A history of the Peninsular War, Vol. 2, Jan.-Sep. 1809

by Charles Oman

The two regiments were now in utter confusion, and had already suffered severe loss both by the fall into the ravine and by the French musketry which had opened upon them. Their colonels would have been wise to give up the attempt to advance and to fall back in their old position. How could squadrons in such a disordered state hope to break into French squares? But both Seymour of the 23rd and Arentschildt were officers of high mettle, and throwing prudence to the winds they collected such of their men as had leaped or scrambled over the ravine, and led them against the hostile infantry. Probably little more than half of either corps took part in the final charge.

Be this as it may, both the 23rd and the Legionary dragoons made an attempt to gallop in upon the squares in their front. The Germans rode at that of the 24th regiment, received its fire, and were repulsed, though a few men fell close in upon the bayonets. They then galloped off and fell back up the valley. Far more disastrous was the fate of the English regiment. The survivors of the two left squadrons charged the square of the 27th Léger, were repulsed with heavy loss, recrossed the ravine, and struggled back to the British lines. But Colonel Elley and the right squadrons, having no enemy immediately in their front, rode furiously between the French square and the farm of Valdefuentes, and charged a line of cavalry which was visible a few hundred yards to the rear[676]. This was the leading brigade [10th and 26th Chasseurs] of Merlin’s division, which was acting in support of Villatte and Ruffin. The squadrons in front of the 23rd swerved to the side when charged[677], but on passing them the British dragoons found another regiment of Merlin’s second line opposed to them[678]. They dashed at it, whereupon the regiment that had evaded them swung round and fell upon their rear. Encircled by fivefold numbers the remnant of Drake’s and Allen’s squadrons of the 23rd were annihilated. Only a few well-mounted officers[679], including their leader Elley, and two or three troopers cut their way through the enemy, rode off to the northward, and ultimately escaped to Bassecourt’s Spanish line on the Sierra de Segurilla. The total loss of the regiment was 207 killed, wounded and missing out of 450 sabres who took the field in the morning. Of these, three officers and 105 men were prisoners—most of them wounded.

It was late in the afternoon when the survivors of the 23rd found their way back to the western end of the valley, and the battle in the centre had long died down to a cannonade. Ruffin and Villatte now had it in their power to advance again, but did not do so. If they had gone further forward they would have lent their flank still more to Hill’s troops upon the Cerro, and would have had to deploy, a movement which would have exposed them, when no longer protected by formation in square, to charges from the mass of allied cavalry still visible in their front—Fane’s brigade and Albuquerque’s strong division. Bassecourt’s Spaniards were holding their ground against the flank-guard which had been sent up on to the Sierra de Segurilla, and to drive them back Ruffin would have had to detach more battalions from his main column. News had been received that the central attack had completely failed. It was natural, therefore, that after some hesitation the French right wing retired, and fell back up the valley of the Portiña. Villatte’s two regiments had lost about 200 men while standing in square under the fire of the guns on the Cerro. They could no longer be regarded as fresh troops fit for a prolonged advance, while the wrecks of Ruffin’s battalions, having now been under fire three separate times in eighteen hours, were utterly exhausted. It is clear that Victor could not have dared to risk a serious attack upon the British left with these forces.

The battle had now come to a standstill: of the five French infantry divisions in the front line those of Leval, Sebastiani, and Lapisse were reforming their diminished ranks in the plain, far to the east of the Portiña, while Villatte and Ruffin had fallen back on to the slopes of the Cerro de Cascajal. The only intact infantry still remaining at the disposition of the King were his own 1,800 Guards, and the 3,300 bayonets of Dessolles. With these and with Villatte’s two brigades, which had only lost 400 men, it would have been possible to prepare one more assault upon the British position. Victor, raging with anger at his third repulse, was anxious to continue the action, though he had lost nearly one man in four of his infantry, and had not won an inch of ground. The King was less hopeful: the frightful slaughter had subdued his spirits, and he asked himself whether the 5,000 men of his reserve would suffice to break the thin red line against which the whole of the 1st and 4th Corps had hurled themselves in vain. For a moment he seemed inclined to risk his last stake, and the Guards and Dessolles were ordered to move forward. But they had not gone far when a counter-order was sent to check them: Milhaud, whose dragoons had spent the whole day in observing the Spanish lines, had sent in a message to the effect that Cuesta was at last showing signs of life, and that he could see numerous troops pushing to the front among the olive groves in front of the town. The news was not true, for nothing more than vedettes and small exploring parties had been sent out by the Spanish general. But the very suspicion that the Army of Estremadura might at last be preparing to take the initiative was enough to damp the very moderate ardour of King Joseph. If he committed himself to one final dash at the English, and engaged both his reserve and the rallied divisions of his front line, in an attack upon their allied centre and left, what could he do in the event of the sudden appearance of the whole Spanish army in the act of turning his southern flank? Twenty-five thousand men, or more, might suddenly sally out from the screen of groves, and fling themselves upon the left flank of Sebastiani’s corps. To hold them back nothing would be available but the 5,000 sabres of Milhaud and Latour-Maubourg; of infantry not one man would be left to parry such a stroke. The King could not flatter himself that anything but a disaster could ensue. Even if it were not true that the Spaniards were already in motion, there was every reason to believe that they might deliver an attack when they saw the last French reserves put into action against the British. Few generals would have resisted such a tempting opportunity. It was to be remembered also that some of the Spaniards had actually come out of their lines, and fallen upon Leval’s flank, when the last assault had been pressed against the Pajar de Vergara. A third advance in this quarter might yet rouse the whole Estremaduran army out of its apathy, and induce it to charge home upon Sebastiani’s left wing.

Jourdan and most of the members of Joseph’s staff were convinced that it would be mad to deliver a last attack on the British line, in face of the possible consequences of an advance by the Spaniards. The Marshal declared that[680] it was impossible to proceed with any further scheme of advance, and that the only safe course was to draw back the whole army towards the Alberche. His master was relieved to find a good reason for ending a battle which had been begun without his permission, and continued under his very reluctant sanction. Orders were sent along the whole line, directing both the 1st and the 4th Corps to abandon their fighting-ground and fall back to their old position of the twenty-seventh. The cavalry divisions of Merlin, Latour-Maubourg, and Milhaud were to cover the retreat.

Victor was furious at receiving these directions. He averred to the officer who bore the King’s dispatch that from his point of vantage on the Cascajal he could command a view of the whole Spanish army, and that he was positive that not a Spaniard had moved. He even pretended to observe signs of a retreat in Wellesley’s lines, and persisted that the mere demonstration of a fourth attack would induce the allies to abandon their position. How he came to form any such conclusion it is hard to see, for the whole British army was still preserving its old ground, and no one from the Commander-in-chief down to the youngest private was dreaming of a movement to the rear. It would indeed have been insane to desert a strong position, in order to retreat across the open in face of an army possessing 7,000 excellent cavalry! But Victor, still loth to withdraw and to own himself beaten, sent word to the King that he took it upon himself to remain on the slopes of the Cascajal till he should receive further orders, and that he yet hoped that the reserve might be sent forward and the battle renewed.

When Victor’s message reached the King, it had already been discovered that all the rumours concerning the advance of the Spaniards were false. But the hour was now late, and (as Jourdan observed) if the army were to gain a final success—a most problematical occurrence—there would be no daylight left in which to push it to its legitimate end. He thought it better to take the prudent course, to refuse to risk the reserve, whose defeat would have the most fatal consequences, and to prepare for a retreat. The orders were accordingly issued that the army should fall back to its old camping-ground of the morning, deferring the passage of the Alberche till the next day[681].

While the French commanders were in controversy concerning their movements, the battle had died down into a cannonade, kept up with great vehemence by the batteries on the Cerro de Cascajal. The British and German guns never ceased their reply, but—as had been the case during the whole day—they were far too few to subdue the enemy’s fire: considering how they were overmatched, it is wonderful that there was but one piece disabled, and that only sixty-six gunners were put hors de combat. The opposing batteries were hit almost as hard, for the artillery of the 1st Corps had sixty-four casualties.