Arthur left the dragoons and trotted forward to the men of the Twenty-Ninth. There were barely more than a hundred and fifty survivors formed up in front of the colours, yet the battalion must suffer still more grievously if the centre of the British line was to hold. Clearing his throat, Arthur addressed them.
‘Men, I know you have tasted rather more of battle than you might like, but there is one last duty I would ask of you.’ He paused and glanced along the lines of sombre faces. ‘The French desire possession of Vimeiro. I will not have it, I tell you. So then, Twenty-Ninth, it is up to you to clear those rascals away!’
Someone in the rear rank laughed and piped up,‘We’ll do it for you, Nosey!’
Arthur glared in the direction of the shout and feigned umbrage as he walked his horse to one side.
‘By God, they lack manners,’ he muttered to Somerset, and the latter smiled.
‘That is so, sir. But I think they do not lack a degree of affection for you.’
‘Indeed?’ Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘Even as I send some of them to their deaths? A peculiar thing, is it not?’
The acting commander of the battalion, a captain, drew a breath and swept his sword out of its scabbard with a flourish. ‘The Twenty-Ninth will advance! At the double!’
The small band of men surged forward, boots pounding along the dry lane that led into the village, towards the sound of firing. Some more of the howitzers had added their fire and the clear sky beyond Vimeiro was punctuated by the deadly puffs as the shells burst over the heads of the oncoming French, scything men down. Arthur turned his mount to one side and trotted up to the top of a nearby knoll, with a solitary tree upon its crest. From there he could see that the head of the French column had penetrated the village. The enemy had already suffered grievously and the ground in front of Vimeiro was dotted with bodies. A moment later there was a roar as the Twenty-Ninth charged into the fray. The musket fire intensified briefly and then the French began to fall back from the village. The men behind them stalled and the column ground to a halt in confusion as the men fleeing from the village ran into their comrades.
Arthur turned towards the dragoons and waved his hand to attract Taylor’s attention. ‘Now’s your time, Taylor!’ he yelled. ‘Charge ’em!’
The bugler sounded the advance and the horsemen surged forward, riding round the flank of the village in squadron lines. As the smoke-shrouded French column came into view the bugle’s strident notes sounded the charge and the dragoons spurred on, swords raised and flashing in the morning sun as they thundered over the dry ground towards the enemy. Only a few shots were fired as they charged home, and Arthur saw one of his men topple from his saddle and disappear into the swirling dust. Then the dragoons were in amongst the enemy, hacking to left and right. Within moments the column had ceased to exist as a formation and the French had turned and were fleeing across the open ground.
Arthur watched without expression. The effect of the dragoons’ sudden appearance was all he had hoped.Taylor’s men had smashed the column. Arthur trusted the man had sufficient presence of mind not to get carried away by the charge, and to call his men back in good time. But the bugler kept sounding the charge and the notes became more and more distant as the cavalry fanned out across the plain, running down isolated victims and avoiding those pockets of Frenchmen who had held together and were now retreating in good order.
‘Damn the man,’ Arthur growled.‘He should call his men back now, before it is too late.’
‘I fear that it is already too late,’ said Somerset, as he watched one of the clusters of infantry fire a ragged volley that carried three of the dragoons off their saddles.
Taylor’s men were so scattered by that time that the French were turning on them, and now the disparity in numbers began to tell.At last, the bugler sounded the recall and the troopers broke off their pursuit and trotted back towards Vimeiro, singly and in small groups. The French continued to fire on them, causing more casualties, until they were out of range.
Arthur sighed.‘It seems we have a deal of work to do in disciplining our cavalry.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I don’t know what it is about cavalry, that makes them stuff their heads with straw.’
Somerset smiled. ‘You know how it is, sir. The brightest fellows join the engineers, and, failing that, the infantry. As for the rest . . .’ He gestured towards the dragoons who had returned to Vimeiro and were slowly re- forming their companies.
‘Quite.’ Arthur nodded. ‘At least they have repulsed the enemy. The field is ours. All that remains is to pursue Junot to his destruction.’ Arthur paused and glanced up the hill.‘But that is an order for Sir Harry to give. Come on!’
He spurred his horse and galloped back up the slope to the crest of the hill. Sir Harry Burrard was where Arthur had left him. He smiled broadly as Arthur came pounding towards him.
‘Damned fine work, Wellesley! The frogs are on the run.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Arthur panted.‘Now we must seize the fruits of victory, sir. Give the order to advance and Junot is finished. Lisbon will be in our hands within three days.’
Sir Harry smiled again, and shook his head. ‘Fortune has smiled on us today, Sir Arthur. It would be rash to tempt providence. Let us wait until General Moore arrives with his men.Then we shall dominate the enemy.’
Arthur thrust his arm out towards the retreating French soldiers. ‘But, sir, we already dominate them.You have but to give the word and we can run them to ground and compel Junot to surrender.’ He paused as he swiftly considered the best way to change Sir Harry’s mind.‘Think of the glory, sir. The man who forces Junot to surrender will be the hero of the hour.’
‘And the man who throws caution to the wind and leads the army to disaster will be the villain in perpetuity, Wellesley. I will not be that man. Besides, we should wait and see what Sir Hew Dalrymple decides.’
‘With respect, sir, Sir Hew is not here. If he was, then I am sure he would seize such a fine opportunity to destroy the enemy.’
‘Enough, Wellesley,’ Sir Harry said curtly. ‘I have made my decision. There will be no pursuit. We will wait for General Dalrymple and the rest of the reinforcements.’
Arthur stared at his superior for a moment. His heart was crying out with frustration and despair, but there
