Free Flashman's Escape by Robert Brightwell

Stewart and see if he cannot persuade Beresford. In the meantime get the men out of the village and regroup up on the ridge top.”
    I rode back down the slope towards the village to get my men. They were streaming out of the village now, with Hervey and Price-Thomas organising them into ranks. I saw that the Portuguese division on the other side of the village was sending in more defenders to replace those withdrawn.
    “Come on, men,” I called. “We are re-joining the battalion and then the whole brigade is reforming on the ridge top.”
    “Are we going to help those brave Spanish troops, sir?” asked Hervey.
    I caught the eye of Sergeant Evans who, like me, grinned at the thought of the Spanish standing long enough for us to join them. “I think it is more likely that we will be fighting a rear guard action after the Spanish have retired from the field.”
    “Retired,” scoffed the sergeant at my choice of word. “They won’t be retirin g– they will be running. They will be perambulating as fast as their little legs can carry them in a minute.”
    “Well, they seem to be doing well at the moment,” stated Hervey defensively.
    To humour him I pulled out my glass to see just how much of a shambles the Spanish line was. “Good God,” I breathed as the scene swam into focus. The French had come over the southern knoll in their three columns. Seeing the Spaniards in front of them, they had not wasted time forming line and instead looked to use the columns to smash their way along the ridge top. But to my astonishment the Spaniards were holding them, and doing it well. The Spanish were deployed in lines so they could bring all their guns to bear, unlike the French, who could only fire from the outer ranks. The Spanish also had some artillery pieces in their line which must have been firing canister into the tightly packed French ranks with devastating effect. But in turn the French had now got cannon on the summit of the southern knoll, which were firing to support their troops. The Spanish were taking severe punishment, but standing firm and giving it back with interest. It was probably the finest moment for the Spanish army in the whole war. It was just unfortunate that things would probably have been better if they had run. But I did not know that then and so I turned to the others and admitted, “They are holding the French and doing it handsomely.”
    My view of this military miracle was obscured by what seemed a sudden grey mist. By the time I had put the telescope back in my pocket the squall had hit us too. It was a torrential downpour of rain and hail that stung the cheeks and dropped icy water down the back of my coat.
    “Come on, men,” I shouted above the roar of the rain. “Get up that hill, stopper your barrels and keep your locks wrapped.”
    It took nearly twenty minutes to get formed up and re-join the rest of the brigade on the ridge top. By then I was soaked to the skin as the storm continued. Most of the men had fired off any charges in their weapons, preferring to march with an empty gun. Drawing a damp charge out of the barrel was a time-consuming business. The Spanish were still holding and seemed to have settled into a battle of attrition with the French. It was hard to see with the rain and the gun smoke, but both sides seemed to be firing away, some eighty yards apart.
    Colborne rode past with a group of officers. “Ah, Flashman,” he called. “Come and tell us again what you saw from the village.”
    I rode over to the huddle of officers, wiping the rainwater from my eyes so that I could see them clearly. Saluting, I reported: “I saw several thousand infantry coming up the slope, at least three columns, supported by cavalry and artillery. I am pretty sure that it is their main attack, sir, and the Spanish cannot hold them for much longer.” That I thought was the strongest possible hint I could give that we should start to pull back. When the Spanish did eventually break there