Soult, though a day later than he had intended, was ready for his great stroke at the passes by dawn on July 25th. The main blow was to be delivered on the Roncesvalles front, where he had the 34,000 infantry of Reille and Clausel assembled, not to speak of the two cavalry divisions, which would only become useful when he should reach the plain of Pampeluna. So much was D’Erlon’s attack on the Maya passes the secondary part of the scheme, that we find Soult informing that general that his advance would probably be facilitated by the arrival in the enemy’s camp of the news that Roncesvalles had been forced: this would compel Hill to fall back down the Bastan, and he should be pursued as briskly as possible.

The Roncesvalles business was therefore the more important part of the programme for July 25th. The Marshal had chosen for the routes of Clausel and Reille two roads, which climb up from St. Jean-Pied-du-Port and the valley of the Nive to the bleak plateau above the historic abbey, where the relics of Roland were still shown. Between them lies a broad and deep valley, the Val Carlos, with the mountain stream called the Nive d’Arneguy running down its middle. The eastern road climbs the slopes to the (French) left of the valley: it was practicable for artillery and vehicles, and sappers had been working for the last few days to improve some of its more tiresome curves. This road, after passing the Venta d’Orisson, the last inhabited spot on the north slope, and the ruined fort of Château Pignon, comes to the crest under a hill called Leiçaratheca, immediately in front of the higher position called Altobiscar, where the watershed lies. It then passes for a mile along this watershed known as the ridge of Ibaneta, and descends by curves to the abbey on the Spanish side. The other road, no more than a mountain track in 1813, and quite impracticable for guns or transport, climbs uphill on the western slopes of the Val Carlos, only three or four miles from the better route as the crow flies, but always separated from it by the broad and deep intervening combe. After passing the village of Arneguy, it gets up on to the narrow crest of the mountain, the Airola, which separates the Val Carlos from the Val Haira, the next valley westward. Along this ridge it winds for five or six miles, till the crest joins the main watershed of the Pyrenees at a small plateau called the Linduz, about two miles or so west of the point on the Ibaneta ridge where the other road comes in. A practicable track along the watershed joins them. Since 1813 the whole of the road-geography of this stretch of the Pyrenees has been changed, by the construction of a metalled chaussée from Arneguy up the Val Carlos, which did not exist in 1813: it goes along the slopes, not along the actual crest, like the mere track which Reille’s men had to follow on July 25th, and is now a better route than the old high road by Venta d’Orisson and Château Pignon. From the Linduz there is a steep path going straight down into Spain, without joining the Roncesvalles road: it is called the Puerto de Mendichuri, and leads to Espinal. The little plateau has yet another exit; along the crests to its west comes in a very bad track from the valley of the Alduides, named the path of Atalosti. It is because it lay at such a ganglion of joining ridges, that the Linduz was marked by a ruined earthwork—a relic of the war of 1793-4.

To understand the general lie of the fighting ground, it must be remembered that from the Linduz to Altobiscar is about three miles of saddle-back ridge, lowest in the middle, where the chaussée crosses the sky-line at 3,600 feet above sea-level, while the highest point of the Linduz is about 4,200, and that of Altobiscar about 4,900 feet up. The descent into France is much steeper than that into Spain—Burguete and Espinal are only 700 feet below the summit of the pass, Arneguy and the village of Val Carlos on the French side 3,000 feet below it. This is the reason that caused Soult to send his right column along the lofty path on the Airola ridge, from which they could approach the Linduz on a level, instead of bidding them climb up direct from the deep-sunk bottom of the Val Carlos trough.

It should be added that the scenery of the three miles of the Roncesvalles front is not precipitous or Alpine. There are some outcrops of rock in certain places—e. g. along the front of the Leiçaratheca hill, but the prevailing aspect is rather like that of Scottish highland scenery on a large scale. The slopes are mostly short slippery grass, not unclimbable for a good walker, though difficult for the soldier of 1813 carrying the 70 lb. of his fighting kit and heavy knapsack. The lower skirts of the hills are covered in many parts with woods of pine and beech and stunted undergrowth of oak: in some places these stretch up right to the summits—the Linduz has thick foliage on its eastern flank, and the ridge leading to it from the Airola spur has trees on both sides of the narrow track which winds along its crest, so that troops ascending it are only intermittently visible. Much of the Ibaneta position—the central saddle between the Linduz and Altobiscar—is covered with bush. But from the highest summits there are long and clear views over the woods and the grass-slopes alike—views much more commanding, it may be noted, toward the French than toward the Spanish side. So striking is the general effect that, even on the morning of battle, it fixed itself on the minds of several of the combatants as a memory not to be forgotten[856]: fighting has seldom taken place with such a broad and majestic horizon.

Soult knew that his attack would be expected on the high road—Clausel’s troops had been visible to Byng’s outposts for some time, and on the night of the 24th there had been a slight skirmish of picquets between the Leiçaratheca and Château-Pignon. But he was under the impression that he would take the enemy entirely by surprise in his second attack, that directed against the Linduz by the obscure and difficult path along the crest of the Airola mountain, which since the war of 1793-4 had only been used by shepherds and smugglers. And on to this narrow path he pushed the full half of his infantry—the whole of Reille’s three divisions. It is probable that we must write down the whole of this movement as a mistake: the track was so bad that it could only be used by daylight—at night it would have been impossible to discover the way, among steep slopes and thickets. There were so many ups and downs, and the grass slopes on each side were so slippery, that nothing could be done in the dark. The actual result was that the whole 17,000 bayonets of Reille advanced with a front of two men, or even in Indian file, forming a sort of procession many miles long. The head battalion was fighting hard on the Linduz before the tail battalion had begun to stir from Arneguy. Reille had made over his batteries and his regiment of corps-cavalry to Clausel, receiving in return eight mountain guns carried by mules, and a train of pack-beasts laden with infantry ammunition. It is obvious that a movement of this sort could only succeed if the enemy was surprised, since the column had no thrusting-power; it was all length without breadth, and one brigade ready at the Linduz might hold up the entire three divisions, which would have no space to deploy so as to make their numbers felt. This, as we shall see, is precisely what happened: the Linduz was found in British occupation, and Reille was blocked for the whole day in front of a very inferior force.

On the Château Pignon-Altobiscar road Soult had sent forward the whole of Clausel’s force, the three divisions one behind the other, in the order Vandermaesen-Taupin-Conroux. Behind the last infantry division was the cavalry, and then all the guns and transport. Everything on wheels belonging to Reille had been put in at the tail of Clausel’s impedimenta. This made a column of interminable length. The conditions were better for an advance on this front than on the western track, since the road was broad and the slopes on each side of it fairly practicable: but there were formidable positions to be carried before the watershed could be reached.

Byng and Morillo had been for three weeks at the Roncesvalles passes, but it was only eight days since they had been put under the command of Cole, who had come up with the 4th Division from his long stay in front of Pampeluna. And it was only on the 22nd that Wellington had sent to Cole the warning that the French main body was moving toward St. Jean-Pied-du-Port, and that he might expect to be attacked. On the 23rd Cole received the stringent orders which have been quoted on an earlier page, but the still stronger message of the 24th seems only to have reached him after the fighting had begun.

While Byng and Morillo were in charge they had evidently counted on being attacked along the high-road, and possibly also in the depths of the Val Carlos. But no serious attempt had been made to cover the highland path that comes out on the Linduz, much farther west. It was only watched by a picquet—one company of Morillo’s men encamped in the ruined redoubt of 1793 on the Linduz. The other points of access were carefully blocked: Byng had a strong first line of defence on the Leiçaratheca hill, whose rocky upper face gave good cover for skirmishers. It was held by the three light companies of his brigade, the attached company of the 5/60th and one battalion[857] and three light companies from Morillo’s right-hand brigade. Two miles behind was the real fighting position, occupied by the Buffs and the ‘1st Provisional’ (2/31st and 2/66th), with two of Morillo’s battalions[858]. Byng’s third battalion, the 1/57th, was detached far downhill to the left, on the lower slopes of the Altobiscar, watching the Val Carlos. The third Spanish battalion of Morillo’s right-hand brigade, Leon, was detached in a similar fashion to the right, to the foot of the Altobiscar heights, to guard a by-path, which crosses the main chain of the mountains and comes down into the upper valley of the Irati river at the foundry of Orbaiceta.

The remaining battalions of Morillo’s left-hand brigade[859] were down in the Val Carlos, on ground south of the village of the same name, in a position blocking the upper and higher end of that deep-sunk depression. They covered the flank of the Altobiscar heights, and were not far from the 1/57th. Their line of retreat, if they should be pushed, was up a very steep path, which comes into the chaussée on the Ibaneta ridge[860]. It was this brigade which supplied the picquet on the Linduz, the only precaution taken to cover the extreme left of the Allies’ fighting ground. The whole force on the front originally consisted of 2,000 bayonets of Byng’s brigade and 3,800 in Morillo’s six battalions.

When Cole took over from Byng the general responsibility for the safety of the eastern passes, he brought up his head-quarters to Viscarret in the valley of the Erro, but placed his first British brigade, that of Ross, at Espinal, in the valley of the Urrobi, on the high road to Roncesvalles, only five miles from the abbey and the ‘Puerto’, and three from the pass of Mendichuri leading up to the Linduz. He was thus in a position to reinforce the passes at two or three hours’ notice with one brigade, and with his whole 6,000 bayonets in half a day’s march. On the night of the 24th, having received both Wellington’s first letter of warning and Byng’s report that his picquets had been attacked, Cole resolved to bring up his reserves nearer to the front. By the most fortunate of inspirations he directed Ross’s brigade to march before dawn—at 2 a.m.—and to occupy the head of the Mendichuri pass and the Linduz.

Ross, obeying orders all the more readily because he had just received Spanish information that the Linduz was going to be attacked next day[861], moved off in the dark, and mounted the Mendichuri, much incommoded on the way by sharp turns where trees had been blown down in a recent storm, and cumbered the path. He had the 20th with him: the 7th was following: the 23rd was left behind at Espinal, to start by daylight and bring on the baggage. Though the distance to the Linduz was only three miles, it took in the darkness more than four hours to reach the summit[862]. There everything was found quiet at dawn—the Spanish picquet in the old redoubt indeed was so sleepy that Ross and his staff rode into them without having been challenged[863]. Dawn had now come; though nothing suspicious had been observed, the general sent out the Brunswick-Oels company attached to the brigade to reconnoitre along the spur in front, while the 20th piled arms and lay down on the summit, to eat and get some rest after the night march. In the far distance to the north-west the tents of Campbell’s Portuguese, encamped on the farther side of the Alduides valley were perfectly visible. But shortly after 6 o’clock distant musketry began to be heard from the other flank—the direction of the Leiçaratheca—where the busy day’s work was just beginning. It was some time, however, before Ross’s brigade came in for their share of it.

Soult’s attack, as we have seen, was delivered by two columns each of 17,000 men, and each striking by one narrow road at a vital point of the enemy’s defences. There was practically no dispersion of forces on subsidiary enterprises, for the two demonstrations which he made on his flanks on the morning of the 25th were trifling affairs. To distract the attention of Campbell’s brigade in the Alduides, he directed all the National Guards of the Val de Baigorry and the other western valleys to assemble on the mountain called Hausa, opposite the Portuguese camp, to light many fires there, as if they marked the bivouacs of a large force, and to show themselves at many points. Little good came of this to the National Guards, for Campbell, an active officer, marched at them without delay, and drove them in helpless rout down the valley. But Soult (unlike the unfortunate local levy) profited perceptibly from the move, for the noise of firing drew down to the Alduides the two British generals responsible for the Bastan—Hill and W. Stewart. And while they were absent, off their own ground, their troops at Maya were attacked, and suffered many things for want of a commander.

A second similar demonstration was made in the valley east of Roncesvalles. Here the local National Guards, backed by a battalion of the 59th under Colonel Loverdo, crossed the main chain of the mountains and attacked Morillo’s right flank-guard—the regiment of Leon—at the foundry of Orbaiceta in the Irati valley. The Spaniards defended themselves stoutly, and held their ground all day. But the noise of this skirmishing far to their right rear was decidedly trying to the nerves of Byng and Morillo, who for some time could not be certain that their flank had not been turned by a respectable force. However, nothing came of this skirmish, since it grew evident by the afternoon that the enemy was weak and unable to press forward. It is barely worth putting on record that one battalion detached from the tail of Conroux’s division, went up the trough of the Val Carlos, and watched Morillo’s left-hand brigade without attempting to close with it.

Having dismissed these feints, concerning which no more need be said, we may proceed to the real fighting. At about 6 a.m. Vandermaesen’s division, at the head of Clausel’s long column, neared the hill of Leiçaratheca, where the seven British and Spanish light companies were ensconced in the rocky slope commanding the high road. The position had obviously to be stormed by frontal attack if there was reason to hurry, for it could only be turned by very long flanking movements over the steep slopes on each side of the road. General Barbot, commanding the leading brigade, deployed the 1st Line and 25th Léger, and attacked with a swarm of tirailleurs the whole front of the hill. The attack failed completely, the defenders being under good cover and perfectly steady. The French, when their first rush had been stopped, threw themselves down among the stones and gorse, and kept up a useless fire upon their almost invisible adversaries. Clausel, after three hours of this profitless bickering, sent in high rage a message to Barbot, that he would have him cashiered, unless he pulled his men together and delivered a serious attack[864]. Meanwhile the French battalions were coming up one after another from the rear, and accumulating behind the single brigade that was engaged. Barbot called back his disordered troops, re-formed them in column, put in a fresh battalion, and made a second and a third attack on the hill: all naturally failed—the troops being tired and discouraged. But the matter was finally settled by the divisional general, Vandermaesen, leading off his three rear battalions[865] across the steep hillside to the east, and turning the Leiçaratheca by a long détour. At the same time Clausel began to shell the position with six guns brought up from the rear. When Byng saw his outlying force in danger of being cut off, he ordered it to retire to his main body on the Altobiscar. This it did in good time, and when Clausel again advanced against the Leiçaratheca frontally, with the 50th-Line, while the flanking column drew in on the right flank, he received only a few shots from lingering skirmishers, and occupied the position with the loss of 9 men killed only.

So long had the turning movement taken, that by the time that the French had got back into order again, and could advance towards Byng’s real fighting ground, it was past 3 o’clock in the afternoon. The Altobiscar position was even more formidable than that on the Leiçaratheca; Clausel looked at it, felt it, and did not like it: it was impossible to turn save by a vast détour: this, he says in his dispatch, he was preparing to do, by sending his rear division (Conroux) to circumvent the whole crest of Altobiscar and the still higher summit to the east of the road, a march of many miles. But at 5 o’clock a dense mountain fog rose, the enemies became invisible to each other, and all movement became impossible. Byng was left unattacked upon his chosen position—though not destined to stop there. The losses on both sides had been absurdly small, considering that 17,000 French had faced 6,000 British and Spaniards for eleven hours. But really only Vandermaesen’s division on one side and the Allied light companies on the other had been engaged. Clausel says that he had but 160 killed and wounded—among the last General Vandermaesen himself[866]. Byng and Morillo had 120 casualties—the former remarks that this was an extraordinarily low figure considering that the French had shelled the Leiçaratheca for some time—but the cover was good[867]. There were more Spaniards hurt than British: their conduct had been exemplary. Morillo himself had been there, exposing himself with his usual reckless courage.

At the other end of the line the fighting was much more serious. It will be remembered that at 6 o’clock Ross was on the Linduz, with his leading battalion, and a second close behind: the third had only recently started the climb up from Espinal by the Mendichuri. He sent out his light companies to observe the northern slope of the plateau which he had occupied, that of Brunswick-Oels being directed along the wooded spur or crest which forms the western wall of the depression of the Val Carlos. Meanwhile the troops listened to the commencement of the long roll of musketry, which told how Clausel was attacking Byng on the other side of that valley. Three or four hours passed; General Cole rode by on his way to visit the Roncesvalles front, told Ross to keep a good look-out, and informed him that Anson’s and Stubbs’s brigade were coming up via Burguete, the former to reinforce the Spaniards at the foundry of Orbaiceta, the latter to the Ibaneta to support Byng. Somewhere about 11 o’clock, according to our best eye-witness, the outlying picquet of the Brunswick company detected dust rolling above the beech copses which masked the crest-path in front of them, and a little later caught intermittent glimpses of troops passing between the trees. It was doubted whether they were French, or some of Morillo’s troops retiring from Val Carlos. But about noon, Ross, having been warned to look for trouble, told the Brunswickers to advance and verify the character of the approaching strangers, while he himself called up the left wing of the 20th regiment and followed in support: the rest of the brigade were directed to stand to their arms on the Linduz. The German light company went forward some half a mile on a very up-and-down track, till they got quite close to the oncoming troops, who appeared to be in no particular order, a straggling crowd advancing along the crest, which is here only thirty yards broad, with trees and bushes on both flanks. When there was no more than eighty yards between the parties the French dressed their front, so as to cover the whole breadth of the ridge, and began to fire. They were the two compagnies d’élite of the 6th Léger, the leading battalion of Foy’s division, at the head of Reille’s column; close behind them the rest of their battalion was pushing up, as quickly as was possible with men moving on such a narrow track. The sixty Brunswickers, finding themselves in front of such a superior force, fell back, firing, on their supports, pursued by the enemy. General Ross, wanting to gain time for his brigade on the Linduz to deploy, ordered the leading company of the 20th—No. 8, Captain Tovey’s—to charge with the bayonet and throw the French back. There followed one of the rarest things in the Peninsular War, a real hand-to-hand fight with the white weapon. The French skirmishers in front gave way into the bushes, clearing the front of the company behind them. Then the two parties, each advancing up one side of a small declivity, met face to face at the top, with only ten yards between them when they came in sight of each other. ‘The French instinctively stepped back a pace,’ says the Brunswick officer who has left us the best account of this clash, ‘several of them made a half turn, as if about to give way; but their officers, some with appeals, some with threats, and some with curses, kept them to their work. They stood firm, and their bayonets came down to the charge: so did those of Tovey’s company. For a few seconds the two sides surveyed each other at a distance of two paces: then one French company officer sprang forward into the middle of the British, and began cutting right and left. He was at once bayoneted, and then the two sides began to fence cautiously with each other, keeping their line and not breaking forward into the enemy’s ranks; it was more like bayonet drill than a charge. I do not think that more than a dozen men fell on either side. After a minute the English captain saw that the French supports were closing in—he shouted ‘right about face’, and his men trotted back. When our front was clear of them, our five (four)[868] companies opened fire by platoons, and as the distance was only 100 yards we saw heaps of the French fall at each volley[869].’ Tovey’s company lost 11 killed and 14 wounded out of about 75 present in this extraordinary adventure, which had given the three rear companies and the Brunswickers time to form up across the crest and in the bushes on each side of it. It is astonishing that a man of the 8th Company got away—clearly the enemy had been too much astonished to pursue as he might have done[870].

The fight on the path that leads to the Linduz now became a very confused and constricted business, with many casualties on both sides, since French and English were firing at each other along a sort of avenue and could hardly miss. Foy’s second battalion, the 1/69th, had now reinforced his first, and finally the left wing of the 20th, badly thinned, gave way and fell back in some disorder to the point where the crest-path debouches on to the Linduz plateau. Here all was ready for defence—the right wing of the 20th, with the regimental colours flying, was waiting ready for the enemy, with the 1/7th in immediate support and the 1/23rd in reserve. When the narrow-fronted French column tried to burst out of the defile, officers in front, drums beating the pas de charge, a long-reserved volley smote it, and all the leading files went down. There was a pause before the third of Foy’s battalions, the 2/69th, got to the front and tried a similar attack, which failed with even greater loss. For the whole of the rest of the afternoon spasmodic fighting went on at the Linduz. ‘The enemy was visible,’ writes one of Ross’s brigade, ‘several thousands strong, on the higher part of the spur; every half-hour or so he sent another company down to relieve his skirmishers. He always came up in detail and slowly, for there was a tiresome defile to cross, over a deep cutting in the crest[871], where only one man abreast could pass. We could always let the head of the attack debouch, and then attack it and throw it back upon its supports[872].’ No attempt was made to turn the Linduz by its eastern side, among the steep slopes and thickets at the head of Val Carlos: all attacks came straight along the spur. Reille attributes this in his dispatch to the dreadful delays at the rear of his long column, owing to the narrowness of the path. He acknowledges that an attempt should have been made to push on to the Ibaneta, but it was 3.30 before Maucune’s first battalion began to arrive to Foy’s assistance, and 5 before the rear of his division was up. ‘By this hour it was too late to think of turning movements’—even if the fog which stopped Clausel had not swept down on the Linduz also. As a matter of fact only Foy’s four front regiments—five battalions—were put into the fight[873]. Similarly on the British side the fight was sustained only by the 20th, relieved, after its cartridges were all spent, by the 7th and the 23rd.

Reille does not omit to mention that after the first hour of fight was over, Cole had begun to show reserves on the Linduz which would have made any attack by Foy’s division, unsupported, quite hopeless. It will be remembered that the commander of the 4th Division had started Anson’s brigade for Orbaiceta, and Stubbs’s brigade for the Ibaneta ridge, when first the attack on Byng was reported, and he had gone to the Altobiscar himself to watch the progress of affairs on that side. While he was there Foy’s attack on the Linduz developed: Cole at once rode to the left, to see how Ross was faring, and in consequence sent downhill to bid Anson abandon his long march to the extreme right, and to turn up the Roncesvalles pass, as Stubbs did also. The British brigade took post on Ross’s right; the Portuguese brigade on the Ibaneta, watching the steep path from the Val Carlos. Up this there presently came the 1/57th and the Spanish battalions which had been near them. Thus Cole showed a continuous line from the Altobiscar to the Linduz, held by 11,000 men placed in a most formidable position not more than three miles long. Nor was this all—General Campbell in the Alduides, after scattering the National Guards who had tried to delude him in the early morning, had heard the firing at Roncesvalles, and (though he had no orders) thought it his duty to march with his five Portuguese battalions toward the sound of battle. Taking the highland track along the upper end of the Alduides, he appeared on Ross’s left at 4 o’clock in the afternoon by the so-called path of Atalosti. He was in a position to outflank any attempts that Reille might make to turn Ross’s position on the western side.

When the fog fell Soult was in a very unpleasant situation. Having chosen to attack his enemy with narrow-fronted columns of immense depth, over two constricted routes, he had been brought to a complete check. Clausel had driven in Byng’s outpost, but was stuck in front of the Altobiscar: Reille had failed to move Ross at all, and was blocked in front of the Linduz. The losses had been negligible, it is true—not much over 500 in all if the Marshal is to be believed. But those of the Allies were still smaller, and the confidence of the men had been raised by the way in which they had easily blocked for some ten hours, and with small loss, an army whose vast strength they could estimate by the interminable file of distant troops crawling up the roads in the rear[874]. If the men, however, were cheerful, their commander was not. Cole estimated the French at 30,000 men and more, and quite correctly: he had himself only 11,000 in line, with 2,000 more of Campbell’s Portuguese in touch on his left. Picton’s 3rd Division, which lay at Olague on the morn of the 25th, had no doubt started to close up; but it was a long day’s march away, and could not be at Altobiscar or on the Linduz till the 26th. Anything might be happening in the fog which lay deep on the mountains all night. Cole determined ‘that he could not hope to maintain the passes against the very great superiority of the force opposed to him—amounting to from 30,000 to 35,000 men[875]’, and that he must retire by night under cover of the mist. Even if his views had been less pessimistic, he would yet have been compelled to retreat by the action of Byng, who had fought heroically all the day, but was obsessed by fears as the fog settled down. He had come to the conclusion that, as the enemy had possession of the path along the eastern hills to Orbaiceta, and had superabundant numbers, he would be using the night to send a large force in that direction, where only the Spanish regiment of Leon was on guard. They could not be stopped, and when down in the valley of the Irati would be able to take Roncesvalles from the rear, and to throw the whole defending force on to the necessity of retiring by the Mendichuri and Atalosti routes, on which retreat would be slow and dangerous. Byng therefore sent a message to Cole that he must needs retire, and was already beginning to draw off his troops, under cover of his light companies, when he received Cole’s orders to the same effect. The moral responsibility for the retreat lay equally on both—the technical responsibility on Cole alone, as the superior officer: he might, of course, have ordered Byng back to his old position, which the French had left quite unmolested.

Was Cole’s pessimism justified? Wellington thought not: he wrote to Lord Liverpool ten days later, ‘Sir Lowry Cole, whose retreat occasioned the retreat of the whole, retired, not because he could not hold his position, but because his right flank was turned. It is a great disadvantage when the officer commanding in chief is absent. For this reason there is nothing that I dislike so much as these extended operations, which I cannot direct myself[876].’ And he was no doubt thinking of Cole, no less than of Picton, when he wrote that ‘all the beatings we have given the French have not given our generals confidence in themselves and in the exertions of their troops. They are really heroes when I am on the spot to direct them, but when I am obliged to quit them they are children.’ Cole was an officer of the first merit in handling troops, as he was to show at Sorauren two days later; and that he was not destitute of initiative had been sufficiently proved by the advance of the 4th Division at Albuera, where he was practically acting without orders[877]. But there seems no doubt that the scale of the operations in the Pyrenees made him nervous: he was responsible on the 25th July not for a division but for a small army, and he was well aware of the enemy’s superiority in numbers. His conduct was the more surprising because he had received before 10 o’clock Wellington’s stringent dispatch of the night of the 24th, telling him to ‘maintain the passes in front of Roncesvalles to the utmost,’ and to disregard any wide turning movements to the east on Soult’s part. These orders reached him at the Leiçaratheca, just as he was witnessing Byng’s successful repulse of Barbot’s brigade. Possibly the excitement of the moment prevented him from thoroughly appreciating their full meaning, and for the rest of the day he was busy enough, riding from front to front on the passes. As he wrote in his first short account of his doings, ‘having had no sleep for two nights, and having been on horseback from 4 a.m. till 11 at night, I am somewhat fagged[878].’ It is, of course, quite unfair to criticize a responsible officer in the light of subsequent events; but as a matter of fact Cole was in no danger—the fog endured all that night and far into the morning of the 26th. The enemy at Orbaiceta was negligible—one battalion and a few National Guards: Soult sent no more troops on that wretched road. And if he had done so, after the fog cleared on the 26th, they would have taken the best part of a day to get into action. It seems certain that Cole could have held the passes for another day without any great risk; and if he had done so, Soult’s whole plan of campaign would have been wrecked. But, of course, the fog might have lifted at midnight: Soult might have sent two divisions by a night march to Orbaiceta, and a retreat by bad tracks like the Atalosti would have been slow, and also eccentric, since it did not cover the Pampeluna road, but would have taken Cole to Eugui and the Col de Velate. Nevertheless, looking at the words of Wellington’s dispatch of the 24th, it seems that Cole disobeyed orders: he did not hold the passes to the utmost, and he did not disregard turning movements to the far east.

Both the Linduz and Altobiscar were evacuated in the early hours of the night of July 25th-6th: the French did not discover the move till morning, and by dawn the whole of Cole’s force was far on its way down the Pampeluna road entirely unmolested, though very weary.

To understand the general situation on the morning of July 26th, we must now turn back, to note what had been happening in the Bastan during the long hours of Byng’s and Ross’s fight in the southern passes. The supplementary part of Soult’s plan had been to force the Maya defile, and thus to break in the left-centre of Wellington’s line of defence, at the same moment that his main body turned its extreme right flank, by forcing its way through the Roncesvalles gap. D’Erlon’s three divisions, for whom this task had been set aside, had no long détour to execute, like those of Reille: they were already concentrated in front of their objective; their leading section was at Urdax, only a few miles from the summit of the Maya ridge; their most remote reserves at Espelette, in the valley of the Nive, were within one day’s march of the British positions.

The orders issued by Soult to D’Erlon on July 23rd ran as follows: ‘Comte D’Erlon will make his dispositions on the 24th to attack the enemy at dawn on the 25th, to make himself master of the Puerto of Maya, and to pursue the enemy when he shall begin his retreat.... It is to be presumed that the hostile forces in the Bastan, in the Alduides, and in the passes of Ispegui and Maya will draw back the moment that they hear of [Clausel’s and Reille’s] movement, or else that they will begin to manœuvre, so as to leave their present positions ungarrisoned. Comte D’Erlon will seize the moment to attack them briskly, and to seize the Maya pass. From thence he will march by Ariscun on Elizondo, and then on the Col de Velate, or possibly by Berderis on the pass of Urtiaga, according to the route which the enemy may take in his retreat. He should remember that he must try to unite as soon as possible with the main body in the direction here indicated, and to get into communication with General Reille. Whatever may happen, he must send strong detachments to pursue any hostile columns that may try to get off to their left [westward], to discover their routes, worry them, and pick up prisoners.’

These are very curious orders, as all their directions depend on the idea that Roncesvalles will be forced with ease, and that on hearing of its being lost all the Allied troops in the centre of Wellington’s line will retire in haste. Soult committed himself to this hypothesis in the words ‘it is to be presumed that the enemy will defend the position of Altobiscar feebly, because he will see that he is being outflanked by Reille’s divisions on the Linduz, and threatened at the same time, on his right flank by the detachment and the National Guards who are demonstrating in the direction of Orbaiceta.’ But what if Roncesvalles were held for twelve hours against Clausel, if Reille were completely blocked all day on the Linduz, and if the demonstration on Orbaiceta proved ineffective? In this case the British troops on the Maya front will not hear of disasters in the south, they will not retreat, but stand to fight; and D’Erlon, far from having a walk over the pass, as a commencement to a rapid pursuit of a flying enemy, will have a hard day’s work before him.

This is what was to happen. D’Erlon, instead of running against an enemy who was about to retreat, and pushing him forward with ease, met with troops determined to hold their position, and found himself let in for one of the bloodiest battles on a small scale that were fought during the whole war. That he was finally successful, though at a heavy cost, was due to the mistakes made by the British generals in front of him.

The disposition of the troops which formed Wellington’s centre was as follows. Hill was in charge of the whole sector, from the Maya Pass to the head of the Alduides valley. His force consisted of the 2nd Division (minus Byng’s brigade, detached to Roncesvalles nearly a month back), and of Silveira’s Portuguese division. William Stewart held the left, with the three available 2nd Division brigades—Cameron’s, Pringle’s, and Ashworth’s Portuguese. The two British brigades were in or about the Maya Pass, Ashworth was holding the Ispegui Pass, seven miles to the east, with one battalion in the defile, and the others in support on the road from Errazu. Silveira’s two brigades continued the line southward, Da Costa’s watching the Col de Berderis and other minor passes south of the Ispegui, while A. Campbell’s was in the Alduides, on the slopes above the village of that name. Silveira himself was with Da Costa. Campbell, as we have already seen, was in close touch with the Roncesvalles force, and ultimately joined it.

On the other flank the 2nd Division at Maya had as its nearest neighbour the 7th Division, which was holding the ‘Puerto’ of Echalar. Behind lay the Light Division by Vera, and the 6th Division, now under Pack, since Clinton’s health had again broken down, in reserve at Santesteban.

Now on the early morning of the 25th the first troops stirring were Soult’s National Guard detachments on the Alduides front, which (as we have already seen) attracted the notice of Campbell’s Portuguese, and suffered for their temerity. Their activity, most unfortunately, drew the attention of Sir Rowland Hill in this direction. He rode out from his head-quarters at Elizondo to visit Campbell, when the demonstration was reported to him. And he was actually in the Alduides, at the extreme southern end of his sector, when the French attacked in force the Maya passes, at its extreme northern end. This was a pardonable mishap, since he was on his own business. But it led to his being absent from the real point of danger. Quite unpardonable, however, was the fact that William Stewart, commanding the 2nd Division, abandoned his own troops and went out to join Hill in the same direction[879], toward the front of Silveira’s brigades, attracted by the news of fighting at early dawn. He would seem to have left no note of his probable whereabouts at Maya, so that he was sought in vain for many hours, when his troops were attacked. In his absence the command of his division fell to General Pringle, who had arrived from England only two days before, to take over the brigade of which Colonel O’Callaghan of the 39th had been in temporary charge since the opening of the campaign. Pringle knew neither the troops nor the ground, and being only a brigadier had no authority to make new dispositions, when his commanding officer was still technically present, though invisible for the moment.

The whole responsibility for what happened on the morning of the 25th, therefore, fell on Stewart. And he must also be given the discredit of the very inadequate arrangements that had been made for the defence of the pass. The French at Urdax were only four miles from the crest, and it was known that they were in strength close behind—their large camps about Ainhoue, where Abbé’s division was cantoned, were perfectly visible from the heights[880], and obviously crammed with men. Considering that he was in close touch with the enemy, Stewart’s precautions were ludicrously incomplete. The Maya position consists of a broad open grassy saddle, between the high mountains to east and west—the Alcorrunz peak on the left and the Aretesque peak on the right. The saddle at its lowest point is about 2,000 ft. above sea-level—the flanking heights run up to a thousand feet more. The high road from Urdax and Zagaramurdi climbs the saddle in its middle, runs westward along its summit for a mile, and then descends by a broad curve towards Elizondo on the Spanish side. There is another lesser track which leads up on to the saddle, from Espelette; it gets on to the level of the Col at its extreme eastern end, under the Aretesque height; thence, after running along the crest for a mile, it meets the high road, crosses it, and continues along the slopes of the Alcorrunz peak, and ultimately falls into the by-road from Santesteban to Zagaramurdi. This path, useful for lateral communications east and west, is still known as the Chemin des Anglais, from the work which was spent upon it by Wellington’s army later in the year, when the necessity for good tracks along the front was better understood than it seems to have been in July. In contemporary records it is generally called the Gorospil path.

The west end of the saddle was not inadequately guarded by Cameron’s brigade, which was encamped by battalions on each side of the main chaussée close behind the crest, with four Portuguese guns, of Da Cunha’s battery, mounted on a commanding knoll whence they could sweep the road. But the east end of the position, under the hill of Aretesque, where the minor road comes in, was almost entirely neglected. There was only a picquet of 80 men placed to cover it, on the spot where the Chemin des Anglais gets to the crest of the position. Pringle’s brigade, which supplied this picquet, was two and a half miles to the rear, in the low ground about the village of Maya—an hour’s march away, for the ascent to the picquet was a climb uphill by a bad path. The only support immediately available for the outpost was the four light companies of the brigade[881], which were encamped on the back-slope of the ridge, about half-way between the hill of Aretesque and the main body of the brigade.

There was much dead ground in front of the Maya position, where it might be approached by ravines and combes whose bottom could not be fathomed by the eye. And in particular the view north-eastward, towards Espelette, was completely blocked by a high round hill half a mile beyond the outer sentries of the Aretesque picquet. With the French only four miles away at Urdax, and seven at Espelette, it is clear that prudence would have dictated constant reconnaissance of all the dead ground. Stewart had made no such arrangements—all that we hear is that the round hill beyond the Aretesque picquet was occasionally visited by Portuguese vedettes. Apparently none had gone out on the morning of the 25th.

D’Erlon would appear to have been well acquainted with the general disposition of the British line, as he launched his main attack against the under-manned eastern flank of the position, and did not tackle the strongly held ground on the high road, at its western end, until he was well established on the crest. Darmagnac’s division, from Espelette, led the main column, Abbé’s division from Ainhoue fell into its rear and followed: both took the Chemin des Anglais track, which was blocked from the view of the British picquets by the round hill already mentioned. Maransin’s division at Urdax, on the high road, was ordered to mass itself, but to keep under cover, and show no signs of movement till the main body had reached and occupied the eastern end of the saddle. It was then to assail Cameron’s brigade, advancing up the high road.

Though the morning was bright and clear, no certain signs of a French attack were seen till 10 o’clock, so carefully did the enemy utilize the ‘dead ground’ in front of him. Suspicious movements indeed were observed by the outpost of the 71st on the high road, who noted small bodies of men crossing the sky-line in front of Urdax[882]. And the picquet of the 34th on the Aretesque hill reported to Pringle’s brigade-head-quarters that it had seen a small body of cavalry and a larger force of infantry turn the corner of a distant road beyond Ainhoue and disappear again[883]. On both points the enemy had only been visible for a few minutes. Pringle sent up a staff-officer[884] to the Aretesque picquet, who made nothing of the troops that had been detected on that side, but as a measure of precaution ordered up the four light companies of the brigade to join the picquet on the crest. Thus there chanced to be 400 men instead of 80, when D’Erlon discovered himself an hour later. But the five companies were as powerless a guard against the sudden attack of 7,000 men as the one company would have been.

At 10.30 D’Erlon had reached the point, not much over half a mile from the most advanced British sentry, where the head of his column would be forced to come out into the open and show itself. His dispositions aimed at a sudden surprise—and effected it. He collected the eight light companies of Darmagnac’s division, ordered them to take off and stack their knapsacks, and launched them as a swarm of tirailleurs at the position of the British on the Aretesque knoll (or the Gorospil knoll, as Darmagnac calls it in his report). The 16th Léger followed them in column, keeping to the track, while the skirmishers spread out in a semicircle to envelop the knoll. The remainder of the division came on as quickly as it could in support.

The French attacked at a pace that surprised their enemies; the light companies—they were commanded by Bradbey of the 28th—were desperately engaged within ten minutes of the firing of the first shot. Their flanks being turned, they clubbed together on the higher slopes of the knoll, and around some rocky outcrops on its summit, and held their own for three-quarters of an hour, repulsing several attacks of the voltigeurs and the 16th Léger with great loss, and suffering heavily themselves. Meanwhile the attention of the defenders of the pass being thus distracted, the succeeding battalions of Darmagnac’s division hurried up unmolested one after another on to the saddle, and began to deploy. Their general threw the 8th Line across the rear of the knoll, blocking the path which led down to the village of Maya and the camps of Pringle’s brigade, and drew out in succession the 28th, 51st, and 54th on the plateau to their right.

Before any succour could arrive[885] the five unlucky companies on the Gorospil knoll were crushed by the concentric attack—six unwounded officers and 140 men were taken prisoners among the rocks at the summit—the other 260 were nearly all killed or wounded. Soon after they had succumbed, tardy reinforcements began to arrive—Pringle had started off his three battalions from the valley to climb the path up to the crest—they arrived at intervals, for their camps were at varying distances from the point of danger, and each acted for itself. The Brigadier himself, finding that he was in general command, appears to have ridden up the high road and joined Cameron’s brigade at the Maya end of the saddle. From thence he began to send off detachments of that brigade, to co-operate from the flank with the uphill frontal attack which his own battalions were about to make from the valley.

He found Cameron’s brigade under arms, in good order, and unmolested. The Portuguese guns had begun to fire, but not at any enemy, for Maransin was holding back, according to his orders. The shots were signals to give notice to the 7th Division, Ashworth, and other outlying neighbours, that serious fighting had opened in the passes. They do not seem to have commenced till 11 o’clock or even later, for Wellington had ridden off from Lesaca towards St. Sebastian before the cannonade began; and we know that when he started about 11 a.m. no gunfire from the east had been reported. Cameron had already sent off the 50th, the right-hand corps of his brigade, to push along the watershed of the col, and stop the French from any further progress toward the high road. This left only the 71st and 92nd under the Rock of Maya, on the culminating point of the position, awaiting the approach of Maransin, which obviously would not be long delayed.

The second episode of the fight consisted in a series of desperate but ill-connected attempts by four British battalions—the 28th, 34th, 39th, 50th—to push Darmagnac’s eight battalions off the foothold on the east end of the col, where they were now firmly established. Abbé’s division was not yet on the ground, but was already visible filing up the track which Darmagnac’s had already traversed. The three British battalions from the valley arrived in succession, and attacked frontally the mass of French on the crest above them. The 34th came up first and alone. ‘It was death to go on against such a host, but it was the order, and we went on to destruction, marching up a narrow path with men pumped out and breathless. We had no chance. The colonel, always a good mark, being mounted and foremost, was first knocked over, very badly wounded. Seven more officers were wounded. We persevered, pushed on, made a footing, and kept our ground[886].’ But the French held the crest above, and the 34th was brought to a complete standstill. The 39th then climbed up the slope, more to the west, and made a similar unsuccessful push to reach the sky-line. Meanwhile the 50th, coming from the other side along the crest, attacked the French right, and drove in the leading battalion on to the mass, but could get no farther forward, and finally fell back. The last episode of this struggle was a third isolated attack—Pringle had told Cameron to detach the right wing of the 92nd from the Maya position, and to send it on in support of the 50th. Just as the latter recoiled, this strong half-battalion—nearly 400 muskets—came on to the ground on the crest, and at the same moment the 28th, the last of Pringle’s battalions to arrive from the valley, climbed the slope and came up diagonally on the right of the 92nd companies. Pringle himself aligned the two corps and led them against the solid mass of French. This advance ended in a most desperate fire-duel at a range of 120 yards, in which the French had the more casualties, but the British line was in the end shot to pieces. Observers from the 28th and 34th speak in the most moving terms of the extraordinary steadiness of the 92nd. ‘They stood there like a stone wall, overmatched by twenty to one, until half their blue bonnets lay beside those brave highland soldiers. When they retired their dead bodies lay as a barrier to the advancing foe. O but they did fight well that day! I can see the line now of their dead and wounded stretched upon the heather, as the living kept closing up to the centre[887].’ It was only when sixty per cent. of these stubborn soldiers had fallen that the senior of the two surviving officers with the wing ordered the remnant to fall back on the 50th, who had re-formed in their rear. The 28th, who had been engaged (oddly enough!) with the French 28th, across a dip on the south side of the crest, were cut off from the 92nd, and retreated downhill by the way they had come, towards the village of Maya. So did the 34th, which had been rallied some way down the slope, below the point where they had made their unsuccessful attack, and had been taking long shots uphill against the French flank. So also did the 39th, or the greater part of it[888]. The progress of these spent troops downhill was hastened by D’Erlon’s detaching two battalions to push them away. They lapsed out of the battle, and retreated towards Maya village, leaving Cameron’s brigade alone to maintain the struggle upon the crest—three battalions against three divisions, for Abbé’s men were now deploying behind Darmagnac’s, and Maransin’s long-deferred attack was just beginning to develop.

After the wasted remnant of the right wing of the 92nd had recoiled, the French began to advance along the Chemin des Anglais, pushing the beaten troops before them, but were soon brought to a stand for a few minutes once more. For Cameron had detached the right wing of the 71st from the Maya position to follow up the right wing of the 92nd—the system of dribbling in small reinforcements was practised all day—leaving only the two left wings of those regiments to hold the pass against Maransin, who was still an impending danger only. The newly arrived half-battalion, drawn up across the path, delivered a very telling salvo against the front immediately opposed to them—the enemy was now in a mixed mass with no trace of formation, acting like a dense swarm of tirailleurs—and brought it to a stop for a moment. But the French, holding back in the centre, spread out on the wings, and began to envelop both flanks of the 71st companies, who had to retire perforce—losing heavily, though not as the 92nd had suffered half an hour before.[889]

There was now no chance whatever of checking D’Erlon, since the only British troops not yet engaged, the left wings of the 71st and 92nd, were at last feeling the commencement of Maransin’s attack, and there were no reinforcements yet visible. Just at this moment, it was perhaps 2 p.m.[890], the long-lost William Stewart at last appeared upon the scene and assumed command. The noise of the guns had reached him in the distant Alduides, and drawn him back to his own business, which he found in a most deplorable condition. A glance round the field showed him that he must give up any hope of holding the Maya pass, and that his only chance was to fight a detaining battle across the high road, in the hope of receiving help from the 7th Division, to whom Pringle had already sent urgent demands for succour.

He accordingly issued orders for the two intact half-battalions on the crest to fall back, and take up a new position below it; while the weary troops from the old front took shelter and re-formed behind them. Darmagnac’s regiments were as much fought out as their opponents, and did not press. Maransin, who had brought up his troops in two columns, one on the road, the other up a ravine to his right, on seeing the way left open to him, did not hurry on, but began to deploy his battalions in succession as they filed up to the saddle of the col. Hence there was a distinct break in the action—half an hour or even more. No disaster was suffered by Cameron’s brigade—the only unfortunate incident of the moment of recoil being that the four Portuguese guns were lost. Two had been man-handled with much toil up a rocky slope, from which it was impossible to get them down in a hurry. After firing a round or two of case at the enemy’s approaching skirmishers, their gunners pushed them over into a ravine and made off[891]. The other two were taken while on the move. Wellington attributed the loss of these four guns, which he much resented (for his army never lost another field gun in action during the whole war), to Stewart, who had, on his arrival, countermanded an order of Pringle’s which had directed an earlier retreat for them.

The fourth episode of the combat of Maya, though it included much bloody and obstinate fighting, was not such a desperate business as the long scrambling fight along the Chemin des Anglais. D’Erlon halted Darmagnac’s troops, who naturally had to re-form, for they were in complete disorder, and had suffered most severely. He now used Maransin’s division as his striking force, and when he had got it all deployed attacked Stewart’s new position. Abbé’s division was brought up to act in support. It was probably well past 3 o’clock when the new fighting began: the delay had enabled Stewart to rearrange a fighting line—the left wings of the 71st and 92nd were drawn up on each side of the chaussée, flanked on their left by a company of the latter regiment on a precipitous knoll, where Cameron had placed them before the action began. This company was afterwards reinforced by another from the 82nd, when that regiment came up[892]. About three hundred yards behind, the right wing of the 71st and the 50th, now rallied, made a second line. When Maransin developed his attack, the front line delivered its fire, and fell back in an orderly fashion behind the supports, where it re-formed across the road. The second line repeated this manœuvre. The half-mile of ground given up in these alternate retreats included the camping lines of the 71st and 92nd, where the rows of tents not only broke the enemy’s formation, but tempted individuals aside for loot. ‘They were plundering on all hands, cutting down the tents, strewing about the officers’ linen, and tearing open their portmanteaux, many of which contained a company’s month’s pay, while we were obliged to stand at a distance, and view the work of destruction[893].’

The afternoon was drawing on—it was 4.30 or later before Maransin’s line re-formed and again advanced: Stewart’s front line again retired, but when the enemy followed it he was surprised to be met by a counter-attack. Stewart had just received his first reinforcements—a weak battalion of the 82nd, the nearest troops of the 7th Division, which had long been watching the fight from afar on the Alcorrunz peak, and had just received their divisional general’s permission to come in. These new-comers, joining the reserve line, met the leading French battalions with a brisk offensive, which drove them in on their supports. But numbers prevailed, and the fight began once more to roll downhill. At this moment affairs looked black—Stewart had just been wounded in the leg, but still retained the command—he was a splendid fighting man if a careless and tiresome subordinate. Thinking the position hopeless, and a final retreat necessary, he sent messages to the outlying companies of the 82nd and 92nd on the knoll to the left, who were now quite cut off from the rest of the force, to save themselves by striking across the hills. They had been isolated for two hours, had used up all their cartridges, and were defending themselves by the primitive method of pelting the enemy below with whinstones, which lay thick on the hillside[894].