Arthur halted the Forty-eighth and wheeled the formation into line, perpendicular to the head of the attacking French column.
‘Advance!’ he ordered and the men, two deep, marched forward to add the weight of their fire to that of Mackenzie’s brigade.
The first volleys had caused the French to stop and now they began to fill out their flanks as they formed a firing line. The quicker they could do it, the quicker they could overwhelm the firepower of the last line of British infantry standing between them and victory.
‘Keep moving there!’ Arthur called to his right as one of the companies began to lag slightly behind the others. The men obediently quickened their pace and pulled back into position. Ahead of the regiment Arthur could see the faces of the men on the right of the French column, glancing anxiously towards the new threat closing on their flank. He had time to reflect that this was further proof of the inferiority of the French system. Once their columns were unleashed they were unwieldy giants lumbering forward and unable to manoeuvre freely enough to cope with threats from either flank or the rear.
The two sides closed, and all the while Mackenzie’s brigade continued to exchange fire with the head of the column, pinning the French in place while Arthur came up with the Forty-eighth Foot. A handful of French skirmishers had run forward to interpose themselves between the column and the approaching British line, and opened fire. A handful of men went down, one after another, and Arthur heard the faint whip of a bullet close by as they closed to within a hundred yards of the enemy. This was the moment, he decided, and filled his lungs.
‘Forty-eighth will halt! Make ready to fire!’
The line ceased its advance and the front line shifted a pace to the right to present a staggered wall of men, all of whom could now bring their muskets to bear. As soon as he saw they were ready Arthur called out, ‘Take aim! Fire!’
Those skirmishers still standing were struck down, and then their comrades in the flank of the French column, wheeling round under the impact, toppled. As the redcoats hurriedly lowered their muskets and reached for the next round, Arthur heard a faint groan of dismay and fear from the French ranks.
‘Pour it on, boys!’ shouted the colonel of the Forty-eighth. ‘Pour it on!’
The flank companies of the French column began to shuffle round, their progress being held up by the bodies underfoot, but another volley swept into them, striking down more men and creating further chaos, and the attempt to present a firing line to Arthur and his men collapsed. The men of the Forty-eighth methodically loaded and fired with a ruthless efficiency, cutting down swathes of Frenchmen with each volley. Yet the column stood its ground, hemmed in by the bodies of its fallen. At the front their losses had been grievous, but then so had the losses amongst Mackenzie’s brigade, Arthur saw. Perhaps a third of his men were down already and Arthur knew they could not stand much more punishment. If the French could hold their nerve for a few more minutes then victory was surely theirs. Behind Mackenzie’s men the remains of Cameron’s brigade were still re-forming, and could play no part in the action at this critical moment. Arthur was seized by frustration at his powerlessness to affect the outcome. All now depended on which soldiers endured this terrible punishment for longest.
Then a movement caught his eye. From the saddle he could just see over the mass of the French column to the ground beyond. Through the thin smoke wafting back from the men firing along the front, something flashed. And then again, and more - sunlight reflecting off polished steel, he realised. Fresh hope stirred in his heart as he saw a line of cavalry sweeping in against the far side of the column.
‘By God, it’s the Light Dragoons!’ he exclaimed through gritted teeth. ‘Ride on. Ride on and break them!’
Attacked
‘Advance!’ he ordered and the men, two deep, marched forward to add the weight of their fire to that of Mackenzie’s brigade.
The first volleys had caused the French to stop and now they began to fill out their flanks as they formed a firing line. The quicker they could do it, the quicker they could overwhelm the firepower of the last line of British infantry standing between them and victory.
‘Keep moving there!’ Arthur called to his right as one of the companies began to lag slightly behind the others. The men obediently quickened their pace and pulled back into position. Ahead of the regiment Arthur could see the faces of the men on the right of the French column, glancing anxiously towards the new threat closing on their flank. He had time to reflect that this was further proof of the inferiority of the French system. Once their columns were unleashed they were unwieldy giants lumbering forward and unable to manoeuvre freely enough to cope with threats from either flank or the rear.
The two sides closed, and all the while Mackenzie’s brigade continued to exchange fire with the head of the column, pinning the French in place while Arthur came up with the Forty-eighth Foot. A handful of French skirmishers had run forward to interpose themselves between the column and the approaching British line, and opened fire. A handful of men went down, one after another, and Arthur heard the faint whip of a bullet close by as they closed to within a hundred yards of the enemy. This was the moment, he decided, and filled his lungs.
‘Forty-eighth will halt! Make ready to fire!’
The line ceased its advance and the front line shifted a pace to the right to present a staggered wall of men, all of whom could now bring their muskets to bear. As soon as he saw they were ready Arthur called out, ‘Take aim! Fire!’
Those skirmishers still standing were struck down, and then their comrades in the flank of the French column, wheeling round under the impact, toppled. As the redcoats hurriedly lowered their muskets and reached for the next round, Arthur heard a faint groan of dismay and fear from the French ranks.
‘Pour it on, boys!’ shouted the colonel of the Forty-eighth. ‘Pour it on!’
The flank companies of the French column began to shuffle round, their progress being held up by the bodies underfoot, but another volley swept into them, striking down more men and creating further chaos, and the attempt to present a firing line to Arthur and his men collapsed. The men of the Forty-eighth methodically loaded and fired with a ruthless efficiency, cutting down swathes of Frenchmen with each volley. Yet the column stood its ground, hemmed in by the bodies of its fallen. At the front their losses had been grievous, but then so had the losses amongst Mackenzie’s brigade, Arthur saw. Perhaps a third of his men were down already and Arthur knew they could not stand much more punishment. If the French could hold their nerve for a few more minutes then victory was surely theirs. Behind Mackenzie’s men the remains of Cameron’s brigade were still re-forming, and could play no part in the action at this critical moment. Arthur was seized by frustration at his powerlessness to affect the outcome. All now depended on which soldiers endured this terrible punishment for longest.
Then a movement caught his eye. From the saddle he could just see over the mass of the French column to the ground beyond. Through the thin smoke wafting back from the men firing along the front, something flashed. And then again, and more - sunlight reflecting off polished steel, he realised. Fresh hope stirred in his heart as he saw a line of cavalry sweeping in against the far side of the column.
‘By God, it’s the Light Dragoons!’ he exclaimed through gritted teeth. ‘Ride on. Ride on and break them!’
Attacked
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