From the Archives - Lieutenant Macpherson’s Moment of Truth

On February 27, 1814, at the Battle of Orthez, an Anglo-Portuguese Army under the Duke of Wellington defeated the French under Marshal Nicolas Jean-de-Dieu Soult, near Bayonne, in southwestern France, in one of the last actions of the Peninsular War.

During the battle, Lt. James Macpherson commanded a platoon in the light company of the 45^th Foot. As the battle opened, Macpherson’s men were drawn up along a line of hedges and earthen embankments, well in advance of allied front, with orders to impede any attack, and to fall back in good order on the main line upon hearing the recall.

French tirailleurs opened the battle, advancing on the allied line and the two sides began skirmishing. After a short time, the recall was sounded, and Macpherson ordered his men back. Because of the terrain, however, he could not see them all, and so delayed falling back himself to check that all of them had done so. He soon found that he was virtually the last man left on the original line, and started to fall back himself. As he moved to the rear, he glanced backwards, and saw that one of the tirailleurs, rushing forward ahead of his comrades, was not more than 20 yards behind him. .

What happened next, is best told in Macpherson’s own words, as taken from the American weekly The Army & Navy Chronicle, for Sept 8, 1836.

I saw the man taking a deliberate aim at me. What to do I did not know. I could not get at him before he could fire; while to run would be equally useless. I should then be shot in the back, for I knew he was one of those picked men who never missed any thing; in fact I could think of nothing else to do but to stand fire. The fellow was a confounded long time taking his aim, as if determined to make sure of his mark; so I put myself in an attitude, by presenting my right side to him, putting my arm straight down to cover me, and screwing myself as small as possible; but I can assure you, I felt smaller than I looked, as I stood like a target, to be shot at by a fellow that could hit any one of my buttons that he pleased.

At last, bang went his piece, and I felt in a moment he was right. I did not fall, but staggered a few paces backward, and then felt very much inclined to reach my soldiers, some of whom had seen the whole affair without being able to lend me assistance. My right arm was rendered unserviceable, and I felt confident that the ball had entered my body; but I was uncertain whether or not it had found its way out. I staggered towards the line, but must have fallen, had not a brave fellow, named Kelly, an Irishman, and one of our crack shots, seeing that I was hit, run forward to support me. As soon as I felt his friendly grip round my body, I mustered fresh strength, although bleeding profusely inside and out.

Kelly commenced a dialogue, observing, “by my sowl, sir, you’re badly wounded, sure.”

I felt very faint, but replied, “yes, Kelly, I think so; feel if the ball is out.”

Kelly watched its course, and then placing his hand upon my loins, where it should have made its exit, exclaimed, “no, by my sowl, then, it isn’t, and you’re spaking yet. But where’s the man that did it?” Without, at that moment, any feeling of revenge towards him whom I then thought my destroyer, I pointed in the direction from whence he had fired, and there, on the very same spot, stood this daring fellow, deliberately re-loading, to another shot, at my assistant or to finish me. But Kelly quitted hold of me for a moment, and I saw his unerring musket raised to his shoulder. The French soldier was unmoved. Kelly fired, and he fell dead.

Given that a trained man could reload a smoothbore musket in 20 or 30 seconds, it’s probable that from the time Macpherson saw the French tirailleur to the time Kelly killed the man took less time than it takes to read this passage, though perhaps somewhat longer if the tirailleur was armed with a rifle, as some were.