All along the line the French were now falling back, and Junot brought up a regiment of dragoons to cover the retreat of the disordered masses. Wellesley now resolved to make use of his handful of cavalry: close behind Vimiero there were drawn up the 240 sabres of the 20th Light Dragoons, with 260 Portuguese horsemen in two squadrons on their flanks[227]. ‘Now, Twentieth, now is the time!’ cried Wellesley, lifting his cocked hat, and Colonel Taylor wheeled his regiment from behind the sheltering hill and dashed at the retreating Frenchmen. The two Portuguese squadrons started level with him, but after going a few hundred yards and receiving a shot or two, they broke, fell into disorder, and finally galloped to the rear amid the hoots of Anstruther’s brigade. But the 20th rode at the French dragoons who stood in their path, burst through them, and then plunged among the flying infantry, sabring them to right and left and taking many prisoners. They could not be stayed till they had hewn their way through the fugitives, to the place where Junot himself sat watching the rout of his men. The charge had been pushed beyond all reasonable bounds, for the men were mad with excitement and would not halt. But as they rode up the French hill they were checked by a stone wall, and at the same time charged by the two reserve regiments of Margaron’s horse. It was a wonder that the headstrong troopers were not annihilated, but the larger part returned in safety to the English lines, leaving behind them their colonel[228] and twenty men slain, twenty-four wounded, and eleven prisoners.
We must now turn to the northern part of the battle-field, where the main stress of the fighting did not begin till the engagement round Vimiero was nearly over. This was the result of the reckless way in which Junot had sent his flanking brigades to attack over unexplored ground. When Brennier reached the point at which he would naturally have wheeled inward to climb the slopes along the Lourinhão road, he came upon the deep and rugged valley of Toledo, the steepness of whose slopes he did not realize till he had almost reached its brink. Having guns with him, the French brigadier thought the obstacle impassable, and turned northward again in a long sweep by the village of Carrasqueira, the 3rd Dragoons still heading his march. In this wide flanking movement he passed quite out of sight of the British.
But Solignac, with the second brigade which Junot had told off for the northern diversion, was not so cautious. He too came upon the ravine; but instead of turning it he sought out its least precipitous point and passed it near its head, underneath the farm of Ventosa. Having crossed, he deployed his three battalions, brought up his right shoulder, and ascended the gentle slope. By this movement he was devoting his brigade to destruction. On the hill above he could see only the thin line of British skirmishers, but hidden behind the crest was the main body of Wellesley’s right wing, the seven battalions of Ferguson, Nightingale, and Bowes. They had long watched the approach of the French, and were lying down in battle order. In front were Ferguson’s three regiments, the 36th, 40th, and 71st, and one of Nightingale’s, the 82nd. A couple of hundred yards to the rear was the second line, the 29th of Nightingale’s brigade, and the 6th and 32nd, which formed Bowes’ command. Acland and Catlin Crawfurd were a mile away in different directions, but not too far to have been called in if necessary.
When Solignac’s men reached the brow of the hill, the four British battalions in the front line rose up and marched to meet them. Their long array completely overlapped at both ends the advancing columns and their screen of light troops[229], At the distance of one hundred yards all the four regiments directed a converging volley on the French, which almost swept away the tirailleurs and shook terribly the supporting masses. Then they reloaded and advanced in silence on the enemy, who were shouting, firing irregularly, and endeavouring to deploy, with their officers all in front. For troops in such disorder the near approach of the majestic two-deep line of 3,300 bayonets was too much. They wavered and fled northward along the summit of the ridge, carrying with them their commander, Solignac, desperately wounded. The British pursued, halting at intervals to pour a volley into the retreating masses, and picking up on the way many prisoners, and also the three guns which the enemy had laboriously dragged up the hill.
The pursuit was stopped by an unexpected development. General Brennier had heard from afar the heavy musketry fire which told him that his supporting brigade was engaged. He was now on the summit of the heights, having at last accomplished his long flank march. Pushing hastily forward, he came to the edge of a saddle-backed depression in the ridge, and had the spectacle of the fight at his feet. The 36th and 40th were engaged in driving the wrecks of Solignac’s men back in a north-westerly direction, while the 71st and 82nd, halted around the captured guns, were resting and reforming their ranks. Without a moment’s hesitation, Brennier threw his four battalions upon the two regiments that lay beneath him. He had taken them by surprise; attacked diagonally by fresh troops, and charged by the two squadrons of dragoons that accompanied the French, they reeled back in some disorder and abandoned the guns that they had taken. But they rallied in a moment, and returned to the fight aided by the 29th[230], the reserve regiment of Nightingale’s brigade. There was heavy firing for a moment, but very soon Brennier’s troops broke and fled up the slope which they had just descended. Their flight was covered by the dragoons, who suffered severely in holding off the pursuers, losing many officers, among them the young Arrighi, a kinsman of the Bonaparte family. Brennier was left on the field wounded and a prisoner, and not only did his men lose the guns which they had just recaptured, but they also left behind the three which had accompanied their own column. Their hurried retreat was accelerated by the fire of a half-battery, brought up from the reserve, which played upon them with effect till they had plunged down into the ravine and regained their original position on the opposite heights.
All the fighting here had been done by Ferguson’s and Nightingale’s five battalions. Bowes’ brigade did not fire a shot or lose a man, and Catlin Crawfurd and the Portuguese were only beginning to approach the scene of action when Brennier’s column broke up and fled. The main honours of the fight must be given to the 71st and 82nd, who lost respectively 112 and 61 men out of the total of 272 casualties suffered in this part of the action.
Two and a half hours after the battle began the French, both in the north and the south of the field, were retiring in confusion. The British were awaiting eagerly the order for a general advance—especially Ferguson, who, with the 36th and 40th, had got part of Solignac’s brigade pinned into an angle of the hills, from which they could not easily escape when attacked. But instead of the order to advance there came a prohibition to move, and the French were allowed to withdraw unmolested. The stream of fugitives from Brennier’s and Solignac’s fight joined that from the centre; then both shook themselves together and formed up in more or less order on the heights. The reserve artillery under Hulot and Prost (Foy had been wounded) kept up a distant and ineffective fire towards the hill of Vimiero, more to put heart into their own infantry by the noise of their guns than in any hope of harming the English. Margaron’s cavalry showed a front behind them, and the two belated battalions from Lisbon, which arrived about noon, were sent to the front and displayed on the edge of the heights to make some show of force. But the French would not have stood a serious attack: every single unit of their infantry had been deeply engaged and had suffered a thorough defeat. More than half their guns (thirteen out of twenty-three) had been captured. The cavalry was in better case, though two of its regiments had suffered severely, yet it could not by itself have resisted the attack of the victorious British. A vigorous push would have sent the whole mass reeling backward, not on Torres Vedras or Lisbon—for these roads would have been barred to them when Wellesley advanced—but on the rugged path, over the spurs of the Sierra da Baragueda, which leads to Santarem.
But while the French were striving to rally and to form a new front, the leaden hand of Sir Harry Burrard was laid upon the British army. That leisurely person had only landed on the morning of the twenty-first, and the battle was in full progress before he rode up from the beach to Vimiero. He had the grace not to interfere with the movements of troops which Wellesley had already ordered; but when the victory was won, and his subordinate rode up to him crying, ‘Sir Harry, now is your time to advance, the enemy is completely beaten, and we shall be in Lisbon in three days[231],’ he refused to listen. The army, he said, had done enough for one day, and he intended to wait for the arrival of Sir John Moore and the division from the Baltic before making any further move. Greatly disconcerted by this stolid opposition, Wellesley launched forth into argument: the French army, as he pointed out, was now so placed that it had lost control of its line of retreat on Torres Vedras and Lisbon. Hill’s intact brigade, and those of Fane and Anstruther had but to advance a mile or so, and the French were irretrievably cut off from their base of operations. At the same time the five brigades of the left wing, of which those of Bowes and Crawfurd were absolutely intact, might so hustle and press the retreating enemy that he could never rally. At this moment arrived an aide-de-camp from Ferguson, who begged to be allowed to go on: ‘a column of broken troops 1,500 to 2,000 strong had in their confusion got into a hollow, and could be cut off from their main body by a movement in advance of his brigade[232].’ The enemy had lost all their artillery, were retiring in the utmost confusion, none of them save the cavalry were regularly formed, and it was his hope that he might be allowed to continue to go forward. Burrard still remained obdurate, though Wellesley pointed out to him that he had nine thousand fresh troops in hand, that every soldier had a day’s food cooked in his haversack, that the ammunition reserve was ready to move, and that, with twelve days’ provisions in the camp and an ample store of munitions, he had it in his power to march forward both rapidly and with complete security[233]. But all these arguments were of no effect. The slow and cautious Burrard chose to believe that Junot might still have a large and intact reserve, that his cavalry was too dangerous to be meddled with, and that the dispersion of the British brigades (there were more than three miles between Hill’s extreme right and Ferguson’s extreme left) would make a general advance a very dislocated and hazardous business[234]. He utterly refused to listen to any further discussion, and, as the French were now in full retreat and disappearing over the eastern horizon, ordered the troops back to camp. They returned with colours flying and bands playing, dragging the captured French guns, and with a considerable column of prisoners in their midst. But every one, from Generals Spencer and Ferguson down to the youngest private, was utterly puzzled at the tame and inconsequent end to such a glorious day.
The losses had been very moderate—four officers and 131 men killed, thirty-seven officers and 497 men wounded, two officers and forty-nine men missing. Of the total of 720 no less than 573 were from the ten battalions of Fane’s, Anstruther’s, and Ferguson’s brigades. Those of Hill, Bowes, and Catlin Crawfurd did not return a single casualty. The handful of prisoners were mainly supplied by the 20th Light Dragoons, and by the two rifle battalions, whose pickets had been driven in at the commencement of the fight[235]. The French losses were very different: both Foy and Thiébault acknowledge a total of 1,800, and this may be taken as a minimum: of these some 300 or 400 were unwounded prisoners. Delaborde and three brigadier-generals—Charlot, Brennier, and Solignac—as well as Colonels Foy and Prost of the artillery, were wounded. Two battalion commanders were killed, a third and the disabled Brennier were prisoners. Men and officers were alike disheartened: every single corps present had been engaged: even the squadron of volunteer cavalry had been in action against Taylor’s dragoons: more than half the guns had been lost, and the officers who brought back those that remained asked themselves in wonder how they had ever been permitted to get away[236]. But at least they were unmolested in their retreat: using the two battalions that had just come up from Lisbon as his rearguard, Junot retired unharmed, but full of despair, on Torres Vedras. It was not till early on the next morning that the last stragglers of his scattered army drifted in to join the main body.