SECTION XVI: CHAPTER VI

THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA: THE PRELIMINARY COMBATS
(JULY 27-28)

The position which Wellesley had selected as offering far better ground for a defensive battle than any which could be found on the banks of the Alberche, extends for nearly three miles to the north of the town of Talavera. It was not a very obvious line to take up, since only at its northern end does it present any well marked features. Two-thirds of the position lie in the plain, and are only marked out by the stony bed of the Porti?a, a brook almost dried up in the summer, which runs from north to south and falls into the Tagus at Talavera. In the northern part of its course this stream flows at the bottom of a well-marked ravine, but as it descends towards the town its bed grows broad and shallow, and ceases to be of any tactical or topographical importance. Indeed, in this part of the field the fighting-line of the allies lay across it, and their extreme right wing was posted upon its further bank.

The town of Talavera, a place of 10,000 souls, which had been a flourishing industrial centre in the sixteenth century, but had long sunk into decay, lies in a compact situation on the north bank of the Tagus. It possesses a dilapidated bridge of forty-five arches, the only passage across the river between Arzobispo and Toledo. Its site is perfectly flat, save for a low knoll crowned by the chapel of Nuestra Se?ora del Prado, just outside the eastern, or Madrid, gate, and overlooking the Alameda (public promenade) and the neighbouring gardens. The place had no suburbs, but was surrounded by a broad belt of olive groves and enclosures, which extend for a full mile to the north and east, and hide the houses and walls from the traveller approaching from either of those directions. When the allies entered Talavera they found it deserted by most of its inhabitants,[p. 508] who had fled up into the villages of the Sierra de Toledo during the French occupation. Many, however, descended to reoccupy their homes when the enemy departed. Victor’s men had plundered most of the houses, and turned many of the churches into barracks or stables: hence the town presented a picture of abject desolation[635].

For a mile and a half beyond the northern wall of Talavera the ground covered by gardens and olive groves is perfectly flat; it then commences to rise, and swells up into a long hill, the Cerro de Medellin. This height runs from east to west, so that its front, and not the full length of its side, overhangs the Porti?a ravine. Its loftiest point and its steepest face are presented to that declivity, while to the west and south it has gentle and easily accessible slopes, sinking gradually down into the plain. This hill, the most commanding ground in the neighbourhood of Talavera, had been chosen by Wellesley as the position of his left wing. It formed, including its lower slopes, about one-third of the line which he had determined to occupy, the rest of the front lying in the low ground among the olives and gardens. North of the Cerro de Medellin is a narrow lateral valley, only half a mile broad, separating this hill from the main chain of the Sierra de Segurilla, the mountains which form the watershed between the basin of the Tagus and that of the Tietar. The British general had intended at first that his position should extend no further north than the hill, but in the course of the action he was compelled to lengthen his front, and to post troops both in the valley and on the mountain spurs beyond it.

By the agreement made with Cuesta, at the conference near the bridge of the Alberche on the evening of the twenty-sixth, it was settled that the Spanish army should hold the town of[p. 509] Talavera and the wooded and enclosed ground for a mile beyond it. The British had their right among the olive groves, but their centre and left on the open slopes of the Cerro de Medellin. This order of battle was the only one which it was possible to adopt. Wellesley had already discovered that the army of Estremadura could not man?uvre, and would be much safer behind walls and enclosures than in the open, and Cuesta had gladly accepted the proposal that he should occupy this part of the position. Having only a little more than a mile of front to defend, he was able to provide a double and triple line with his 32,000 men[636]. His Vanguard and 1st division, under Zayas, occupied the eastern outskirts of the town, with a battery placed upon the knoll crowned by the chapel of Nuestra Se?ora del Prado. A brigade of cavalry (four regiments) was deployed in the open ground of the Prado, close to the bank of the Tagus. The 2nd division, that of Iglesias, held Talavera, whose ancient walls, though imperfect in many places, were still quite defensible. The 3rd and 4th divisions (Manglano and Portago) were ranged in a double line among the gardens and enclosures to the north of the town, as far as a low hillock called the Pajar de Vergara, where they touched Wellesley’s left. Behind them were the rest of Cuesta’s cavalry (ten regiments) and the 5th division (Bassecourt) forming the reserves.

The Spanish position was immensely strong. The front was completely screened by groves and enclosures occupied by skirmishers: the first line was drawn up along the slightly sunken road leading from Talavera to the north, which provided the men with an excellent parapet and good cover[637]. The second line was equally well placed behind the Porti?a rivulet, which was bordered by trees along its whole front. The only good artillery position was that outside the Madrid gate, in front of Zayas’ division, but three other batteries were planted in the least defective emplacements that could be found in the front line. The rest of the Spanish guns were in reserve, in line with Bassecourt and the cavalry.

The northern half of the position had its strong points, but[p. 510] also its defects. For the first half mile beyond the Spanish left it was still covered by groves and gardens, and had on its right front the little eminence of the Pajar de Vergara. On this knoll a redoubt had been commenced, but no more had been done than to level a space, eighty yards long and twenty feet broad, on its summit, and to throw up the excavated earth in front, thus forming a bank three or four feet high. In this work, indifferently well protected, lay Lawson’s battery of 3-pounders, the lightest guns of Wellesley’s artillery. Beside and behind them were the five battalions of the 4th division, Campbell’s brigade in the front line, Kemmis’s in the second, to the rear of the Porti?a.

On the left of the 4th division the enclosed ground ended, and cover ceased. Here, forming the British centre, were drawn up the eight battalions of Sherbrooke’s division, in a single line. The Guards’ brigade, under Henry Campbell, was in perfectly flat level ground, without shade or cover. Next to them, where there is a gentle ascent towards the foot of the Cerro de Medellin, were Cameron’s two battalions; while the two weak brigades of the King’s German Legion, under Langwerth and Low, continued the front on to the actual hill, with the Porti?a, now flowing in a well-marked ravine, at their feet[638]. The whole of this part of the British line was bare rolling ground covered with long dry grass and scattered shrubs of thyme. There was no cover, and before the Guards’ and Cameron’s brigades the front was not defined by any strong natural feature. On the other hand, the terrain on the opposite side of the Porti?a was equally bare, and gave no advantage to an enemy about to attack.

It was otherwise in the portion of the front where the four German battalions of Langwerth and Low were placed. They had a steep ravine in front of them, but on the opposite side, as a compensating disadvantage, the rolling upland swells into a hill called the Cerro de Cascajal, which, though much less lofty than the Cerro de Medellin, yet afforded good artillery positions from which the English slopes could be battered.

[p. 511]

Behind Sherbrooke’s troops, as the second line of his centre, Wellesley had drawn up his 3rd division and all his cavalry. Cotton’s light dragoons were in the rear of Kemmis’s brigade of the 4th division. Mackenzie’s three battalions supported the Guards: then came Anson’s light and Fane’s heavy cavalry, massed on the rising slope in the rear of Cameron. Lastly Donkin’s brigade, which had suffered so severely in the combat of Casa de Salinas, lay high up the hill, directly in the rear of Low’s brigade of the King’s German Legion.

It only remains to speak of the British left, on the highest part of the Cerro de Medellin. This section of the front was entrusted to Hill’s division, which was already encamped upon its reverse slope. Here lay the strongest point of the position, for the hill is steep, and well covered in its front by the Porti?a, which now flows in a deep stony ravine. But it was also the part of the British fighting-ground which was most likely to be assailed, since a quick-eyed enemy could not help noting that it was the key of the whole—that if the upper levels of the Cerro de Medellin were lost, the rest of the allied line could not possibly be maintained. It was therefore the part of the position which would require the most careful watching, and Wellesley had told off to it his most capable and experienced divisional general. But by some miscalculation, on the evening of the twenty-seventh Hill’s two brigades were not lying on their destined battle-line, but had halted half a mile behind it—Richard Stewart’s battalions on the left, Tilson’s on the right flank of the reverse slope. It is difficult to see with whom the responsibility lay, for Wellesley was far to the right, engaged in planting Mackenzie’s troops in their new position behind the centre, while Hill had ridden over towards Talavera to search for his Commander-in-chief and question him about details, and returned rather late to give his brigadiers the exact instruction as to the line they were to take up at nightfall[639]. There[p. 512] were piquets on the crest, and the greater part of the front slopes were covered by Low’s two battalions of the King’s German Legion, but the actual summit of the Cerro was not occupied by any solid force, though the brigades that were intended to hold it lay only 800 yards to the rear. It was supposed that they would have ample time to take up their ground in the morning, and no one dreamt of the possibility of a night attack.

Of the very small force of artillery which accompanied the British army, we have already seen that Lawson’s light 3-pounder battery had been placed in the Pajar de Vergara entrenchment. Elliott’s and Heyse’s were in the centre of the line; the former placed in front of the Guards, the latter before Langwerth’s brigade of the German Legion. Rettberg’s heavy 6-pounders were on the Cerro de Medellin, with Hill’s division: at dusk they had been brought back to its rear slope and were parked near Richard Stewart’s brigade. Finally Sillery’s battery was in reserve, between the two lines, somewhere behind Cameron’s brigade of Sherbrooke’s division. This single unit was the only artillery reserve of which Wellesley could dispose.

The precise number of British troops in line was 20,194, after deducting the losses at Casa de Salinas; that of the Spaniards was within a few hundreds of 32,000. The French, as we have already seen, had brought a little more than 46,000 men to the field, so that the allies had a superiority of some 6,000 in mere numbers. If Wellesley could have exchanged the Army of Estremadura for half their strength of British bayonets, he might have felt quite comfortable in his strong position. But his confidence in the value of his allies, even when firmly planted among walls and groves, was just about to receive a rude shock.

It was about seven o’clock when the heads of Victor’s columns,[p. 513] following in the wake of the horse artillery which had been galling Mackenzie’s retreat, emerged from the woods on to the rolling plateau facing the allied position. Ruffin appeared on the right, and occupied the Cascajal hill, opposite the Cerro de Medellin. Villatte followed, and halted in its rear. More to the left Lapisse, adopting the same line that had been taken by Mackenzie, halted in front of the British centre: the corps-cavalry, under Beaumont, was drawn up in support of him. Latour-Maubourg’s six regiments of dragoons, further to the south, took ground in front of the Spaniards. The King and Sebastiani were still far to the rear: their infantry was only just passing the Alberche, though their advanced cavalry under Merlin was already pushing forward in the direction of Talavera down the high-road from Madrid[640].

If Napoleon, or any other general who knew how to make himself obeyed, had been present with the French army, there would have been no fighting on the evening of July 27. But King Joseph counted for little in the eyes of his nominal subordinates, and hence it came to pass that the impetuous Victor took upon himself the responsibility of attacking the allies when only half the King’s army had come upon the field. With no more object, as it would seem, than that of harassing the enemy, he sent to the front the batteries belonging to Ruffin, Lapisse, and Latour-Maubourg, to join in the cannonade which his horse artillery had already begun. At the same time Merlin’s light horse pressed forward in the direction of Talavera, to feel for the front of the Spaniards, whose exact position was hidden by the olive groves. The British artillery replied, but no great harm was done to either side. Yet in the Spanish part of the line a dreadful disaster was on the point of occurring. When the artillery fire began, and the French light horse were seen advancing, the Estremaduran troops between Talavera and the Pajar de Vergara delivered a tremendous salvo of infantry fire along the whole line, though the enemy was too far off to take any damage. But, immediately after, four battalions of Portago’s division, which formed part of the left of Cuesta’s line and touched Campbell’s right, suddenly shouted ‘treason![p. 514]’ broke, and went off to the rear in complete disorder. Wellesley, who, as it chanced, was behind Campbell’s troops, and witnessed the whole rout, declared that he could conceive no reason for their behaviour except that they must have been frightened by the crash of their own tremendous volley[641]. Two of these four battalions were troops who had never been in action before: the other two had been badly cut up at Medellin, and brought up to strength by the incorporation of a great mass of recruits[642]. This might have excused a momentary misconduct, but not a prolonged rush to the rear when the enemy was still half a mile off, still less the casting away of their arms and the plundering of the British camp, through which the multitude fled. Cuesta sent cavalry to hunt them up, and succeeded in hounding back the majority to their ranks, but many hundreds were still missing on the following morning. They fled in small bands all down the valley of the Tagus, dispersing dismal information on all sides. It is sad to have to acknowledge that in their rush through the British camp they carried away with them some commissaries and a few of the baggage guard, who did not halt till they got to Oropesa, twenty miles from the field[643]. Strange to say, this panic had no appreciable ill effects: the[p. 515] French were not in a position to take advantage of it, having no troops, save a few light horse, in front of the spot where it occurred. The Spaniards to the right and rear of the absconding regiments did not flinch, and as the second line held firm, there was no actual gap produced in the allied position. But Wellesley noted the scene, and never forgot it: of all that he had witnessed during the campaign, this was the sight that struck him most, and most influenced his future conduct. Cuesta also took account of it in his own fashion, and at the end of the battle of the next day proposed to decimate in the old Roman fashion, the battalions that had fled! He actually chose by lot some 200 men from the fugitives, and after trying them by court-martial prepared to shoot them. His British colleague begged off the majority, but the old Captain-General insisted on executing some twenty-five or thirty who were duly put to death on the morning of the twenty-ninth[644].

After the panic had died down, Victor gradually withdrew his batteries[645], but it was with no intention of bringing the combat to a real termination. He had resolved to deliver a night attack on the key of the British position, when the whole of his corps should have reached the front. Having reconnoitred the allied lines, and noted the distribution of their defenders, he had determined to storm the Cerro de Medellin in the dark. During his long stay at Talavera he had acquired a very thorough knowledge of its environs, and understood the dominating importance of that height. If he could seize and hold it during the night, he saw that the battle of the next day would be already half won. Accordingly, still without obtaining King[p. 516] Joseph’s leave, he determined to assail the Cerro. He told off for the storm his choicest division, that of Ruffin, whose nine battalions were already ranged on the front of the Cascajal heights. At the same time Lapisse’s division was to distract the attention of the British centre by a noisy demonstration against its front.

Night attacks are proverbially hazardous and hard to conduct, and it cannot be disputed that Victor showed an excessive temerity in endeavouring to deliver such a blow at the steady British troops, at an hour when it was impossible to guarantee proper co-operation among the attacking columns. But for an initial stroke of luck he ought not to have secured even the small measure of success that fell to his lot.

At about nine o’clock, however, Ruffin moved down to the attack. Each of his three regiments was formed in battalion columns, the 9th Léger in the centre, the 96th on its left, the 24th on its right. The first-named regiment was to deliver a frontal attack, the other two to turn the flanks of the hill and attack over its side-slopes. At the appointed moment the three regiments descended simultaneously into the ravine of the Porti?a, and endeavoured to carry out their respective sections of the programme. The 9th, chancing on the place where the ravine was most easily negotiable, crossed it without much difficulty, and began to climb the opposite slope. On mounting half way to the crest, it suddenly came on Low’s brigade of the German Legion, lying down in line, with its pickets only a very small distance in advance of the main body. It is said that the brigadier was labouring under the delusion that some of Hill’s outposts were in his front, and that he was screened by them. It is at any rate clear that he was taken wholly unprepared by the midnight attack of the French. His sentries were trampled down in a moment, and the 9th Léger ran in upon the Germans, firing into them point blank and seizing many of them as prisoners almost ere they were awake. The 7th K. G. L. was completely broken, and lost 150 men—half of them prisoners—in five minutes. The 5th, the right-hand battalion of Low’s brigade, came off better, as it was not in the direct path of the French; but it was flung sideways along the southern slope of the hill, and could not be re-formed for[p. 517] some time. Meanwhile the three French columns, somewhat separated from each other in this first clash of arms, went straight on up the Cerro, and in a few minutes were nearing its crest. The two leading battalions actually reached and crowned it, without meeting with any opposition save from the outlying picket of Richard Stewart’s brigade. The third was not far behind, and it seemed almost certain that the position might be won. At this moment General Hill, who was occupied in drawing out his division on the rear slope, but had not yet conducted it to its fighting-ground, interfered in the fight. He had seen and heard the sudden outbreak of musketry on the frontal slopes, as the French broke through Low’s brigade. But when it died down, he was far from imagining that the cause was the complete success of the enemy. Nevertheless, he directed his nearest brigade, that of Richard Stewart, to prepare to support the Germans if necessary. He was issuing his orders to the colonel of the 48th, when he observed some men on the hill top fire a few shots in his direction. ‘Not having an idea,’ he writes, ‘that the enemy were so near, I said to myself that I was sure it was the old Buffs, as usual, making some blunder.’ Accordingly he galloped up the hill, with his brigade-major Fordyce, shouting to the men to cease firing. He rode right in among the French before he realized his mistake, and a voltigeur seized him by the arm and bade him surrender. Hill spurred his horse, which sprang forward and got clear of the Frenchman, who lost his hold but immediately raised his musket and fired at three paces’ distance, missing the General but hitting his charger. Hill escaped in the midst of a scattering volley, which killed his companion Fordyce, and got back as fast as he could to Richard Stewart’s brigade. Without delaying for a moment, even to change his wounded horse, he led on the nearest regiments to recover the hill top. So great was the confusion, owing to the sudden attack in the dark, that Stewart’s men moved forward, not in their proper order, but with the 1st Battalion of Detachments on the right, the 29th in the centre, and the 1/48 on the left. This arrangement brought the first-named unit first into touch with the enemy. The Detachments came into immediate collision with the leading battalions of the French, who were now somewhat in disorder, and trying to[p. 518] re-form on the ground they had won. The two forces opened a furious fire upon each other, and both came to a standstill[646]. But Hill, coming up a moment later at the head of his centre regiment, cleared the hill top by a desperate charge: passing through the Detachments, the 29th delivered a volley at point-blank range and closed. The enemy broke and fled down the slope that they had ascended. The 29th wheeled into line and followed them, pouring in regular volleys at short intervals. But before they had gone far, they became dimly conscious of another column to their left, pushing up the hill in the darkness. This was the rear battalion of the 9th Léger, which had fallen somewhat behind its fellows. It was moving up diagonally across the front of the British regiment, with drums beating and loud shouts of vive l’Empereur. Taken in flank by the fire of the right companies of the 29th, it could make no effective resistance, and ere long broke and rolled back in disorder into the bed of the Porti?a, where it met with the wrecks of the rest of the regiment, and retired in company with them up the slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal.

The remainder of Ruffin’s division took little or no part in the fighting. The three battalions of the 24th, which ought to have mounted the hill on the right, lost their way in the darkness and wandered up the valley between the Cerro de Medellin and the northern mountains: they never came into action. The 96th, on the left of the attack, chanced upon a part of the Porti?a ravine which was very precipitous: they found it difficult to descend, were very late in reaching the other side, and then fell into a futile bickering fight with the 5th and 2nd battalions of the King’s German Legion, which terminated—with small damage to either party—when the main attack in the centre was seen to have failed.

The loss of the French in this night battle was about 300 men, almost all in the 9th Léger. It included sixty-five prisoners, among whom was the colonel of the regiment, who[p. 519] was left on the ground desperately wounded. The British casualties were somewhat heavier, entirely owing to the disaster to the 5th and 7th battalions of the K. G. L., which suffered when surprised, a loss of 188 men, eighty-seven of whom were made captives. Richard Stewart’s brigade, which bore the brunt of the fighting and decided the affair, had only 125 killed and wounded[647].

Thus ended, in well-deserved failure, Victor’s night attack, of which it may suffice to say that even its initial success was only due to the gross carelessness of Low’s brigade in failing to cover their front with a proper screen of outlying pickets. To attack in the dark across rugged and difficult ground was to court disaster. The wonder is not that two-thirds of the division went astray, but that the other third almost succeeded in the hazardous enterprise to which it was committed. Great credit is due to the 9th Léger for all that it did, and no blame whatever rests upon the regiment for its ultimate failure. The Marshal must take all the responsibility.

The wrecks of the French attacking columns having rolled back beyond the ravine, and the flanking regiments having abandoned their futile demonstrations, the Cerro de Medellin was once more safe. The troops occupying it were rearranged, as far as was possible, in the dark. The front line on its left and highest part was now formed by Richard Stewart’s brigade, ranged, not in its proper order of seniority, but with the 29th on the left, the 1st Battalion of Detachments in the centre, and the 1/48 on the right. Tilson’s brigade, the other half of Hill’s division, was to the south of Stewart, continuing his line along the crest. Low’s battalions of the King’s German Legion were drawn off somewhat to the right, closing in towards Langwerth’s brigade, so as to leave the central slopes of the Cerro de Medellin entirely to Hill’s men. Donkin’s brigade of Mackenzie’s division lay close behind them. After the warning that had been given by Victor’s first assault, the greatest care was[p. 520] taken to make a second surprise impossible. Stewart’s and Low’s brigades threw forward their pickets to the brink of the Porti?a ravine, so close to the enemy that all night they could hear the Qui vive of the sentries challenging the visiting rounds, only two or three hundred yards above them. On several occasions the outposts opened fire on each other, and the word ‘stand to your arms,’ ran along the whole line. In front of Sherbrooke’s division, about midnight, there was a false alarm, which led to a whole brigade delivering a volley at an imaginary column of assault, while their own pickets were still out in front, with the result that two officers and several men were killed or wounded[648]. A similar outbreak of fire, lasting for several minutes, ran along the front of the Spanish lines an hour later. It seems to have been caused by French foragers, in search of fuel, blundering against the Estremaduran pickets on the edge of the olive groves.

Altogether the night was not a peaceful one, and the troops were much harassed by the perpetual and unnecessary calls to stand to their arms. Many of them got little sleep, and several British diarists have left interesting impressions on record of their long vigil. There was much to keep them awake: not only the repeated blaze of fire running along parts of the allied line, but the constant signs of movement on the French side of the Porti?a. Some time after midnight long lines of torches were seen advancing across and to the right of the Cerro de Cascajal; these were markers with flambeaux, sent out to fix the points on which Victor’s artillery were to take up their positions, as was soon shown by the rattling of gun-carriages, the noise of wheels, and the cracking of whips, which were plainly heard in the intervals of stillness, when the hostile pickets ceased their bickering musketry fire. The French were pushing up their guns into the very front of their line, and when the dawn began to break they were visible only 600 or 800 yards away from the British lines. A few deserters came over during the night, mainly from Leval’s German division; all agreed that the enemy was about to deliver a second attack in the early morning.

[p. 521]

The dawn was an anxious moment: with the growing light it was possible to make out broad black patches dotting the whole of the rolling ground in front of the British army. Every instant rendered them more visible, and soon they took shape as French regiments in battalion columns, ranged on a front of nearly two miles, from the right end of the Cerro de Cascajal to the edge of the woods facing the Pajar de Vergara. The object which drew most attention was an immense solid column at the extreme right of the hostile line, on the lower slopes above the Porti?a, with a thick screen of tirailleurs already thrown out in its front, and evidently ready to advance at the word of command. The other divisions lay further back: in front of them artillery was everywhere visible: there were four batteries on the midslope of the Cascajal hill, and six more on the rolling ground to the south. In the far distance, behind the infantry, were long lines of cavalry dressed in all the colours of the rainbow—fifteen or sixteen regiments could be counted—and far to the rear of them more black masses were slowly rolling into view. It was easily to be seen that little or nothing lay in front of the Spaniards, and that at least five-sixths of the French army was disposed for an attack on the British front. There were 40,000 men visible, ready for the advance against the 20,000 sabres and bayonets of Wellesley’s long red line[649].

An attack was imminent, yet there were many things which might have induced the French generals to hold back. Was it worth while to assail the allies in the admirable position which they now held, when it was possible to drive them out of it without risking a battle? Orders had been sent to Soult, six days before, to bid him fall on Wellesley’s communications by way of Plasencia. It was believed that he must have started ere now, and that the news of his approach would reach the enemy within the next forty-eight hours. This intelligence would compel them to go behind the Tagus, and to abandon the Talavera position. Both Jourdan and King Joseph were doubtful of the policy of risking a general action. But the initiative was taken out of their hands by Victor. He had already placed his corps so close to the British lines that it would have been[p. 522] hard to withdraw it without an engagement. He had also, during the night, sent a dispatch to the King, stating that he should storm the Cerro de Medellin at dawn unless he received counter-orders. He appeared so confident of success that Joseph and his adviser Jourdan did not venture to bid him desist. They were, as the latter confessed, largely influenced by the knowledge that if they refused, Victor would delate them to the Emperor for culpable timidity in letting the British army escape[650].

The Duke of Belluno was still persisting in his idea that it might be possible to seize the key of Wellesley’s position by a partial attack, without engaging the rest of his corps till it had already been won. Accordingly he gave orders to his subordinates Lapisse and Villatte that they were not to move till Ruffin, with the first division, should have gained the Cerro de Medellin. In a similar way the King made the advance of the 4th Corps conditional on the preliminary success of Victor’s right. This seems to have been bad policy, as it left Wellesley free to devote the whole of his attention to the point where the first attack was to be delivered. It was clear that the threatening column on the lower slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal would start the game. Victor had drawn up his troops in the following order. Ruffin on the extreme left, and considerably in advance, was to attack the Cerro on its north-eastern and eastern fronts. Behind him on the summit of the Cascajal hill, were Villatte’s twelve battalions, and in rear of all the two regiments of Beaumont, the Marshal’s corps-cavalry. To Villatte’s left, but on lower ground opposite Sherbrooke’s line, lay Lapisse’s division, with Latour-Maubourg’s six regiments of dragoons in support. This completed the array of the 1st Corps: on their left stood Sebastiani and his 4th Corps, facing the Guards, Campbell, and the northernmost battalions of the Spanish army, opposite[p. 523] the Pajar de Vergara. Sebastiani’s French division was on his right, his German division on his left, while the stray Polish brigade (the only part of Valence’s division that was on the field) supported the Germans. In second line was Merlin’s light horse, while Milhaud’s six regiments of dragoons lay out on the extreme left, observing the town of Talavera. King Joseph and his reserve—the Guards and the brigade of Dessolles—were far to the rear, just outside the woods round the Casa de Salinas.

At about five in the morning the watchers on the Cerro de Medellin saw the smoke of a gun curl up into the air from the central battery in front of Villatte’s division. The ensuing report was the signal for the whole of Victor’s artillery to open, and twenty-four guns spoke at once from the Cascajal heights, and thirty more from the lower ground to their right. The cannonade was tremendous, and the reply wholly inadequate, as Wellesley could only put four batteries in line, Rettberg’s on the summit of the Cerro, Sillery’s from the lower slope near Donkin’s position, and those of Heyse and Elliott from the front of Sherbrooke’s division. The French fire was both accurate and effective, ‘they served their guns in an infinitely better style than at Vimiero: their shells were thrown with precision, and did considerable execution[651].’ Wellesley, who stood in rear of Hill’s line on the commanding height, at once ordered Richard Stewart’s and Tilson’s brigades to go back from the sky-line, and to lie down. But no such device was practicable in Sherbrooke’s division, where the formation of the ground presented no possibility of cover, and here much damage was done. After a few minutes the English position was obscured, for the damp of the morning air prevented the smoke from rising, and a strong east wind blew it across the Porti?a, and drove it along the slopes of the Cerro[652]. So thick was the atmosphere that the defenders heard rather than saw the start of Ruffin’s division on its advance, and only realized its near approach when they saw their own skirmishers retiring up the slope towards the main line. The light companies of Hill’s division came in so slowly and unwillingly, turning back often[p. 524] to fire, and keeping their order with the regularity of a field-day. The general, wishing to get his front clear, bade the bugles sound to bring them in more quickly, and as they filed to the rear in a leisurely way was heard to shout (it was one of the only two occasions on which he was known to swear), ‘D—n their filing, let them come in anyhow[653].’

When the light companies had fallen back, the French were at last visible through the smoke. They had mounted the lower slopes of the Cerro without any loss, covered by their artillery, which only ceased firing at this moment. They showed nine battalions, in three solid columns: Victor had arranged the divisions with the 24th in the centre, the 96th on the left, and the 9th Léger, which had suffered so severely in the night-battle, upon the right. This arrangement brought the last-named regiment opposite their old enemies of the 29th, and the Battalion of Detachments, while the 1/48th and 2/48th had to deal with the French centre, and the Buffs and 66th with their left. When Ruffin’s columns had got within a hundred yards of the sky-line, Hill bade his six battalions stand to their feet and advance. As they lined the crest they delivered a splendid volley, whose report was as sharp and precise as that of a field-day. The effect was of course murderous, as was always the case when line met column. The French had a marked superiority in numbers; they were nearly 5,000 strong, Hill’s two brigades had less than 4,000[654]. But there was the usual advantage that every British soldier could use his weapon, while the French, in column of divisions, had the normal mass of useless muskets in the rear ranks. The first volley brought them to a standstill—their whole front had gone down at the discharge—they lost the impetus of advance, halted, and kept up a furious fire for some minutes. But when it came to a standing fight of musketry, there was never a doubt in any Peninsular battle how the game would end. The French fire began ere long to slacken, the front of the columns shook and[p. 525] wavered. Just at this moment Sherbrooke, who had noted that the divisions in his own front showed no signs of closing, took the 5th battalion of the King’s German Legion out of his left brigade[655], and sent it against the flank and rear of Ruffin’s nearest regiment—the 96th of the line. When the noise of battle broke out in this new quarter, the French lost heart and began to give ground. Richard Stewart, at the northern end of the British line, gave the signal to his brigade to charge, and—as a participator in this fray writes, ‘on we went, a wall of stout hearts and bristling steel. The enemy did not fancy such close quarters, and the moment our rush began they went to the right-about. The principal portion broke and fled, though some brave fellows occasionally faced about and gave us an irregular fire.’ Nothing, however, could stop Hill’s division, and the whole six battalions rushed like a torrent down the slope, bayonetting and sweeping back the enemy to the line of black and muddy pools that marked the course of the Porti?a. Many of the pursuers even crossed the ravine and chased the flying French divisions right into the arms of Villatte’s troops, on the Cascajal hill. When these reserves opened fire, Hill’s men re-formed on the lower slope of the Cerro, and retired to their old position without being seriously molested, for Victor made no counter-attack.

Ruffin’s three regiments had been terribly punished: they had lost, in forty minutes’ fighting, 1,300 killed and wounded, much more than a fourth of their strength. Hill’s brigades had about 750 casualties[656], including their gallant leader, who received a wound in the head, and had to go to the rear, leaving the command of his division to Tilson. The loss of the German battalion which had struck in upon the French rear was insignificant, as the enemy never stood to meet it.

[p. 526]

Thus was Victor’s second attempt to storm the Cerro de Medellin rebuked. It was a rash and unscientific operation, and received a merited chastisement. The Marshal should have sent in all his corps, and attacked the whole British line, if he wished to give his men a fair chance. He obviously underrated the troops with which he had to deal—he had never seen them before the combat of Casa de Salinas on the previous day—and had no conception of the power of the line against the column. Even now baffled rage seems to have been his main feeling, and his only desire was to make the attempt again with larger forces.

The whole engagement had taken about an hour and a half, and the morning was still young when the Marshal re-formed his line, and reported his ill-success to the King. After the cannonade died down he bade his men take their morning meal, and the British on the Cerro could see the whole 1st Corps turn to cooking, behind their strong line of pickets. A sort of informal armistice was established in a short time; both parties wished to use the stagnant water of the Porti?a, and after a little signalling hundreds of men came down with their canteens from either side, and filled them with the muddy fluid. In spite of the heavy fighting which had just ended, all parties agree that a very friendly spirit was shown. The men conversed as best they could, and were even seen to shake hands across the pools. Many of the officers came down a little later, and after a short colloquy agreed that either party might take off its wounded without molestation. As there were hundreds of French lying on the west bank of the Porti?a, and a good many English on its further side, there was a complete confusion of uniforms as the bearers passed and repassed each other at the bottom of the ravine. But no difficulties of any sort arose, and for more than two hours the two parties were completely mixed. This was the first example of that amicable spirit which reigned between the hostile armies all through the war, and which in its later years developed into that curious code of signals (often described by contemporaries), by which French and English gave each other notice whenever serious work was intended, refraining on all other occasions from unnecessary outpost bickering or sentry-shooting.