The Bravest of the Brave — or, with Peterborough in Spain

by G. A. Henty

The sally was at last repulsed, and the English intrenched their position and turned their captured guns against the fort. While both the assaulting columns were occupied in intrenching themselves there was a lull in the battle. The besieged could not venture to advance against either, as they would have been exposed to the fire of the other, and to the risk of a flank attack.

Peterborough exerted himself to the utmost. He ordered up the thousand men under General Stanhope and made prodigious exertions to get some guns and mortars into position upon the newly won ramparts.

Great was the consternation and astonishment in Barcelona when a loud roar of musketry broke out round the citadel, and Velasco, the governor, was thunderstruck to find himself threatened in this vital point by an enemy whose departure he had, the evening before, been celebrating. The assembly was sounded, and the church bells pealed out the alarm.

The troops ran to their places of assembly, the fortifications round the town were manned, and a body of four hundred mounted grenadiers under the Marquis de Risbourg hurried off to the succor of Montjuich. The earl had been sure that such a movement would be made. He could not spare men from his own scanty force to guard the roads between the city and the castle, but he had posted a number of the armed Spanish peasants who were in the pay of the army in a narrow gorge, where, with hardly any risk to themselves, they might easily have prevented the horsemen from passing. The peasants, however, fired a hurried volley and then fled in all directions.

Lord Peterborough learned a lesson here which he never forgot, namely, that these Spanish irregulars, useful as they might be in harassing an enemy or pursuing a beaten foe, were utterly untrustworthy in any plan of combined action. The succor, therefore, reached Montjuich in safety; two hundred of the men dismounted and entered the fort; the remainder, leading their horses, returned to Barcelona.

The Marquis de Risbourg had no sooner entered the fort and taken the command than he adopted a stratagem which nearly proved fatal to the English hopes of success. He ordered his men to shout “Long live Charles the Third!” and threw open the gates of the fort as if to surrender. The Prince of Hesse Darmstadt, who commanded at this point, was completely deceived, and he ordered Colonel Allen to advance with two hundred and fifty men, while he himself followed with a company in reserve, believing that the Spanish garrison had declared for King Charles.

The British advanced eagerly and in some disorder into the ditch, when a terrible fire of musketry was suddenly opened upon them from the front and flank. In vain they tried to defend themselves; the brave prince was struck down by a mortal wound while endeavoring to encourage them, and was carried to the rear, and Allen and two hundred men were taken prisoners. The prince expired a few minutes later before there was time for a doctor to examine his wound.

Peterborough, who had come up just at the end of the struggle, remained with him till he died, and then hurried off to retrieve the fortune of the day, which, during these few minutes, had greatly changed. Velasco had dispatched three thousand men, as fast as they could be got together, to follow Risbourg's dragoons to the succor of the fort, and these were already in sight. But this was not all. One of the strange panics which occasionally attack even the best troops had seized the British in the bastion.

Without any apparent cause, without a shot being fired at them from the fort, they fell into confusion. Their commander, Lord Charlemont, shared the panic, and gave orders for a retreat. The march soon became a rout, and the men fled in confusion from the position which they had just before so bravely won.

Captain Carleton, a staff officer, disengaged himself from the throng of fugitives and rode off to inform the earl, who was reconnoitering the approaching Spaniards, of what had taken place. Peterborough at once turned his horse, and, followed by Carleton and Jack Stilwell, galloped up the hill. He drew his sword and threw away the scabbard as he met the troops, already halfway down the hill, and, dismounting, shouted to them: