part in influencing the Spanish Court. I also wondered why there were so many good looking women sat outside my digs, and why they seemed so friendly when I walked towards them. But even through My wine soaked haze, the sound of slamming doors and squeaking bedsprings made me suspect my digs were not quite the bed and breakfast place I had expected!

Badajoz Looking West from the Castle

The following morning, after a breakfast of bread rolls and coffee I took my throbbing head to the local bus station and grabbed a coach for the short trip down the road to Albuera, a small dusty town lying in the midst of a rolling plain surrounded by vineyards and grain fields. But in May 1811 Albuera was the scene of one of the closest fought actions of the Peninsular, a fascinating battle that disperses quite a few of the normal myths of the war.

The allies were commanded by William Beresford, the man responsible for the reorganisation and training of the Portugese army, and possessed of considerable skill and personal courage. He was engaged in the seige of Badajoz when he was forced to march to meet a strong French relief force, a combined army with Soult's command from Seville joining with Latour-Maubourg (again) from Andalusia. 

Beresford

Joining with the Spanish forces of General Blake,Beresford deployed behind the town along a low ridge running parallel with the Rio Albuera and waited the onslaught. In a day of unprecedented bloodshed the Spanish stood their ground and died in droves under a hail of close range artillery fire. These troops, so often dismissed as useless by far too many wargamers blunted the largest French assault of the whole war. Meanwhile the Anglo-Portugese were suffering severely thanks to a suprise charge of French cavalry that caught them in line and hacked them to pieces.

The Fusiliers at Albuera by David Rowlands

Eventually the French cavalry were driven back and the desperate Allied line renewed the the firefight, and the carnage was tremendous. Beresford tried to order reinforcements into the bloodbath, but Espana's Spaniards refused to move into that slaughter house, despite Beresford literally dragging one of the colonels forward hoping his troops might follow. At this moment of extreme crisis, Lowry-Cole led the 4th Division in an assault on the western flank. This move made on his own initiative was met by a savage assault from massed cavalry and infantry columns. Fighting desperately the massed musketry of the Allied line overwhelmed the French columns, and Soult was forced to allow his forces to retire. 

La Albuera

After four hours of Hell the rain began to pour and both armies stood exhausted on the blood soaked fields, neither able to take the offensive. The next day was spent in scattered skirmishing while the tattered remnants of three armies waited the next move, which was a French withdrawal that evening. Beresford had won the battle, but the cost was heavy, too heavy for Wellington's strategic plans. Beresford has been heavily criticised by some for his performance at Albuera, not least by Napier, and there is no doubt that he made some errors, especially in his deployment. But he cannot be blamed for the failure of his subordinates to carry out his orders, nor for the weather, battles are won and lost because of luck, and in some ways Beresford was very unlucky. 

The Fifes and Drums at Albuera by Lady Butler

Walking this battlefield is easy, it has hardly changed since the battle. Scraping about in the debris at the side of the ploughed fields I picked out a number of musket balls and pieces of what I think are canister shot. In the town I was shown a number of articles picked up from the battlefield including a sword hilt and a battered shako plate. ( Since my visit much has been done to recognise the significance of the battle, and I understand there is now a monument to the action, and a commemorative park with a mural of the battle plan)

I caught the last bus back to Badajoz and spent the evening with my friends at The Pharos, where I was introduced to the father of one of the chaps I met earlier. With the help of an English-Spanish/ Spanish-English dictionary who told me how his own father, and hundreds of others had been massacred by Nationalist forces in the bullring during the Civil War. I was also told how the Portugese army patrolled the border, hunting down Republican fugitives and handing them back to Franco's forces, to be executed in the ditches of the San Christobal. Bloody Badajoz is not a place I will ever forget.

Next day I was was again up early, grabbing coffee, brandy, fruit and bread for breakfast I trudged down to the bus station ready for the final stage of my own Peninsular Campaign.

Road maps of the areas visited courtesy of Global Insight

JOS

Links

Almeida
http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/SRibasCAD/Almeida.html
http://www.napoleonseries.org/articles/wars/almeida.cfm

River Coa
www.napoleonseries.org/ articles/wars/coa.cfm
http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~awoodley/harry/harry5.html

Guarda
http://portugal-info.net/transmontana/guarda.htm

Estremoz
http://www.portugalvirtual.pt/_tourism/plains/estremoz/
http://portugal-info.net/alentejo/estremoz.htm

Elvas
http://www.geocities.com/~elvas/index_i.htm
http://www.cm-elvas.pt/

Albuera
www.juntaex.es/albuera2000/ plaza.jpg
www.wargames.co.uk/.../Obats/HardP/ Albuera/AlbueraBat.html

Badajoz
http://www.rhf.org.uk/Regimental%20History/Badajoz.htm
http://www.arrakis.es/~cmacias/
napoleonicgallery.com/ battles1a.html
http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~awoodley/harry/harry8.html
http://gaslight.mtroyal.ab.ca/gaslight/bivouac6.htm
http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~awoodley/regency/badajoz.html

Wellington's Despatches
http://www.wtj.com/archives/wellington/

Davis Rowlands - Artist

http://www.militaryartcompany.com/david_rowlands.htm

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