French army by themselves.’
Arthur’s jubilation of a moment earlier turned to dread as he watched the tiny figures in red dissolve into a formless swarm as they crossed the brook and pursued the French into their own lines. Already another enemy line was moving forward to counter the British charge, and their beaten comrades flowed round them to the rear, where their surviving officers began to steady them, and re-form their units. As the screen of fleeing Frenchmen thinned out, the soldiers of Cameron’s brigade suddenly found themselves confronted by a new enemy force. While Arthur watched with a sinking heart, the French halted, made ready and unleashed a lethal volley. The redcoats were cut down in swathes, and while a few men returned fire it was clear that most were momentarily stunned by the sharp reversal of fortune. Another volley sealed their fate, and leaving their stricken comrades on the far bank of the Portina the survivors hurried back over the brook, losing more men as the French skirmishers rushed forward to pursue the broken British formation.
It was clear that there was no question of Cameron’s rallying his men, and their foolhardiness had left a gaping hole in the centre of the British line. Arthur turned to Somerset.
‘We must fill the gap at once! Get you to Mackenzie and order him to move his men across and stop the French. Go!’
While his aide spurred his horse down the slope towards the brigade waiting in reserve, Arthur galloped across the crest and reined in at General Hill’s side. The sudden spray of dirt startled Hill’s mount.
‘What the devil?’The general looked round irritably until he saw his commander.
‘Hill, Cameron’s brigade has broken. I need your men.’ Arthur gestured to the Forty-eighth Foot, on the right of Hill’s command. ‘Whatever happens you must hold your ground here.’
‘I will, sir. Have no fear of that.’
‘Thank you.’Arthur touched the brim of his hat and turned his horse to the south, thundering along the rear of Hill’s brigade until he reached the colonel in command of the Forty-eighth, where he gave his orders breathlessly.‘Double your men to the right. I want them in a line to take the French in the flank.’ He pointed out the French pushing Cameron’s chaotic brigade across the Portina. ‘If they are not stopped and sent back, then the battle is lost.’
‘I understand, sir.’ The colonel saluted and turned to shout the necessary orders. Arthur stayed with him and led the regiment down the side of the ridge at a steady trot, the men’s knapsacks and bayonet scabbards slapping and jingling as their nailed boots trampled down the dry grass. As he watched the French attack press forward, into the British line, Arthur willed his men on. The enemy had to be stopped swiftly before they managed to cut his army in two. To the right he saw the two thousand men of Mackenzie’s brigade trotting across the plain to head off the French column.
‘Not enough,’ he muttered softly to himself.
Mackenzie’s men faced at least a division of the enemy, ten thousand of them, as the French, scenting victory, marched more men into the breach. Mackenzie’s brigade halted, and turned from column to line as they prepared to face the onslaught. Cameron’s survivors flowed through the gaps between the companies ahead of them and paused a safe distance beyond, breathless and shaken as their officers rallied them. The British line fell silent as the French came on, drums beating while the men in the rear ranks sang lustily. Those at the front held their muskets ready as they paced towards the waiting redcoats, who were standing still, muskets grounded, as if they were on parade. As the enemy closed, the order to make ready echoed down the line and with well-drilled precision the muskets came up, the weapons were cocked and the men took aim. As the first volley was fired, Arthur halted the Forty-eighth and wheeled the formation into line, perpendicular to the head of the attacking French column.
‘Advance!’ he ordered and the men, two deep, marched forward to add the weight of their fire to that of Mackenzie’s brigade.
The first volleys had caused the French to stop and now they began to fill out their flanks as they formed a firing line. The quicker they could do it, the quicker they could overwhelm the firepower of the last line of British infantry standing between them and victory.
‘Keep moving there!’ Arthur called to his right as one of the companies began to lag slightly behind the others. The men obediently quickened their pace and pulled back into position. Ahead of the regiment Arthur could see the faces of the men on the right of the French column, glancing anxiously towards the new threat closing on their flank. He had time to reflect that this was further proof of the inferiority of the French system. Once their columns were unleashed they were unwieldy giants lumbering forward and unable to manoeuvre freely enough to cope with threats from either flank or the rear.
The two sides closed, and all the while Mackenzie’s brigade continued to exchange fire with the head of the column, pinning the French in place while Arthur came up with the Forty-eighth Foot. A handful of French skirmishers had run forward to interpose themselves between the column and the approaching British line, and opened fire. A handful of men went down, one after another, and Arthur heard the faint whip of a bullet close by as they closed to within a hundred yards of the enemy. This was the moment, he decided, and filled his lungs.
‘Forty-eighth will halt! Make ready to fire!’
The line ceased its advance and the front line shifted a pace to the right to present a staggered wall of men, all of whom could now bring their muskets to bear. As soon as he saw they were ready Arthur called out, ‘Take aim! Fire!’
Those skirmishers still standing were struck down, and then their comrades in the flank of the French column, wheeling round under the impact, toppled. As the redcoats hurriedly lowered their muskets and reached for the next round, Arthur heard a faint groan of dismay and fear from the French ranks.
‘Pour it on, boys!’ shouted the colonel of the Forty-eighth. ‘Pour it on!’
The flank companies of the French column began to shuffle round, their progress being held up by the bodies underfoot, but another volley swept into them, striking down more men and creating further chaos, and the attempt to present a firing line to Arthur and his men collapsed. The men of the Forty-eighth methodically loaded and fired with a ruthless efficiency, cutting down swathes of Frenchmen with each volley. Yet the column stood its ground, hemmed in by the bodies of its fallen. At the front their losses had been grievous, but then so had the losses amongst Mackenzie’s brigade, Arthur saw. Perhaps a third of his men were down already and Arthur knew they could not stand much more punishment. If the French could hold their nerve for a few more minutes then victory was surely theirs. Behind Mackenzie’s men the remains of Cameron’s brigade were still re-forming, and could play no part in the action at this critical moment. Arthur was seized by frustration at his powerlessness to affect the outcome. All now depended on which soldiers endured this terrible punishment for longest.
Then a movement caught his eye. From the saddle he could just see over the mass of the French column to the ground beyond. Through the thin smoke wafting back from the men firing along the front, something flashed. And then again, and more - sunlight reflecting off polished steel, he realised. Fresh hope stirred in his heart as he saw a line of cavalry sweeping in against the far side of the column.
‘By God, it’s the Light Dragoons!’ he exclaimed through gritted teeth. ‘Ride on. Ride on and break them!’
Attacked from three sides now, the less spirited of the Frenchmen began to back away, seeking escape from the sweep of British bullets and the slashing of the dragoons’ swords as they carved at the enemy’s left flank. More men backed away, and despite the frenzied encouragement and fury of their officers the contagion spread and the column lost what little cohesion it had left as the men broke, falling back in a frightened mass towards the Portina and the greater safety of the far bank. The battered regiments of Mackenzie’s brigade followed up, pausing to fire volleys whenever the enemy retreat showed any sign of slowing. The sight of the fleeing enemy gave heart to Cameron’s survivors, who hurried forward to join the flanks of Mackenzie’s line.
Arthur left orders for the Forty-eighth to remain on the plain and then, when he was satisfied that the danger had passed, turned and galloped back up to his vantage point on top of the ridge. The rest of the line had held off the French, who had pulled back to re-form their savaged columns. Looking over his own men,Arthur was shocked to see how many had fallen. Almost every battalion had closed its ranks, leaving large gaps along the line. If the French launched another attack then it would surely smash through the exhausted and bloodied redcoats.
When he returned to the crest he heard the sounds of fresh fighting coming from the valley on the other side of the ridge. Fearing a new threat Arthur anxiously rode forward until he had a clear view of the fighting below. Three large squares of French infantry were slowly picking their way back towards the Portina, followed up by the cavalry of the King’s German Legion, and a Spanish regiment that Cuesta must have sent to aid the British. The artillery further down the slope was taking advantage of the large targets being presented by the enemy and firing
