Chapter IV: Part 4

"Awakening now to a sense of the danger he had thrown himself into,
he set his horse at full speed to get back to his comrades, but the
French, who were confounded when he passed, had recovered their
surprise, and, determined on avenging the death of their comrade,
they joined in pursuit, firing their pistols at him. The poor
fellow was now in a hazardous plight; they were every moment
gaining upon him, and he had still a long way to ride. A band of
the enemy took a circuit for the purpose of intercepting him, and
before he could reach the line, he was surrounded, and would have
been cut to pieces, had not a party of his comrades, stimulated by
the wish to save so brave a fellow, rushed forward, and arrived
just in time, by making the attack general, to save his life, and
brought him off in triumph.

"The overwhelming force which the French now pushed forward on the
village could not be withstood by the small number of troops which
defended it; they were obliged to give way, and were fairly forced
to a rising ground on the other side, where stood a small chapel.
The French now thought they had gained their point, but they were
soon undeceived, for, being reinforced at this place by the
Portuguese cacadores, our lads came to the right-about, and
attacked them with such vigour that in a short time they were
driven back to their old ground. While retreating through the town,
one of our sergeants, who had run up the wrong street, being pushed
hard by the enemy, ran into one of the houses; they were close at
his heels, and he had just time to wrench open the door of a
cupboard in a recess and tumble himself into a large chest, when
they entered and commenced plundering the house, expressing their
wonder, at the same time, concerning the sudden disappearance of
the 'Anglois' whom they had seen run into the house. During the
time the poor sergeant lay sweating and half smothered they were
busy breaking open everything that came in their way, looking for
plunder, and they had just discovered the concealed door of his
hiding-place when the noise of our men cheering, as they charged
the enemy through the town, forced them to take flight. The
sergeant now got out, and having joined his company, assisted in
driving the French back.

"No other part of the line had as yet been attacked by the French;
they seemed bent on taking the village of Fuentes in the first
place, as a stepping-stone, and the main body of each army lay
looking at each other. Finding that the force they had sent down,
great as it was, could not keep possession of the place, they sent
forward two strong bodies of fresh troops to re-attack it, one of
which, composed of the Irish Legion, dressed in red uniform, was at
first taken for a British regiment, and they had time to form up,
and give us a volley before the mistake was discovered.

"The village was now vigorously attacked by the enemy at two
points, and with such a superior force, that, in spite of the
unparalleled bravery of our troops, they were driven back,
contesting every inch of the ground.

"On our retreat through the village, we were met by the 71st
Regiment, cheering and led on by Colonel Cadogan, which had been
detached from the line to our support. The chase was now turned,
and although the French were obstinately intent on keeping their
ground, and so eager that many of their cavalry had entered the
town and rushed furiously down the streets, all their efforts were
in vain; nothing could withstand the charge of the gallant 71st,
and in a short time, in spite of all resistance, they cleared the
village."

[This regiment (1st Battalion Highland Light Infantry) was always remarkable for its gallantry. The brave Cadogan well knew the art of rendering his men invincible; he knew that the courage of the British soldier is best called forth by associating it with his country, and he also knew how to time the few words which produced such magical effects.]

"We were now once more in possession of the place, but our loss, as
well as that of the French, had been very great. In particular
places of the village, where a stand had been made, or the shot
brought to bear, the slaughter had been immense. The French,
enraged at being thus baffled in all their attempts to attack the
town, sent forward a force composed of the very flower of their
army, but they gained only a temporary advantage, for, being
reinforced by the 79th Regiment--although the contest remained
doubtful until night--we remained in possession of it, with the
exception of a few houses on the rise of the hill at the French
side. The light brigade of our division was now withdrawn, and the
71st and 79th Regiments remained as a picquet in it during the
night. Next morning it was again occupied as before. On the 4th
both sides were busily employed burying the dead and bringing in
the wounded, French and English promiscuously mixed, and assisted
each other in that melancholy duty, as if they had been intimate
friends.... During this day, the French generals reconnoitred our
position, and next morning (the 5th), they made a movement to their
left with two strong columns. This caused a corresponding movement
in our lines, and it was scarcely made, when they attacked our
right, composed of the 7th Division, with all their cavalry, and
succeeded in turning it, but they were gallantly met by some
squadrons of our dragoons, and repulsed. Their columns of infantry
still continued to advance on the same point, and were much galled
by the heavy fire kept up on them by the 7th Division, but in
consequence of this movement, our communication with Sabugal was
abandoned for a stronger position, and our army was now formed in
two lines, the Light Division and cavalry in reserve. This
manoeuvre paralysed their attack on our line, and their efforts
were chiefly confined to partial cannonading, and some charges with
their cavalry, which were received and repulsed by the 3rd Regiment
of Guards in one instance; but, as they were falling back, they did
not perceive the charge of a different body of the enemy's cavalry
in time to form, and many of them were killed, wounded, and taken
prisoners. Colonel Hill, who commanded the picquets, was among the
latter; the 42nd Regiment (The Black Watch) also, under Lord
Blantyre, gallantly repulsed another charge made by the enemy's
cavalry. The Frenchmen then attempted to push a strong body of
light infantry down the ravine to the right of the 1st Division,
but they were driven back by some companies of the Guards and 95th
Rifles (now the "Rifle Brigade.")

"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."

It must be added to this classic word-picture of the fight on the ridge that Marshal Beresford in his despatch to Lord Wellington, dated Albuera, 18th May, said, "It was observed that our dead, particularly the 57th Regiment (the "Die Hards" of Albuera), were lying as they had fought in the ranks, and that every wound was in front."

BALACLAVA AND INKERMAN

"The Cavalry do as they like to the enemy until they are confronted
by thrice their numbers....

"Our Artillery has never been opposed to less than three or four
times their numbers."--_Sir John French at the Front._

The majority of the Expeditionary Forces now at the front carry in their hearts if not on their standards the glorious legends of Balaclava and of Inkerman. At a time when it has become so evident that the tendency of the Prussian military system is to crush individual initiative, while that of the British system is to encourage it on equal terms with a free and unhesitating obedience to the will of the commander, the battles of Balaclava and Inkerman are of peculiar significance, for, while Balaclava contains a glorious instance of blind obedience, Inkerman stands alone as a sanguinary conflict in which, to quote an eye-witness, "every man was his own general." For this reason it has been called a "soldiers' battle," and as such it forms a useful example, not only of the fine behaviour of our soldiers when thrown on the limit of their own individual resources, but also of the self-reliant valour and do-or-die spirit that has brought them through so many desperately prolonged struggles before and since. The fact that Inkerman was fought and won in a thick fog makes it all the more wonderful and satisfactory that the units, and even individuals, of our army on that occasion co-operated well within the boundaries of a sound and discreet initiative. Many full descriptions have been given of Balaclava and Inkerman. Our space here will not allow of more than a brief account of some of the glorious deeds on those fields of victory.

On October 25th, 1885, the Russians made a bold attempt to take Balaclava, and the tale of their defeat is the immortal tale of two of the finest cavalry charges ever known in the history of war. Immortalised in verse by Tennyson, the "Charge of the Light Brigade" is a deed bringing honour and glory for all time; yet the charge of the Heavy Brigade earlier on the same day was an affair even more deadly to the enemy and more responsible for the final victory.

At the first attack of the Russians the 93rd (Sutherland) Highlanders were called upon to face them and defend the foremost approach. Eight Squadrons of General Scarlett's Heavy Brigade on the left wing were at once ordered to their assistance. Of these the Scots Greys and Inniskillings were diverted to check the advance of a body of Russian cavalry 3,000 strong, which was descending from the hill into the valley. It all happened on the spur of the moment. As soon as Scarlett became aware of the meaning of those 3,000 of the enemy he made up his mind in a flash. It was one of the intuitions that determine the fortune of war. "Left wheel into line!" and the Greys and Inniskillings were ready. They saw the cause and understood the intention. They wheeled into line, and as they formed up with quick, cool decision, the Russians paused, as if to calculate, some 500 paces away. "Charge!" And the Greys and Inniskillings, with Scarlett at their head, thundered forward on the enemy.

It was a gallant and almost desperate undertaking, for the two squadrons were greatly out-numbered by the opposing force; but it was so sudden, unexpected and headlong, that the Russians were thrown into hesitation and scarcely knew on the spur of the moment the best way to meet it. After the terrible clash of meeting they could do no more than try to close in on the English, and in this, by dint of superior numbers, they must in the end have wiped our men out had it not been that in the very thick of it help came from several sides. First, small detachments of other "Heavies" came up rapidly and fell upon the enclosing Russians so fiercely that their plan was weakened. Then a whole squadron of Inniskillings from our right swept down on the enemy's left and completely frustrated its encircling movement. Finally, from different quarters, the 4th and 5th Dragoon Guards and the Royals came up like a whirlwind, and the result of it all was a fight of the wildest and most terrible kind. In the thick of it were Scarlett and his two squadrons, and the enemy were cut up and swept away like chaff before the terrible onslaught within and without, until at last they broke and fled in utter confusion back over the crest of the hill. So, in glorious victory, ended the Charge of the Heavy Brigade, a splendid feat of generalship and valour which, though unsung by Laureates, nevertheless throws a tremendous weight of tradition into the spirit of the "Heavies" who, with three of their regiments--the Scots Greys, and the 4th and 5th Dragoon Guards, are to-day repeating such deeds at the front without being aware that they are doing anything extraordinary.

The Charge of the Light Brigade is a matter that all the world knows while all the world wonders--in one sense, that it was ever undertaken, and, in another, that mortal flesh and blood could dare so desperate and unwarlike a deed at the behest of discipline and still succeed in turning it to glorious account. What happened is household reading, but who could be restrained from relating it, and who can refrain from reading it yet once more?

The Light Brigade, with the 13th Light Dragoons and the 17th Lancers in the first line, the 11th Hussars in the second, and the 4th Light Dragoons and the 8th Hussars in the third, was drawn up two deep as soon as the ambiguous order arrived. The Heavy Brigade was in readiness to support, with Lord Lucan commanding in person the Greys and Royals. A brief question as to the meaning of the order and a quick reply that it was no time to question, but merely to obey, and then the trumpet rang out for the charge. It had no uncertain sound and every man prepared to do and die as they went down the hill with Lord Cardigan at their head at a speed approaching twenty miles an hour. Sheets of flame, and a hail of lead, leapt out upon their flanks from the Russian infantry. Captain Nolan darted out across their front, shouting and waving his sword in the futile effort to explain that it was all a mistake. But their minds were made up and they did not heed or could not understand his gestures, at so swift a pace; and then, swifter still, a fragment of shell tore its way through Nolan's heart and his horse wheeled and bore him, dead, but still upright, through the advancing ranks before he fell.

Meanwhile the brigade hurled forward, through the dense pall of smoke before the guns, into that dreadful impact which has shown the nations for ever what our heroes can do. Those who passed between the shot and shell passed also between the guns, sabring the gunners as they went, until they launched upon the squadron beyond. Then ensued a mighty conflict for the possession of the guns. While those in the first line fought fiercely with the enemy's cavalry the second and third lines thundered in and made their business plain. It was to silence the guns, and with all the courage of their kind they did it. Their tracks could be traced next day on the field by the lines of dead whose heads were not left upon their bodies, or were cloven "from the nave to the chaps." The fight was unequal, but they did not seem to realise it, for they fought their way back with a persistency that sent an undying thrill through all the world. These heroes fought on, and would have done so to the last drop had it not been for a timely charge of the French Chasseurs d'Afrique upon the pressing hosts of the enemy. Thus they were extricated--all that were left of them. "Then they rode back"--some 170 in formation.

When they lined up in their original position and Lord Cardigan counted them in a glance, he said "Men, it was a mad-brained trick, but it was no fault of mine." Later, when the French General was asked his opinion, he replied, "It was magnificent, but it was not war." Later still, when Lord Cardigan came home, Queen Victoria asked him simply, "Where is my army?" Yet, though critics may speak of "absolute inutility," and calculating militarists of "sheer waste of life," it still remains that the crowning glory of the Light Brigade, born that day at Balaclava, has outlived all the survivors of that deathless fray, and will still live on when the sword of the conquered has been beaten once more into the ploughshare of peace. Ask any man of the 11th Hussars fighting at the front to-day what he thinks about the Charge of the Light Brigade, and, whatever he says, he will stand an inch higher while saying it. And so it is with the nation. In these days, from the Secretary for War to the latest recruit--even to the humblest non-combatant grimly enduring--we are greater, stronger, more whole-hearted for the memory of that glorious episode. It is far reaching. It is immortal.

"When can their glory fade?
Oh! the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made,
Honour the Light Brigade;
Noble Six Hundred!"

Ten days had elapsed since their defeat at Balaclava when the Russians planned an over-whelming attack on our besieging army. Their objective was Mount Inkerman, their methods were secret, and their men 60,000. The event shows that they hoped, by sending a strong force to the west of Sevastopol and some 20,000 men to engage our army in the field, to carry Inkerman, and so compel us to raise the siege.

Through the mists of the cold November morning the Russians, stirred to the highest enthusiasm by the priests, advanced on Inkerman, and a fight of the most desperate character ensued. Our Second Division, sore pressed by overwhelming numbers, was suffering heavily, when, notwithstanding the fog, the enemy's strategy became apparent, and the Rifle Brigade were sent hurrying up from the field to their assistance. The 50th followed, and the battle round Inkerman, now a trifle less unequal, eddied and swirled and locked, turning now in favour of one side and now the other. All sides belched flame and in turn were bespattered with lead. Here a heap of Russian slain, and there, through a rift of the mist, a fitful gleam of serried bayonets. The British broke ranks and formed squares, and, in this formation, every square found work of its own in repelling the fierce and sudden rushes of the enemy. A couple of 18-pounders were brought up and long gaps were hewn out of the deep ranks of the attacking host. Small groups found antagonists by instinct in the mist and fought to a finish on their own. Commanders became fighting-men, and every fighting-man his own commander. It rested with each and all who had in common, not only the fog, but a general purpose, to see that they kept their place between anything Russian and the summit of Inkerman; and, in the process of this, hand-to-hand combats as heroic as any in the Trojan War were joined. "A series of dreadful deeds of daring," says Davenport Adams, "of sanguinary hand-to-hand fights, of despairing rallies, of desperate assaults in glens and valleys, in brush-wood and glades and remote dales, from which the conquerors issued only to engage fresh foes, till the old supremacy, so readily assailed, was again triumphant and the battalions of the Czar gave way before our steady courage and the chivalrous fire of France."

_Wyman & Sons Ltd., Printers, London and Reading._