Flashman's Escape by Robert Brightwell

that Beresford never wanted to fight a battle at Albuera. He had become a nervous old woman fretting at every detail. He had a strong position on the ridge and a big numerical advantage: he had ended up with thirty-five thousand men to the French twenty-four thousand, even though some British units had not yet arrived. I think he wanted to show Soult how many men he did have, to deter the Frenchman from attacking at all. If that was his plan then he had seriously misjudged his man.
    Soult was a seasoned and tenacious commander. He must have watched the display with interest and may even have guessed what had prompted it. He was certainly not intimidated, but now he had the advantage of seeing the entire enemy disposition displayed before him. He saw clearly that he was expected to attack across the bridges and how far along the crest his enemy’s force extended. He would have seen that it did not reach far enough south to occupy the two small hills that were the highest points of the ridge. He would also have noticed that the troops on the southern end of the allied line were all Spanish.
    The victor of Gebora would have quickly seen the potential of attacking from the south. He could occupy the southern hilltops with guns and march his men against the weak Spanish troops who would flee in panic and disrupt the resistance of the British troops further along the crest. With luck he would roll up the entire allied army and once again an emphatic victory would be his. But to do all of this he needed the element of surprise; he needed to get to those hilltops before his enemy had a chance to defend them. So while he sent most of his army south, hidden in the forest, to loop around the bottom of the ridge; he also did what his enemy expected and launched an attack on the village.

Chapter 5
     
    From the British lines it seemed a slow start to the attack. The crest of the ridge was out of range of the French artillery and so we could watch in safety as the scene unfolded before us. The French batteries were concentrating on our guns which were covering the bridges over the river. As we had been given plenty of time to prepare for the battle and our guns were well dug in, they had little effect.
    After half an hour of this fruitless bombardment, Soult sent over some of his cavalry. French horsemen cantered over the bridges and through fords to probe at the village. Our cavalry responded with troops of their own, and for the next half an hour there were various inconclusive skirmishes between the mounted men around the village. The British infantry in the village fired their inaccurate muskets at the fast-moving horsemen and had little to show for their efforts.
    At one point some of the British horsemen crossed the river to the French side, but in response several brigades of French cavalry moved out from the forest and formed up in their squadrons facing the men in red. Even from a distance it was a magnificent sight. There were thousands of horsemen and their uniforms were a riot of colour. There were dragoons in green, Polish lancers with their strange square-ended helmets in blue, hussars in uniforms of various colours with their dolman jackets thrown over one shoulder and cuirassiers with their metal breastplates reflecting the grey sky above them.
    Some of the women who had followed their men up the ridge were now standing in gaps between the companies to see the spectacle for themselves. They exchanged ribald comments with the men on the finery displayed before them. The show of force was enough for our cavalry, though, who retreated back to our side of the river.
    “I wish they would get on with it,” muttered Lieutenant Hervey, who had ridden up beside me. “It looks like it will tip down soon. It will be difficult firing volleys in the rain, with the powder getting damp.”
    “Perhaps that is what they are waiting for,” I suggested.
    But no sooner were the words out of my mouth than trumpet calls indicated that the