"While on the right this was going on, the village of Fuentes was again attacked by a body of the Imperial Guard, and, as on the 3rd, the village was taken and retaken several times. At one time they had brought down such an overwhelming force that our troops were fairly beat out of the town, and the French formed a close column between it and us. Some guns which were posted on the rise in front of our line, having opened upon them, made them change their ground, and the 88th Regiment (Connaught Rangers) being detached from our division, led on by the heroic General McKinnon (who commanded our right brigade), charged them furiously, and drove them back through the village with great slaughter.
"Some time previous to this, General Picton had had occasion to check this regiment for some little plundering affair they had been guilty of, and he was so offended at their conduct that, in addressing them, he had told them they were the greatest 'blackguards' in the army. But, as he was always as ready to give praise as censure, where it was due, when they were returning from this gallant and effective charge, he exclaimed, 'Well done, the brave 88th!' Some of them who had been stung at his former reproaches cried out, 'Are we the greatest blackguards in the army now?' The valiant Picton smiled, and replied: 'No, no, you are brave and gallant soldiers; this day has redeemed your character.'
"At one time during the contest, when the enemy had gained a partial position of the village, our light troops had retired into a small wood above it, where they were huddled together without any regularity (a French officer, while leading on his men, having been killed in our front), a bugler of the 83rd Regiment (now 1st Battalion Irish Rifles) starting out between the fire of both parties, seized his gold watch; but he had scarcely returned, when a cannon shot from the enemy came whistling past him, and he fell lifeless on the spot. The blood spurted out of his nose and ears, but with the exception of this, there was neither wound nor bruise on his body—the shot had not touched him.
"The phenomenon here described has been the subject of much discussion among medical men; some attribute it to the shot becoming electrical, and parting with its electricity in passing the body, while others maintain that the ball does strike the individual obliquely, and although there is no appearance of injury on the surface, there always exists serious derangement of the system internally.
"We had regained possession of the village a short time after, and got a little breathing time…. After the various takings and retakings of the village, night again found us in possession of it. On the 6th, no attempt was made to renew the attack, and, as on the 4th, the army on each side was employed burying the dead, and looking after the wounded. On the 7th, we still remained quiet, but on this day the whole French army were reviewed on the plain by Massena. On the 8th, the French sentries were withdrawn at daylight, the main body of the enemy having retired during the night to the woods between Fuentes and Gallegos. On the 9th they broke up, and retired from their position, and on the 10th they had recrossed the Agueda without having accomplished the relief of Almeida."
Full of interest and significance as was the battle of Fuentes d'Onoro, it remains that the most sanguinary and glorious battle of the Peninsular War, as far as the soldiers were concerned, was that of Albuera where, on May 16th, the skilful Soult was defeated by Beresford, with tremendous slaughter.
Just as the battle of Fuentes arose out of the determination of Massena to save Almeida, so that of Albuera was owing to Soult's desire to save Badajoz, which was in siege by Beresford. Wellington was returning victorious from the north to join Beresford, but, before he arrived, the bloodiest battle of the Peninsula was over.
Before the siege of Badajoz was well compacted Soult came up with a superior force, and Beresford decided to raise the siege and stake the issue on a pitched battle. The Allies took up their position on the ridge of Albuera, some 28,000 strong, including 10,000 half-trained Spaniards, who were something between a hindrance and a help. Soult's force consisted of 19,000 picked infantry, 4,000 cavalry, and fifty guns.
It is the very climax and turning point of this fight that interests us here. It came at a time when Houghton's Brigade, being practically worsted in an assault on the ridge, were failed by Beresford, but succored by Colonel Hardinge, who, on his own responsibility, ordered the advance of General Cole's Division against the enemy. This, the 4th Division, consisting mainly of British fusiliers, succeeded in turning the tide of battle. Cole himself led the fusiliers up the hill, on the crest of which the French with their artillery were stationed in force; and, as if that were not superiority enough, the whole of Soult's reserve was advancing in mass to support the columns on the ridge. Houghton's Brigade held on in what seemed a losing fight. The ground was heaped with dead, and the Polish lancers were beginning to gather round the British guns. The brigade saw defeat and destruction staring it in the face. But they endured for sheer tenacity's sake, not knowing that but a few moments more mattered everything. The Royal Welsh Fusiliers swept steadily upwards, attacked the savage lancers, charged their gathering hosts, and put the enemy to rout. It was Houghton's Brigade that had borne the brunt, but it was the Welsh Fusiliers that decided the victory.
Napier has pictured this glorious passage of arms so vividly that it is no man's presumptuous task to describe it independently. "Such a gallant line," he says, "issuing from the midst of smoke, and rapidly separating itself from the confused and broken multitude, startled the enemy's heavy masses which were increasing and pressing onwards as to an assured victory. They wavered, hesitated, and then, vomiting forth a storm of fire, hastily endeavoured to enlarge their front, while a fearful discharge of grape from all their artillery whistled through the British ranks. Sir William Myers was killed. Cole, and the three Colonels: Ellis, Blakeney, and Hawkshawe, fell wounded, and the fusilier battalions, struck by the iron tempest, reeled and staggered like sinking ships. Suddenly and sternly recovering, they closed on their terrible enemies, and then was seen with what a strength and majesty the British soldier fights. In vain did Soult, by voice and gesture, animate his Frenchmen; in vain did the hardiest veterans, extricating themselves from the crowded columns, sacrifice their lives to gain time for the mass to open out on such a fair field; in vain did the mass itself bear up, and, fiercely arising, fire indiscriminately upon friends and foes, while the horsemen hovering on the flank, threatened to charge the advancing line. Nothing could stop that astonishing infantry. No sudden burst of undisciplined valour, no nervous enthusiasm weakened the stability of their order; their flashing eyes were bent on the dark columns in their front; their measured tread shook the ground; their dreadful volleys swept away the head of every formation; their deafening shouts overpowered the dissonant cries that broke from all parts of the tumultuous crowd as, foot by foot, and with a horrid carnage, it was driven by the incessant vigour of the attack to the farthest edge of the hill. In vain did the French reserves, joining with the struggling multitudes, endeavour to sustain the fight; their efforts only increased the irremediable confusion, and the mighty mass, giving way like a loosened cliff, went headlong down the ascent. The rain flowed after in streams discoloured with blood, and 1,500 unwounded men, the remnant of 6,000 unconquerable British soldiers, stood triumphant on the fatal hill."