by Rory Muir
Although Le Marchant's blood was up – he had ‘fought like a private soldier, and as many as six men fell by his hand’ – he recognized the danger. He sent his ADC (his son) to the rear to look for Cotton, who should have been bringing forward Anson's brigade to support the charge and, if necessary, cover Le Marchant's retreat. It was impossible to rally the brigade, the men were too scattered and too wild, and it seemed best to use their remaining energy and enthusiasm to exploit their success to the utmost. Le Marchant therefore rode forward again and joined Lieutenant Gregory who, with half a squadron of the 4th Dragoons, was preparing to charge a French square. Le Marchant took the lead and galloped forward, closely followed by the dragoons. The French held their fire until the cavalry were almost upon them and Le Marchant was struck by a shot in the groin, which knocked him from his horse. The square dissolved and escaped into the trees, for they were now close to the forest in the rear of the French position, but Le Marchant was dead. His son, returning across the battlefield, his heart filled with joy at his father's triumph, discovered a party of dragoons carrying the corpse. ‘Overpowered by this unexpected calamity he threw himself upon his father's body in an agony of grief, which those who witnessed it, accustomed as they were to the miseries of war, felt they never could forget. All were deeply moved, and even many of the common soldiers were observed to shed tears as the corpse was carried along the line.’10
The charge was now almost completely over, for the men were mentally and physically exhausted and their horses were blown. Lord Edward Somerset, commander of the 4th Dragoons, is said to have captured a battery of five guns as it attempted to escape, but a scattered charge on the remainder of Taupin's division (17th Léger and 65th Ligne) was repulsed with some loss. Wearily the dragoons made their way back towards their lines, passing the allied infantry who were headed in the other direction, busy collecting prisoners and consolidating the gains that had been made. The whole charge had probably lasted less than an hour – one participant says forty minutes – and had covered about two miles.11
The heady excitement, rapid movement and chaos of the charge left most participants with a jumble of confused but vivid images rather than a neat sequence of events in their memory. A letter home from William Bragge of the 3rd Dragoons, written only three days after the battle, conveys something of the raw impression, before frequent tellings and listening to other men's accounts imposed an external order:
My Dear Father,
Knowing the Anxiety you and my Mother will feel upon hearing of a great and sanguinary Battle, in which the Third Dragoons bore no inconsiderable share, I take the earliest possible opportunity of informing you that I escaped perfectly sound, Wind and Limb, together with the Little Bay Mare who carried me through the Day delightfully and I believe to her Speed and Activity I may in a great measure attribute my marvellous escape, as I at one Time had to gallop along the whole Front of a French Brigade retreating in double quick step.
… the Cavalry advanced upon the Backs of the Infantry. Our Brigade literally rode over the Regiments in their Front and dashed through the Wood at a Gallop, the Infantry cheering us in all Directions. We quickly came up with the French Columns and charged their Rear. Hundreds threw down their Arms, their Cavalry ran away, and most of the Artillery jumped upon the Horses and followed the Cavalry. One or two charges mixed up the whole Brigade, it being impossible to see for Dust and Smoak.12
Memory of another incident has been preserved because it makes a good anecdote. No doubt the story has been smoothed and rounded in the telling, but it is valuable for showing the unexpected human quirks that lie behind the dry phrases of tactical studies and drill manuals:
After the third line of infantry had been broken Major Hugonin, who was commanding the left squadron of the regiment [4th Dragoons], had his horse shot under him. He was a sufferer from gout, and wore boot and spur on one foot only, with a large cloth ‘shoe’ on the other, so without his horse he was helpless. He stood, sword in hand, cursing his ill-fortune until a trooper came up, dismounted and helped the Major back into the saddle. The trooper made his way back on foot while Major Hugonin galloped forward, seeking more Frenchmen.13
Lieutenant John Massey (3rd Dragoons) told his brother Dick, ‘Our loss in men was trifling all things considered for we charged Infantry which is a thing very rarely done. I can't tell you of any hairbreadth escapes that I had for I don't know of any, but the balls were thick and near enough to be pleasant.’ And John Luard, of the 4th Dragoons, came across a French gun limbered up and trying to escape: ‘I cut down their leader, turned the horses' heads towards our side, and then galloped on.’ Nor was it only the cavalry who were caught up in the excitement. Grattan tells how Captain William Mackie of the 88th disappeared in the confusion and was feared to have fallen. But he returned, ‘covered with dust and blood, his horse tottering from fatigue, and nothing left of his sabre – but the hilt.’ He had joined the cavalry as they passed and then taken part in their charge, although if Grattan's account is to be believed, neither his horse nor his sword was really fit for the job.14
Captain Parquin, that celebrated raconteur and member of Marmont's escort squadron, gives us a relatively unembroidered glimpse of the fag end of the charge when scattered troops on both sides might engage in personal combats – or seek to avoid them:
I saw a chasseur of the 20th who was being closely pursued by two English horsemen.
‘Turn and face them!’ I cried, going to his help. But he did not stop and one of the Englishmen, whose horse was obviously out of control, cannoned into me and we both went down. Then the second Englishman galloped up and shouted: ‘You are my prisoner!’
With his sabre he gestured me to walk ahead of him. The memory of my captivity in Russia flashed through my mind. I noticed that my would-be captor had not drawn his pistol; if he had done so, I would have been forced to obey him. Instead, I parried the blows which he aimed at me with his sabre for I had quickly risen from beneath my horse which made off towards the escort. I endeavoured to strike the legs of his horse so as to unhorse him. When my horse returned without me the other members of the escort became alarmed and two of them came to look for me and to bring me my horse. As soon as they saw me they rode towards us at full speed and the Englishman, when he saw them, retired immediately.15
But the most vivid personal account of the charge and its aftermath comes in a letter from Lieutenant Norcliffe Norcliffe of the 4th Dragoons, written three weeks after the battle. This deserves to be quoted at length:
My Beloved Father,
Thanks to the Almighty, and the very great care of my surgeon, I am quite out of danger from the severe wound I received, but it was perhaps the most hairbreadth escape that ever was heard of, the skull was just injured, and the tenth part of an inch more must have consigned me to an eternal rest. We were pursuing the French Infantry, which were broken and running in all directions. I was cutting them down as well as I could, when in the hurry and confusion I lost my regiment and got with some soldiers of the 5th Dragoon Guards; on looking behind me, I could only see a few of the 5th, and we were in the centre of the enemy's infantry, amongst whom were a few Chasseurs and Dragoons. Nothing now remained but to go on, as we were in as much danger as by going any other way.
I rode up to a French officer, who was, like the rest, taking to his heels, and cut him just behind the neck; I saw the blood flow, and he lost his balance, and fell from his horse. I perceived my sword was giving way in the handle, so I said to the officer who lay on the ground: ‘Donnez-moi votre épée’ – I really believed he was more frightened than hurt; I sheathed my sword and went on with his. I had not gone 10 yards further before my horse was wounded in the ear by a gun shot; he turned sharp round, and at the same instant I was shot in the head. I turned giddy, and fell off. I can recollect a French Dragoon taking away my horse. I was senseless a few seconds, and when I recovered, I saw the French Dragoons stripping me of everything; they began by turning my pockets insid
e out, to look for money which they stole; my sword and sash, hat, boots, and spurs off my feet, dragging me along the ground in the most barbarous manner, saying: ‘Eh … Anglais, vous n'êtres pas à cheval.’ Another said: ‘Eh, je sais [sic] bien le garçon, il m'a poursuivi. …”; in fact I never saw such usage in my life. ‘Allons donc, enlève-toi’ said another; I shook my head as much as to say ‘I am unable to rise,’ when he held a sabre over me, crying out: ‘… je vous mettrai à coup de sabre’. At last I was left by the cavalry, and the French infantry came all round me, and I expected the same treatment. Judge of my surprise, when I experienced quite the contrary. ‘Courage mon ami’. I asked for water, being very faint from loss of blood, ‘Ma foi! je n'ai point de l'eau, pauvre garçon,’ and another ‘Etes-vous officier?’ I stammered out: ‘Oui, Lieutenant de Quatrième Régiment de Dragoons.’ Presently an officer came up with five [soldiers]; each took a leg and an arm, and the fifth supported my head, which was bleeding profusely, and I will say I never saw men more careful; if ever I groaned, owing to the pain of being carried, they said to each other: ‘Gardez-vous, gardez-vous, camarade.’ They carried me into the very centre of the French column, close to a very fine battalion of Grenadiers, with great bear-skin caps. I rested here a little, for I was very weak, and a great number of French officers came round me and were most particularly civil. One, Colonel of Grenadiers, poured some brandy into a cup and wanted me to drink it; I just wet my lips. He then ordered 5 Grenadiers to fall out, and carry me further into the wood. I made a sign that I had rather be carried by the men who brought me there, fearful of falling into fresh hands. Our infantry was at the time advancing again to the attack; the five men who carried me were desired by all the French officers to take particular care that no-one ill-used me, and that if I could not get away, I was to be laid under a tree. The 5 men seeing our infantry advance, laid me down very carefully under an olive tree, and each of them shook hands with me before they left me, and said: ‘Je vous souhaite bien, Monsieur,’ and they also desired that I would remember they belonged to the 65th Regiment. Our Infantry I could now see (though it was getting dark) were bayonet to bayonet, and I had at last the pleasure of seeing the enemy running in every direction. I had the presence of mind to take off my jacket and cram it into a bush, and as my boots were off I lay as if I was dead, and when they were running away they all passed my tree and took me for a Frenchman. Several of the musket shots from our men struck the back of the tree where I was, but I lay very close to the root. Drums, muskets and everything they could not easily carry, were thrown away by the enemy. One Frenchman was wounded by a musket ball in the side, and fell close to me. I waited till the French had all passed me, and then ran as fast as my strength would let me towards our Riflemen. I was so delighted at getting back, I actually threw my arms around the necks of our infantry. They led me up to where the 6th Division was, and I fell down quite exhausted at the feet of the Grenadier Company of the 32nd Regiment … [Norcliffe's wound was dressed by a surgeon, and after a cold night he was carried into Salamanca the following day, and slowly recovered.]
This is the second horse I have lost in action, as also my saddle, bridle, collar, sword, sash, musket, boots and spurs, and pouch. My beloved Father will see I have been obliged to draw largely on the agent owing to these losses. It was a glorious day for our Brigade. They behaved nobly; 4 men killed of the troop I commanded, and several men and horses wounded. It was a fine sight to see the fellows running, and as we held our swords over their heads, fall down on their knees, drop their muskets, and cry: ‘Prisonnier, Monsieur.’ You see I am not born to be a prisoner. Love to my Mother.16
Norcliffe was rather unlucky to be wounded, for the cavalry's losses were extraordinarily light. Other than Le Marchant himself, only one officer was killed and five wounded, one mortally (this includes two staff officers attached to the brigade). The other ranks lost twenty-two killed, seventy-four wounded and five missing, so that the brigade as a whole lost 108 casualties, or barely one-tenth of its strength.
The damage the charge inflicted on the French left wing bears no relation to these slight losses. Even Lamartinière's return admits that the 62nd and 101st Regiments in Thomières's division were virtually destroyed. The 62nd suffered 868 casualties from 1,123 all ranks, or 77 per cent of its strength; and the 101st lost 1,186 from 1,449, or 82 per cent. The great majority of these were listed as ‘killed or captured’, and while some casualties would have been inflicted by Wallace's attack and D'Urban's cavalry, the bulk would have come in the mass surrender of demoralized men seeking safety from Le Marchant's attack. The Third Division collected these prisoners by the hundred, some horribly wounded by the cavalry, but many unscathed, and Grattan regarded it as noteworthy that ‘Not a man was bayoneted – not one even molested or plundered; and the invincible old third [division] on this day surpassed themselves; for they not only defeated their terrible enemies in a fair stand-up fight, but actually covered their retreat, and protected them at a moment when, without such aid, their total annihilation was certain.’17
The remaining regiment in Thomières's division, the 1st Ligne, suffered much less: according to Lamartinière, it lost only 230 casualties from 1,763 all ranks, or 13 per cent. Evidently it was not broken and succeeded in withdrawing in relatively good order, although its movements and part in the battle are difficult to determine.
Maucune's division did not suffer as much as Thomières's, although it too was broken and took no further part in the battle. The 66th Ligne bore the brunt of the British attack, losing 588 casualties from 1,169 all ranks, or fractionally more than 50 per cent. The 15th Ligne lost 607 casualties from 1,667, or 36 per cent. The second brigade was less exposed: the 82nd and 86th Regiments lost 272 and 270 casualties, or 27 and 23 per cent respectively. Many of these losses would have been inflicted by Leith's attack, which had already broken the French before the cavalry intervened, but the cavalry charge magnified the success of the infantry, greatly increasing the panic in French ranks and the number of prisoners taken.
The leading regiment in Taupin's division, the 22nd Ligne, suffered more than any in Maucune's division. Lamartinière lists 1,006 casualties from a nominal strength of 1,547 officers and men, although this includes casualties suffered when the regiment was engaged on the Guarena on 18 July. If the total casualties are divided in the same proportions as the officer casualties recorded by Martinien, the result would be that the regiment lost 193 casualties, or 12.5 per cent, on the 18th, and 813 casualties, or 60 per cent, on the 22nd.18 This was bad enough, but French sources state that one battalion of the regiment was detached on the morning of the battle, and that the remaining two battalions were left with only 47 men in their ranks at the end of the day.19 The sacrifice of the 22nd enabled the other two regiments in Taupin's division to withdraw to the safety of the wood in good order. These were the 17th Léger and the 65th Ligne – the latter being the regiment which took such good care of Norcliffe. They probably lost a few men at this point, but did not give way until later in the day when attacked by allied infantry.
A number of cannon were taken, and at least some French cavalry fled from the charge – possibly even the whole of Curto's second brigade, which seems to have made no impact on the battle at any point. The two Eagles taken by the allies were both captured in this part of the battle. Dramatic stories are told of their fall:
The first Eagle – that of the hapless French 62nd, whose fate has been told – fell to Lieutenant Pearce of the 44th, a regiment in the Fifth Division. He came on the Eagle-bearer while in the act of unscrewing the Eagle from its pole in order to hide it under his long overcoat and get away with it. Pearce sprang on the Frenchman, and tussled with him for the Eagle. The second Porte-Aigle joined in the fight, whereupon three men of the 44th ran to their officer's assistance. A third Frenchman, a private, added himself to the combatants, and was in the act of bayoneting the British lieutenant, when one of the men of the 44th, Private Finlay, shot him through the
head and saved the officer's life. Both the Porte-Aigles were killed a moment later – one by Lieutenant Pearce, who snatched the Eagle from its dead bearer's hands. In his excitement over the prize Pearce rewarded the privates who had helped him by emptying his pockets on the spot, and dividing what money he had on him amongst them – twenty dollars. A sergeant's halberd was then procured, on which the Eagle was stuck and carried triumphantly through the remainder of the battle. Lieutenant Pearce presented it next morning to General Leith, the Commander of the Fifth Division, who directed him to carry it to Wellington. In honour of the exploit the 44th, now the Essex Regiment, bear the badge of the Napoleonic Eagle on the regimental colour, and the officers wear a similar badge on their mess-jackets.
The second Eagle taken was that of the 22nd of the Line. It was captured by a British officer of the 30th, Ensign Pratt, attached for duty to Major Crookshank's 7th Portuguese, a Light Infantry (or Caçadores) battalion, serving with the Third Division. He took it to General Pakenham, whose mounted orderly displayed the Eagle of the 22nd publicly after the battle ‘carrying it about wherever the general went for the next two days.’20