“To the right, Fourteenth, to the right!” cried General Stewart. “Have at their hussars!”
Whirling by them, we advanced at a gallop, and dashed towards the enemy, who, not less resolutely bent, came boldly forward to meet us. The shock was terrific! The leading squadrons on both sides went down almost to a man, and all order being lost, the encounter became one of hand to hand.
The struggle was deadly; neither party would give way; and while fortune now inclined hither and thither, Sir Charles Stewart singled out the French general, Lamotte, and carried him off his prisoner. Meanwhile Montbrun’s cavalry and the cuirassiers came riding up, and the retreat now sounding through our ranks, we were obliged to fall back upon the infantry. The French pursued us hotly; and so rapid was their movement, that before Ramsey’s brigade could limber up and away, their squadrons had surrounded him and captured his guns.
“Where is Ramsey?” cried Crawfurd, as he galloped to the head of our division. “Cut off—cut off! Taken, by G——! There he goes!” said he, pointing with his finger, as a dense cloud of mingled smoke and dust moved darkly across the plain. “Form into column once more!”
As he spoke, the dense mass before us seemed agitated by some mighty commotion; the flashing of blades, and the rattling of small-arms, mingled with shouts of triumph or defiance, burst forth, and the ominous cloud lowering more darkly, seemed peopled by those in deadly strife. An English cheer pealed high above all other sounds; a second followed; the mass was rent asunder, and like the forked lightning from a thunder-cloud, Ramsey rode forth at the head of his battery, the horses bounding madly, while the guns sprang behind them like things of no weight; the gunners leaped to their places, and fighting hand to hand with the French cavalry, they flew across the plain.
“Nobly done, gallant Ramsey!” said a voice behind me. I turned at the sound; it was Lord Wellington who spoke. My eye fixed upon his stern features, I forgot all else; when he suddenly recalled me to my recollection by saying,—
“Follow your brigade, sir. Charge!”
In an instant I was with my people, who, intervening betwixt Ramsey and his pursuers, repulsed the enemy with loss, and carried off several prisoners. The French, however, came up in greater strength; overwhelming masses of cavalry came sweeping upon us, and we were obliged to retire behind the light division, which rapidly formed into squares to resist the cavalry. The Seventh Division, which was more advanced, were, however, too late for this movement, and before they could effect their formation, the French were upon them. At this moment they owed their safety to the Chasseurs Britanniques, who poured in a flanking fire, so close, and with so deadly an aim, that their foes recoiled, beaten and bewildered.
Meanwhile the French had become masters of Pogo Velho; the formidable masses had nearly outflanked us on the right. The battle was lost if we could not fall back upon our original position, and concentrate our force upon Fuentes d’Onoro. To effect this was a work of great difficulty; but no time was to be lost. The Seventh Division were ordered to cross the Turones, while Crawfurd, forming the light division into squares, covered their retreat, and supported by the cavalry, sustained the whole force of the enemy’s attack.
Then was the moment to witness the cool and steady bravery of British infantry; the squares dotted across the enormous plain seemed as nothing amidst that confused and flying multitude, composed of commissariat baggage, camp-followers, peasants, and finally, broken pickets and videttes arriving from the wood. A cloud of cavalry hovered and darkened around them; the Polish Lancers shook their long spears, impatient of delay, and the wild huzzas burst momentarily from their squadrons as they waited for the word to attack. But the British stood firm and undaunted; and although the enemy rode round their squares, Montbrun himself at their head, they never dared to charge them. Meanwhile the Seventh Division fell back, as if on a parade, and crossing the river, took up their ground at Frenada, pivoting upon the First Division; the remainder of the line also fell back, and assumed a position at right angles with their former one, the cavalry forming in front, and holding the French in check during the movement. This was a splendid manoeuvre, and when made in face of an overnumbering enemy, one unmatched during the whole war.