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 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 Portiña. 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.
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 Portiña, 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 Portiña, 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.
SECTION XVI: CHAPTER VII
THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA: THE MAIN ENGAGEMENT
(JULY 28)
The informal armistice which had followed the combat of the early morning had drawn to an end, when at about 10 o’clock the British observers on the Cerro de Medellin saw a large and brilliant staff riding along the French line from right to left. It finally halted, and took post on the most commanding point of the Cascajal heights. This was the entourage of King Joseph and Marshal Jourdan, who had determined to make a careful examination of the allied lines before committing themselves to any further action. When they halted on the summit of the hill, from which the best general view was obtainable, Victor came to meet them, and a council of war was held.
It soon developed into a lengthy and animated dispute; lasting for more than an hour. Jourdan was of opinion that, considering the strength of the hostile position, and the decisive way in which the 1st Corps had been repulsed, it would be unwise to proceed with another attack. He pointed out that Wellesley would now be perfectly aware that his left was the point which must be assailed, and that movements visible behind the British line showed that it was already being reinforced. The only good move now available was to endeavour to turn the Cerro by the little valley to its north-east, which separates it from the Sierra de Segurilla: but it was clear that the enemy realized this as well as themselves. A considerable body of cavalry was already appearing at its southern end. If the Duke of Belluno, instead of delivering two frontal assaults, had been prudent enough to push men down this valley under cover of the darkness, so as to have a lateral attack ready at dawn, something might have been done. But now the imperial troops would have to win the valley by hard fighting, before they could use it as a starting-point for the assault on the hill. If a general attack were delivered, and the army were once more repulsed, it risked its line of communication and its retreat on Madrid. For the whole Spanish host might come out of the woods and fall upon its flank, while it was engaged with the British, and in that case the Madrid road would be cut, and the King would have to retreat on Avila, sacrificing his capital and his arsenals. On the whole Jourdan held that it would be wise and prudent to assume a defensive posture, and either to hold the present position or to retire to the more favourable ground behind the Alberche, four miles to the rear. In a few days the enemy would hear of Soult’s operations upon their line of communication, and would be forced to break up and retire.
Very different, as might have been expected, were Victor’s views. He declared that the British position was far from impregnable, and that the prestige of the French army would be destroyed if it retired, after two partial checks, from in front of an enemy who had not been seriously attacked. The only fault in the preceding operations had been that the whole army had not joined in, at the moment when the Cerro had been stormed. If the King would undertake to use the 4th Corps against the allied centre, he pledged himself to break their right with his own three divisions of infantry. He would not only assail the Cerro from in front, but would turn it from both flanks. If such an attack did not succeed il faudrait renoncer à faire la guerre. This phrase he dinned into Joseph’s and Jourdan’s ears so repeatedly that they both saved it up for future use, and taunted him with it in the acrimonious correspondence which followed the battle.