Talavera

by Griff Hosker

  The leading regiment was just one hundred paces from the ridge when Sir Rowland Hill ordered his six battalions to rise. They were safe now from French artillery which could not fire for fear of hitting their own men.

  “Prepare! Ready! Fire!”

  The first volley from eighteen hundred muskets was too much. The French were decimated. Volley after volley poured into them. They tried to return fire but the odd musket ball did no damage. I was close enough to see the flag they carried. It was the 24th Line Regiment. They broke and poured down the hill. Further along the hill, the 96th Line regiment was exposed and when the Germans launched a flank attack, they too broke.

  Sir Arthur saw an opportunity, “Stewart, take your men and chase them back over the river!”

  The three battalions were the 29th, the 48th and a mixed Highland battalion. With bayonets fixed they hurtled after the fleeing French. It was a rout. Wild Highlanders plunged their bayonets into the backs of Frenchmen who were already shell shocked from the musket fire. Of course, the Highlanders did not stop at the Portina. Sergeant Majors and senior officers managed to halt most of them but many jumped the stream and ran into the French battalions which had yet to attack. None had been lost in the pursuit. Two hundred and fifty of them were killed or captured when they crossed the Portina. The survivors returned to the ridge. The first phase of the battle was over.

  Sir Arthur snapped at General Stewart, “Damn it, Stewart! I expected better of your men!”

  “Sorry, Sir Arthur. They were carried away by the moment!”

  Sir Rowland Hill suddenly shouted, “There is a chap coming to the stream Sir Arthur. It looks like he wants to talk.”

  Sir Arthur nodded to me, “Major Matthews, go and talk to the fellow!”

  “Sir. Sharp, with me!”

  We galloped through a charnel house. There were bodies which had lain there since the previous night. They were bloated in the heat. I knew what the French wanted, it would be a truce so that they could recover and bury their dead.

  I reined in on our side of the stream. The French Major began in English. It was execrable. “I am Major Mortier…”

  I waved my hand to silence him, “Let us speak in French. I speak it fluently.”

  Relieved, he nodded, “King Joseph asks for a two-hour truce so that we can recover our dead and wounded. He assumes that you will do the same.”

  “Two hours? Very well.” I took out my watch as did the French Major, “Two hours then.”

  When I reached Sir Arthur, I told him the news. “Good, General Sherbrooke, see to it.”

  Sir Rowland Hill said, “Sir Arthur, the men are starving. The Spanish who fled yesterday ransacked our supplies.”

  “They will just have to forage for themselves.” Sir Arthur had not thought his statement through. We were on a battlefield. Where would the men forage?

  He took out his telescope and levelled it at the French lines. The plain was already filling with men, French ambulances and stretchers as bodies and wounded were removed. Whole regiments were going to the stream to fill their canteens. The water would have a salty taste; it was bloody. There were still bodies lying in it. I took out my own telescope and saw the same as the General. The French were having a council of war and, from the movements, the next attack would be on our weak left flank. The slope prevented the French from seeing the two batteries of German guns and the German brigade there but, even so, it was our weak area.

  “Gentlemen, let us hold a council of war. We will ride to General Cuesta. Major!”

  Once again, I was needed.

  For once the Spanish were in a conciliatory mood. General Cuesta had seen how firmly we had stood and was impressed.

  I translated as Sir Arthur rattled out his suggestions which were, in reality, de facto orders. He explained the threat and General Cuesta agreed to give us five thousand men to bolster our left flank. In addition, our weaker cavalry was to be supported by the Duke of Albuquerque’s cavalry. We returned to the Cerro de Medellin in a much happier frame of mind. Now that they were supported Sir Arthur was able to move Anson and Fane’s cavalry brigades to the western end too. The 23rd would be in action. Geoffrey Minchin and his men would be in their first real battle. I wondered how they would cope.

  The two hours of truce and calm ended. I knew that little food had been found for our men. The French looked to have been treated better. I took my place with Sir Arthur. Donna had been rested. I looked at my watch. It was three o’clock. The French artillery fired. In the centre, where our lines met those of the Spanish, there was a battery at a place called Paja de Verergar. It was attacked by a whole French division. The French bombardment caused few casualties and the Spanish guns acquitted themselves well. The French stayed in column and when they were met by stiff musket fire then they fell back.

  Sir Arthur said, “That is a feint. Their real attack will come further north.” He pointed. There was a column of over fifteen thousand men. They had begun to move and they were aimed at the centre of the British line. The single column had almost as many men as the whole of the British under Sir Arthur’s command.

  I took out my telescope. “General, there are nine thousand men preparing at the northern end of their line. They are supported by twelve hundred horsemen.”

  “Are they by God? They mean to punch a hole in our line and then flank us. Major, ride to generals Anson and Fane. If the French close then they are to threaten their infantry. Make the French form square.” His eyes held mine. “No foolish charges. They are just there to stop them and make them form square!”

  “Yes, sir. Sharp!”

  I galloped off away from the battalions who were already forming. The two brigades were not yet mounted. A rider did not mount prematurely in the Spanish heat. Brigadier Fane commanded the Dragoons and Dragoon Guards. As such he was senior. Some of the 23rd looked up in anticipation as I approached. I noted that Captain Wilberforce was there. I did not know why. Colonel Hawker had assured me that he would be watching the horses. I could only assume that he had been overruled by General Anson. In the scheme of things that was trivial.

  “Brigadier General Fane, General Wellesley’s compliments and he would like you to threaten the column which is advancing from the east. He does not wish you to charge them, merely to make them go into square.”

  “Good. Gentlemen, mount your horses.”

  “You should be aware, sir, that there are twelve hundred light horsemen supporting the nine thousand strong column.”

  “Thank you, Major Mathews. I appreciate the intelligence.”

  As I passed the Dragoon Guards, Lieutenant Colonel John Elley shouted cheerfully, “I wager you wish you were joining us, eh, Major?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The Lieutenant Colonel was something of a legend. He was a Yorkshireman from Leeds who had joined the Dragoon Guards as a trooper. His advancement had been nothing short of remarkable. He now commanded a prestigious regiment of heavy cavalry. He owed nothing to the purchase of commission. He was a superb horseman and a great swordsman. Those who knew him said that he was fearless. I knew that he was reckless. He rode a huge white horse. When I had been in the Chasseurs, I had been warned off such animals as they tended to attract the attentions of enemy horsemen!

  Confident that I had passed on the correct information, I rode back the short way to Sir Arthur. I saw that the column which was approaching our northern flank was not moving quickly. Sir Arthur was right. This was a diversion. The main attack was the larger column heading for the centre of the British line. They were marching in columns. With the artillery rearranged and the borrowed Spanish batteries in place, we began to pound holes in the French columns. They doggedly came on. I pointed out to Sir Arthur that the French Dragoons were massing behind the columns. When they broke through, we would have to endure a cavalry charge.

  Then we heard firing from the south. The French feint attack was underway. When I heard the bugle sound the cavalry charge, I had to look. Every cavalry
man was stirred by such a sound. General Cuesta had sent in his best cavalry, El Rey, the Royal Cavalry. They charged towards the French infantry scattering the skirmishers who fled back through the advancing column. It was an action every horseman dreamed of. The French broke ranks and fled. The cavalry did not stop but reached the French guns. They sabred the gunners and took the guns and caissons. The whole line cheered. It was a true victory. The British regiments to the side took advantage and, advancing, cut down even more of the fleeing Frenchmen.

  The temperature was now so hot that I saw men fainting with the heat. This did not suit the British soldier but at least we just had to stand and endure shot and shell. The French were advancing in column. General Sherbrook was in command of the men awaiting the French columns. He rode along the line, apparently oblivious to the shells being fired by the French artillery and the musket balls from the skirmishers. “The Division will open fire at fifty paces. Fix your bayonets and when you have fired three volleys await my order to charge! None crosses the Portina! Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The roar must have sounded like a battle cry to the French. The General returned to his position behind the line so that he could judge the moment. He had five thousand muskets at his command and even though they were outnumbered three to one by the advancing columns, I was confident about the outcome.

  All the while I was glancing to the north. I saw that General Fane had his men prepared for their focussed charge. The King’s German Legion Hussars and the 23rd would be in the front rank. I saw their standards. Like General Sherbrooke, Brigadier Fane would have to judge his moment well. I was surprised to see Lieutenant Colonel Elley on his white horse. He was with the Hussars. I wondered at that. I estimated it would be half an hour before they were ready to attack. I returned my attention to the encounter before me. It was now obvious that the French Marshal was using Sir Arthur as a target. It was as though he and his staff were the subject of the whole attack. The drums filled the air as the French marched. The drummer boys at the fore would all be slaughtered. The Rifles had duelled with the voltigeurs and both skirmisher screens had now withdrawn.”

  “Prepare.”

  Muskets were primed and brought up.

  “Ready.”

  The muskets were aimed.

  “Fire!”

  Five thousand muskets barked and the world before us became a thick pall of smoke. The cracks sounded like thunder and then there were the screams of the wounded and the dying.

  “Fire!”

  A second volley followed. This time it was slightly more ragged.

  “Fire!”

  The third volley was even more ragged.

  “Charge!”

  We could see nothing but we knew that the enemy were just fifty paces away. The double line launched themselves at the shattered and shell-shocked Frenchmen. None could withstand such an onslaught. As the Guards and the grenadier companies led the attack the French saw the largest men in the British army charging towards them. They heard the screams, curses and obscenities of men who had endured French artillery fire and now wanted vengeance. I could see little but I could imagine the bayonets tearing into men whose ears were still deafened by the volleys. The wind began to shift the smoke and it was a barbaric scene which greeted me. The field was filled with the red and the blue. They were tearing at each other with sharp-edged weapons, or simply clubbing at each other with their muskets. The fresher English troops prevailed and the French fled.

  As the smoke thinned even more, I saw that Fane’s and Anson’s brigades had begun their ride. Sir Arthur shouted, above the cacophony of battle, “Matthews, report on the charge for me. Let me know how it goes.”

  “Yes, sir. Sergeant Sharp!”

  I needed no encouragement. The battle in the centre was over. As I rode north, I saw the red wave flowing down towards the Portina. These were the Guards. These were not the wild Scotsmen who had overreached themselves so dramatically just a few hours ago. This time history would not repeat itself.

  The two regiments which led the charge towards the northern French column were keeping perfectly straight lines. I heard the bugles sound the increase in pace. Drums rattled and the French went into square. As soon as they did so the artillery on Cerro de Medellin saw their opportunity and wreaked their revenge on the French. They had suffered just half a day ago and now they had their revenge and scythed huge lines through the immobile squares. They kept firing as long as they could. It was as I turned to glance at the attack across the Portina that two things happened at once. The horsemen of the 23rd disappeared into a ravine just fifty yards from the French squares and the Guards, along with the other regiments, disobeyed their orders and flooded across the Portina. It was the French’s turn to pour volley after volley into them.

  Turning my attention back to my comrades in the 23rd I witnessed a piece of superb horsemanship. Colonel Elley had a thoroughbred and he cleared the ravine. Miraculously other troopers clambered out of the ravine. However, instead of obeying orders and returning to their own lines, they charged on. I recognised Captain Wilberforce and his troop. Like Captain Rogers, he would have his moment of glory. The King’s German Legion Hussars did halt. They pulled carbines and pistols and began to duel with the French. It was one-sided, the French had many more muskets. In square, they could bring three ranks of every square to bear. The Hussars fell back. The two cavalry brigadiers did the right thing. They reformed their remaining regiments into lines. The squares might be able to massacre the 23rd but they could not advance against cavalry.

  Colonel Elley took off after the troopers who had now lost all sense of reason. It was a brave gesture from a true cavalryman. I had no need to ride any closer but something drew me towards the men I had led. None of the 23rd had made it back to their own lines, yet. The French cavalry was preparing to charge Colonel Elley and the men he led. The officers who remained with the 23rd were trying to help their wounded comrades from the ravine. I was now just two hundred yards from the ravine. I was out of range of the muskets but not of the cries of wounded men and the pleas for help.

  “Sharp, ride back to the General and tell him what has happened.”

  “What will you do, sir?”

  “Try to help as many of those poor souls as I can, Sharp.”

  “Then I will help you, sir. Sir Arthur has a good telescope. He can see for himself what is going on!”

  His face told me that he was determined. Picking up my Baker, I said, “Right then. Let’s get to it.”

  We rode to the ravine. The sight which greeted me haunts my dreams to this day. Dead and dying horses lay tumbled in the bottom. One or two falling there might have survived but horses had fallen on other horses. Troopers lay crushed or dying. I watched as Captain Minchin and Sergeant Parkinson jumped the ravine to go to the aid of Troop Sergeant Fenwick whose leg lay pinioned under his horse. The nearest French square, the 27th Light Infantry, was a huge square and lay just forty paces from them. The two brave men ignored the musket balls flying all around them as they ran to the Troop Sergeant.

  I saw a Lieutenant directing the fire of the square. He was less than two hundred yards from me. I dismounted and used Donna to steady my gun. I fired and he fell back. Sharp joined me and he hit the sergeant. Angered the company began firing at us. They were wasting lead for we were too far away but it stopped them firing at Captain Minchin. I reloaded properly and aimed at the next officer who strode towards the square. My ball spun him around. As I reloaded a third time, I saw that Sergeant Parkinson and Captain Minchin were half carrying the Troop Sergeant. They were using their horses for cover. Sharp and I were firing as fast as we could. We had disrupted the musket fire and more of the troopers were dragging themselves from the ravine. Miraculously some of the horses had survived. The German Hussars hurried back to their own lines but the troopers from the 23rd joined Sharp and I to harass the squares.

  I began to think that the three men might make it when the square of th
e 27th Light Infantry began to fire at the two horses and the three men. The horses were hit by a volley. The two dying horses protected the bodies of the three men but not their legs. All three were hit in the legs. The horses fell as did the men. Still, they did not give in and they crawled towards the ravine. The carcasses of the two horses afforded them some protection but they were still twenty yards shy of safety.

  “Trooper Harris, hold our horses! Sharp, come with me.” I ran to the ravine and threw myself in. I landed on the soft and bloody corpses and carcasses of men and horse. It softened my fall. I clambered up to the other side. I aimed my Baker at the officer commanding the 27th Light Infantry. When he fell his men began to fire at the ravine. It was a mistake for most of the lead balls fell short.

  Slinging the Baker over my back I clambered out of the cavalry grave. I half crawled to the three men. The Troop Sergeant was in a bad way. I grabbed Captain Minchin and began to pull him to safety. “Sir, Fenwick!”

  “I will come back for him. One at a time, eh?” Sergeant Sharp had made the ravine and he began to clamber out, “Keep firing at them!” I almost pushed the Captain into the ravine and then went back for Sergeant Parkinson. The ravine which had caused such carnage was now a haven for the French could not hit those sheltering in the bottom of it.

  He grinned at me as I dragged him, “Sir, can I be cheeky and borrow the Baker again? Those buggers killed Betsy. I would like to pay them back!”

  As I dropped him in the ravine, I slipped the gun from my shoulder. “You are welcome! Use it well!”

  The Troop Sergeant was the hardest to shift. He was the biggest of the three and he was unconscious. I am not sure I would have made it had not Lieutenant Colonel Elley and the six survivors from the encounter with the lancers and the Chasseurs galloped by and drawn the fire of the two nearest squares. By the time the sergeant and I were in the ditch, I was exhausted. I drew my pistol and popped a shot at the square.

  Then I heard a bugle. The rest of the Brigade was coming to our aid. Now that the land around the squares was free from any living cavalrymen the artillery started to fire again. I watched as the two squares were pulverised. When I heard the horses behind me, I knew the squares would not remain before us for long. A bugle sounded and the squares moved, somewhat crab-like, away from the guns. The surviving troopers from the 23rd helped to take the wounded men from the ravine. Unlike the French, we had no ambulances. The three men were slung on to the backs of horses and taken to the doctor at their camp.