Impetuously they continued to press forward upon the foe with all the fury of uncurbed steeds, and the conflict was renewed, foot to foot, breast to breast, bayonet to bayonet, and with eyes of fire men glared at each other above their crossed weapons. When rushing forward with his company, at the moment they mingled with the enemy, Stuart encountered—or I should rather say, when half-blinded with smoke ran violently against a French officer, a cut from whose sabre he parried with his dirk, while, at the moment, he passed his sword through his shoulder, hurling monsieur to the earth with the force of the thrust. At that instant he was stunned and laid prostrate by a blow on the back part of the head, dealt from behind by the butt-end of a firelock, or truncheon of a pike. Vainly he strove to regain his feet, but reeled senseless on the sod, and the last sounds he heard were the triumphant cheers of the British, drowning the feebler cry of Vive l'Empereur! from their antagonists. Almost at the same moment the brave Colonel Cadogan fell from his horse, writhing on the grass with the agony of a mortal wound. A yell burst from his regiment, the Highland Light Infantry, as they beheld him fall; an echoing shout broke from their companions, and redoubling their efforts with the bayonet, after frightful carnage, they obliged the enemy to retire precipitately down the mountains. Their left was thus completely routed and in disorder, and the British flag waved triumphantly on the bloody summits of Puebla.
Encouraged by this good fortune, Sir Rowland Hill ordered his second and third brigades to attack the heights of Subijana de Alava, which were gallantly carried after a severe and stern conflict. King Joseph, alarmed at the loss of these important positions, directed his left wing to fall back for the defence of Vittoria, and Sir Rowland, pressing forward with his usual vigour, followed up this retreating movement.
Cole and Picton attacked their centre, and after a spirited resistance the whole chain of heights was abandoned, and the French army began to retire, but in admirable order, on Vittoria. General Graham dislodged the enemy from the hills above Abechuco, and his countryman General Robertson, without permitting his troops to fire a shot, but solely acting with the bayonet, drove them from Gamarra Mayor after great slaughter, and sustaining during the advance a tremendous fire of cannon and musquetry. Towards evening Graham's division was pushed forward across the Zadorra, and ordered to secure the road leading to Bayonne. By that time Lord Wellington's centre had penetrated to Vittoria, and the enemy's right wing had totally given way. All was now lost, and the greatest confusion ensued among the foe. The court equipage of King Joseph, the baggage, the artillery, and the military chest of his army were all captured. Those columns retreating on the road to Bayonne were driven like herds of sheep back upon that which leads to Pampeluna, and then the French army became one vast mob, a disorganized and fugitive rabble. Joseph, owing his safety to the swiftness of his horse, abandoned the wreck of his troops and fled towards Pampeluna, hotly pursued by Captain Wyndham with a squadron of the 10th Hussars. In this great victory the loss of the allied army amounted to 5,000, and that of the French to 6,000 or upwards, and the defeat of the survivors was attended by every accompaniment of disgrace. A thousand prisoners were captured by the allies, and of the two solitary guns, of all his immense train, which Joseph succeeded in taking off, one alone reached Pampeluna, the other being taken next day.
Lord Wellington deserves the highest admiration for the excellence of his dispositions and manoeuvres during the whole of that brilliant campaign, and most decisive victory. Every arrangement, every movement of the French generals had been completely baffled and disconcerted by his superior skill and military talents. In four weeks, he had driven them from Madrid to Vittoria, turning their strong positions on the Douro and Ebro, and at last compelling Joseph and Jourdan to show fight at a point where their army was utterly destroyed.
The battle had almost been fought and won while Ronald Stuart lay senseless among the heaps of killed and wounded on the hills of Puebla. The French, after being repulsed from the latter, detached a legion, 7,000 strong, to recover them, which movement being perceived by General Stewart, he despatched Fassifern with his Highlanders to the assistance of the troops already there. The regiment moved quickly to the front, and after inconceivable exertions gained the summit by clambering up the steepest part of the mountains, a feat perhaps only to have been performed by Scots or Switzers. They soon reached the spot where the desperate charge had been made. Cadogan lay there drenched in his blood, and the carnage around him showed how fierce had been the conflict.
"Our light company men are lying thick here," said Fassifern, as he looked sternly around him.
"Here is Stuart," exclaimed Bevan. "Poor fellow, this is his last field!" The regiment passed in open column, double-quick, beyond the place where Ronald lay to all appearance, what his brother officers thought him to be, dead. Close by him lay Torriano, a lieutenant of the 71st, severely wounded, but there was no time to look at them. The Highlanders moved onward to the assistance of their friends the 50th and Highland Light Infantry, who were severely handled by the enemy on the other side of the heights. There the carnage was appalling in some parts, where the ranks of friend and foe had fallen across each other in piles. Smoke and bright flashing steel were seen every where, and the echoes of the musquetry reverberated among the deep ravines and grassy summits of La Puebla. The overwhelming legion were still advancing; they had out-flanked the 71st, and cut off its communication with the 50th; and the superiority of the French numerical force was compelling these brave regiments to waver, when the cheers of their Highland comrades rang among the mountains, as they descended to their assistance. As Cadogan had fallen, the command of the troops devolved on Fassifern, and, acting under his orders, the three battalions compelled the legion to retire in disgrace and disorder.
Three other attacks did they make in succession, and with greater strength, but the attempts were vain. The first brigade were resolved to hold Puebla or perish, and Cameron continually drove them back. As the Highlanders said, "their hearts werna stoot eneuch for sae stey a brae," and the proud Frenchmen were compelled to abandon all hopes of regaining the important position.
Ronald lay long insensible where he fell, and when life returned the first sounds which saluted his ears were the distant roar of the musquetry, and all the confused din of a great battle, which the breeze bore up from the plains to the mountains where he lay. From loss of blood and the stunning effects of the blow, he was long unable to rise or even to speak; but his ear was intensely awake to every sound around him, and he eagerly longed to know how the tide of battle was turning in the valley below. The aching and smarting pain in his head was excessive. He placed his hand behind, and withdrew it covered with blood, and closing his eyes, again sunk backwards on the gory turf. Although his ears were invaded by the distressing cries and hoarse groans of agony from the wounded around him, his heart wandered to that Highland home where his very soul seemed to be garnered up; and in that terrible moment he would have given the universe, were it his, for a single glance at the heather hills and the wild woods around the old grey tower of Lochisla. He thought of his white-haired sire, and of what would be his sufferings and feelings should his only son perish in the land of the stranger. Alice, too,—but the thought of her inspired him with new life and spirit. He rose and unclasped her miniature, which was clotted and covered with his blood: he restored it to his breast, and looked about him. As the noise of the battle still continued without abatement, and he heard the shouts and battle-cry of the French mingled with the cheers of the British at times, he asked a French soldier who sat near him, shot through the leg, if he knew how the day had gone. He answered, without a moment's hesitation, that the troops of the great Emperor had outflanked, beaten, and cut to pieces those of Wellington, who was on the road to Lisbon, flying as fast as his horse could carry him. Although Ronald put little dependance on this information, he resolved to satisfy himself. The Frenchman kindly bound up his head, and gave him a little brandy from his canteen; for which the Scotsman gave him his earnest thanks, being quite unable to yield more solid remuneration, not having seen a day's pay for six months. Making use of his sword as a support, he got upon his feet, and all things seemed to swim around him as he staggered forward.
Cadogan had been carried off by two soldiers of his own regiment, but his horse was lying dead upon a wounded Highlander, who had long struggled to free himself from its oppressive weight, and now called aloud to Ronald, who was unable to yield him the slightest assistance. As he passed slowly onwards to that part of the heights whence he expected to have a view of the whole battle-field, he beheld the officer whom he had encountered lying dead, pierced with a score of bayonet wounds. A soldier of the light company lay dead across him, with his face literally dashed to pieces by a blow from the butt-end of a musquet, and so much was he disfigured that it was impossible to recognise him. Close by a piper of the 71st lay dead, with his pipe under his arm: his blood had formed a black pool around him of more than a yard square. Hundreds were lying everywhere in the same condition, but further details would only prove tiresome or revolting.