Nor on the other side of the position were the British and German cavalry less gloriously engaged. Again and again, the French dragoons charged up the hill—and as regularly were they met sword to sword, repulsed and beaten back.
But the hill could not be held with such inferior numbers as the British. A column of great strength got unperceived in the rear of the right—not a moment could be lost—and an instant retreat was unavoidable. Indeed, the escape of these devoted regiments seemed hopeless. Montbrun brought forward overwhelming numbers against the left flank—and the French dragoons had cut the right off from its communication with El Bodon. The 83rd united itself with the 5th and 77th, and the Portuguese 21st had already commenced retreating, and gained the plain. The cavalry, finding itself almost surrounded, galloped off at speed—and the British regiments were left alone, to save themselves or perish.
They reached the plain,—Montbrun’s numerous squadrons came on with loud huzzas, and in such force, that the annihilation of these weak battalions seemed inevitable. But the French had yet to learn of what stern stuff the British soldier is composed. In a moment, the 5th and 77th formed square, and in steady silence awaited the coming onset. The charge was made—the cheering of the dragoons pealed over the battle-field as they came on at speed, and with a fiery determination that nothing could withstand. Against every face of the square a hostile squadron galloped; the earth shook—the cheers rose louder—another moment of that headlong speed must bring the dragoons upon the bayonets of the kneeling front rank. Then, from the British square a shattering volley was poured in,—the smoke cleared away,—and, but a few yards from the faces of the square, men and horses were rolling on the plain in death. The charge was repulsed—the ranks disordered—and the French dragoons, recoiling from that fearless array which they had vainly striven to penetrate, rode hastily off to reform their broken ranks, and remove themselves from an incessant stream of musketry that had already proved so fatal.
In the mean time, Picton had disengaged the regiments of the right brigade from the enclosures of El Bodon, and joined the 5th and 77th—and the whole retreated across the plain in beautiful order, presenting so bold an attitude, whenever the French made any demonstrations of charging, that they never attempted to close on the squares again. Still, Montbrun hung upon the rear and flanks of the allies, maintaining a trifling cannonade—while his guns were warmly replied to by the English artillery. On getting near Guinaldo, a support of both infantry and cavalry came forward—and the French abandoned the pursuit, after being roughly handled by the fire of the British musketry, and the bold charges of the few squadrons on the field, whose conduct all through that trying day had been most gallant.
The British position was infinitely too extensive for divisions weak as those of Cole and Picton to hold with safety. Lord Wellington had therefore decided on retiring to the Coa, and halt there upon his selected battle-ground; but unfortunately the light division had taken a mountain route instead of fording the Agueda; and General Craufurd, ignorant that Gata and Perales were in possession of the French, was marching directly on the enemy. This mistake might have not only occasioned the loss of the light division, but seriously endangered Cole and Picton at Guinaldo. Nor was the alarm lessened on the morning of the 26th, when Marmont got under arms, and exhibited sixty thousand splendid troops,[150] within little more than cannon-shot of the two isolated divisions who held the heights above. Fortunately, the French marshal had little suspicion of his rival’s weakness, and amused himself with manœuvring his splendid army, instead of overwhelming the allied brigades, which were completely within his reach—alone and unsupported.
On the preceding night, the 60th and 74th, who had been in position at Pastores, and cut off by Montbrun in his attack on El Bodon, forded the Agueda, moved along its right bank, and, after an extraordinary march of fifteen hours, reached the British cantonments in safety. At three in the afternoon, the light division joined; and at night the whole retired towards the position where Wellington had resolved to offer battle.
On the 27th, the French pushed forward a strong corps, and a sharp affair occurred at Aldea de Ponte. The village was twice carried by the French,—and as often retaken by Pakenham, with the fusileer brigade and Portuguese Caçadores.
That night Lord Wellington fell back and occupied his selected ground. The Coa was in his rear,—his right extending to the Sierra de Mesas, his centre occupying the village of Soita, and his left resting on the river at Rendo.
This position was too formidable, from its narrow front, to be easily assailed, and the enemy declined an attack. Soon after the French corps separated, and resumed their former cantonments. Marmont retired on the valley of the Tagus, Dorsenne fell back on Salamanca, Girard moved to Mafra, and Foy proceeded to Placentia. The French operations, on the whole, were a miserable failure. It is true, that Rodrigo was relieved—but in every other essay their designs had failed; and Wellington, with an inferior force, completely checked them.