Simon Scarrow - Fire and Sword

During the night a peasant had arrived from a village in the hills to the east. He reported that another French column, of perhaps five thousand men, was marching to join the force at Roliça.That news had determined Arthur to strike as soon as possible, and destroy General Delaborde and his men before they could be reinforced. His plan was simple enough.Two smaller columns of British troops had set off before dawn, marching swiftly towards the left and right of the hill. With luck Delaborde’s attention would be drawn to the three main columns, allowing the others to scale the hills and fall on the flanks of the French force.

Satisfied that things were proceeding according to his intentions, Arthur snapped his telescope shut and turned to Somerset, who had just joined the small group of staff officers observing the deployment of the British army. ‘Time to join the fray, I think.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Still no word from Freire, I assume?’

‘No, sir. None of our mounted patrols could locate him.’

‘Well then, he will just have to miss the battle. Too bad.’

Arthur called on his officers to follow him and descended from the church tower. They mounted the horses waiting in the street and rode off to join their commands.When Arthur reached the small rise behind the centre column that he had chosen as his command post he halted and watched as the three British columns formed into lines.The bands of each brigade began to play lustily to add to the spectacle that Arthur hoped would preoccupy the enemy’s attention while the trap was closed. For nearly an hour the two armies faced each other, just beyond cannon range, while Arthur and Somerset watched for signs of movement along the crests of the hills that overlooked General Delaborde’s flanks.

At length, Somerset thrust his arm out. ‘There, sir!’

Arthur followed the direction indicated and saw the head of a column appearing over the crest of the right-hand hill. No more than a minute later the troops of the leftmost column came into view.

‘Time to begin the attack.’ Arthur nodded, then turned his attention towards the French. ‘No, wait.’

‘Sir?’

‘Delaborde’s seen the danger. Look.’

Already the single battery of French guns was being limbered up and then, together with the main body of French infantry, they began to retire. Delaborde’s cavalry and skirmishers waited a moment to cover the retreat and then followed the rest of the small army as it marched past Roliça and made for the higher ground behind the village. By the time the flanking columns had descended from the slopes the last of the French had retreated out of danger.

‘Damn,’ Arthur muttered. ‘Somerset, pass the word. The army is to advance to that village and halt.We’ll have to make another attempt to bring Delaborde to bay.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Once more the British army advanced, this time in line, and the formations rippled slowly across the dry stubbly grass as they entered the valley and moved towards the new French position. As they approached Roliça Arthur could see that it would be a hard fight. Delaborde’s force was now arranged along the crest of a low hill with very steep sides facing the British. Here and there the slope was broken by a gully that led sharply up towards the crest. Arthur halted the army and sent fresh orders to the flanking columns to make another attempt to scale the hills on each side of the enemy. Now that the sun had reached its zenith the heat in the valley was stifling and a heat haze shimmered close to the ground. Thirsty and sweating, the two columns set off again, up towards the ridge.This time there would be no chance of surprising Delaborde. The French general could choose to retreat towards Lisbon through the narrow pass behind him, or stand his ground and fight, hoping that he might yet be rescued by the other French column somewhere to the east.

‘Hello, what’s Lake up to?’ Somerset mused, and Arthur turned and saw that one of his regiments, the Twenty-Ninth Foot, was still advancing towards the French. ‘Why hasn’t he halted?’

Arthur watched in silence as the Twenty-Ninth continued towards a gully in the slope in front of them. A sick feeling welled up in his stomach and he gritted his teeth angrily.‘That damned fool, Lake. I fear he intends to scale that gully and break into their position.’

‘He can’t be serious, sir. Not without support.’

‘You know Lake, bull-headed and keen to make a name for himself.’

‘Yes, sir. As long as he doesn’t seek to do it posthumously.’

‘Get over there, and put a stop to that nonsense.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Somerset saluted and spurred his horse into a gallop towards the left of the line where the Twenty-Ninth should have halted. But, even as Arthur watched, Lake’s men marched into the gully and began to clamber over the steep ground towards the French. Somerset was never going to reach them in time to prevent the coming tragedy. Arthur opened his telescope and began to follow the action as the first men from Lake’s battalion emerged from the gully into the French line. At once the enemy turned to deal with the new danger, pouring volley after volley into the disordered ranks of the Twenty-Ninth as they clambered out of the gully. Soon the ground around the battalion’s colours was littered with redcoats and the survivors were desperately returning fire at will. Then the steadily thickening gunpowder smoke obscured the view and Arthur lowered his telescope. He glanced to each side of the valley and saw that neither of the flanking columns would be in place to make an attack for at least another half-hour. Unless something was done immediately, the Twenty-Ninth would be wiped out.

He turned to the nearest of his staff officers.‘Simpson! Ride forward and pass the order for a general advance.’

‘Yes, sir!’

Arthur took one last look at the unequal fight engulfing the Twenty-Ninth and then urged his mount forward, riding to join the rest of the army as it began to advance towards the waiting Frenchmen. With the skirmishers of the Rifles and the Light Companies of the other battalions leading the way, the British troops began to move up over the boulder-strewn slopes and gullies. As the skirmishers from both sides met there was a steady crackle of musket fire and shouted orders, and cries of pain and the wild exchange of insults and battle cries that echoed off the sides of the valley. Arthur joined the men of the central column as they struggled to advance with dressed ranks. The slopes were too uneven to permit the neat formations that the men had practised on drill grounds back in Britain. Slowly - too slowly, to Arthur’s mind - they made their way up to the crest, while all the time the sound of firing from the direction of the Twenty-Ninth steadily diminished. Ahead of the British line the skirmishers continued to fight it out, but as the first ranks of the leading battalions emerged on to the crest the guns of Delaborde’s single battery opened fire. Cones of lead balls tore through the ranks, opening gaps that were quickly closed by fresh men as the redcoats advanced on the main French position.

Now they were picking their way over the bodies of dead and wounded, British and French alike. A short distance ahead the British skirmishers had halted and gone to ground as they came up against the main French line. The British battalions halted to load their weapons and then continued forward until they were within effective musket range of the enemy, no more than fifty paces away. Then, as the French loosed their first volley and dozens of redcoats went down, the rest calmly halted, raised their muskets, thumbed back the firing hammers and waited for the order.

‘Fire!’

Hundreds of muskets spat flame and smoke in a thunderous roar and then the sergeants bellowed the order to reload.The French fired again and Arthur heard balls zip through the air close by as he strained to gauge the progress of the fight through the eddying smoke. With a pounding of hooves Somerset came riding up, and reined his horse in sharply.