“All this time the Polish lancers were wheeling round the groups, stabbing at us with their long lances whenever they got a chance. It was reported afterwards that they had been promised a doubloon apiece if they broke the British line. Gradually our men became mixed up with these lancers and with the chasseurs and French linesmen; and every one of us was thrusting and parrying, hacking and guarding, loading and firing, to the best of his ability. Never have I witnessed such a mêlée.
“I saw a savage-looking, bare-headed lancer attack our ensign and run him through the lungs, the lance coming out at his back. He fell, but regained his feet immediately. The Pole again delivered point, his lance striking Hay’s breast-bone; down he went as if shot, whilst his assailant pitched over his horse’s head and rolled over in the mud beside him. I ran forward to the ensign’s assistance, but came in collision with a chasseur-à-cheval, who cut at me with his sabre and brought me on my knees. I staggered up and drove my bayonet through his leg, pinning him to the saddle. He then cut at me again, inflicting a severe wound on my head and partially depriving me of my senses. At that moment my adversary’s horse was killed by a musket ball, and in its fall the poor brute crushed me to the ground. I struggled hard to regain my feet, but the weight of the dead charger kept me down, and so I was placed hors-de-combat for the rest of the day.
“In this desperate hand-to-hand encounter Colborne’s brigade suffered terribly, for of the four regiments composing it the 31st alone was able to form square when the French cavalry charged us. The 3rd Buffs, the 48th, and ‘Ours’ were nearly annihilated.
“At length a gust of wind blew aside the mist and smoke and revealed our desperate condition to General Lumley, who was in the plain below; and he at once despatched four squadrons of heavy dragoons against the lancers. Almost at the same moment Houghton’s brigade came up, and Major Julius Hartmann brought his light guns into action.
“When I heard the artillery thundering over the ground I gave myself up for lost, making sure that they must inevitably gallop over me; but they passed a few yards to my right, and, quickly unlimbering, opened fire.
“The battle was now continued with redoubled fury; the guns belched forth grape at half-range, the musketry kept up an incessant rattle; and the carnage on both sides was truly awful. Presently our gallant fellows found that their ammunition was beginning to run short, and they were obliged to slacken fire; and at this juncture—misfortunes never come single—another French column established itself on the right flank.
“Marshal Beresford—who had been doing his utmost to induce the cowardly Spaniards to advance to the assistance of their well-nigh vanquished allies—now saw that retreat was inevitable, and he most reluctantly gave the unwelcome order. But happily the battle was saved by the moral courage—hark ye to that, you young fellows!—by the moral courage of a young staff-officer, Colonel Hardinge, (afterwards Lord Hardinge, commander-in-chief), who entirely on his own responsibility rode off at full speed to General Cole (who had just arrived from Badajos) and urged him to advance with the 4th Division and Abercrombie’s brigade of the 2nd Division. Cole readily assented, and at once led the 7th and 23rd Fusiliers, flanked by a battalion of Portuguese caçadores, up the hill; whilst Abercrombie’s brigade followed in support.
“Separating themselves from the crowd of broken soldiery, these fresh troops attacked the French with irresistible fury, and slowly but surely drove them back to the farthest edge of the hill. In vain did Soult call upon his veterans to hold their ground, in vain did he bring up his reserves; nothing could withstand Cole’s splendid infantry; and after a desperate struggle the French masses went down the slope of the hill, breaking like a loosened cliff.
“The battle was over. By three o’clock the last shot had been fired, and the remnant of the British troops, who had fought with such devoted courage, stood triumphant on the bloodstained ground. Since that memorable day I have taken part in many a ‘stricken field,’ but never have I seen harder fighting than at the battle of Albuera.”
“It was indeed a brilliant affair,” said Major G—n when the old officer stopped speaking; “and our soldiers gave unmistakable proof of their superiority over Bonaparte’s veterans. Pray, what were the losses on either side?”