The French Revolution gave the signal for a long series of wars, in which France, thanks to the great military genius of Napoleon, got the better of all the nations of Europe, except England. At the end of the year 1807 Napoleon was at the height of his power; all central Europe was at his feet, and he had concluded with Russia the treaty of Tilsit, by which the two emperors agreed to support one another, at least passively, in further schemes of aggression. England alone was hostile, and England, though absolutely supreme at sea, was helpless on land, having not only no allies, but no field of action. Napoleon proceeded to give her both by his interference in the Spanish peninsula. First he made the Spanish government co-operate with him in a wolf-and-lamb quarrel with Portugal, occupied that little country with French troops, before whom the royal family fled to Brazil, and cheated Spain out of her share of the spoils. Then by a series of perfidious intrigues he insinuated a French army into the heart of Spain, got into his power the weak old king and his foolish heir, made them both renounce the Spanish crown, and ordered a few fugitive courtiers to salute his own brother Joseph as king of Spain. He knew that Spain had no trustworthy army; he had military possession of the capital, and took for granted that Spain would acquiesce. But the Spaniards, proud of past glories, intensely ignorant, and caring very little for the capital, where alone a few partisans of the new king could be found, broke out into insurrection everywhere. The French forces, which were but small, had to retire behind the Ebro, one little army that had penetrated into Andalusia being actually surrounded and compelled to surrender. Simultaneously an English army landing in Portugal defeated the French at Vimiero, and obliged them to evacuate Portugal under a convention. Napoleon, more irritated than alarmed, poured vast armies into Spain, with the utmost ease defeated the Spanish levies that tried to stop him, and entered Madrid in triumph with his puppet brother in his train. Sir John Moore, who commanded the small English army in Portugal, made a brilliant march into the heart of Spain, threatening to cut Napoleon's communications with France; but he was far too weak to do more than trouble the emperor's repose. French forces of full double his numbers were sent to drive him into the sea, and succeeded, though Moore, turning to bay when he reached Corunna and found his ships not ready, inflicted on them a sharp repulse, of which his own life was the glorious price. Napoleon fondly dreamed that Spain was conquered, and returned to France, leaving Joseph as titular king, and several French armies to complete the work.

Had Spain been left unsupported, a real conquest would still have been impossible, so long as the endurance of the people lasted. The Spanish armies, if such they can be called, were defeated and dispersed in fifty battles. Their generals on very few occasions showed any judgment or capacity. But the panic-stricken runaways of to-day enlisted again none the worse in two or three weeks; the generals discomfited to-day were ready to try again with a serene self-confidence that was not quite a step beyond the sublime. Guerilla bands spread everywhere, sometimes serving in a so-called regular army, sometimes behaving as brigands. A despatch could not be sent to France without a large escort: the duty of convoying supplies was incessant, harassing and often unsuccessful. French armies could march where they pleased, but could not permanently conquer a single square mile. On the other hand the Spaniards unaided could have achieved no definite success against the French armies, and the strain on Napoleon's resources, though real, would not have been ruinous. It was the English intervention which converted the Spanish ulcer, as Napoleon himself termed it, into a deadly disease eating into the very vitals of his power. A treaty of alliance was concluded between England and Spain, signed, as it happened, on the very day of the battle of Corunna (January 19, 1809). The English government did not then know how ignorant, how presumptuous, how untrustworthy, was the knot of self-chosen incapables who styled themselves the Spanish Junta. Nevertheless they took the wise resolution of basing their operations on Portugal and not on Spain. There was a very old alliance with Portugal, which had made the smaller power for a century almost a satellite of the greater one: the Portuguese royal family was in America, and it was hence comparatively easy to rule in its name. But though political considerations dictated this step, it entailed also great military advantages. England having complete command of the sea, the French had to derive all supplies, except such food as the country afforded, from France, which was rendered very difficult by the guerillas. Spain, as a glance at the map shows, is greatly cut up by mountain chains: of these the Sierra de Guadarrama, south of the Douro basin, and the Sierra Morena, north of Andalusia, are serious barriers, though not impassable. The country between them is mostly barren, Andalusia (except parts of the east coast which do not enter into account) being the only very fertile region. Moreover the roads were few and bad. Hence it followed that large armies could not long hold together for want of subsistence, except in Andalusia; while even there a French army could not stay, if an enemy in the centre of Spain intercepted its supplies of ammunition, clothing, reinforcements, coming from France. Moreover in Portugal the English army, with an excellent harbour at Lisbon through which to draw its supplies and reinforcements, was on the flank of Spain. This was clearly the position most favourable[64] for dealing effective blows at the French power in Spain, taken as a whole.

On these facts, added to the necessity of sparing his men to the utmost, for the English government could not supply large numbers, and by no means realised the importance of their opportunity, Wellington[65] based his general plan. He was convinced, as his Correspondence shows, that sooner or later the nations of Europe would combine to overthrow Napoleon's domination, and that meanwhile to keep alive resistance in the Peninsula would be a steady drain on his resources and would set an example to other nations. Hence his first object was to hold his ground in Portugal; his second was to trouble the French hold on Spain when opportunity offered. Finally he hoped, when pressure elsewhere compelled Napoleon to weaken his Spanish armies, to drive them altogether from the Peninsula. Thus the first, and by far the longest, portion of the war is defensive, the battles being only fought when a paramount object is to be gained; the latter portion is offensive.

Wellington landed in Portugal on April 22, 1809. Promptly marching northwards, he forced the passage of the Douro at Oporto with a cool audacity difficult to surpass, and drove Soult into the mountains with the loss of his artillery. Then returning to Lisbon he planned the defensive works which were to protect him whenever, as was sure to happen, the French pressed him with overwhelming strength. The map shows that Lisbon stands at the end of a broad tongue of land between the estuary of the Tagus and the sea. The city itself was not beyond the range of guns on the opposite shore; but ships could be trusted in case of need to keep at bay any enemy who might come dangerously near in this quarter. Across the tongue of land, some twenty-five miles north of Lisbon, a system of forts was constructed, taking advantage of the heights of Torres Vedras, and other inequalities of the ground. Another line, stronger both in form and armament, was drawn ten miles nearer Lisbon; thus even behind the inner line there was ample room for an army.

Having ordered these works, Wellington concerted measures with the Spanish Junta for an advance into Spain. The plan agreed on was that Wellington in combination with Cuesta, who commanded the largest Spanish army, should move towards Madrid up the valley of the Tagus, while Venegas, with another Spanish army, approached Madrid from the south. He soon found out, by bitter experience, what the Spaniards were worth. The supplies promised to his army were never forthcoming, though the commissaries unblushingly asserted afterwards that the English had had double rations all the time. Cuesta was alternately foolhardy and timid, his men ready to yield to unmeaning panic; Venegas was incredibly dilatory: no trustworthy information could be obtained as to the French armies in the north. Marshal Victor, who faced the allied armies, retired at first to a point where he could prevent Venegas from joining Cuesta: then when he found that the English had halted (Wellington had positively refused to advance any further without supplies), and that Cuesta alone was following him, he turned to fight. The Spanish advanced guard broke and fled, and the whole army was soon in such a state of confusion and terror that Victor might have dispersed it, had not the nearest English division (Sherbrooke's) interposed. Wellington in vain urged Cuesta to retreat a few miles to the position at Talavera which he had already selected: the old man took a mulish delight in rejecting advice. When at dawn next morning the French approached, and Sherbrooke began to retire, Cuesta yielded to necessity, but solaced his insane pride by saying to his staff that he had first made the Englishman go down on his knees. He yielded however so completely as to take up the position Wellington assigned to him, though during the retreat a large part of Cuesta's army fled in wild panic on the near approach of some French horse.

The valley of the Tagus being but narrow, the allied armies were able to cover the whole space between the river and the northern hills. The Spanish troops had their right resting on the Tagus, close to the little town of Talavera, and their front was covered by buildings, ditches, and other obstacles, so that it could hardly be assailed. The left of the Spaniards and right of the English was protected by a large redoubt; from this the English divisions stretched across the plain, their left on a little hill, separated by a deep and narrow bit of valley from the boundary hills. Victor, coming up before evening, saw that the hill on the English left was but slightly occupied (by some mistake General Hill had not taken up his position), and tried to seize it by a coup de main. The attack might have succeeded, had not some of the French troops gone astray in the failing light and intricate ground; it was not without some hard fighting that it was repulsed. Another attempt was made early the next morning (July 28) with an even worse result: for Wellington was led by it to strengthen his left, and render any turning movement much more unpromising than before. King Joseph, who was on the field in person, was advised by his military tutor, Marshal Jourdan, to retreat. It was known to the French, though not as yet to Wellington, that Soult's army from near Salamanca would come into the valley of the Tagus behind the allies in a very few days, and the English must either decamp promptly, or be cut off from Portugal. Thus the game would be won without risk, whereas a third attack on Wellington might well end like the others. Victor however was urgent for a renewal of the battle, and Joseph foolishly assented. During this interval the Spaniards were in great confusion, and one of the few generals who were worth anything sent word to Wellington that Cuesta was betraying him. The message was delivered to the commander of an English brigade who conveyed it to Wellington. "The latter, seated on the summit of the hill which had been so gallantly contested, was intently watching the movements of the advancing enemy; he listened to this somewhat startling message without so much as turning his head, and then drily answering: 'Very well, you may return to your brigade,' continued his survey of the French.[66]" Cuesta did not in fact signify, though it required coolness as well as ability to discern it at such a moment. The renewed French attack was directed as before against the British half of the position, a single brigade of cavalry being placed to watch the Spaniards. About two o'clock the French advanced against the whole line, the great object being as before to break or turn the left. Victor had sufficient advantage of numbers over the English alone to engage them on about equal terms on the right, and send a division to turn the left, while attacking with some superiority of force the centre and left. The hill on the left was as before the key of the position, but Victor, had his movements succeeded, would have compelled its abandonment by easier means than mere direct attack. The French left came on with great impetuosity, but Campbell's division advancing in line to meet the columns drove them back with severe loss, and then resumed its position, while the artillery played on the French, and prevented their renewing the attack. In the centre things followed at first much the same course: but there the English guards in repulsing the assault followed up their enemies too far, and were driven back, the French being able to bring overwhelming artillery fire to bear on them; the German legion which formed the rest of Sherbrooke's division was also shaken. The centre seemed broken; but Wellington had drawn down the 48th from the hill on the left. With his usual tactical insight he had seen that the hill would be of no use if he were beaten in the centre; the left must for the moment take care of itself. As on the right, the line showed its superiority over column: after wheeling back to let the retiring crowds pass, the 48th resumed its advance, and pushing the victorious French back, gave time and space for the guards and the Germans to rally, which they quickly did.

Before this, there had occurred on the left one of those heroic feats which military theorists truly say are contrary to all rules of tactics, but which experience shows to be high above rules. On seeing the French division making its way through the narrow valley to his left, Wellington ordered Anson's cavalry brigade to charge them. As they neared the French, who formed squares, they suddenly came on a slight but steep-sided ravine. The veteran colonel of the German hussars stopped short, as he had a perfect right to do, exclaiming, "I will not kill my young men;" but the 23rd light dragoons plunged headlong into the ravine, scrambled up the opposite bank, naturally in great confusion, rallied, dashed between the French squares, and fell furiously on a cavalry regiment in rear. More enemies coming up when they were overmatched already, the 23rd was utterly broken, and only half their number escaped to the protection of their own lines. The advance of the French was however stopped: after this experience they had no mind to press forward into the plain where masses of fresh cavalry stood in reserve; and the repulse of the centre taking place just afterwards, the whole French army returned, foiled but by no means routed, to their original position. Had the Spaniards been trustworthy, Wellington might even yet have won a great victory; but then had they been so, there would have been no battle of Talavera at all. The Spanish troops engaged amounted to three or four regiments and a few guns. The rest did no more for Wellington than what a natural obstacle might have done, in preventing his right flank being turned. In nominal force the advantage was with the allies, who gained also by standing on the defensive, the numbers being under 50,000 French, against at least 54,000, though the French had great superiority in cavalry; but then 34,000 of these were Spanish. The losses on both sides were severe, Wellington losing over 6000 killed and wounded, the French a thousand more.[67]

The day after the battle, when the French were retreating and Wellington was not attempting to pursue them, he was joined by Craufurd's brigade, consisting of the 43rd, 52nd, and 95th. These troops, halting on their way to join the army, were met by crowds of the Spanish fugitives of the 27th, telling the wildest tales of disaster. Craufurd was then fully four ordinary days' march from Talavera, but he resolved not to halt again, and "in 26 hours they crossed the field of battle in a close and compact body, having in the time passed over 62 English miles, and in the hottest season of the year, each man carrying from 50 to 60 pounds weight upon his shoulders."

Wellington had not yet fully learned what the Spaniards were good for. Not content with putting every obstacle in the way of the English obtaining provisions in Talavera, and accommodation for the wounded, of which Cuesta had hardly any himself, the Spanish general obstinately refused till too late to take any steps to observe and delay Soult's approach, of which the allies had now somewhat vague information. Wellington, who could on no account allow his retreat on Lisbon to be cut off, was obliged to move himself towards Soult, and left his wounded in care of Cuesta, whose line of retreat being to the south was not endangered, and who solemnly promised to provide transport for all who could be moved. Wellington soon found that Soult's force had been much underrated, and that he must retire towards Portugal, whereupon Cuesta abandoned the English wounded, all of whom, except those who died of neglect and starvation, fell into the hands of the French. It is no wonder that after his experience of Cuesta, Wellington steadily refused to combine operations with any Spanish general.

The campaign of Talavera may in some sense be called a failure; it was too soon to attempt to shake the French hold on Spain, though Wellington may be excused for the mistake. The magnificent defence of Saragossa had created a great sensation; there was no doubt Spaniards could fight. No one could have imagined the ignorance and the irrational pride of their commanders, or the amazing assurance with which government and generals alike gave elaborate undertakings which they never meant to fulfil. At the same time the slaughter of Talavera was not wasted: the victory gave the English cabinet, and still more the nation, confidence alike in their general and in his troops. Talavera was the first distinct defeat sustained by a French army of any size since Napoleon had appeared on the scene.[68] Wellington had two long years of severe struggle before the tide began to flow in his favour, contending at once with the far superior strength of the French and with half-heartedness at home; it may be doubted whether, without Talavera to his credit, he would have successfully overcome these difficulties.

In 1810 Napoleon gave the chief command to Massena, the ablest of his marshals with one possible exception, the only one who had gained distinction at the head of an independent army. Massena's instructions were, in one of Napoleon's pet phrases, to drive the English into the sea, and the emperor, who could estimate no forces that could not be expressed in battalions, had every reason to expect that he would achieve his task. Wellington's scheme of defence was based on the geographical conditions. Three important rivers flow out of Spain across Portugal into the Atlantic. Where the Guadiana crosses the frontier stands the great fortress of Badajos on the Spanish side, faced by Elvas on the Portuguese. As both were at this time in the hands of the allies (Elvas indeed remained so throughout) they formed a serious obstacle to an attack on Portugal from this direction. Moreover it was obviously absurd for Massena to base his attack on the south, lengthening his communications by hundreds of miles: all that was possible was a subsidiary attack from the French army in Andalusia, already fully occupied with the hopeless siege of Cadiz. The Tagus valley is narrow, and barren of supplies, and almost as circuitous a route from France as the Guadiana. North of the Tagus, the Sierra de Estrella, which is a sort of continuation of the Sierra de Guadarrama, though at an angle to it, lies behind the frontier between Spain and Portugal. The roads across it into the Tagus basin were few and bad, and Wellington took care to render them worse. Thus the only route that needed serious defence was the northern one by the broad valley of the Douro, the natural and obvious course for an invader based on France, the easiest for an army, though not the shortest, between Lisbon and Madrid. Here also two fortresses faced each other across the frontier, Ciudad Rodrigo in Spain on the Agueda, Almeida in Portugal on the Coa, both rivers tributaries to the Douro. Strong as Massena was, he could not spare troops effectually to blockade these, and yet have sufficient superiority to drive Wellington before him. As a necessary preliminary therefore the two fortresses must be taken. Wellington took up his position near the frontier, so as to harass[69] Massena wherever it was possible without fighting a battle, and waited. Ciudad Rodrigo, weakly garrisoned by Spaniards, cost Massena forty days; the commandant, who did his best manfully, was naturally loud in his appeals for help, but Wellington turned a deaf ear. It would have been quixotic to fight a great battle against heavy odds to save a small garrison; as well might a chess-player sacrifice his queen to save a pawn. The turn of Almeida followed, though in consequence of an accidental explosion the siege did not last long. The way was now open for Massena to invade Portugal, though, thanks to Ciudad Rodrigo and to Craufurd, September had been reached. He resolved, as Wellington had hoped, to follow the course of the Mondego.

Sixteen months had now elapsed since Wellington assumed the command. During that time the lines of Torres Vedras had been completed, though no outsiders seem to have understood them, and the Portugese troops, largely officered by Englishmen, had been gradually organised and disciplined. Moreover Wellington had obtained from the Portuguese government authority to order the withdrawal of the inhabitants, and the destruction of mills, barns, everything that could aid the invader. This policy, though not effectually carried out, caused serious difficulty to Massena, and striking the imagination of the Czar of Russia, furnished the model for the defence of that country against Napoleon in 1812. Before the superior force of the French, Wellington had no choice but to retreat, as he had always intended to do: but the Portuguese government, a prey at this time to absurd faction, raised a violent clamour, obstructed his measures for clearing the country, and inspired a general panic among the inhabitants of Lisbon, including even the English civilians. Wellington found it necessary to risk a battle, against his military judgment, in order to prove how irrational was the panic dread of the French, in order also to gain a little more time for clearing the country in front of the lines of Torres Vedras. Fortunately Massena, who was very badly informed, played into his hands: instead of making his way across towards the coast, into the great road from Oporto to Lisbon, he took the direct but very bad road down the Mondego, which, besides other disadvantages, gave his opponent the chance of turning to bay in a most formidable position. Not only so, he did not press his advance, and so allowed time for Wellington to draw to him the English divisions which had been left to guard the Tagus until it was certain that the French were not coming that way.

The position of Busaco, somewhat too large even for the whole army, would not have been tenable without these troops. It is a mountain ridge, one end abutting on the Mondego, the other joining high, more difficult mountains, with a road running along its crest, and its northern face falling very steeply into a deep ravine, whence an equally steep ascent led up to lower uneven ground over which the French line of approach lay. Moreover projecting masses afforded positions for artillery to sweep a great part of the face. Nothing but infantry could obviously be used to assail such a position. Marshal Ney, who was with the French advanced guard, perceived that it was only partially occupied, and would have attacked at once; but Massena was ten miles in rear, and refused his consent. Two days later all Wellington's divisions had joined him; the peculiarities of the ground had been made the most of, and it was too late. On September 27 the French came on in two great columns with their usual dash and rapidity. The left column, directed a little to the right of the English centre, for a time succeeded in breaking a gap in the English line, till Hill's division, hastening along the ridge from the right (it was in this quarter that the excessive length of the position had caused part to be unoccupied), drove them down again. The other attack, much further towards the English left, had a still more disastrous fate. Craufurd, taking advantage of a hollow on the face of the slope, had drawn up two regiments in line, out of sight of the ascending French, which, as the head of the enemy's column reached the edge of the hollow, suddenly advanced and hurled them back with terrible slaughter. A similar fate befell the smaller and less serious efforts made by the assailants: the attack was doomed to certain failure, if only the defending army stood steady. How disastrous was the repulse may be estimated from the fact that while Wellington lost about 1300 men, Massena lost considerably over three times that number. One advantage Wellington gained from the battle: his Portuguese troops had been given their fair share of the fighting, and learned by the victory that they need not regard the French as their superiors.

Busaco is an instructive battle in more ways than one. From Wellington's side it is an instance of a political battle, as Napier calls it, of political motives, not military ones, determining a general's action. On Massena's side it illustrates the important lesson that faulty information may easily be ruinous. Not only had he taken the wrong route, believing it to be the best; he also engaged under the impression that the only other alternative was a retreat nearly to Almeida, whereas all the time there was a road over the mountains to his right, which would have enabled him to turn Busaco. On the night of the battle he found this out, and masking the movement next day with a skirmishing attack on the position, he threw his whole army into this narrow cross-road. Had the English general been less hampered by the political conditions, he might well have made Massena rue his audacity in trying so proverbially dangerous a thing as a flank march in presence of the enemy. As it was he felt bound simply to resume his retreat, of which, once in the open country, there could be no cessation, until the lines of Torres Vedras were reached. Massena had never even heard of the lines till a short time before he came in sight of them; it is strange that so little was known about them, seeing that no such elaborate works had been constructed in Europe since the days when the Romans, in the decline of the empire, built their great walls in Northumberland and elsewhere to keep out the barbarians. Massena reconnoitred them from end to end, in the hope of finding a weak spot; but the more he looked at them, the more hopeless the prospect of an assault appeared, for every day in fact added to their strength. After a month he withdrew to Santarem, high up the Tagus, where subsistence was procurable, and there remained all the winter. Wellington was far too severely hampered by politics to attack him. The Portuguese nation was as a whole sound in its patriotism, and the troops only wanted to be taught; but the politicians were selfish, narrow-minded and factious to an incredible extent, and Wellington found it harder to master the politicians than to stop Massena. Moreover the English government was all this time in a state of perplexity and weakness,[70] and gave the army in Portugal nothing which could on any pretence be withheld.

Thus March arrived before reinforcements reached Wellington; and then Massena, whose army was greatly diminished through sickness, began his retreat, despairing of reinforcements reaching him in time, or of any effective diversion being caused by the French army of Andalusia. Massena's retreat was conducted with great skill, and it was not till he was nearing Almeida that the pursuing army was able to gain any great advantage over him. Wellington was in truth at the beginning anxious to relieve Badajos, which Soult was besieging with an army from Andalusia, and which was at first gallantly defended by the Spanish garrison. But the commandant having been killed, his successor, traitor or coward, instantly surrendered. The disaster having happened, Wellington followed up Massena more vigorously, and when he had pushed him far enough, detached Beresford with a considerable English force to combine with the Spaniards, and attempt to recover Badajos. He himself pressed Massena back to Ciudad Rodrigo, and blockaded Almeida, accepting battle rather than abandon the prey which had nearly fallen into his hands. The battle of Fuentes d'Onoro, fought on May 5, 1811, was not particularly creditable to either of the rival generals. Tactically it was a drawn battle, strategically it was a distinct victory for Wellington; for Massena, probably piqued at hearing of his supercession by Marmont, retired after the action, leaving Almeida to its fate. The commandant however was equal to the occasion; blowing up the works as completely as he could, he led the garrison out, and with a mixture of skill and good fortune made his way in safety through the besieging lines. Almeida was of no immediate use, but it remained in Wellington's hands, something at least of a barrier against a fresh invasion of Portugal.

Meanwhile Beresford had commenced on the very day of the battle of Fuentes d'Onoro a so-called siege of Badajos. He had no proper siege train, and must have failed in any case: but within a week Soult was approaching, and the attempt had to be abandoned. Beresford very unwisely yielded to the eagerness of his own troops and the wish of the Spanish generals, and agreed to accept battle—very unwisely, for nothing could be gained, and much might be lost. Even victory would be contrary to Wellington's principle of not expending a British soldier unless for an adequate end. It is true that he had 30,000 infantry, while Soult had only 19,000; but a very large majority of these were Spanish troops, nearly starved and miserably led: on the other hand Soult was superior in guns, and had double the number of cavalry. Moreover Beresford mismanaged his position. He occupied a line of high ground with the fordable stream of the Albuera in front of it. As the road which formed his line of retreat led away in rear of his left centre, he perhaps naturally placed his English and Portuguese on the left, leaving the Spanish general Blake, over whom he had no authority, to occupy the centre and right, which was posted on the famous hill for which the battle of Albuera will ever be remembered. So far he had perhaps done wisely, but he neglected to occupy a detached hill on the other side of the stream opposite his right; and behind this hill Soult was able to mass his troops unobserved. The battle (May 16, 1811) began as Beresford expected, with an attack on the bridge and village of Albuera in front of his left; but this was only a feint. Simultaneously more than half the French army moved out from under cover of the hill that Beresford had ignored, and were soon in line across his right flank. Blake refused to believe the evidence of his senses until too late; the Spaniards were only beginning to form a new front to the right when the French were upon them. Naturally they were thrown into confusion. Stewart coming up with a British division to their support was in so great a hurry that he did not form line until he reached the summit level of the hill. A mass of French cavalry, their approach unseen in the obscurity of a heavy storm, charged the leading brigade as it was forming, and nearly destroyed it. Fortunately the same darkness concealed this blow from Soult, and the rest of the division had time to reach the hill and renew the fight; part of the Spanish troops also were brought into action. Both sides fought desperately, but the line formation of the English gave them some little advantage over the close columns of the French. Beresford for a moment wavered, but recovered himself, and acquiesced in the order already given in his name, to bring up practically the last reserves to sustain the conflict on the hill. The chief stress fell on the fusileer brigade, consisting of the 7th and 23rd regiments under General Myers, and led into action by General Cole commanding the division, which mounted the hill just in the nick of time.

"At this time six guns were in the enemy's possession, the whole of WerlÉ's reserves were coming forward to reinforce the front column of the French, the remnant of Houghton's brigade could no longer maintain its ground, the field was heaped with carcases, the lancers were riding furiously about the captured artillery on the upper parts of the hill, and behind all, Hamilton's Portuguese and Alten's Germans, now withdrawing from the bridge, seemed to be in full retreat. Soon however Cole's fusileers, flanked by a battalion of the Lusitanian legion under Colonel Hawkshawe, mounted the hill, drove off the lancers, recovered five of the captured guns and one colour, and appeared on the right of Houghton's brigade precisely as Abercrombie passed it on the left.

"Such a gallant line, issuing from the midst of the 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. Myers was killed, Cole, the three colonels, Ellis, Blakeney, and Hawkshawe, fell wounded, and the fusileer battalions, struck by the iron tempest, reeled and staggered like sinking ships. But 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 with voice and gesture animate his Frenchmen; in vain did the hardiest veterans break from the crowded columns and 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 striving, 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 slowly and with a horrid carnage it was pushed by the incessant vigour of the attack to the farthest edge of the height. There the French reserves mixed with the struggling multitude and endeavoured to sustain the fight, but the effort only increased the irremediable confusion, the mighty mass gave way and like a loosened cliff went headlong down the steep: the rain flowed after in streams discoloured with blood, and eighteen hundred unwounded men, the remnant of six thousand unconquerable British soldiers, stood triumphant on the fatal hill."

Soult was defeated: he had lost a third of his army, and did not see his way to renew the conflict, though his still formidable cavalry and artillery would have enabled him to do so with good prospects. Beresford deserves credit for holding his ground boldly, though he was well aware that his crippled army was incapable of fighting again: to retreat was to render inevitable the destruction which a confident attitude might and did avert.

Wellington, relieved from any further anxiety in the north, came to Beresford's support. During the rest of the year he continued his system of remaining practically on the defensive, while giving the French as much annoyance as possible. He attempted a fresh siege of Badajos, which had the effect of bringing Marmont down from the Douro basin, and Soult back from Andalusia. Then retiring to a position to cover Elvas he awaited attack, which the French marshals, hampered by various difficulties, declined to make. Later in the year he blockaded Ciudad Rodrigo, compelling the French armies to concentrate for its support, and again retiring before superior force. His political difficulties, strictly so called, were as great as ever, perhaps greater: for the Portuguese authorities took advantage of his successes to assume that the war was over and that the British army might be got rid of, and the home government supported him but feebly. But his army was more and more inured to war, and his Portuguese well worthy to stand in line with the English. Moreover Napoleon was already beginning to withdraw troops from Spain for the huge army he was organising against Russia. It was practically certain, when 1811 closed, that 1812 would see Napoleon engaged in a gigantic contest with Russia. The day for which Wellington had been waiting patiently was beginning to dawn.