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.dt Adventures with the Connaught Rangers 1809–1814, by William Grattan.

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Transcriber’s Note:

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.sp 4
.nf c
<xl>ADVENTURES WITH THE CONNAUGHT
RANGERS</xl>
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.h1
<l>ADVENTURES WITH THE</l> | <xl>CONNAUGHT RANGERS</xl> | 1809–1814

.sp 4

.nf c
BY
<l>WILLIAM GRATTAN, <sc>Esq.</sc></l>
<s>LATE LIEUTENANT CONNAUGHT RANGERS</s>
.nf-

.sp 4

.nf c
<s>EDITED BY</s>
<l>CHARLES OMAN</l>
<s>FELLOW OF ALL SOULS' COLLEGE AND DEPUTY PROFESSOR OF MODERN HISTORY\
IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD</s>
.nf-

.sp 4

.nf c
<s>NEW EDITION, ILLUSTRATED</s>
WITH A PREFACE, NOTES, AND MAPS
.nf-

.sp 8
.nf c
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
1902
.nf-

.sp 2
.ce
<s><em>All rights reserved</em></s>
.bn 006.png
.bn 007.png
.pn v

.sp 4
.h2
PREFACE

.sp 2
While engaged during the last ten years in the task of
mastering the original authorities of the history of the
Napoleonic wars, I have had to peruse many scores of diaries,
autobiographies, and reminiscences of the British military
and naval officers who were engaged in the great struggle.
They vary, of course, in interest and importance, in literary
value, and in the power of vivid presentation of events. But
they have this in common, that they are almost all very
difficult to procure. Very few of them have been reprinted;
indeed, I believe that the books of Lord Dundonald, Sir
John Kincaid, Gleig, John Shipp, and Colonel Mercer are
wellnigh the only ones which have passed through a second
edition. Yet there are many others which contain matter
of the highest interest, not only for the historical student
but for every intelligent reader. From these I have made a
selection of ten or a dozen which seem to me well worth
republishing.

Among these is the present volume—the reminiscences
of a subaltern of the Connaught Rangers, the old 88th.
William Grattan was one of the well-known Dublin family
of that name—a first-cousin of Thomas Colley Grattan the
novelist, and a distant kinsman of Henry Grattan the statesman;
he joined the regiment as ensign on July 6,
.bn 008.png
.pn +1
1809. He went out to the 1st Battalion, and reached it on
the Caya late in 1809; he served with it till the spring of
1813, when he went home on leave, having obtained his
lieutenancy on April 12, 1812. Thus he was for more than
four years continuously with the colours, and saw Busaco,
Fuentes d’Oñoro, El Bodon, the storms of Ciudad Rodrigo
and Badajoz, Salamanca, and the disastrous retreat from
Burgos. He was only off duty for a few weeks in 1812, in
consequence of a wound received at Badajoz. In the ranks
of the 3rd Division—the “Fighting Division” as he is
proud to call it—he saw a greater portion of the war than
most of his contemporaries, though he missed Vittoria and
the invasion of France which followed.

Grattan as an author had two great merits. He had a
very considerable talent for describing battles--indeed some
of his chapters would not have disgraced the pen of William
Napier. Of the many memoirs which I have read, I think
that his is on the whole the most graphic and picturesque in
giving the details of actual conflict. His accounts of Fuentes
D’Oñoro, Salamanca, and above all of the storm and sack of
Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, are admirable. The reader
will find in them precisely the touches that make the picture
live. His second virtue is a lively sense of humour. The
Connaught Rangers were the most Irish of all Irish regiments,
and the “boys that took the world <em>aisy</em>,” as Grattan calls
them, were as strange a set to manage as ever tried an officer’s
temper. “I cannot bring myself to think them, as many
did, a parcel of devils,” writes Grattan; “neither will I by any
manner of means try to pass them off for so many saints”
(pp. 128–129); but whether good or bad, they were always
amusing. For the exploits of Ody Brophy and Dan Carsons,
of Darby Rooney and Barney Mackguekin, I must refer the
.bn 009.png
.pn +1
reader to the book itself. Their doings, as recorded by the
much-tried commander of their company, explain clearly
enough Sir Thomas Picton’s addiction to drum-head court-martials,
and Lord Wellington’s occasional bursts of plain
and drastic language.[1] But no one with any sense of the
ludicrous can profess any very lasting feeling of indignation
against these merry if unscrupulous rascals.

.fm rend=th
.fn 1
See, for example, his remarks on the 88th to Sir James M’Grigor,
on page 259 of the latter’s autobiography.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

It is clearly from the domestic annals of the 88th that
Charles Lever drew the greater part of the good stories
which made the fortune of <em>Charles O’Malley</em>. The reader
will find many of the characters of that excellent romance
appearing as actual historical personages in Grattan, notably
the eccentric surgeon Maurice Quill, whose fame was so great
throughout the British army that the novelist did not even
take the trouble to change his name. His colleague Dr.
O’Reily was almost as great an original. Many of the
humours of Mickey Free seem to be drawn directly from the
doings of Grattan’s servant Dan Carsons. Comparing the
“real thing” with the work of fiction, one is driven to conclude
that much of what was regarded as rollicking invention
on Lever’s part, was only a photographic reproduction
of anecdotes that he had heard from old soldiers of the
Connaught Rangers.

Military diaries are often disappointing from one of two
causes. Either the author slips into second-hand and second-rate
narratives of parts of the campaign which he did not
himself witness—things which he had better have left to
the professed historian—or he fails to give us those small
traits of the daily life of the regiment which are needed to
make us realise the actualities of war. Grattan sometimes
.bn 010.png
.pn +1
falls into the first-named fault, but never into the latter.
He seems to have had an instinctive knowledge of what
future generations would want to know concerning the old
Peninsular army—its trials in the matter of pay, food, and
clothing, its shifts and devices, its views of life and death.
If any one wishes to know why Sir Thomas Picton was unpopular,
or what the private and the subaltern thought
about Lord Wellington, they will find what they seek in
these pages. Nowhere else have I seen the psychology of
the stormers of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz dealt with in
such a convincing fashion; let the reader note in particular
pages 144–5 and 193–4.

I have to confess that in various parts of this reprint I
have used the Editor’s license to delete a certain amount of
the author’s original manuscript. Grattan had two besetting
sins considered as a literary man. The first was one to which
I have already made allusion. Not unfrequently he quitted
his autobiographical narrative, and inserted long paragraphs
concerning parts of the war of which he had no personal
knowledge, <em>e.g.</em> about the movements of Hill’s corps in
Estremadura, or of the Spaniards in remote corners of the
Peninsula. These, as is natural, are often full of inaccuracies:
sometimes (and this is a worse fault) they turn out
to be taken almost <lang=la><em>verbatim</em></lang> from formal histories, such
as those of Colonel Jones and Lord Londonderry. In one
place I found thirty lines which were practically identical
with a passage in Napier. In all cases these relate to parts
of the war which did not come under Grattan’s own eyes: I
have therefore ventured to omit them.

Grattan’s other weakness was a tendency to fly off at a
tangent in the middle of a piece of interesting narrative, in
order to controvert the statements of writers with whom he
.bn 011.png
.pn +1
disagreed. He had one special foe—Robinson, the biographer
of Sir Thomas Picton, on whom he wasted many an objurgatory
paragraph. These small controversial points, on
which he turns aside, break the thread of his discourse in the
most hopeless fashion, and are now of little interest. I have
often, though not always, thought it well to leave out such
divagations. At the end of the work, in a similar fashion,
a long criticism on a certain speech of the Duke of Wellington
in the House of Lords has been omitted. It deals with
the story of the long-delayed issue of the war-medal for the
Peninsula. The whole point of Grattan’s remarks (caustic
but well justified in most respects) was removed when the
medal was at last actually distributed, a few months after he
had made his complaint.

The present volume stops short at the end of the Peninsular
war. Grattan’s pen travelled farther. Encouraged by
the success of his first book, he issued two supplementary
volumes: these are of very inferior interest, being mainly
concerned with the doings of the 88th in their early campaigns,
before the author had joined them. There is much
about Buenos Ayres, the Low Countries, and Talavera. The
rest is composed of amusing but very rambling reminiscences
of garrison life in Canada in 1814, and in France in 1815–1816,
and of character sketches of some of Grattan’s contemporaries,
such as the unfortunate Simon Fairfield, concerning
whom the reader will find certain information on pages
130–1 and 324 of this reprint. The whole of these two
volumes consists of mere <lang=la><em>disjecta membra</em></lang>, much inferior in
interest to the first two which the author had produced.

Grattan’s military service, which had begun in 1808,
ended in 1817, in consequence of the enormous reductions
in the effective of the army which were carried out after the
.bn 012.png
.pn +1
evacuation of France began. His name last appears among
combatant officers in the army list for March 1817, the
month in which the 88th was reduced from two battalions
to one, and many of its officers placed upon half pay.
But he lived for thirty years longer, frequently descending
into print in the <cite>United Service Journal</cite>, to controvert
those who seemed to him to undervalue the services
of the 88th or the old 3rd Division. In 1836 we find him
residing at New Abbey, Kilcullen, and issuing a <cite>Vindication
of the Connaught Rangers</cite>, which seemed so convincing to
the officers of his old regiment, that they presented him with
a present of plate to the value of 200 guineas “as a mark of
their personal esteem and regard, and also in token of their
warm admiration of his triumphant vindication of his gallant
regiment from the attacks of the biographer [Robinson] of
the late Sir Thomas Picton.” In 1847 he published the two
volumes from which the present reprint is taken. In the
following year he received his long-deserved Peninsular Medal.
His last appearance in print was the publication of the
two supplementary volumes of <cite>Anecdotes and Reminiscences</cite>,
mentioned above, in the spring of 1853.

.ll 68
.rj
C. OMAN.
.ll

<s><sc>Oxford</sc>, <em>November 1902</em>.</s>
.bn 013.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
THE OFFICERS OF THE <sc>88TH</sc> | <s>1809–14</s>

.sp 2
Grattan’s Memoirs cannot be fully understood without a
list of the comrades whom he is perpetually mentioning in
the narrative. I therefore append the names of the officers
of the 88th from the Army List of 1809–10. I have added
to each of those who were killed or wounded during the war
a note specifying the casualty. No less than 49 of the
103 names bear this addition!

.nf c
<em>Colonel</em>
William Carr Beresford, Major-General, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.

<em>Lieutenant-Colonels</em>
Alexander Wallace.\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ John Taylor.
.nf-

.ce
<em>Majors</em>
.dv class='column-container'
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it Richard Vandeleur, died at Campo Mayor, 5.11.09.
.it Daniel Colquhun.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it John Silver, killed at Busaco, 27.9.10.
.it R. Barclay M‘Pherson.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv-

.ce
<em>Captains</em>
.dv class='column-container'
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it Robert B. M‘Gregor.
.it Campbell Callendar.
.it John Dunne.
.it William C. Seton.
.it Barnaby Murphy, wounded at Badajoz, killed at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
.it Charles John Peshall, wounded at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it James P. Oates, wounded at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it William Adair M‘Dougall.
.it William Hogan, killed at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
.it Charles Tryon.
.it John Groffer.
.it Christopher Irwine, killed at Fuentes d'Oñoro, 5.5.11.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it Joseph Thomson, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it Richard R. Browne, wounded at Busaco, died at Pinhel, 1810.
.bn 014.png
.pn +1
.it Peter Lindsay, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it H.G. Buller.
.it Walter W. Adair, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
.it Robert N. Nickle, wounded at Toulouse, 10.5.14.
.it Henry M‘Dermott, wounded at Vittoria, 21.6.13; killed at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.it George Henry Dansey, wounded at Busaco, 27.9.10.
.it J. Macdonald.
.it Robert Christie.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv-

.ce
<em>Lieutenants</em>

.dv class='column-container'
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it Duncan Robertson, Adj.
.it George Bury.
.it John Bower Lewis.
.it Richard Bunworth.
.it William Flack, wounded at Ciudad Rodrigo, 19.1.12.
.it William Mackie.
.it James Flood, wounded at Vittoria, 21.6.13.
.it Richard Fitzpatrick, wounded at Vittoria 21.6.13; wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.it Nathan Gregg.
.it Henry Johnson, killed at Busaco, 27.9.10.
.it John Smith, died at Salamanca, 1812.
.it Thomas North, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it John D. Hopwood.
.it Alexander Graham.
.it John Armstrong, wounded at Rodrigo, 19.1.12; wounded at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it John Stewart, wounded at Fuentes, wounded at Badajoz.
.bn 015.png
.pn +1
.it Robert Hackett, wounded at Fuentes, 5.5.11; died on return voyage.
.it George F. Faris.
.it Bartholomew Mahon.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it Timothy Richard James.
.it William Nickle, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
.it Isaac Walker.
.it John Davern, wounded at Badajoz; wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.it David Weir.
.it Ralph Mansfield, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it Pat. Heron Cockburn.
.it Leigh Heppenstal, killed at Foz d'Aronce, 15.3.11.
.it Edward Cotton, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it Frederick Meade, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
.it Hercules Ellis.
.it Samuel M‘Alpine, wounded at Fuentes, 5.5.11; killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it George Johnson, wounded at Rodrigo, 19.1.12.
.it William Hodder.
.it William Whitelaw, wounded at Busaco, 27.9.10; killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
.it Peter Pegus.
.it Thomas J. Lloyd.
.it Jason Hassard.
.it Geoffrey K. Power.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv-

.ce
<em>Ensigns</em>

.dv class='column-container'
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it Christian Hilliard.
.it John Graham.
.it Maurice O‘Connor.
.it Thomas Leonard, killed at Busaco, 27.9.10.
.it William Rutherford.
.it Simon Fairfield.
.it Parr Kingsmill, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
.it William Kingsmill, wounded at Rodrigo, 19.1.12.
.it Maurice Mahon.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it William Devereux Jackson.
.it Joseph Owgan, wounded at Fuentes, 5.5.11.
.it John Fairfield.
.it William Grattan, wounded at Badajoz, 6.4.12; wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
.it John Christian.
.it John M‘Gregor, died on landing at Portsmouth, invalided 1812.
.it George Hill.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv-

The following additional officers joined the regiment, either
as ensigns or by exchange as lieutenants and captains from
other corps, between 1810 and 1814.

.dv class='column-container'
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it T. Moriarty, killed at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.it John D‘Arcy.
.it L. Beresford, killed at Ciudad Rodrigo, 19.1.12.
.it Walter C. Poole, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.it T. Rutledge, died at Lisan, 12.9.13.
.it Richard Holland, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.it James Mitchell, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.it Charles G. Stewart, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv class='column'
.ul style=none hang=y
.it D. M‘Intosh, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.it —— Gardiner.
.it Thomas Taylor.
.it Charles Crawford Peshall.
.it Samuel Fisher.
.it Oliver Mills.
.it Barnard Reynolds, killed at Orthez, 27.2.14.
.it John Atkin.
.it Albert W. Sanders, killed at Vittoria, 21.6.13.
.it James M‘Clintock.
.it George Bunbury.
.it William Smith.
.it James Wright.
.ul-
.dv-
.dv-
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.pn +2

.sp 4
.h2
CONTENTS

.sp 2
.ta h:60 r:10
CHAPTER I

The Author leaves the depot at Chelmsford, and proceeds to join his\
regiment in Portugal—The <cite>Samaritan</cite>—Arrival at Lisbon—Measures\
adopted by General Junot—A night’s rest—Portuguese\
barbers—Priest Fernando and Major Murphy—March to Aldea\
Gallega—First sight of the Connaught Rangers    |  Page #1#


CHAPTER II

Headquarters of the 88th Regiment—Its losses from sickness—Unhealthy\
state of the country—The British army leaves the Alemtejo—General\
Picton takes the command of the 3rd Division—Remarks\
on the general’s conduct—His apology to Colonel\
Wallace—The Connaught boy and the goat     | Page #12#


CHAPTER III

Masséna’s invasion of Portugal—Fall of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida—Craufurd’s\
fight on the Coa—Anecdote of Colonel Charles Napier—The\
British retire to the position of Busaco    |  Page #23#


CHAPTER IV

Battle of Busaco—Daring advance of the French—The achievements\
of the 88th—Adventure of Captain Seton—Alcobaça—Remarks on\
the battle  |    Page #30#


CHAPTER V

Occupation of the Lines of Torres Vedras—An army in motley—An\
Irish interpreter—Death of the Marquis de la Romana—Retreat of\
Masséna’s army from Portugal—Indulgence of Lord Wellington—The\
amenities of a subaltern’s existence   |   Page #47#
.bn 018.png
.pn +1


CHAPTER VI

Excesses and sufferings of the French during their retreat—Combats\
of Foz d'Aronce and Sabugal—Battle of Fuentes d'Oñoro—Sir E.\
Pakenham, Colonel Wallace, and the 88th Regiment   |   Page #56#


CHAPTER VII

State of the town of Fuentes d'Oñoro after the battle—The wounded—Visit\
to an amputating hospital—General Brennier’s escape from\
Almeida—Booty in the camp    |  Page #70#


CHAPTER VIII

Guerilla warfare; its true character—The 3rd Division marches for the\
Alemtejo—Frenchmen and Irishmen on a march—English regiments—Colonel\
Wallace—Severe drilling—Maurice Quill and\
Dr. O‘Reily—Taking a rise   |   Page #81#


CHAPTER IX

Second siege of Badajoz—A <lang=fr><em>reconnoissance</em></lang>—Death of Captain Patten—Attacks\
on Fort San Christoval—Their failure—Causes of their\
failure—Gallant conduct of Ensign Dyas, 51st Regiment—His\
promotion by the Duke of York     | Page #91#


CHAPTER X

We withdraw from Badajoz—Dislike of the British soldier for siege-work—Affair\
of El Bodon—Gallant conduct of the 5th and 77th\
Regiments—Narrow escape of the 88th from being made prisoners—Picton’s\
conduct on the retreat to Guinaldo   |   Page #103#


CHAPTER XI

Retreat of the French army—Vultures on the field of battle—The\
Light Division and private theatricals—Major Leckie and the\
musician—Privations—The Connaught Rangers and the sheep—Deficient\
kits—Darby Rooney and General Mackinnon    |  Page #118#


CHAPTER XII

Officers and sergeants—Fairfield and his bad habit—Regimental\
mechanism—Impolitic familiarity—3rd Division at the siege of\
Ciudad Rodrigo—Lieutenant D‘Arcy and Ody Brophy—The\
Irish pilot  |    Page #128#
.bn 019.png
.pn +1


CHAPTER XIII

Spanish village accommodation—The siege of Ciudad Rodrigo—Picton’s\
address to the Connaught Rangers in front of the breach—Lieutenant\
William Mackie and the forlorn hope    |  Page #139#


CHAPTER XIV

Storm of Ciudad Rodrigo—Gallant conduct of three soldiers of the 88th—Desperate\
struggle and capture of a gun—Combat between\
Lieutenant Faris and the French grenadier—A Connaught\
Ranger transformed into a sweep—Anecdote of Captain Robert\
Hardyman of the 45th—Death of General Mackinnon—Plunder\
of Ciudad Rodrigo—Excesses of the soldiers   |   Page #149#


CHAPTER XV

Results of the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo—The town revisited—Capture\
of deserters—Sale of the plunder—Army rests in cantonments—An\
execution of deserters—A pardon that came too late    |  Page #167#


CHAPTER XVI

Preparations against Badajoz—Description of this fortress—Its investment—Line\
of circumvallation formed in the night—Sortie of the\
garrison repulsed—Destructive fire of the besieged—Dreadful explosion\
from a shell—Indifference—Deaths of Captain Mulcaster\
and Major Thompson    |  Page #175#


CHAPTER XVII

State of the enemy’s fort La Picurina from our fire—Attempt to storm\
it—Desperate defence of the garrison—It is carried by assault—Preparations\
for the grand attack—Frightful difficulties of the\
enterprise—The attack and defence—Slaughter of the besiegers—Badajoz\
taken    |  Page #187#


CHAPTER XVIII

The sacking of Badajoz—Neglect of the wounded—Spaniards and their\
plunderers—Disgraceful occurrences—Calamities of war—The\
author’s wound and uncomfortable couch—Extent of plunder—An\
auction in the field—Neglect of the 88th by General Picton   |   Page #207#
.bn 020.png
.pn +1


CHAPTER XIX

Departure from Badajoz—The wounded left to the protection of\
Spanish soldiers—Subsequently removed to Elvas—The author\
leaves Elvas to join the army—Spaniards and Portuguese—Rodrigo\
revisited—A Spanish ball—Movements of Marshal Marmont—Fall\
of the forts of Salamanca—Amicable enemies    |  Page #218#


CHAPTER XX

State of the opposing armies previous to the battle of Salamanca—Preliminary\
movements—The Duke of Ragusa's false movement—Pakenham\
engaged with the enemy’s left—Defeats the division\
under General Thomières—Reinforced, they again advance to the\
attack—Their destruction by a brigade of British cavalry—The\
Portuguese repulsed—Desperate exertions of the French—Final\
charge of Clinton’s division—Complete defeat of the French army   |   Page #232#


CHAPTER XXI

Importance of the battle of Salamanca—Anecdotes of the 88th—Gallantry\
of Captain Robert Nickle—Pursuit of the defeated army\
of Marshal Marmont—French infantry in square broken and\
destroyed by cavalry—March on Madrid—Frolics at St. Ildefonso—Sudden\
attack of the French Lancers—Disgraceful conduct of\
the Portuguese Dragoons     | Page #255#


CHAPTER XXII

The British army approach Madrid—Enthusiastic welcome—Preparations\
to carry by assault the fortress of La China—It surrenders—Description\
of Madrid—The Puerto del Sol—The Prado—Unsociability\
of English officers—Seizure of a Spanish priest—Proved\
to be a spy in the service of the enemy—His execution by the\
garrotte     | Page #267#


CHAPTER XXIII

Arrests at Madrid—Advantages of speaking French—Seizure of Don\
Saturio de Padilla by the police—The author effects his liberation—A\
bull day at Madrid—Private theatricals—French and English\
soldiers—Blowing up the Retiro—Retreat from Madrid—A pig\
hunt    |  Page #282#
.bn 021.png
.pn +1


CHAPTER XXIV

Sufferings of the army on the retreat—Jokes of the Connaught\
Rangers—Letter of Lord Wellington—The junior officers—Costume\
of the author during the retreat—An unusual enjoyment   |   Page #302#


CHAPTER XXV

End of the Burgos retreat—Cantonments in Portugal—Rest at last—Shocking\
effects of excess in eating—The neighbourhood of Moimento\
de Beira—Wolves—The author employed to cater for his\
regiment on St. Patrick’s day—Is attacked by wolves on his return—Measure\
for measure    |  Page #314#


CHAPTER XXVI

Ordered home—Priests carousing—San Carlos gambling-house at\
Lisbon—Cocking the card—The author quits the Peninsula—Adventures\
on the road—The author’s return to Ireland   |   Page #322#


CHAPTER XXVII

Breaking up of the British Peninsular army at the abdication of\
Napoleon—Separation of the soldiers' wives—The elopement—Sad\
story of Thorp, the Drum-Major—Conclusion    |  Page #330#
.ta-
.bn 022.png
.bn 023.png
.pn +2

.sp 4
.h2
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


.sp 2
.ta l:52 r:15 r:5
<sc>The 88th Foot</sc> (<sc>Connaught Rangers</sc>)     | <al=r><em>Frontispiece</em>|<span>

<sc>Map of Spain and Portugal</sc>         |  <em>To face page</em>\ \ \ \ #1:i001# |<span>

<sc>Lieut.-General Sir T. Picton, G.C.B.</sc>           |  ”\ \ \ \ ”    |   #14:i014#

<sc>Plan of Siege of Ciudad Rodrigo</sc>                |  ”\ \ \ \ ”    |  #142:i142#

<sc>Plan of Siege of Badajoz</sc>                       |  ”\ \ \ \ ”    |  #178:i178#

<sc>Sergeant and Private in Winter Marching Order,\
1813</sc>                                               |  ”\ \ \ \ ”    |  #308:i308#
.ta-
.bn 024.png
.pn +1
.il id=i001 fn=i_b_001fp.jpg w=500px ew=90%
.ca MAP OF SPAIN AND PORTUGAL.
.bn 025.png
.pn 1

.sp 4

.nf c
<xl>ADVENTURES</xl>

<s>WITH THE</s>

<xl>CONNAUGHT RANGERS</xl>

1809–1814
.nf-

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER I

.sp 2
.pm start_summary
The Author leaves the depot at Chelmsford, and proceeds to join his regiment
in Portugal—The <cite>Samaritan</cite>—Arrival at Lisbon—Measures
adopted by General Junot—A night’s rest—Portuguese barbers—Priest
Fernando and Major Murphy—March to Aldea Gallega—First
sight of the Connaught Rangers.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
On the 10th day of October 1809 I left the depot at
Chelmsford, and proceeded to Portsmouth for the purpose
of joining the first battalion of my regiment (the 88th) in
Portugal.

The newspapers announced that a fleet of transport
vessels would sail in a few days from Portsmouth for Lisbon,
and although I belonged to the second battalion, at that
period stationed at Gibraltar, I waived all ceremony, and
without asking or obtaining leave from the general in command
at Chelmsford (General Colburn), I took the first
coach for London, where I arrived that evening, and the
next day reached Portsmouth.

I waited upon Colonel Barlow, who commanded at Hilsea,
.bn 026.png
.pn +1
and from him received an order to be admitted on board
a transport ship named the <cite>Samaritan</cite>. No questions were
asked as to my qualification for this request, as it was much
easier in those days to get out to Portugal than return from
it. I then requested of the Colonel that he would give me
an order for “embarkation money,” which I told him I
understood was allowed to officers on going to Portugal.
He laughed at the demand, and treated me with so little
courtesy that I was glad to be rid of him.

I have said the name of the ship in which I was to
make my first voyage was the <cite>Samaritan</cite>. So it was. But
it most certainly could not be fairly called the <cite>Good
Samaritan</cite>, for a more crazy old demirep of a ship never
floated on the water. She was one of those vessels sent out,
with many others at this period, to be ready to convey our
army to England in the event of any disaster occurring to
it. On board of her were ten or a dozen officers, who, like
myself, had seen little of the world. We had no soldiers on
board, and an inadequate ship’s crew; but those deficiencies
were amply made up for by the abundance of rats which
infested the vessel, and which not only devoured a great
portion of our small supply of provisions, but nearly ourselves
into the bargain. One officer, ill from sea-sickness,
was well-nigh losing half of his nose, and another had the
best part of his great toe eaten away. Providence, however,
at length decreed that we should soon be rid of these torments,
and on the 29th day of October the Rock of Lisbon
presented itself to our view.

It is difficult to convey to the eye, much less to the
imagination of those who have not seen it, a more imposing
or beautiful sight than Lisbon presents when seen from the
deck of a vessel entering the Tagus; its northern bank,
.bn 027.png
.pn +1
upon which the city stands, sweeping with a gentle curve
along the extent of the city, shows to great advantage the
vast pile of buildings, including palaces, convents, and
private dwellings, standing like a huge amphitheatre before
the view of the spectator; the splendid gardens and orange
groves, the former abounding with every species of botanical
plant, while the latter, furnishing the eye with a moving
mass of gold, presents a <i>coup d'[oe]il</i> which may be felt or
conceived, but which cannot be described.

Our vessel had scarcely reached the river when a pilot
boat came alongside of us, and for the first time I had an
opportunity of looking at the natives of Portugal. I confess
I was inexpressibly disgusted; the squalid appearance of
those half-amphibious animals, their complexion, their
famished looks, and their voracious entreaties for salt pork,
gave me but a so-so opinion of the patriots I had heard of
and read of with so much delight and enthusiasm. Their
bare throats, not even with muscle to recommend them,
their dark eyes portraying more of the assassin than the
patriot, and their teeth, white no doubt in comparison with
their dark hides, was sufficient to stamp them in my eyes as
the most ill-looking set of cut-throats I had ever beheld.
Their costume, too, is anything but striking, except strikingly
ugly. Short <em>demi</em> petticoat trousers of white linen, a
red sash, and their arms and legs naked, give them the
appearance of a race of bad bred North American Indians.

On landing at Lisbon, your foot once upon <lang=la><em>terra
firma</em></lang>—

.pm start_poem
The cloud-cap’d towers,
The gorgeous palaces—
.pm end_poem

and the fine gardens all vanish, not into <em>thin</em> air, but
into the most infernal pestiferous atmosphere that ever
.bn 028.png
.pn +1
unfortunate traveller was compelled to inhale. Here is a
hideous change from what the first view led you to expect.
It is, indeed, “love at first sight.”

You are scarcely established in the first street, when you
behold a group of wretches occupied in picking vermin from
each other; while, sitting beside them, cross-legged, holding
a distaff and spindle in her left hand, and fanning her
<lang=pt><em>fogareioro</em></lang> with her right, is a woman who sells chestnuts
to any one whose stomach is strong enough to commence
the process of mastication in so filthy a neighbourhood.

The appearance of everything in Lisbon is so novel to an
Englishman, that he is at a loss what most to fix his attention
upon. But the number of beggars and the packs of
half-famished dogs which infest the streets are in themselves
sufficient to afford food for the mind, if not for either the
beggars or the dogs. The latter crowd the streets after
nightfall and voraciously devour the filth which is indiscriminately
thrown from the different windows, and it is a
dangerous service to encounter a pack of those famished
creatures.

.pm start_poem
In every country there are customs known,
Which they preserve exclusively their own;
The Portuguese, by some odd whim infected,
Have Cloacina’s temple quite rejected.
.pm end_poem

The French general, Junot, whatever his other faults
might be, did a good thing in ridding Lisbon of this
nuisance. On the fourth day after his arrival he ordered
all dogs found in the streets after nightfall to be shot; and
the proprietor of every door before which was found any
dirt, after a certain hour in the morning, he caused to pay
a fine according to the quantity found in front of his
premises. But Junot had been too long driven from Lisbon
to have his orders respected at the period I write of, and we
.bn 029.png
.pn +1
were in consequence subjected to the annoyance of being
poisoned by the accumulated filth, or to the danger of being
devoured by the herds of dogs who seemed to consider these
windfalls as their particular perquisite.

The beggars, offensive as they were, were less so than the
dogs, because in Portugal, as in most countries professing the
Roman Catholic religion, the giving of alms is considered an
imperative duty; and according to their means, all persons
supply the wants of the poor. From the gates of the
convents, and from the kitchens of the higher classes, food
is daily distributed to a vast number of mendicants, and
those persons actually conceive they have a right to such
donations; long habit has in fact sanctioned this right, and
secure of the means to support their existence, they flock
daily to their respective stations, awaiting the summons
which calls them to the portal to receive the pittance intended
for them. Thus it is that strangers suffer less
inconvenience from this description of persons than they
otherwise would, for the laziness of these wretches is so
great, that although they will not hesitate to beg alms from
a passing stranger, they will barely move from their recumbent
posture to receive it, much less offer thanks for it.

Satisfied with my first evening’s excursion, I returned to
the hotel where we had bespoken our dinner and beds. The
former was excellent; good fish, for which Lisbon is proverbial,
<lang=fr><em>ragoûts</em></lang>, and game, all well served up, gave us a <lang=fr><em>goût</em></lang>
for our wine. We discussed the merits of divers bottles,
and it was late ere we retired to our chamber,—I was going
to say place of rest—but never was word more misplaced,
had I made use of it. Since the hour of my recollection, up
to the moment that I write these lines, I never passed such
a night. From the time I lay down, in hopes of rest, until
.bn 030.png
.pn +1
the dawning of morning, I never, for five minutes at a time,
closed my eyes. Bugs and fleas attacked me with a relentless
fury, and when I arose in the fair daylight, to consult
my looking-glass, I had scarcely a feature recognisable. I
was not, however, singular, for all my companions had shared
the same fate. But it was absolutely necessary, before we
attempted to perambulate the streets, that something should
be done to render our appearance less horrible. We accordingly
summoned the landlord with the view of ascertaining
the name of some medical person who could administer to
our wants; but he laughed at the idea of calling in surgical
aid for so trifling a matter, which he said, and I believe him,
was an everyday occurrence at his hotel. He recommended
to us a man, as he was pleased to say, “well skilled in such
cases,” and one who had made a comfortable competency by
his close residence to the hotel we occupied. The person
who could have doubted the latter part of our host’s harangue
must have indeed been casuistical, because the number of
patients which, to our own ears, not our sight, for sight we
had none, fell to him in one night, was a sufficient guarantee
that his yearly practice must be something out of the
common.

The person thus described, and almost as soon introduced,
was no other than the far-famed Jozé Almeida Alcantaro de
Castreballos, half-brother to the celebrated Louiranna well
known in Lisbon. A man, who as he himself jocosely said,
had taken many a British officer by the nose. He was, in
fact, neither more nor less than a common barber, who
gained a livelihood by shaving, bleeding, and physicking his
customers.

The Portuguese barbers are like those of other countries,
great retailers of scandal, and amply stocked with a fund of
.bn 031.png
.pn +1
amusing conversation. They know everything, or seem to
know everything, which, to nine-tenths of those they meet,
is the same thing! This fellow told us all the news of the
day, and added to it a thousand inventions, which his own
fertile imagination supplied. He described the retreat of
Wellington from Talavera as one caused by the want of the
Portuguese army to co-operate with him: and if his account
was to be given credit to, the whole world put together did
not contain such an army as that of Portugal. He said that
General Peacock, who commanded in Lisbon, invented stories
every day, and that no intelligence from the army ought to
be considered sterling, except what emanated from his (the
barber’s) shop. But then, said he, shrugging up his shoulders,
and in broken English. “It is not one very uncommon ting,
to see one Peacock spreading a tail!” He laughed at his
pun, and so did we; but I have since heard that the merit
of it did not belong to him.

“But, gentlemen,” resumed the barber, “I come here as a
professional man, not as a wit, though for that matter I am
as much one as the other—but to the point, gentlemen! you
seem to have suffered, and I am the man, able, ready, and
willing to serve you. Look here,” said he, holding up a
white jar, having a superscription on the outside to the
following effect: “<lang=pt><em>bixas boas</em></lang>” (good leeches): “I am none of
your quacks, that come <em>unprepared</em>! I do not want to write
a prescription that will cost my customers a mint of money!
Well did I know what you stood in need of when you sent
for your humble servant. Within the last ten days, that is
to say, since the arrival of the fleet of transports from
Portsmouth, I have given employment to one thousand
leeches in this very house. This hotel has made my fortune,
and now, with the blessing of God and the Virgin Mary, I’ll
.bn 032.png
.pn +1
add to the number, already made use of, one hundred more,
on the faces of those to whom I have the honour of addressing
myself.”

There was so much truth and sound sense in what the
barber said, that we all submitted to the operation of
leeching, which was of material service to us. Old Wright
of the 28th, already, from a wound, blind of one eye, now
began to peep a little with the other, and it was amusing
enough to those who could see it, to witness the coquetting
between him and the barber. Indeed it would be difficult
to say which of them was most pleased—he who received his
sight, or he who was the means of restoring it. Quantities
of cloths, steeped in warm water, were applied to our faces,
and the crimson hue with which every basin was tinctured
showed but too plainly that the “<lang=pt><em>bixas boas</em></lang>” of the barber
Jozé, were of the right sort. We kept our rooms the entire
day, ate a moderate and light dinner, and at an early hour
retired to our chambers, not without some misgivings of
another night-attack. But the barber assured us there was
no danger; and whether it was that the vermin, which nearly
devoured us on the preceding night, had gorged themselves,
or that the applications which Jozé Almeida had administered
to our wounded faces was of that nature to give them a
nausea towards us, I know not, but, be this as it may, we
enjoyed, unmolested, a comfortable night’s repose, and in
the morning our features had resumed their original shape
and appearance.

We were seated at breakfast when the barber again made
his appearance. He congratulated us upon our recovery,
received his fee, which was extremely moderate, and took his
leave. I have not since seen him, or is it likely I ever shall.
In 1809 he was approximating to his sixtieth year; now
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
thirty-seven years added to sixty would make him rather an
elderly person. However, should he be still alive, and able
to fulfil the functions of his calling as well as he did when
I met with him, I recommend him to all those who may visit
Lisbon and require his aid; on the other hand, should he be
no longer in the land of the living, I have paid his memory
a just tribute—but not more than he deserved.

At twelve o’clock I took a calash and reported myself to
Major Murphy of the 88th, who commanded at Belem. By
him I was received with great kindness, and asked to dine
with him at six o’clock. I returned to our hotel, where I
found my companions awaiting my arrival. Although not
perfectly restored to their good looks, they agreed to accompany
me in a stroll through the town, which was a different
quarter from that we had before explored. It was more
obscure, and overstocked with beggars of every grade.

At six o’clock I arrived at Major Murphy’s quarters at
Belem, where were several officers of the depôt. Just as we
were about to enter the dining-room a note was handed to
Murphy from the celebrated priest Fernando: he was an
intimate friend of Murphy, and called the 88th his own
regiment, because when that corps landed in Lisbon it was
quartered in the convent of which Fernando was the head.
Nothing could exceed his kindness and hospitality, and,
being the principal of the Inquisition, he was a man of
great authority. His note was in these words:—

“Priest Fernando will cum dis day in boat to dine with
Mr. Major Murphy.”

He was as good as his word, for the note had been scarcely
read aloud by Murphy when Fernando made his appearance.
He was a remarkably handsome man, about forty years of
age; full of gaiety and spirits, a great talker, a prodigious
.bn 034.png
.pn +1
feeder, and a tremendous drinker. So soon as I was introduced
to him he took out a book from his pocket which he
opened and handed to me, requesting that I would write
down my name in it. This book contained the name of
every officer in the first battalion, and according as any died,
or were either killed or wounded in action, it was regularly
noted after his name. His conduct was of the most disinterested
kind, and one of his first questions invariably was—“Did
we want money?” It was late before we broke up,
and next day an order was issued, directing us to be in
readiness to march to join the army on the day but one
following.

It did not require many hours' preparation to complete
our arrangements, as there were several experienced officers
to accompany the detachment, and they not only brought
their own animals and provisions, but aided us by their
advice in the purchase of ours. At the appointed hour all
was in readiness, and the detachment, consisting of fifteen
officers and two hundred and twenty men, composed of
different regiments, marched from Belem, and embarked on
the quay in boats which were prepared to carry us to Aldea
Gallega. A short sail soon brought us across the Tagus,
and towards evening we disembarked and took up our
quarters at Aldea for the night. Our route, which was
made by easy marches, was uninterrupted by any circumstance
worthy of notice. We passed through the different
towns of the Alemtejo, in each of which we were hospitably
received by the inhabitants; not so on our arrival at Badajoz,
the headquarters of Lord Wellington. Nothing could exceed
the dogged rudeness of the Spaniards; and it was with
difficulty we could obtain anything even for money. Civility
was not to be purchased on any terms, and one of the
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
detachment was killed in a fracas with some drunken muleteers.
Next morning we left this inhospitable town, and
each party took their respective routes, with the view of
rejoining their regiments. Mine, the 88th, was stationed
at Monforte, distant one march from Badajoz, and here, for
the first time, I saw the “Connaught Rangers.”
.bn 036.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER II

.pm start_summary
Headquarters of the 88th Regiment—Its losses from sickness—Unhealthy
state of the country—The British army leaves the Alemtejo—General
Picton takes the command of the 3rd Division—Remarks
on the general’s conduct—His apology to Colonel
Wallace—The Connaught Boy and the goat.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The 88th at this period, although one of the strongest and
most effective regiments in the army, did not count more
than five hundred bayonets. The fatigues of the late campaign,
and the unhealthiness and debility of many of the
soldiers in consequence, caused a material diminution in our
ranks; added to this, the country in the neighbourhood of
the Guadiana was swampy and damp, and what between
ague, dysentery, and fever, the hospitals were in a few weeks
overstocked. Not less than ten thousand were on the sick
list, or about one-third of the entire force, as borne on the
muster-rolls; and there was a great paucity of medical
officers; many of those had been left at Talavera with the
wounded, that were of necessity obliged to be abandoned,
and others, either catching the contagion that raged throughout
the country, or infected by their close attendance in the
hospitals, were lost to us. The consequence was that the
men and officers died daily by tens and fifteens, and this
mortality was not confined to the old soldiers alone, for the
young militia men, who now joined the army from England,
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
suffered equally with those who were half starved on the
retreat from Talavera, and during the occupation of the
bridge of Arzobispo. For several days the rations of those
soldiers consisted of half a pound of wheat, <em>in the grain</em>, a
few ounces of flour twice in the week, and a quarter of a
pound of goat’s flesh; and regiments which a few weeks
before were capable of exertions that were never equalled
during the remainder of the Peninsular contest, were now
unable to go through an ordinary march.

It was not to be wondered at that men who had so
suffered should be now attacked with disease when all
excitement was over, and a reaction of the system was the
natural consequence; but the young men who joined from
England at this period could not be so classed, and as it was
manifest that the air of the country was unwholesome, Lord
Wellington decided upon marching his army to the north-eastern
frontier; yet before quitting the Alemtejo it was
necessary that the safety of Seville should be guaranteed by
a sufficient Spanish force.

Early in December the army left the Alemtejo, and by
the first week in January the 3rd Division was distributed
in the different villages in the neighbourhood of Trancoso.
The villages of Alverca and Frayadas, distant about two
miles from each other, were allotted for the 88th Regiment.
Midway between the two was a plain of considerable extent,
and upon this plain the regiment exercised every day for
several hours.

At the end of six weeks Colonel Wallace had his battalion
in the most perfect state of discipline that it is possible to
conceive; the men left in hospital were speedily joining the
ranks, and the stragglers which were from necessity left
behind in the north of Portugal were now coming in fast to
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
their different regiments. It may be remembered that the
troops commanded by Lord Beresford in the spring of 1809
suffered great fatigues in their advance through the province
of Tras os Montes; the 88th Regiment formed a portion of
this force.

The best-regulated army during a campaign, even if
carried on under the most favourable circumstances, always
becomes more or less relaxed in its discipline; and when it
is considered that the wreck of the 88th Regiment, after its
capture at Buenos Ayres, was made up by drafts from the
second battalion, that a few short months only were allowed
it to recruit and reorganise before it was again employed
in Portugal, it may be matter of regret, but certainly not of
surprise, that it did not form an exception to the general
rule.[2] Many stragglers were left behind. Some preferred
remaining with the Portuguese, and never joined the army
again. Nevertheless, many of the good soldiers who had
been worn down by fatigue and were obliged to make a short
stay, soon rallied, followed the track of their different regiments,
and joined them by sixes and sevens. Others of a
different stamp preferred remaining where they were, and
continued under the hospitable roofs that had given them
shelter, and made themselves useful to the inhabitants by
assisting them to till their fields and gardens. Others,
fatigued with the sameness of the scene, went through the
country under pretence of seeking their different regiments,
and in many instances committed acts that were disgraceful;
and, strange to say, not the slightest effort was made to look
after those stragglers and collect them.

.fm rend=th
.fn 2
The Wellington despatches for the summer of 1809 contain two
angry notes to Donkin, the brigadier commanding the 87th and 88th,
concerning the vast number of men absent from the ranks.
.fn-
.fm rend=th
.bn 039.png
.il id=i014 fn=i_b_014fp.jpg w=387px ew=70%
.ca
<em>Lieut. Gen. Sir T. Picton, G.C.B.</em>
<s>London, Edward Arnold, 1902.</s>
.ca-
.bn 040.png
.bn 041.png
.pn +1

Several of these men were shot by the peasants, while
others were made prisoners and were marched by the militia
of the country to the nearest British depôt. There they were
either flogged, hanged, or shot, according to the nature of their
different offences. Others were sent under escorts to whatever
corps they belonged. All this relaxation of discipline
commenced, as we have shown, in the early part of 1809,
while the regiments of which those marauders formed a
portion, between that period and the end of the year, had
marched over hundreds of miles, fought a battle in the heart
of Spain, occupied a line of posts on the Guadiana, and
finally, after the lapse of ten months, took up new ground
on the north-eastern frontier of Portugal.

It was at this time, and when the 3rd Division were
stationed as has been described, that General Picton joined
the army. It would be impossible to deny that a very
strong dislike towards the General was prevalent. His conduct
at the island of Trinidad,[3] while Governor of that
colony, and the torture inflicted, by his order, on Louise
Calderon, a torture which, by the way, had been given up in
our army as being worse than flogging, had impressed all
ranks with an unfavourable opinion of the man. Besides
this, the strong appeal made by Mr. Garrow, the Attorney-General,
to the jury by whom he was tried and found
guilty, was known to all, and a very general, and I do
believe a very unjust clamour was raised against him. From
what I have just written it will be seen in what sort of
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
estimation General Picton was held, and as we of his division
had never seen him, his first appearance before his troops
was looked for with no little anxiety.

.fm rend=th
.fn 3
Sir Thomas Picton, while Governor of Trinidad, then recently conquered
from Spain, had allowed torture to be used to extort confession
from a woman accused of theft. This was, he supposed, legal because
the island was still under Spanish law, which permitted the practice.
His action led to the case of <em>Rex</em> v. <em>Picton</em>, and brought immense odium
upon his head. The torture was “picketing.”
.fn-
.fm rend=th

Our wishes were soon gratified, for, in a few days after
his arrival at Trancoso, a division order was issued stating
that on a certain day, which was named, the division should
be under arms and ready to receive the General.

Punctual to the appointed time, General Picton reached
the ground, accompanied by his staff; every eye was turned
towards him, and, as first impressions are generally very
strong and very lasting, his demeanour and appearance were
closely observed. He looked to be a man between fifty and
sixty, and I never saw a more perfect specimen of a splendid-looking
soldier. In vain did those who had set him down
in their own minds as a cruel tyrant, seek to find out such
a delineation in his countenance. No such marks were distinguishable;
on the contrary, there was a manly open
frankness in his appearance that gave a flat contradiction
to the slander, and in truth Picton was <em>not</em> a tyrant, nor did
he ever act as such during the many years that he commanded
the 3rd Division.

But if his countenance did not depict him as cruel, there
was a caustic severity about it, and a certain curl of the lip
that marked him as one who rather despised than courted
applause. “The stern countenance, robust frame, caustic
speech, and austere demeanour,” told in legible characters
that he was one not likely to say a thing and not do as he
said. In a word, his appearance denoted him as a man of
strong mind and strong frame.

The division went through several evolutions, and performed
them in a very superior manner indeed; the line
marching and the echelon movements, for which the 88th,
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
under Wallace, was so celebrated, seemed to surprise the
General; he however said little. Once he turned to Wallace
and said, in rather a disagreeable tone, “Very well, sir.” The
parade was about to be dismissed, and the General about to
return to his quarters, when two marauders of the 88th were
brought up in charge of a detachment of Portuguese militia.
They had stolen a goat on their march up to join their
regiment. The complaint was at once made to Picton, who
ordered the men to be tried by a drum-head court-martial
on the spot. This was accordingly done; the men were
found guilty, and flogged on the moment in presence of
the General.

This act was considered by all as not good taste in
General Picton on his first appearance amongst his troops;
the offence committed by the soldiers could have been as
well punished in front of their own regiment as in the
presence of the entire division; and, besides this, there was
no necessity for the General’s remaining to witness the
punishment. This act on his part caused those who had
formed a favourable opinion from his appearance to waver,
and the word “tyrant” was more than muttered by many of
the division.

So soon as the two soldiers were removed after having
received the number of lashes it was thought necessary to
inflict, the General addressed the brigade in language not
of that bearing which an officer of his rank should use, for
turning to the 88th he said, “You are not known in the
army by the name of 'Connaught Rangers,' but by the
name of Connaught <em>footpads</em>!” He also made some remarks
on their country and their religion.

Language like this was enough to exasperate the lowest
soldier, equally with the Colonel, who had done so much for
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
the regiment during his command; and Colonel Wallace,
directly the parade was over, waited on General Mackinnon,
who commanded the brigade, and requested that he would
go to General Picton, and intimate to him that he conceived
the abusive language which he had made use of towards the
88th was not just to the corps, or to himself as commanding
officer of it.

Mackinnon was a strict disciplinarian, but a man of an
extremely mild temper, and he felt greatly annoyed at
what had taken place. He readily complied with Colonel
Wallace’s request, and received for answer from Picton, that
he would remove those impressions when he again had an
opportunity of assembling the division.

A long period elapsed before the division was again
brought together, and when it was Picton neglected, or
perhaps forgot, to fulfil the promise he had made. Immediately
after the parade Wallace reminded General Mackinnon
of what had before passed on the subject, and Mackinnon,
for the second time, waited on Picton. The latter requested
that Wallace should call upon him, which was immediately
complied with, and then took place a memorable interview.

When Wallace reached Picton’s quarters he found the
General alone; a long conversation took place, which Colonel
Wallace never repeated to me, nor was it necessary that he
should, because my rank did not entitle me to such disclosure,
but I have reason to think that it was very animated,
and what I am now about to write I have from under Colonel
(now General) Wallace’s own hand. It is as follows:—

“After a conversation which it is here unnecessary to
recapitulate, General Picton paused for a little and said,
'Well, will you dine with me on ——?' I replied, 'Most
certainly, General, I shall be happy to do so.' When I
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
went to dinner on the day appointed, I found almost all the
superior officers of Picton’s division, and the troops quartered
in the vicinity of Pinhel, assembled. General Picton then
addressed himself to Colonel Mackinnon, commanding the
brigade, and said, 'I understand that Colonel Wallace has
taken offence at some observations made by me relative to
the corps he commands, when addressing the division. I
am happy to find that I have been misinformed as to their
conduct for some time past; and I feel it but justice to him
and them, to say that I am satisfied every attention has been
paid to the conduct and appearance of the corps. I certainly
did hear, on my way up to the army, of irregularities that
had been committed, but I am happy to say that I have
had every occasion to be satisfied with the general conduct
of the corps since my joining the division.' I made no
reply, but bowed to the General. Dinner was announced,
and General Picton came up to me and asked me to sit
beside him at dinner. There ought always to be a deference
given to a general of division by an officer inferior in rank,
and under these circumstances I considered General Picton’s
conduct to have been arranged in a very gentlemanlike and
handsome manner. From that period General Picton and
myself were always on the best terms, and though from
prejudice he often signified that he suspected the <em>Connaught
Boys</em> were as ready for mischief as any of their neighbours,
he always spoke of them to me as good soldiers while I was
with his division.”

Thus ended the matter, and I never knew or heard that
Picton ever again made use of a harsh expression towards the
regiment; indeed his biographer says that he often gave
them “unqualified praise.” Perhaps he did, but for nearly
four years that Picton commanded the 3rd Division, not
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
one officer of the 88th was ever promoted through his recommendation,
though it is well known in the army that many
deserved it.

Shortly after this period a laughable circumstance took
place between Picton and a soldier of the 88th, which put
the General in great good-humour, and he often repeated the
story as a good joke. He was riding out one day, accompanied
by his aide-de-camp, near the river Coa, when he saw,
on the opposite bank of the river, a man of the Connaught
Rangers with a huge goat on his back.

We had received but scanty rations for some days
previously, and such a windfall as the old goat was not to be
neglected. I am not prepared to state whether it was the
cries of the animal, or the stench of his hide—for the wind
was from that point—attracted Picton to the spot; howbeit,
there he was.

It would be difficult to say, with truth, whether the
General was most angry or hungry, but he seemed, in either
case, resolved not only to capture the goat, but also the
“boy.” That he would have done the one or the other,
perhaps both, there can be little doubt, had it not been that
a stream, whose banks had been the theatre of other scenes
of contest, separated the parties. This stream was the Coa,
and although its different fordable points were well known to
Picton, his <lang=la><em>vis-a-vis</em></lang> neighbour was by no means ignorant of
some of the passes; and as the General had not time to
consult his chart, and find out the nearest “ford,” nor
inclination to plunge into the river, he made a furious,
but quite an ineffectual, attack of words against the
“Connaught boy.”

“Pray, sir,” said, or rather roared Picton, addressing the
soldier, “what have you got there?”
.bn 047.png
.pn +1

<em>Sol.</em> “A thieving puckawn, sir.”

<em>Pic.</em> “A <em>what</em>?”

<em>Sol.</em> “A goat, sir. In Ireland we call a buck-goat a
puckawn. I found the poor baste sthraying, and he looks
as if he was as hungry as myself.”

<em>Pic.</em> “What are you going to do with him, sir?”

<em>Sol.</em> “<em>Do</em> with him, is it? To bring him with me, to be
sure! Do you think I’d lave him here to starve?”

<em>Pic.</em> “Ah! you villain, you are at your old tricks, are you?
I know you, though you don’t think it!”

<em>Sol.</em> “And I know you, sir, and the 'boys of Connaught'
know you too, and I’d be sorry to do anything that would
be displaising to your honour; and, sure, iv you’d only let me,
I’d send your sarvent a leg iv him to dhress for your dinner,
for by my sowl your honour looks could and angry—hungry
I mane.”

He then held up the old goat by the beard, and shook it
at Captain Tyler, the General’s aide-de-camp, and taking it
for granted that he had made a peace-offering to the
General, or, probably, not caring one straw whether he had
or not, went away with his burden, and was soon lost sight
of amongst a grove of chestnut-trees.

“Well,” said Picton, turning to Tyler, who was nearly
convulsed with laughter, “that fellow has some merit.
What tact and what humour! He would make a good outpost
soldier, for he knows, not only how to forage, but to
take up a position that is unassailable.”

“Why yes, sir,” said Tyler, “when he held up the goat’s
head, he seemed to <em>beard</em> us to our faces; and his promise of
sending you a leg was a capital ruse!”

“It was, faith,” replied Picton, “and if the fellow is found out,
he will, I suppose, endeavour to make <em>me</em> the 'scape-goat'!”
.bn 048.png
.pn +1

The General used often to tell this story as one of the
best things of the sort he had ever met with.

It is a remarkable circumstance that a few days before the
battle of Waterloo, Picton met Wallace in London, when he
spoke highly of the regiment, and said if it returned from
America in time to join the army under the Duke of
Wellington (being then on their passage home), and if he
joined the army, the 88th would be one of the first regiments
he would ask for his division.
.bn 049.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER III

.pm start_summary
Masséna’s invasion of Portugal—Fall of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida—Craufurd’s
fight on the Coa—Anecdote of Colonel Charles Napier—The
British retire to the position of Busaco.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
In the month of January, 1810, Lord Wellington established
his headquarters at Viseu, in Upper Beira, and the different
brigades of cavalry and infantry were quartered in the
neighbouring villages. General Hill was left with five
thousand British, and about as many Portuguese, at
Abrantes; and with his army posted as has been described,
the British General awaited the development of Masséna’s
plan of invasion. The amount of the French force at this
period in the Peninsula counted over three hundred and
sixty thousand troops of all arms; but the army commanded
by Masséna, and called “the army of Portugal,” did not
amount to ninety thousand. The amount of the British and
Portuguese forces has been already stated to be about fifty-five
thousand men; and it will be recollected that of the
Portuguese army scarcely one man in one hundred had ever
discharged a musket against an enemy. As to the British,
when Lord Wellington moved his army from the Guadiana
its numbers counted about thirty thousand, but those under
arms scarcely reckoned twenty thousand; the remainder
were in hospital, and many of those in the ranks were but
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
ill able to carry their knapsacks and firelocks, having not
yet recovered from the effects of past illness.

The French preparations were so formidable, our own
force so small, that in the British ranks it was generally
believed that the entire army would retreat on Lisbon when
the French advanced, and embark there. The same was
asserted in England; the Portuguese dreaded it; the French
army universally believed it, and the British ministers seem
to have entertained the same opinion; for at this time an
officer of engineers arrived at Lisbon, whose instructions,
received personally from Lord Liverpool, though unknown
to Lord Wellington, commenced thus: “<em>As it is probable that
the army will embark in September.</em>”

Fortunately for us, the French lingered long ere they
began their invasion. It was not till June 1810 that Ney
began the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo, while Masséna still
remained at Madrid. The garrison of the fortress amounted
to about six thousand men, and was commanded by the
Spanish general, Herrasti, an old and gallant man who had
served his country with honour for more than half a century.
The town was amply supplied with artillery, provisions, and
stores of all kinds; and the vigorous resistance which was
expected was made by Herrasti and his brave garrison.

General Robert Craufurd, with his superb division,
occupied the line of the Coa, while General Cole, with the
4th Division, and Picton with the 3rd, were posted at
Guarda and Pinhel; and these troops were directed to be in
readiness to render any support that could with safety be
given to the Spanish governor. That assistance could never
be given, and Ciudad Rodrigo fell, after sustaining a siege of
upwards of a month. Its gallant defence reflected great
credit on both the governor and garrison, and the delay it
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
caused the French army was of the greatest importance to
Lord Wellington’s plan of resistance, because the heavy rains
which were almost sure to fall in the autumn would greatly
aid in the defence of the country.

After his capture of Rodrigo, Masséna lost no time in
laying siege to Almeida, and it was hoped that this town,
which was, though by no means a model of perfection, a more
regularly constructed fortress than Ciudad Rodrigo, would
hold out for at least as long. But here we were to be bitterly
disappointed. On August 26, 1810, the bombardment began:
in a short time a great portion of the town was in flames,
and it was found impossible in the confusion that prevailed
to put a stop to the calamity. But this mattered little; no
great damage had been done to the walls, and the guns of
the garrison replied with vigour. But at midnight a terrible
explosion was heard, the castle was rent into a thousand
pieces, and the entire town disappeared, as if swallowed by
an earthquake. This tremendous crash was heard for a
distance of many leagues. The main magazine had been
blown up by a French shell, and the Governor, Colonel Cox,
was obliged to surrender next day.

While these events were taking place, a variety of movements
between our advance and that of the enemy occurred.
Upon one occasion a portion of the 14th Dragoons came in
contact with a body of the enemy’s infantry, and their commanding
officer, Colonel Talbot, fell in the midst of a square
against which he made a gallant, but fruitless charge. But
this was of little import in comparison with what took place
with the Light Division, under Craufurd, on the banks of
the Coa. His force consisted of four thousand infantry, a
thousand cavalry, and a brigade of guns.

The force opposed to him was about six times his own
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
number, but yet he, with a hardihood bordering on rashness,
held his post, and fought a very dangerous battle—contrary
to orders, I believe—and lost upwards of three hundred
men, with nearly thirty officers, and had it not been for the
superior description of the troops he commanded, the division
would have been destroyed to a man. The French, it is true
lost three times the number Craufurd did; but what of that?
Masséna could have better spared one thousand men than
Wellington one hundred!

It has been said that Craufurd fully expected Picton
would have joined him with the 3rd Division, stationed at
Pinhel. The division of Picton were within hearing of the
fire, but not a man was ordered to move to the support of
Craufurd. The wounded men and officers of the Light
Division came into Pinhel in the best manner they could,
some on foot, others on cars, and the 3rd Division were
much excited at not being allowed to join their old
companions.

Colonel Wallace held the 88th in readiness, as I believe
did every other officer commanding a battalion, and the
division could have assembled and marched in ten minutes
had any order been given to that effect. However, the Light
Division, after performing more than could have been expected,
even from it, and doing so alone, without the aid
which it looked for, and which might have been afforded it,
held their ground, and sustained no disaster, but on the
contrary inflicted a severe loss on the enemy, and covered
itself with glory.

Craufurd, after his gallant fight, lay, with his division,
in the different villages in our front, and a quiet calm succeeded
the first outburst. There was an inactivity in the
movements of the enemy, notwithstanding that the soldiers
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
had been supplied with bread for many days; and a curious
incident took place at the time that is worthy of mention.
It shows the good terms upon which the British and French
officers stood in regard to each other.

Colonel Napier of the 50th Regiment, who had been badly
wounded at Corunna, and who had been treated with much
attention by Soult and Ney after he was made prisoner at
that battle, stopped at Pinhel. He was on his <lang=fr><em>parole</em></lang>, and
when asked by some of our officers, whom he knew, “where
he was going?” replied, “I am going to pass some time with
my friend Marshal Ney!” He did pass some time with him,
and was an eye-witness to all that went on in his camp; but
where such confidence was shown to any British officer,
much less one of such high character and honour as Colonel
Napier, it is needless to say that it was not forfeited.

Napier, after having stayed with his friend Ney for some
weeks,[4] returned on his way to England, when <lang=fr><em>en passant</em></lang> he
found the ridge of Busaco was about to be contested, and
the gallant Colonel, although not on duty, or in any way
connected with the army, being in fact on his <lang=fr><em>parole</em></lang>, wished
to be a looker-on. It so happened that he was wounded,
while standing near Lord Wellington. His name was
returned, and the French official paper, the <cite>Moniteur</cite>, made
some remarks upon the Colonel breaking his <lang=fr><em>parole</em></lang>. It was,
however, soon explained by the gallant officer, and, in return,
the Paris papers did not let pass an occasion which afforded
them amusement, and they quaintly remarked “that a man
who was so fond of French fire, after what he had got of it
before, ought to live in France!”

.fm rend=th
.fn 4
This story is true; but the visit was only for one day (see <cite>Charles
Napier’s Life</cite>, i. 133).
.fn-
.fm rend=th

After a good deal of delay and vacillation, it appeared
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
that Masséna had at last seriously resolved on his enterprise.
He had, under his immediate command, nearly one hundred
and twenty thousand bayonets and sabres, but from this force
some deductions must be made, by which it would appear
that at the utmost he did not bring more than sixty
thousand fighting men across the Coa. Finally he passed
that river, and our army retired towards the banks of the
Mondego, and Lord Wellington was obliged to give battle.
But this obligation did not emanate from him—quite the
contrary.

It was necessary that he should do something, and the
thing was forced upon him by the refractory spirit of the
Portuguese councils. If then he was to fight, for the first
time, with an army of Portuguese to back him, he judged
that the ridge of Busaco was a good spot to try them, and
he accordingly resolved to take his stand there. This ridge
of mountain extends for about eight miles, and near its
termination, and on a high point, stands a convent, inhabited
by monks and friars. The face of the mountain is rugged,
filled with dells and dykes, and the intervening space between
its base and the top is one mass of rock and heath.

On the 26th of September, all the different corps were
placed in the stations they should occupy, and the entire
ridge of Busaco was fully manned; during the evening we
could perceive the enemy occupying their different stations
in our front, and the light troops of both armies were warmly
engaged along the entire of the line.

At night we lay down to rest; each man, with his firelock
in his grasp, remained at his post, anxiously waiting the
arrival of the morrow, which was destined to be the last that
many amongst us were to behold. We had no fires, and the
death-like stillness that reigned throughout our army was
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
only interrupted by the occasional challenge of an advanced
sentry, or a random shot fired at some imaginary foe.

The night at length passed over, but long before the
dawn of day the warlike preparations of the enemy were to
be heard. The trumpets sounded for the horsemen to prepare
for the fight, and the roll of the drums and shrill notes
of the fife gave notice to the French infantry that the hour
had arrived when its claim to be the best in Europe was to
be disputed.

On our side all was still as the grave. Lord Wellington
lay amongst his soldiers, under no other covering than his
cloak, and as he passed through the ranks of the different
battalions already formed, his presence and manner gave
that confidence to his companions which had a magical effect.
All was now ready on our part; the men stood to their arms;
and as each soldier took his place in the line, his quiet demeanour,
and orderly, but determined appearance, was a
strong contrast to the bustle and noise which prevailed
amongst our opposite neighbours; but those preparations
were of short continuance, and some straggling shots along
the brow of the mountain gave warning that we were about
to commence the battle of Busaco.[5]

.fm rend=th
.fn 5
For the better comprehension of the ensuing narrative of the
doings of the 3rd Division at Busaco, it will be well to give its strength
and organisation on that day. They were as follows:—

.pm start_poem
1st Brigade, General Mackinnon.
    1st Battalion 45th Foot: 74th Foot: 1st Battalion 88th Foot (Connaught Rangers).
2nd Brigade, General Lightburne.
    2nd Battalion 5th Foot: 2nd Battalion 83rd Foot: 3 companies of 5th Battalion 60th Foot.
Portuguese Brigade, Colonel Champlemond.
    9th and 21st Regiments of the Line (each two Battalions).
.pm end_poem
.fn-
.fm rend=th
.bn 056.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV

.pm start_summary
Battle of Busaco—Daring advance of the French—The achievements
of the 88th—Adventure of Captain Seton—Alcobaça—Remarks
on the battle.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
This battle, fought upon the 27th September 1810, was
one in which the losses of the French, and of the British and
Portuguese army, commanded by Lord Wellington, were
not of that magnitude to give it a first-rate place on the
battle list;[6] this same battle of Busaco was, nevertheless,
one of the most serious ever fought in the Peninsula, and
for this reason—it was the first in which the Portuguese
levies were brought under fire, and upon their conduct in
this, their maiden effort against their veteran opponents,
depended the fate of Portugal, and the Peninsula also. Such
being the case, it must ever be classed as a very important
event, and one that should be recorded by the historian with
great care and fidelity, yet, strange to say, there is not, that
I have read, any faithful report of it in print. In vain do we
turn even to Colonel Napier’s splendid history of the war in
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
the Peninsula in expectation of finding a correct account;
no such account is there to be found. In all, therefore, that
I am going to relate as to the part which the 3rd Division
took in it, I shall keep as close as I possibly can to what I
know to be the facts.

.fm rend=th
.fn 6
The loss of the French being 4486 killed, wounded, and prisoners,
including five generals, viz. General Graindorge killed, Generals Foy,
Maucune, and Merle wounded, and General Simon made prisoner,
while that of the allied army was no more than 1143, amongst which
number not one general officer had fallen; the total loss of the two
armies, counting about one hundred thousand combatants, was under
six thousand.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

On the morning of the 27th the haze was so thick that
little could be seen at any great distance, but the fire of the
light troops along the face of the hill put it beyond doubt
that a battle would take place. Lord Wellington was close
to the brigade of Lightburne, and from the bustle amongst
his staff, it was manifest that the point held by Picton’s
division was about to be attacked. Two guns belonging to
Captain Lane’s troop of artillery were ordered upon the left
of the 88th Regiment, and immediately opened their fire,
while the Portuguese battery, under the German Major
Arentschildt, passed at a trot towards the Saint Antonio
Pass, in front of the 74th British.

A rolling fire of musketry, and some discharges of cannon,
in the direction of Saint Antonio, announced what was
taking place in that quarter, and the face of the hill immediately
in front of the brigade of Lightburne, and to the
left of the 88th Regiment, was beginning to show that the
efforts of the enemy were about to be directed against this
portion of the ground held by the 3rd Division.

The fog cleared away, and a bright sun enabled us to see
what was passing before us. A vast crowd of <lang=fr><em>tirailleurs</em></lang> were
pressing onward with great ardour, and their fire, as well
as their numbers, was so superior to that of our advance, that
some men of the brigade of Lightburne, as also a few of the
88th Regiment, were killed while standing in line; a colour-sergeant
named Macnamara was shot through the head close
beside myself and Ensign Owgan. Colonel King, commanding
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
the 5th Regiment, which was one of those belonging to
Lightburne’s brigade, oppressed by a desultory fire he was
unable to reply to without disturbing the formation of his
battalion, brought his regiment a little out of its range,
while Colonel Alexander Wallace, of the 88th, took a file
of men from each company of his regiment, and placing
them under the command of Captain George Bury and
Lieutenant William Mackie, ordered them to advance to
the aid of our people, who were overmatched and roughly
handled at the moment. Our artillery still continued to
discharge showers of grape and canister at half range, but
the French light troops, fighting at open distance, heeded it
not, and continued to multiply in great force. Nevertheless,
in place of coming up direct in front of the 88th, they edged
off to their left, out of sight of that corps, and far away
from Lightburne’s brigade, and from the nature of the
ground they could be neither seen nor their exact object
defined; as they went to their left, our advance inclined to
the right, making a corresponding movement; but though
nothing certain could be known, as we soon lost sight of
both parties, the roll of musketry never ceased, and many
of Bury’s and Mackie’s men returned wounded. Those two
officers greatly distinguished themselves, and Bury, though
badly wounded, refused to quit the field. A soldier of Bury’s
company, of the name of Pollard, was shot through the
shoulder; but seeing his captain, though wounded, continue
at the head of his men, he threw off his knapsack, and fought
beside his officer; but this brave fellow’s career of glory was
short, a bullet penetrated the plate of his cap, passed through
his brain, and he fell dead at Bury’s feet. These were the
sort of materials the 88th were formed of, and these were
the sort of men that were unnoticed by their General!
.bn 059.png
.pn +1

Lord Wellington was no longer to be seen, and Wallace
and his regiment, standing alone without orders, had to act
for themselves. The Colonel sent his captain of Grenadiers
(Dunne) to the right, where the rocks were highest, to
ascertain how matters stood, for he did not wish, at his own
peril, to quit the ground he had been ordered to occupy
without some strong reason for so doing. All this time the
brigade of Lightburne, as also the 88th, were standing at
ordered arms.

In a few moments Dunne returned almost breathless;
he said the rocks were filling fast with Frenchmen, that a
heavy column was coming up the hill beyond the rocks,
and that the four companies of the 45th were about to be
attacked. Wallace asked if he thought half the 88th
would be able to do the business. “You will want every
man,” was the reply.

Wallace, with a steady but cheerful countenance, turned
to his men, and looking them full in the face, said, “Now,
Connaught Rangers, mind what you are going to do; pay
attention to what I have so often told you, and when I
bring you face to face with those French rascals, drive them
down the hill—don’t give the false touch, but push home
to the muzzle! I have nothing more to say, and if I had
it would be of no use, for in a <em>minit</em> or two there’ll be such
an infernal noise about your ears that you won’t be able to
hear yourselves.”

This address went home to the hearts of us all, but there
was no cheering; a steady but determined calm had taken
the place of any lighter feeling, and it seemed as if the men
had made up their minds to go to their work unruffled and
not too much excited.

Wallace then threw the battalion from line into column,
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
right in front, and moved on our side of the rocky point at
a quick pace; on reaching the rocks, he soon found it manifest
that Dunne’s report was not exaggerated; a number of
Frenchmen were in possession of this cluster, and so soon as
we approached within range we were made to appreciate
the effects of their fire, for our column was raked from front
to rear. The moment was critical, but Wallace, without
being in the least taken aback, filed out the Grenadiers and
the first battalion-company, commanded by Captains Dunne
and Dansey, and ordered them to storm the rocks, while he
took the fifth battalion-company, commanded by Captain
Oates, also out of the column, and ordered that officer to
attack the rocks at the opposite side to that assailed by
Dunne and Dansey. This done, Wallace placed himself at
the head of the remainder of the 88th, and pressed on to
meet the French column.

At this moment the four companies of the 45th, commanded
by Major Gwynne, a little to the left of the 88th,
and in front of that regiment, commenced their fire, but it
in no way arrested the advance of the French column, as it,
with much order and regularity, mounted the hill, which at
this point is rather flat. But here, again, another awkward
circumstance occurred. A battalion of the 8th Portuguese
Infantry, under Colonel Douglas, posted on a rising ground
on our right, and a little in our rear, in place of advancing
with us, opened a distant and ill-directed fire, and one which
would exactly cross the path of the 88th, as that corps was
moving onward to meet the French column, which consisted
of three splendid regiments, viz. the 2nd Light Infantry,
the 36th, and the 70th of the line. Wallace, seeing the loss
and confusion that would infallibly ensue, sent Lieutenant
John Fitzpatrick, an officer of tried gallantry, with orders
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
to point out to this regiment the error into which it had
fallen; but Fitzpatrick had only time to take off his hat,
and call out “<lang=es><em>Vamos commarades</em></lang>,” when he received two
bullets—one from the Portuguese, which passed through
his back, and the other in his left leg from the French,
which broke the bone, and caused a severe fracture; yet
this regiment continued to fire away, regardless of the consequences,
and a battalion of militia, which was immediately
in rear of the 8th Portuguese, took to their heels the moment
the first volley was discharged by their own countrymen!

Wallace threw himself from his horse, and placing himself
at the head of the 45th and 88th, with Gwynne of the
45th on the one side of him, and Captain Seton of the 88th
on the other, ran forward at a charging pace into the midst
of the terrible flame in his front. All was now confusion
and uproar, smoke, fire and bullets, officers and soldiers,
French drummers and French drums knocked down in every
direction; British, French, and Portuguese mixed together;
while in the midst of all was to be seen Wallace, fighting—like
his ancestor of old—at the head of his devoted
followers, and calling out to his soldiers to “press forward!”
Never was defeat more complete, and it was a proud moment
for Wallace and Gwynne when they saw their gallant
comrades breaking down and trampling under their feet
this splendid division composed of some of the best troops
the world could boast of. The leading regiment, the 36th,
one of Napoleon’s favourite battalions, was nearly destroyed;
upwards of two hundred soldiers and their old colonel,
covered with orders, lay dead in a small space, and the face
of the hill was strewed with dead and wounded, which showed
evident marks of the rapid execution done at this point; for
Wallace never slackened his fire while a Frenchman was
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
within his reach. He followed them down the edge of the
hill, and then he formed his men in line, waiting for any orders
he might receive, or for any fresh body that might attack
him. Our gallant companions, the 45th, had an equal share
in the glory of this short but murderous fight—they suffered
severely; and the 88th lost nine officers and one hundred and
thirty-five men. The 8th Portuguese also suffered, but in
a less degree than the other two regiments, because their
advance was not so rapid, but that regiment never gave
way nor was it ever broken; indeed there was nothing to
break it, because the French were all in front of the 45th
and 88th, and if they had broken the Portuguese they must
have first broken the two British regiments, which it is well
known they did not! The regiment of militia in their rear
ran away most manfully; and if they were able to continue
for any length of time the pace at which they commenced
their flight, they might, I should say, have nearly reached
Coimbra before all matters had been finally settled between
us and the French. Two of their officers stood firm and
reported themselves in person to Wallace on the field of
battle; so there could be no mistake about them, no more
than there was about the rest of their regiment.

Meanwhile, Captains Dunne, Dansey, and Oates had a
severe struggle with the French troops that occupied the
rocks. Dunne’s sergeant (Brazil) killed a Frenchman by a
push of his halbert, who had nearly overpowered his captain.
Dansey was slightly wounded in four places, but it was said
at the time that he killed three Frenchmen—for he used a
firelock. Oates suffered less, as the men opposed to him
were chiefly composed of those that fled from Dunne and
Dansey. Dunne’s company of Grenadiers, which at the onset
counted about sixty, lost either two or three-and-thirty, and
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
Dansey’s and Oates’s companies also suffered, but not to the
same amount. The French troops that defended those rocks
were composed of the 4th Regiment and the Irish Brigade;
several of the latter were left wounded in the rocks, but
we could not discover one Irishman amongst them.[7]

.fm rend=th
.fn 7
There is an error here. The Irish Brigade were not engaged;
they were in reserve, in the 8th corps.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

Lord Wellington, surrounded by his staff and some general
officers, was a close observer of this attack. He was standing
on a rising ground in rear of the 88th Regiment, and so close
to that corps that Colonel Napier of the 50th—who was on
leave of absence—was wounded in the face by a musket shot
quite close to Lord Wellington. His Lordship passed the
warmest encomiums on the troops engaged, and noticed the
conduct of Captain Dansey in his despatch. It has been
said, and I believe truly, that Marshal Beresford, who was
colonel of the 88th, expressed some uneasiness when he saw
his regiment about to plunge into this unequal contest; but
when they were mixed with Reynier’s men and pushing
them down the hill, Lord Wellington, tapping him on the
shoulder, said, “Well, Beresford, look at them <em>now</em>!”

While these events which I have described were taking
place, Picton in person took the command against the other
division of Reynier’s corps and had a sharp dispute with it
at the pass of Saint Antonio; but General Mackinnon, who
led on the troops, never allowed it to make any head. A
shower of balls from Arentschildt’s battery deranged its
deployment, and a few volleys from the 74th British and
the Portuguese brigade of Champlemond totally routed this
column before it reached the top of the ridge. This attack
was feeble in comparison with the one directed against
Wallace, and, besides, Picton’s force was vastly superior to
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
that commanded by Wallace, while the troops opposed to
him were little, if anything, more numerous. Picton had at
this point five companies of the 45th under Major Smyth,
all the light companies of the 3rd Division, one company
of the 60th Rifles, the 74th British and the Portuguese
brigade of Champlemond, besides Arentschildt’s battery of
guns. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at that Reynier
made little or no impression on Picton’s right.

The 5th Division, commanded by General Leith, was in
movement towards the contested point, and reached it in
time either to take the fugitives in flank or to drive back
any fresh body destined to support their defeated comrades.
It made great efforts to join Picton when he was attacked,
but the advance was so rapid, the defeat so signal, and the
distance—two miles across a rugged mountain—so great,
that Leith and his gallant division could only effect in part
what they intended. The arrival of this force was, however,
fully appreciated; for although the brigade of Lightburne,
belonging to Picton’s division, had not fired a shot
or been at all molested, and although the 74th Regiment
was nearly at liberty, still, had another attack with fresh
troops been made, Leith might have stood in Picton’s shoes
on the extreme right, while the latter could in a short time
concentrate all his battalions, and either fight beside Leith
or turn with vigour against any effort that might be made
against his centre or left. But it would seem that no reserve
was in hand—at all events none was thrown into the fight;
and Masséna gave up without a second trial that in which
he lost many men and much glory!

While Picton, Mackinnon, Wallace and Champlemond,
and Leith’s division, were occupied as I have described,
the Light Division, under the gallant Robert Craufurd, maintained
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
a severe struggle against a large proportion of Ney’s
corps. Those French troops were driven down the hill with
great loss, and the general of brigade, Simon, who headed
and led the attack, was taken prisoner by the 52nd Regiment,
and between two and three hundred unwounded men shared
the fate of their general. The leading brigade of Leith’s
division put to flight some of the enemy who kept a hold of
a rocky point on Picton’s right, and had Picton been aware
of their being there he might have cut off their retreat,
while Leith attacked them in front and flank; but their
numbers were scanty, and they might not have been aware of
the fate of their companions, otherwise they would in all
probability have got out of Leith’s clutches before his
arrival, for their remaining in the rocks could be of no
possible avail, and their force was too wreak to hazard any
serious attack on Picton’s right. Indeed, they were routed
by a battalion or two of Leith’s division; and the entire
British loss at this point did not count above forty or fifty.
And thus ended a battle of which so many accounts have
been given: all at variance with each other—and none more
so than what I have just written.

It has been said that Picton directed the attack of the
45th under Major Gwynne, the 88th under Wallace, and
the 8th Portuguese under Douglas. Not one syllable of this
is true. The conception of this attack, its brilliant execution,
which ended in the total overthrow of Reynier’s column, all
belong to Colonel Alexander Wallace of the 88th Regiment.
At the time it was made Generals Picton and Mackinnon
had their hands full at the pass of Saint Antonio, and were,
in effect, as distant from Wallace as if they had been on the
Rock of Lisbon; neither was General Lightburne to be
seen. The nearest officer of rank to Wallace was Lord
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
Wellington, who saw all that was passing and never interfered
<em>pro</em> or <em>con</em>, which is a tolerably strong proof that his
lordship thought no alteration for the better could be made;
and Wallace had scarcely reformed his line, a little in front
and below the contested ground, when Lord Wellington,
accompanied by Marshal Beresford and a number of other
officers, galloped up, and passing round the left of our line,
rode up to Wallace, and seizing him warmly by the hand,
said—

“Wallace, I never witnessed a more gallant charge than
that made just now by your regiment!”

Wallace took off his hat—but his heart was too full to
speak. It was a proud moment for him; his fondest hopes
had been realised, and the trouble he had taken to bring the
88th to the splendid state of perfection in which that corps
then was, had been repaid in the space of a few minutes by
his gallant soldiers, many of whom shed tears of joy. Marshal
Beresford addressed several of the soldiers by name who had
served under him when he commanded the regiment; and
Picton, who at this time came up, expressed his satisfaction.
Lord Wellington then took leave of us; and Beresford,
shaking the officers by the hand, rode away with his lordship,
accompanied by the officers about him. We were once more
left to ourselves; the arms were piled, the wounded of all
nations collected and carried to the rear, and in a short time
the dead were left without a stitch of clothes to cover their
bodies. All firing had ceased, except a few shots low down
the hill on our right; and shortly after the picquets were
placed in front, a double allowance of spirits was served out
to Wallace’s men.

We had now leisure to walk about and talk to each
other on the events of the morning, and look at the French
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
soldiers in our front. They appeared as leisurely employed
cooking their rations as if nothing serious had occurred to
them, which caused much amusement to our men, some of
whom remarked that they left a few behind them that had
got a “bellyful” already. The rocks which had been forced
by the three companies of the 88th presented a curious and
melancholy sight; one side of their base strewed with our
brave fellows, almost all of them shot through the head,
while in many of the niches were to be seen dead Frenchmen,
in the position they had fought; while on the other side,
and on the projecting crags, lay numbers who, in an effort
to escape the fury of our men, were dashed to pieces in their
fall!

Day at length began to close, and night found the two
armies occupying the ground they held on the preceding
evening; our army, as then, in utter darkness, that of the
enemy more brilliant than the preceding night, which
brought to our recollection the remark of a celebrated
general when he saw bonfires through France after a signal
defeat which the troops of that nation had sustained.
“Gad!” said the general, “those Frenchmen are like flint-stones—the
more you beat them the more fire they make!”

Captain Seton, Ensign Owgan, and myself, with one
hundred of the Connaught Rangers, formed the picquet in
advance of that regiment, and immediately facing the outposts
of the enemy in our front. The sentries of each, as
is customary in civilised armies, although within half-shot
range of each other, never fired except upon occasions of
necessity. Towards midnight Seton, a good and steady
officer, went in front, for the third time, to see that the
sentinels which he himself had posted were on the alert.
He found all right; but upon his return to the main body
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
he missed his way, and happening in the dark to get too
close to a French sharpshooter, he was immediately challenged,
but not thinking it prudent to make any noise, in
the shape of reply or otherwise, he held his peace. Not so
with the Frenchman, who uttered a loud cry to alarm his
companions, and discharged the contents of his musket at
Seton; the ball passed through his hat, but did no other
injury, and he might have rejoiced at his escape had the
matter ended here; but the cry of the sentinel and the discharge
of his musket alarmed the others, and one general
volley from the line of outposts of both armies warned Seton
that his best and safest evolution would be to sprawl flat on
his face amongst the heath with which the hill was copiously
garnished. He did so, and as soon as the tumult had in a
great degree abated, he got up on his hands and knees and
essayed to gain the ground which no doubt he regretted he
had ever quit. He was nearing the picquet fast, when the
rustling in the heath, increased by the awkward position in
which he moved, put us on the <lang=fr><em>qui vive</em></lang>. Owgan, who was
a dead shot with a rifle, and who on this day carried one,
called out, in a low but clear tone, “I see you, and if you
don’t answer you’ll be a dead man in a second”; and he
cocked his rifle, showing he meant to make good his
promise.

Whether it was that Seton knew the temperament of the
last speaker, or was flurried by the recollection of what he was
near receiving from his obstinate taciturnity with the French
soldier, is uncertain. But in this instance he completely
changed his plan of tactics, and replied in a low and scarcely
audible tone, “Owgan! don’t fire—it’s me.” So soon as he
recovered his natural and more comfortable position—for
he was still “all-fours”—we congratulated him on his lucky
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
escape, and I placed my canteen of brandy to his mouth; it
did not require much pressing to prevail upon him to take
a hearty swig, which indeed he stood much in need of.

The night passed over without further adventure or
annoyance, and in the morning the picquets on both sides
were relieved. The dead were buried without much
ceremony, and the soldiers occupied themselves cleaning
their arms, arranging their accoutrements, and cooking their
rations. The enemy showed no great disposition to renew
his attack, and a few of us obtained leave to go down to
the village of Busaco, in order to visit some of our officers,
who were so badly wounded as to forbid their being removed
further to the rear. Amongst the number was the gallant
Major Silver of the 88th. He had been shot through the
body, and though he did not think himself in danger, as he
suffered no pain, it was manifest to the medical men he
could not live many hours. He gave orders to his servant
to leave him for a short time, and attend to his horses; the
man did so, but on his return in about a quarter of an hour
he found poor Silver lying on his right side as if he was
asleep—but he was dead! Silver was one of the best
soldiers in the army, and was thanked by Colonel Donkin,
who commanded the brigade at the battle of Talavera, for
his distinguished bravery in that action. He was laid in a
deep grave in the uniform he had fought and died in.

The day after the action some English troops passed
through the town of Alcobaça on their route to join the
army; and this circumstance, coupled with our victory, led
the inhabitants to suppose they, as well as their property,
were perfectly safe; and the idea of removing the one or
the other never once occurred to them. Their surprise and
confusion was in consequence increased tenfold when they
.bn 070.png
.pn +1
beheld our troops enter the town. Alcobaça was at that
time a beautiful rich village, notwithstanding that it supported
a magnificent convent and several hundred priests
and friars. Those gentlemen, although rigid in their mode
of living at times, know as well as any other class of people
<em>how</em> to live, and, having ample means of making out life
at their disposal, it is not to be wondered at that the
convent contained that which was far from unacceptable to
us, namely quantities of provisions.

On our arrival in the town the inhabitants, terrified at the
possibility of being captured by the French, fled, leaving, in
many instances, their houses in such haste as not to allow
themselves time to take away anything, not even their silver
forks and spoons—a luxury which almost the poorest family
in Portugal enjoys. These, and other articles, offered a
strong temptation to our men to do that which they should
not, <em>i.e.</em> possess themselves of whatever they found in those
uninhabited mansions. Their doing so, to be sure, was a
slight breach of discipline; but it was argued by the “friends
of the measure,” that Lord Wellington having directed the
country parts as well as the towns to be laid waste, in order
to distress the enemy as much as possible, the Portuguese
were highly culpable in neither taking away their property
nor destroying it. It would be almost superfluous to add
that an argument of so sound a nature, and delivered in the
nick of time, had its due force; it in fact bore down all
opposition, and those whose consciences at first felt anything
like a <em>qualm</em>, in a little time became more at ease, so that by
the time the houses had been about half-sacked, there was
not one who, so far from thinking it improper to do what he
had done, would not have considered himself much to blame
had he pursued a different line of conduct.
.bn 071.png
.pn +1

The priests, more cautious, or perhaps better informed,
removed their valuables; but in all their hurry they did not
forget that hospitality for which they were proverbial.
They left some of their brethren behind, who had a dinner
prepared for our officers, and when their longer stay was
useless to us, and might be attended with danger to themselves,
they opened their different stores, and with a generous
liberality invited us to take whatever we wished for. Poor
men! Their doing so showed more their goodness of heart
than their knowledge of the world. Had they been a little
longer acquainted with the lads that were now about to
stand in their places, they would not have thought such
<lang=fr><em>congé</em></lang> necessary. As soon as those good men left the dwelling
in which they had passed so many tranquil years, we
began to avail ourselves of the permission granted us, and
which decency forbade our taking advantage of sooner.
Every nook was searched with anatomical precision; not
even a corner cupboard was allowed to escape the scrutiny
of the present inmates of the convent, who certainly were as
unlike the former in their demeanour as in their costume.

In taking a survey of the different commodities with
which this place was supplied, I had the good fortune or,
as it afterwards turned out, the <em>bad</em> fortune, to stumble
upon several firkins of Irish butter. Unquestionably I never
felt happier, because it was a luxury I had not tasted for
months; but my servant, by a good-natured officiousness,
so loaded my poor, half-starved, jaded mule with, not only
butter, but everything else he could lay his paw upon, that,
unable to sustain the shameful burden which had been
imposed upon him, he fell exhausted in endeavouring to
scramble through a quagmire, and I lost not only the cargo
with which he was laden, but the animal himself; however,
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
I had the consolation to know that few of the articles cost
me anything, and he himself was a sort of windfall, having
been <em>found</em> by my servant on the retreat.

The army continued its march upon Torres Vedras with
little interruption from the enemy, and early in October we
occupied our entrenched camp. This formidable position
had its right at Alhandra on the Tagus; its left rested on
the part of the sea where the river Zizambre empties itself,
and along its centre was a chain of redoubts armed with
cannon of different calibre; between these forts was a
double and, in some instances, triple row of breastworks for
the infantry, and the position might be considered faultless.

On the night of the 29th the French army made that
flank movement which obliged Lord Wellington to retire,
and which is so well known as to render any detail from me
unnecessary; and on that night we took our leave of the
mountain of Busaco, and commenced our march to the Lines
of Torres Vedras.
.bn 073.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V

.pm start_summary
Occupation of the Lines of Torres Vedras—An army in motley—An
Irish interpreter—Death of the Marquis de la Romana—Retreat of
Masséna’s army from Portugal—Indulgence of Lord Wellington—The
amenities of a subaltern’s existence.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The astonishment of the French general was great when he
beheld the reception prepared for him; and his friend the
Duke d'Abrantes must have been lowered in his estimation
not a little, because it is well known that, contrary to the
advice of several able officers, Masséna was overruled by
Junot, who assured him those heights could be easily
carried.

After numerous <lang=fr><em>reconnoissances</em></lang>, the French Marshal came
to the resolution of renouncing any hope of success from an
assault; and his army formed a line blockade, with its right
at Otta, its centre at Alenquer, and its left at Villa Franca.
But it must have been a matter of deep regret to him to
have learned, when too late, that by this useless advance of
his, he exposed upwards of three thousand of his wounded
from the battle of Busaco, left at Coimbra, to be massacred
by the Portuguese militia and peasantry.

For the space of a month the French army remained
inactive in their wretched cantonments, their supply of
provisions growing every day more scanty; their horses,
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
reduced to the necessity of subsisting on the vine twigs, died
by hundreds; and the soldiers, pining from disease, became
discontented and discouraged. In consequence, the desertions
increased with their increasing wants, and it appeared
very evident that matters could not long continue in the
state they had assumed at the beginning of November.

Although our situation was, in every respect, better than
that of the enemy, we were far from comfortable. Our huts,
from want of any good materials to construct them, were
but a weak defence against the heavy rains which fell at this
time. We had no straw to serve for thatch, and the heath
which we were obliged to use as a substitute, though it
looked well enough when in full leaf and blossom, and was
a delightful shelter in fine weather, became a wretched
protection against the torrents that soon after inundated us.
The inside of our habitation presented an appearance as
varied as it was uncomfortable; at one end might be seen a
couple of officers, with their cloaks thrown about them,
snoring on a truss of straw, while over their heads hung
their blankets, which served as a kind of inner wall, and for
a time stopped the flood that deluged the parts of the hut
not so defended; but this, by degrees, becoming completely
saturated with rain, not only lost its original appearance,
but what was worse, its original usefulness; for the water,
dripping down from the edges, gradually made its way
towards the centre of the blanket, and thus, by degrees, it
assumed a shape not unlike the parachute of a balloon.
Finally the whole, being overpowered with its own weight,
and either giving way at the point or bottom, or breaking its
hold from the twigs which feebly held it at top, overwhelmed
those it was intended to protect, and in the space of a minute
more effectually drenched them than the heaviest fall of rain
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
would have accomplished in several hours. In another
corner lay some one else, who, for want of a better, substituted
a sheet or an old tablecloth as a temporary defence;
but this was even more disastrous than the blanket, for from
the nature of its texture, and the imperfect manner in which
it was from necessity pitched, it made but a poor stand;
it soon performed the functions of a filtering machine, and
with equal effect, though less force, was to the full as unserviceable
as the blanket. Others, more stout and convivial,
sat up smoking cigars and drinking brandy punch, waiting
for the signal to proceed to our alarm-post, a duty which
the army performed every morning two hours before day.
This was by no means a pleasant task; scrambling up a
hill of mud and standing shivering for a couple of hours in
the dark and wet was exceedingly uncomfortable, but I don’t
remember to have heard one single murmur; we all saw the
necessity of such a line of conduct, and we obeyed it with
cheerfulness.

On the 14th of November Masséna broke up his camp,
and on that night his army was in full march upon Santarem;
ours made a corresponding movement, and the headquarters
were on the 18th established at Cartaxo.

It was the general opinion in the army that a battle in
the neighbourhood of Santarem would be the result of those
man[oe]uvres, and this opinion was strengthened by Lord
Wellington making a <lang=fr><em>reconnoissance</em></lang> on the 19th; but
although those expectations were disappointed, the situation
of the troops was much improved, and their comforts increased.
Our division occupied the town of Torres Vedras,
while the other corps were in the villages of Alenquer,
Azambujo, and Alcoentre. The French army foraged the
country between Santarem and the river Zezere. Santarem
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
was much strengthened, and the two armies were thus
circumstanced at the end of November 1810.

Our fatigues being for a time at an end, we occupied
ourselves in such pursuits as each of us fancied. We had
no unnecessary drilling, nor were we tormented with that
greatest of all <em>bores</em> to an officer at any time, but particularly
on service, uniformity of dress. The consequence was
that every duty was performed with cheerfulness; the army
was in the highest state of discipline; and those gentlemen
who had, or fancied they had, a taste for leading the
fashion, had now a fine opportunity of bringing their talents
into play.

With such latitude it is not to be wondered at that our
appearance was not <em>quite</em> as uniform as some general officers
would approve of; but Lord Wellington was a most indulgent
commander; he never harassed us with reviews, or
petty annoyances, which so far from promoting discipline,
or doing good in any way, have a contrary effect. A corporal’s
guard frequently did the duty at headquarters; and every
officer who chose to purchase a horse might ride on a march.
Provided we brought our men into the field well appointed,
and with sixty rounds of good ammunition each, he never
looked to see whether their trousers were black, blue, or
grey; and as to ourselves, we might be rigged out in all the
colours of the rainbow if we fancied it. The consequence
was, that scarcely any two officers were dressed alike! Some
with grey braided coats, others with brown; some again
liked blue; while many from choice, or perhaps necessity,
stuck to the “old red rag.” Overalls, of all things, were in
vogue, and the comical appearance of a number of infantry
officers loaded with leather bottoms to their pantaloons, and
huge chains suspended from the side buttons, like a parcel
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
of troopers, was amusing enough. Quantities of hair, a
regular brutus, a pair of mustachios, and screw brass spurs,
were essential to a first-rate <em>Count</em>, for so were our dandies
designated. The “cut-down” hat, exactly a span in height,
was another <em>rage</em>; this burlesque on a <lang=fr><em>chapeau</em></lang> was usually
out-topped by some extraordinary-looking feather; while,
again, others wore their hats without any feather at all—and
indeed this was the most rational thing they did. In
the paroxysm of a wish to be singularly singular, a friend of
mine shaved all the hair off the crown of his head, and <em>he</em>
was decidedly the most <lang=fr><em>outré</em></lang>-looking man amongst us, and
consequently the happiest. I myself had a hankering to be
a <em>Count</em>, and had I half as much money to spare as time, I
should not have been outdone by any man in the army, so
I hit upon the expedient of cutting my hat down a couple
of inches lower than any one else: <em>this</em> I thought would be
better than nothing. Lieutenant Heppenstal, of the 88th
Regiment, was nearly falling a sacrifice to the richness of
his dress. He belonged to the light troops of our army at
the battle of Busaco, and was warmly engaged with the
advance of the enemy. He was a man of the most determined
bravery and gigantic strength, and more than once
became personally engaged with the French riflemen. At
one time, carried away by his daring impetuosity, he pursued
his success so far as to be nearly mixed with the enemy; a
number of Portuguese Caçadores, coming up at this moment,
mistook him for a French general officer, and attempted to
make him a prisoner; a scuffle ensued, in which he lost the
skirts of his frockcoat; and it was not until an explanation
took place that he was enabled to join his regiment in this
laughable trim—his beautiful gold-tagged frock being converted
into a regular spencer.
.bn 078.png
.pn +1

Poor Heppenstal! It was his first appearance under
fire, and it was not difficult for those who witnessed his too
gallant <em>début</em> to foresee that his career of glory would be
short. He carried a rifle, and his unerring aim brought
down many a man on the morning I am speaking of; but
he did not long survive the praises so justly bestowed on
him, and it will soon be my painful duty to record his
death.

Dress, however, with its attractions, by no means engrossed
all our thoughts; some were fond of shooting, and those
whose tastes lay that way had plenty of sport, as the country
abounded in game; others took to horse-racing, and here
was a fine opportunity for the lovers of the turf and of dress
to display their knowledge in both. Jockeys, adorned with
all colours, were to be seen on the course, and the harlequin-like
appearance of these equestrians was far from unpleasing.
Some of the races were admirably contested, and afforded
us as much gratification as those of Epsom and Doncaster
do to the visitants of those receptacles of rank and fashion.

We had great inconvenience in making ourselves understood
by our Portuguese allies, and a laughable circumstance
of this sort took place between a friend of mine and a shoemaker,
in the village of Rio Mayor. He left his boots, his
only pair, to be mended, and understood they were to be
put in serviceable condition for a <lang=pt><em>crusado novo</em></lang>, less than
three shillings of our money. Next day, on entering the
shop, the man made two or three efforts to make the officer
comprehend how well the work had been done; but it was
all to no purpose, for my friend, not understanding one
word of what was said, conceived the fellow wanted to
impose a higher price upon him, and got into a violent rage.
An Irish soldier, belonging to the 88th Regiment, of the
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
name of Larracy, a shoemaker, who had been working
for the Portuguese, a common indulgence allowed to the
tradesmen of the army, came up to his officer and thus
accosted him.

“Ah! your honour, I see you can’t talk to him, but <em>lave</em>
him to me; I’ve been working in his shop these three weeks,
and, saving your presence, there isn’t a bigger rascal in all
Ireland; but I can <em>spake</em> as well as himself now, and I’m up
to his ways.”

Larracy thus became interpreter and <em>mediator</em>, and it
would be difficult to say in which character he best acquitted
himself. Possessing no knowledge whatever of the language,
notwithstanding his repeated assurances that he could talk
it <em>nately</em>, he brought that happy talent for invention, for
which the Irish most undeniably stand unrivalled, into play.
Seizing one of the boots, he approached his employer, and
suiting the word to the action, addressed him in the following
words:—

“Si, senhor! Quanto the munnee, for the solee, the heelee,
and the nailee?”

The astonishment portrayed in the countenance of the
Portuguese baffles all description; he surveyed Larracy from
head to foot, and with much gravity of manner replied, “<lang=pt><em>En
nào entendo-o que vós me dizeis.</em></lang>”[8]—“And sure I’m telling him
so,” rejoined Larracy. “What does the fellow say?” demanded
my friend. “What does he say?—What does he say,
is it? He says he put a fine pair of welts to your boots,
sir (and it’s true for him!); and that your honour will have
to give him a dollar [<em>about two shillings more than was demanded
by the Portuguese!</em>], but just only <em>lave</em> him to me,
and give <em>me</em> the dollar, and if I don’t <em>bate</em> him down in the
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
price, never believe a word that I’ll tell your honour again;
and I’ll carry home your boots for you, and bring you the
account in <em>rotation</em> (by which he meant in writing), and the
change of the dollar.”—“Oh! never mind, you are an honest
fellow, Larracy, and keep the change for your trouble; but
you may tell your employer it is the last job he shall ever
do for me.”—“Och! sure I told your honour he was a blackguard,”
grinned Larracy, escorting his officer to the door, and
putting the dollar in his pocket.

.fm rend=th
.fn 8
“I do not understand a word you are saying to me.”
.fn-
.fm rend=th

While in the other parts of the Peninsula much activity
prevailed, with us all was quiet; and although the season
was advancing towards spring, there was no appearance of
our commencing the offensive, and conjectures innumerable
were the consequence. Promotion, that great planet whose
influence more or less affected us all, was perpetually on the
tapis. There were some among us of a desponding cast;
they would say, “Have we not lost Almeida, Rodrigo, and
now, though last not least, Badajoz? And should we be
obliged to evacuate the Peninsula, good-bye to promotion.”
Others there were who held a different opinion, and, resting
their hopes on some fortunate “turn-up,” expected ere long to
have the enviable title of captain attached to their name. To
this class I belonged, and as it was the most numerous in the
army, it was in consequence the most clamorous on this head.

The life of a subaltern, in what Miss Mac-Tab would call
a marching regiment, where many of us, and I myself for one,
had little except our pay, is a perpetual scene of irritating
calculation from the 24th of one month to the 24th of the
next. No matter under what circumstances, or in what
quarter of the globe the subaltern is placed, his <em>first</em> thought
points towards that powerful magnet the <em>twenty-fourth</em>—his
<em>next</em> to promotion.
.bn 081.png
.pn +1

The 24th has scarcely passed when the same routine is
pursued, every hour increasing in interest according to the
immediate wants of the calculator; and time rolls on, either
rapidly or slowly, in the exact ratio with the strength or
weakness of his purse. The moment he receives his pay he
discharges his bills, and by the time he has got about half-way
into the first week of the next month, he has little
occasion for a knowledge of Cocker to enable him to
calculate his money.

The period generally reckoned on by a subaltern to get
his company, in a good fighting regiment—that is to say,
one that had the good luck to be in the thick and thin of
what was going on, for all regiments fight alike for that
matter—was from five to six years. The “extra shilling”
was rarely heard of, and never thought of but with
disgust.[9]

.fm rend=th
.fn 9
The extra shilling was given to lieutenants who had served in that
rank seven years or more, and had not obtained a company.
.fn-
.fm rend=th
.bn 082.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI

.pm start_summary
Excesses and sufferings of the French during their retreat—Combats of
Foz d'Aronce and Sabugal—Battle of Fuentes d'Oñoro—Sir E.
Pakenham, Colonel Wallace, and the 88th Regiment.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The retreat of the French army from Portugal commenced
on the night of the 5th of March 1811, and was marked by
acts more suited to a horde of barbarians than a European
army. On the fact being ascertained at our headquarters,
we were put in their track, which, when once found, it would
have been a difficult matter to lose, the whole country
through which they passed being a vast extent of burning
ruins. Not a town, not a village, and rarely a cottage
escaped the general conflagration. The beautiful town of
Leyria was left a heap of ruins; Pombal shared the same
fate; and the magnificent convent of Alcobaça was burned
to the ground. Two of the finest organs in Europe were
destroyed by this wanton act; and a century will be
insufficient to repair the evils which a few months inflicted
on this unfortunate country.

Scenes of the most revolting nature were the natural
attendants on such a barbarous mode of warfare, and
scarcely a league was traversed by our army, in its advance,
without our eyes being shocked by some frightful spectacle.
The French army was doubtless much exasperated against
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
the Portuguese nation, in consequence of the manner in which
they destroyed what would have contributed to the comforts
of men who had been half-starved for six months. And now,
after so many privations, having a long retreat before them,
with a scanty allowance of provisions in their haversacks, it
is more to be lamented than wondered at, that the march of
the French troops was accompanied by many circumstances
which were disgraceful to them.

On the 9th of March our advance-guard came up with
the rear of the enemy, commanded by Marshal Ney, in the
neighbourhood of Pombal. The Light Division was warmly
engaged, and some charges of cavalry took place on the high
ground near the castle; but the infantry of our division
(the 3rd) arrived too late to support the Light, and no
decisive result was the consequence. Masséna continued
his retreat that night and next day; but on the 11th we
found him posted on a rising ground near the village of
Redinha; our army formed in line on the plain, and an
action of some consequence was expected; but the French
marshal was so pressed in front, while his left was vigorously
attacked, that it was not without sustaining a severe loss he
effected his passage across the river Redinha.

On the 15th we surprised their covering division while in
the act of cooking near the village of Foz d'Aronce. They
retreated in the greatest hurry, leaving several camp kettles
full of meat behind them. As we approached the town, the
road leading to it was covered with a number of horses,
mules, and asses, all maimed; but the most disgusting sight
was about fifty of the asses floundering in the mud, some
with their throats half cut, while others were barbarously
houghed or otherwise injured. What the object of this
proceeding meant I never could guess; the poor brutes
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
could have been of no use to us, or indeed any one else, as I
believe they were unable to have travelled another league.
The meagre appearance of these creatures, with their backbones
and hips protruding through their hides, and their
mangled and bleeding throats, produced a general feeling of
disgust and commiseration.

The village of Foz d'Aronce was warmly contested, and
more than once taken and retaken. Night put a stop to
this affair, in which we sustained a loss of about four
hundred men. The enemy lost nearly a thousand <lang=fr><em>hors de
combat</em></lang>;[10] and, as usual, taking advantage of the night, got
off, and continued their retreat upon Guarda, having destroyed
the bridge on the river Ceira as they retired.

.fm rend=th
.fn 10
These figures are very wild. The English lost 4 officers and 60
men, the French 456 killed and wounded only, according to the
official accounts.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

The army did not lose any officer of rank in the affair of
Foz d'Aronce, but the service sustained a loss in Lieutenant
Heppenstal—a young man who, had he lived, would have
been an ornament to a profession for which Nature seemed
to have destined him. He was known to be one of the
bravest men in the army, but on this occasion his usual
spirits deserted him. He moved along silent, inattentive,
and abstracted—a brisk firing in our front soon roused all
his wonted energy, and he advanced with his men apparently
cheerful as ever; turning to a brother officer he said, “You
will laugh at what I am going to say; you know I am not
afraid to die, but I have a certain feeling that my race is
nearly run.”—“You jest,” said his friend. “No, I don’t,”
was his reply; they shook hands, the light troops advanced,
and in a few minutes the brave Heppenstal was a corpse.
His presentiment was too just, and though I had heard of
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
instances of the kind before, this was the first that came
under my immediate observation. I ran up to the spot
where he lay; he was bleeding profusely; his breast was
penetrated by two bullets, and a third passed through his
forehead. His death was singular, and it appeared as if he
was resolved to fulfil the destiny that he had marked out
for himself. Our light troops were gradually retreating on
their reinforcements, and were within a few paces of the
columns of infantry; his men repeatedly called out to him
to retire with the rest, but he, either not hearing, or not
attending to what they said, remained, with his back against
a pine-tree, dealing out death at every shot. Pressed as we
were for time, we dug him a deep grave at the foot of the
tree where he so gallantly lost his life, and we laid him in it
without form or ceremony.

Nothing particular occurred after the action of Foz
d'Aronce until our arrival at Guarda. As usual, we met
with groups of murdered peasantry and of French soldiers.
At the entrance of a cave, amidst these rocky mountains, lay
an old man, a woman, and two young men, all dead. This
cave, no doubt, had served them as an asylum the preceding
winter, and appearances warranted the supposition that
these poor creatures, in a vain effort to save their little
store of provisions, fell victims to the ferocity of their
murderers. The clothes of the two young peasants were
torn to atoms, and bore ample testimony that they did not
lose their lives without a struggle to preserve them; the
hands of one were dreadfully mangled, as if in a last effort
to save his life he had grasped the sword which ultimately
despatched him. Beside him lay his companion, his brother
perhaps, covered with wounds; and a little to the right was
the old man. He lay on his back with his breast bare; two
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
large gashes were over his heart, and the back part of his
head was beaten to pieces. Near him lay an old rusty
bayonet fixed on a pole, which formerly served as a goad for
oxen, and one of his hands grasped a bunch of hair, torn, no
doubt, from the head of the assassin; the old woman was in
all probability strangled, as no wound appeared on her body.

At some distance from this spot were two French soldiers
belonging to the 4th Léger; their appearance was frightful.
They had been wounded by our advance, and their companions
either being too much occupied in providing for
their own safety to think of them, or their situation being
too hopeless to entertain an idea of their surviving, they
were abandoned to the fury of the peasants, who invariably
dodged on the flanks or in the rear of our troops. These
poor wretches were surrounded by half a dozen Portuguese,
who, after having plundered them, were taking that horrible
vengeance too common during this contest. On the approach
of our men they dispersed, but, as we passed on, we could
perceive them returning like vultures that have been scared
away from their prey for the moment, but who return to it
again with redoubled voraciousness. Both the Frenchmen
were alive, and entreated us to put an end to their sufferings.
I thought it would have been humane to do so, but
Napoleon and Jaffa flashed across me, and I turned away
from the spot.[11]

.fm rend=th
.fn 11
The reference is to the discredited story that Napoleon poisoned
all his non-transportable wounded at Jaffa, during his retreat to Egypt,
in order to prevent them from being massacred by the Turks.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

On the 30th of March General Picton arrived before
Guarda. His approach to that town was not only unperceived,
but seemed unexpected, having advanced to within two gun-shots
of the town without meeting a vedette. Such conduct
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
on the part of the French general was not only culpable in
the extreme, but showed the greatest presumption and
confidence, because, had we a brigade of guns with us, and
a few hundred cavalry, the five thousand men that occupied
Guarda would have been forced to lay down their arms.
Fortunately for them, we had neither the one nor the other;
and instead of being in a condition to attack the town, we
had the mortification to witness the French getting out of
it, bag and baggage, as quick as they could. The scene of
confusion that the streets presented was great; infantry,
artillery, and baggage, men, women, and children, all mixed
pell-mell together, hurrying to the high road leading to
Sabugal. Our cavalry came up shortly after the enemy had
evacuated the place, but too late to do much good. Some
prisoners and baggage and a few head of cattle were captured,
and we took up our quarters in the town for the
night.

On the 3rd of April we again, and for the last time in
Portugal, encountered the enemy at Sabugal. The Light
Division had a gallant affair with the corps of General
Reynier, and though greatly outnumbered, they not only
succeeded in forcing the position, but captured a howitzer
and several prisoners. The 3rd Division soon after reached
the ground, and its leading battalions, especially the 5th
Regiment, had deployed, and having thrown in a heavy fire,
were advancing with the bayonet, when a violent hail-storm
came on and completely hid the two armies from each other.
Reynier hurried his divisions off the field; and this unlooked-for
event snatched a brilliant exploit from us, as the total
overthrow of this corps would have been in all probability
the result.

The French suffered severely, but they never fought
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
better; so rapidly did they fire that, instead of returning
their ramrods, they stuck them in the ground for expedition,
and continued to fight until overpowered by our men, who
are certainly better at close fighting than long shot.

The enemy fought their howitzer well, and almost all the
gunners lay dead about it. A young artillery officer was the
first I took notice of—his uniform was still on him, an unusual
thing; he wore a blue frock-coat; across his shoulder
hung his cartouche-box; and the middle of his forehead was
pierced by a musket ball. His features, which were beautiful,
showed, nevertheless, a painful distortion, and it was evident
that the shock which deprived him of life, though momentary,
was one of excruciating agony. Beside him lay one of
the gunners, whose appearance was altogether different from
that of his officer. A round shot had taken off his thigh a
few inches below the groin, and his death, though not as
instantaneous, seemed to be void of pain. The bare stump
exhibited a shocking sight—the muscles, arteries, and flesh,
all hanging in frightful confusion, presented the eye with a
horrid sample of the effects of those means made use of by
man for his own destruction; the ramrod of the gun was
near him; his back rested against one of the wheels; and
there was that placid look in his countenance which would
lead you to think he had sat himself down to rest.

The wounded having been all removed, and the enemy
continuing their retreat, we bivouacked on the ground they
had occupied at the commencement of the action, and the
next day we went into cantonments. The French recrossed
the Agueda, and Portugal was, with the exception of
Almeida, freed from their presence, after they had occupied
it for nearly eight months, and had inflicted on the inhabitants
every misery it is possible to conceive.
.bn 089.png
.pn +1

Four weeks had scarcely elapsed when we were again
called into action. On the 2nd of May Marshal Masséna
passed the river Agueda at Rodrigo, and moved upon
Almeida in order to supply it with provisions. He had
left a garrison of three thousand men in that fortress, commanded
by General Brennier, in whom he placed much confidence.
The French Marshal stationed his army on the
river Azava, in the neighbourhood of Carpio, Espeja, and
Gallegos; and next day (the 3rd) made a movement on
Almeida. Lord Wellington made a corresponding movement,
and our army occupied a fine line of battle—its right
at Nava d'Aver, the centre at Fuentes d'Oñoro, and the left
resting on the ruins of the Fort de la Conception; in our
front ran the little stream of Oñoro. General Pack’s brigade
of Portuguese invested Almeida.

Without waiting to ascertain the strength or weakness of
the position, Marshal Masséna, with that impetuosity which
had formerly characterised him, ordered the village of
Fuentes d'Oñoro to be carried; and to make his success
certain the entire of the sixth corps was employed in the
attack. The town was at this time occupied by some of our
1st Division, consisting of the Highland regiments, supported
by others of the line, and the light companies of the
1st and 3rd Divisions, commanded by Major Dick of the
42nd Highlanders, and Colonel Williams of the 60th. The
village was taken and retaken several times, and night found
both armies occupying a part each.

Masséna, perceiving that the obstacles opposed to his
carrying this point, which he considered the key of our
position, were too great for him to surmount, employed
himself during the 4th of May in reconnoitring our line, and
in making preparations for the battle which was to take
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
place the following day. On our side we were not inactive:
the avenues leading to Pozobello and Fuentes were barricaded
in the best manner the moment would allow;
temporary defences were constructed at the heads of the
different streets, and trenches dug here and there as a protection
against the impetuous attacks expected from the
cavalry of General Montbrun. We lay down to rest perfectly
assured that every necessary precaution had been
taken by our General; and as to the result of the battle,
we looked upon that as certain, a series of engagements with
the enemy having taught us to estimate our own prowess;
and being a good deal overcome with the heat of the weather,
we lay down to rest and slept soundly.

Day had scarcely dawned when the roar of artillery and
musketry announced the attack of Fuentes d'Oñoro and
Pozobello. Five thousand men filled the latter village, and
after a desperate conflict carried it with the bayonet.
General Montbrun, at the head of the French cavalry,
vigorously attacked the right of our army; but he was
received with much steadiness by our 7th Division, which,
though it fought in line, repulsed the efforts made to break
it, and drove back the cavalry in confusion. The light
troops, immediately in front of the 1st and 3rd Divisions,
were in like manner charged by bodies of the enemy’s horse,
but by man[oe]uvres well executed, in proper time, these
attacks were rendered as fruitless as the main one against
the right of our army. The officer who commanded this
advance,[12] either too much elated with his success, or holding
the efforts of the enemy in too light a point of view, unfortunately
extended his men once more to the distance at
which light troops usually fight; the consequence was fatal.
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
The enemy, though defeated in his principal attack, was still
powerful as a minor antagonist; and seeing the impossibility
of success against the main body, redoubled his efforts
against those which were detached; accordingly he charged
with impetuosity the troops most exposed, amongst whom
were those I have been describing. The bugle sounded to
close, but whether to the centre, right, or left, I know not;
certain it is, however, that the men attempted to close to
the right, when to the centre would have been more desirable,
and before they could complete their movement the French
cavalry were <em>mixed with them</em>.

.fm rend=th
.fn 12
Colonel Hill of the Guards: he was taken prisoner.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

Our division was posted on the high ground just above
this plain; a small rugged ravine separated us from our
comrades; but although the distance between us was short,
we were, in effect, as far from them as if we were placed
upon the Rock of Lisbon. We felt much for their situation,
but could not afford them the least assistance, and we saw
them rode down and cut to pieces without being able to
rescue them, or even discharge one musket in their defence.

Our heavy horse and the 16th Light Dragoons executed
some brilliant charges, in each of which they overthrew the
French cavalry. An officer of our staff, who led on one of
those attacks, unhorsed and made prisoner Colonel La
Motte of the 15th French Chasseurs; but Don Julian
Sanchez, the Guerilla chief, impelled more by valour than
prudence, attacked with his Guerillas a first-rate French
regiment; the consequence was the total overthrow of the
Spanish hero; and as I believe this was the first attempt
this species of troops ever made at a regular charge against
a French regiment, so I hope, for their own sakes, it was their
last.

All the avenues leading to the town of Fuentes d'Oñoro
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
were in a moment filled with French troops; it was occupied
by our 71st and 79th Highlanders, the 83rd, the light companies
of the 1st and 3rd Divisions, and some German
and Portuguese battalions, supported by the 24th, 45th,
74th, and 88th British Regiments, and the 9th and 21st
Portuguese.

The sixth corps, which formed the centre of the French
army, advanced with the characteristic impetuosity of their
nation, and forcing down the barriers, which we had hastily
constructed as a temporary defence, came rushing on, and,
torrent-like, threatened to overwhelm all that opposed them.
Every street, and every angle of a street, were the different
theatres for the combatants; inch by inch was gained and
lost in turn. Whenever the enemy were forced back, fresh
troops, and fresh energy on the part of their officers, impelled
them on again, and towards mid-day the town presented a
shocking sight; our Highlanders lay dead in heaps, while
the other regiments, though less remarkable in dress, were
scarcely so in the numbers of their slain. The French
Grenadiers, with their immense caps and gaudy plumes, in
piles of twenty and thirty together—some dead, others
wounded, with barely strength sufficient to move; their
exhausted state, and the weight of their cumbrous appointments,
making it impossible for them to crawl out of the
range of the dreadful fire of grape and round shot which
the enemy poured into the town. Great numbers perished
in this way, and many were pressed to death in the streets.

It was now half-past twelve o’clock, and although the
French troops which formed this attack had been several
times reinforced, ours never had; nevertheless the town was
still in dispute. Masséna, aware of its importance, and
mortified at the pertinacity with which it was defended,
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
ordered a fresh column of the ninth corps to reinforce those
already engaged. Such a series of attacks, constantly
supported by fresh troops, required exertions more than
human to withstand; every effort was made to sustain the
post, but efforts, no matter how great, must have their limits.
Our soldiers had been engaged in this unequal contest for
upwards of eight hours; the heat was moreover excessive,
and their ammunition was nearly expended. The Highlanders
were driven to the churchyard at the top of the
village, and were fighting with the French Grenadiers across
the tomb-stones and graves; while the ninth French Light
Infantry had penetrated as far as the chapel, distant but a
few yards from our line, and were preparing to <lang=fr><em>debouche</em></lang> upon
our centre. Wallace with his regiment, the 88th, was in
reserve on the high ground which overlooked the churchyard,
and he was attentively looking on at the combat which raged
below, when Sir Edward Pakenham galloped up to him, and
said, “Do you see that, Wallace?”—“I do,” replied the
Colonel, “and I would rather drive the French out of the
town than cover a retreat across the Coa.”—“Perhaps,” said
Sir Edward, “his lordship don’t think it tenable.” Wallace
answering said, “I shall take it with my regiment, and keep
it too.”—“Will you?” was the reply; “I’ll go and tell Lord
Wellington so; see, here he comes.” In a moment or two
Pakenham returned at a gallop, and, waving his hat, called
out, “He says you may go—come along, Wallace.”

At this moment General Mackinnon came up, and placing
himself beside Wallace and Pakenham, led the attack of the
88th Regiment, which soon changed the state of affairs.
This battalion advanced with fixed bayonets in column of
sections, left in front, in double quick time, their firelocks
at the trail. As it passed down the road leading to the
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
chapel, it was warmly cheered by the troops that lay at each
side of the wall, but the soldiers made no reply to this
greeting. They were placed in a situation of great distinction,
and they felt it; they were going to fight, not only
under the eye of their own army and general, but also in
the view of every soldier in the French army; but although
their feelings were wrought up to the highest pitch of
enthusiasm, not one hurrah responded to the shouts that
welcomed their advance. There was no noise or talking in
the ranks; the men stepped together at a smart trot, as if on
a parade, headed by their brave colonel.

It so happened that the command of the company which
led this attack devolved upon me. When we came within
sight of the French 9th Regiment, which were drawn up at
the corner of the chapel, waiting for us, I turned round to
look at the men of my company; they gave me a cheer that
a lapse of many years has not made me forget, and I thought
that that moment was the proudest of my life. The soldiers
did not look as men usually do going into close fight—pale;
the trot down the road had heightened their complexions,
and they were the picture of everything that a chosen body
of troops ought to be.

The enemy were not idle spectators of this movement;
they witnessed its commencement, and the regularity with
which the advance was conducted made them fearful of the
result. A battery of eight-pounders advanced at a gallop
to an olive-grove on the opposite bank of the river, hoping
by the effects of its fire to annihilate the 88th Regiment, or,
at all events, embarrass its movements as much as possible;
but this battalion continued to press on, joined by its
exhausted comrades, and the battery did little execution.

On reaching the head of the village, the 88th Regiment
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
was vigorously opposed by the French 9th Regiment,
supported by some hundred of the Imperial Guard, but it
soon closed in with them, and, aided by the brave fellows
that had so gallantly fought in the town all the morning,
drove the enemy through the different streets at the point of
the bayonet, and at length forced them into the river that
separated the two armies. Several of our men fell on the
French side of the water. About one hundred and fifty of
the grenadiers of the Guard, in their flight, ran down a street
that had been barricaded by us the day before, and which
was one of the few that escaped the fury of the morning’s
assault; but their disappointment was great, upon arriving
at the bottom, to find themselves shut in. Mistakes of this
kind will sometimes occur, and when they do, the result is
easily imagined; troops advancing to assault a town, uncertain
of success, or flushed with victory, have no great time
to deliberate as to what they will do; the thing is generally
done in half the time the deliberation would occupy. In
the present instance, every man was put to death; but
our soldiers, as soon as they had leisure, paid the enemy
that respect which is due to brave men. This part of the
attack was led by Lieutenant George Johnston, of the 88th
Regiment.
.bn 096.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII

.pm start_summary
State of the town of Fuentes d'Oñoro after the battle—The wounded—Visit
to an amputating hospital—General Brennier’s escape from
Almeida—Booty in the camp.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
As soon as the town of Fuentes d'Oñoro was completely
cleared of the enemy, we sheltered ourselves in the best
manner we could behind the walls, and at the angles of the
different streets; but this was a task not easy to be accomplished,
the French batteries continuing to fire with much
effect. Nevertheless, Sir Edward Pakenham remained on
horseback, riding through the streets with that daring bravery
for which he was remarkable; if he stood still for a moment,
the ground about him was ploughed up with round shot.

About this time Colonel Cameron, of the 79th Highlanders,
fell, as did also Captain Irwin of the 88th Regiment.
The death of the latter officer was singular. He had been
many years in the army, but this was his first appearance in
action. He was short-sighted, and the firing having in some
degree slackened, he was anxious to take a view of the scene
that was passing; he put his head above the wall behind
which his men were stationed, but had scarcely placed his
glass to his eye, when a bullet struck him in the forehead—he
sprang from the earth and fell dead.

General Mackinnon and a group of mounted officers were
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
behind the chapel wall, which was the highest point in the
village, and consequently much exposed to the enemy’s view.
This ill-built wall was but a feeble defence against round
shot, and it was knocked down in several places, and some
wide gaps were made in it. The general stood at one of
these breaches giving his directions; he attracted the enemy’s
notice, and they redoubled their fire on this point. Salvos
of artillery astounded our ears, at each of which some part
of the old wall was knocked about us; at one of these discharges,
five or six feet of it was beaten down, and several
men were crushed. Colonel Wallace, of the 88th, was
covered with the rubbish, his hat was knocked off, and we
thought he was killed, but fortunately he escaped unhurt.

By two o’clock the town was comparatively tranquil.
The cannonading on the right of the line had ceased, but
the enemy continued to fire on the town; this proceeding
was attended with little loss to us, and was fatal to many
of their wounded, who lay in a helpless state in the different
streets, and could not be moved from their situation without
great peril to our men—and they were torn to pieces by the
shot of their own army. Several of these poor wretches were
saved by the humane exertions of our soldiers, but still it
was not possible to attend to all, and, consequently, the
havoc made was great. Towards evening the firing ceased
altogether, and it was a gratifying sight to behold the
soldiers of both armies, who but a few hours before were
massacring each other, mutually assisting to remove the
wounded to their respective sides of the river. The town
too, as was usual in such cases, was not passed unnoticed; it
contained little, it is true, yet even that little was better
than nothing; and it was laughable to see the scrupulous
observation of <lang=fr><em>etiquette</em></lang> practised by our men, when any windfall,
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
such as a chest of bread or bacon, happened to fall to
the lot of a group of individuals in their foraging excursions.
The following was the method taken to divide the spoil, and
as no national distinction was thought of, the French as
well as the British shared in whatever was acquired. An
old experienced stager or two took upon themselves the
responsibility of making a division of the plunder according
to the number that were present at the capture. This done,
one of the party was placed with his back to the booty,
when one of those who had partitioned it called out with an
audible voice, “Who is to have this?” at the same time
pointing to the parcel about to be transferred, while he
that was appealed to without hesitation particularised some
one of the number, who immediately seized on his portion,
put it into his haversack, and proceeded in search of fresh
adventures.

We had now leisure to walk through the town and observe
the effects of the morning’s affray. The two armies lost
about five thousand men, and as the chief of this loss was
sustained by the troops engaged in the town, the streets
were much crowded with the dead and wounded. French
and British lay in heaps together, and it would be difficult
to say which were most numerous. Some of the houses were
also crowded with dead Frenchmen, who either crawled
there after being wounded, in order to escape the incessant
fire which cleared the streets, or who, in a vain effort to save
their lives, were overpowered by our men in their last place
of refuge; and several were thrust half-way up the large
Spanish chimneys.

General Mackinnon, who directed the attack of the 88th
Regiment, and accompanied it in its advance, ordered it to
retire to the position it had previously occupied, and as he
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
was unwilling to attract the notice of the enemy too much,
he desired that this operation should be performed by companies.
My company, or at least the one I commanded, was
the first to quit the town. As I approached the spot where
Sir Edward Pakenham was on horseback, he said, “Where
are you going, sir?” not at the moment recognising the
regiment. I told him that General Mackinnon had desired
me to retire, but of course if he wished me to stay I would.
“Oh no,” said he, “the 88th have done enough for this day;
but the regiment that replaces you would do well to bring a
keg of ammunition, <em>each man</em>, in addition to his sixty rounds,
for, while I have life, the town shall not be taken.” He
was in a violent perspiration and covered with dust, his left
hand bound round with his pocket-handkerchief as if he
had been wounded; he was ever in the hottest of the fire,
and if the whole fate of the battle depended upon his own
personal exertions he could not have fought with more
devotion.

Lord Wellington caused the village of Fuentes d'Oñoro
to be occupied by five thousand fresh troops. The Light
Division was selected for this service, and it passed us about
five o’clock on the evening of the 5th. General Craufurd
took the command of this post, and every precaution was
resorted to to strengthen the town; temporary walls were
thrown up at the bottom of the streets, carts and doors were
put into requisition to barricade every pass, but, as it turned
out, those observances were unnecessary, for Marshal Masséna,
giving up all idea of success, declined any further contest.
Thus was the object of his movement frustrated—a battle
lost, and Almeida left to its fate.

Our wounded were removed to Villa Formosa, and Lord
Wellington decided upon diminishing his front. By this
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
movement we lost our communication with Sabugal, but we
effectually covered Almeida, and still possessed the pass of
Castello Bom. At half-past nine o’clock at night, the regiments
which had so bravely defended Fuentes d'Oñoro passed
us, as we were about to lie down to rest; they were much
fatigued, and we were struck with their diminished appearance.
The 79th Highlanders, in particular, attracted our
notice. We asked them what their loss had been; they
said, thirteen officers, including their colonel, Cameron, and
more than three hundred rank and file; and the soldiers
were nearly correct in their estimate.[13]

.fm rend=th
.fn 13
The 79th, by the official return, lost 32 killed, 152 wounded, and
94 missing—a total of 278.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

The next day, the 6th, we had no fighting; each army
kept its position, and Villa Formosa continued to be the
receptacle for the wounded. This village is beautifully
situated on a craggy hill, at the foot of which runs the little
stream of Oñoro. Its healthful and tranquil situation,
added to its proximity to the scene of action, rendered it
a most desirable place for our wounded; the perfume of
several groves of fruit-trees was a delightful contrast to the
smell that was accumulating on the plain below; and the
change of scene, added to a strong desire to see a brother
officer, who had been wounded in the action of the 5th,
led me thither.

On reaching the village, I had little difficulty in finding
out the hospitals, as every house might be considered one,
but it was some time before I discovered <em>that</em> which I wished
for. At last I found it. It consisted of four rooms; in it
were pent up twelve officers, all badly wounded. The largest
room was twelve feet by eight, and this apartment had for
its occupants four officers. Next the door, on a bundle of
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
straw, lay two of the 79th Highlanders, one of them shot
through the spine. He told me he had been wounded in
the streets of Fuentes on the 5th, and that although he had
felt a good deal of pain before, he was now perfectly easy
and free from suffering. I was but ill skilled in surgery,
but, nevertheless, I disliked the account he gave of himself.
I passed on to my friend; he was sitting on a table, his
back resting against a wall. A musket-ball had penetrated
his right breast, and passing through his lungs came out at
his back, and he owed his life to the great skill and attention
of Doctors Stewart and Bell, of the 3rd Division.
The quantity of blood taken from him was astonishing;
three, and sometimes four, times a day they would bleed
him, and his recovery was one of those extraordinary instances
seldom witnessed. In an inner room was a young
officer shot through the head. His was a hopeless case. He
was quite delirious and obliged to be held down by two men;
his strength was astonishing, and more than once, while
I remained, he succeeded in escaping from the grasp of his
attendants. The Scotch officer’s servant soon after came in,
and, stooping down, inquired of his master how he felt, but
received no reply; he had half turned on his face; the man
took hold of his master’s hand, it was still warm, but the
pulse had ceased—he was dead. The suddenness of this
young man’s death sensibly affected his companions; and
I took leave of my friend and companion, Owgan, fully
impressed with the idea that I should never see him again.

I was on my return to the army when my attention was
arrested by an extraordinary degree of bustle, and a kind of
half-stifled moaning, in the yard of a <lang=pt><em>quinta</em></lang>, or nobleman’s
house. I looked through the grating, and saw about two
hundred wounded soldiers waiting to have their limbs
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
amputated, while others were arriving every moment. It would
be difficult to convey an idea of the frightful appearance of
these men: they had been wounded on the 5th, and this
was the 7th; their limbs were swollen to an enormous size.
Some were sitting upright against a wall, under the shade
of a number of chestnut-trees, and many of these were
wounded in the head as well as limbs. The ghastly countenances
of these poor fellows presented a dismal sight. The
streams of gore, which had trickled down their cheeks, were
quite hardened with the sun, and gave their faces a glazed
and copper-coloured hue; their eyes were sunk and fixed,
and what between the effects of the sun, of exhaustion, and
despair, they resembled more a group of bronze figures than
anything human—there they sat, silent and statue-like,
waiting for their turn to be carried to the amputating tables.
At the other side of the yard lay several whose state was too
helpless for them to sit up; a feeble cry from them occasionally,
to those who were passing, for a drink of water, was all
that we heard.

A little farther on, in an inner court, were the surgeons.
They were stripped to their shirts and bloody. Curiosity
led me forward; a number of doors, placed on barrels,
served as temporary tables, and on these lay the different
subjects upon whom the surgeons were operating; to the
right and left were arms and legs, flung here and there,
without distinction, and the ground was dyed with blood.

Dr. Bell was going to take off the thigh of a soldier
of the 50th, and he requested I would hold down the man
for him. He was one of the best-hearted men I ever met
with, but, such is the force of habit, he seemed insensible to
the scene that was passing around him, and with much composure
was eating almonds out of his waistcoat-pockets,
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
which he offered to share with me, but, if I got the universe
for it, I could not have swallowed a morsel of anything.
The operation upon the man of the 50th was the most
shocking sight I ever witnessed; it lasted nearly half an
hour, but his life was saved.

Turning out of this place towards the street, I passed
hastily on. Near the gate an assistant-surgeon was taking
off the leg of an old German sergeant of the 60th. The
doctor was evidently a young practitioner, and Bell, our
staff-surgeon, took much trouble in instructing him. It is
a tolerably general received opinion, that when the saw
passes through the marrow the patient suffers most pain;
but such is not the case. The first cut and taking up the
arteries is the worst. While the old German was undergoing
the operation, he seemed insensible of pain when the saw was
at work; now and then he would exclaim in broken English,
as if wearied, “Oh! mine Got, is she off still?” but he, as
well as all those I noticed, felt much when the knife was
first introduced, and all thought that red-hot iron was
applied to them when the arteries were taken up. The
young doctor seemed much pleased when he had the sergeant
fairly out of his hands, and it would be difficult to decide
whether he or his patient was most happy; but, from everything
I could observe, I was of opinion that the doctor made
his <lang=fr><em>début</em></lang> on the old German’s stump. I offered up a few
words—prayers they could not be called—that, if ever it
fell to my lot to lose any of my members, the young fellow
who essayed on the sergeant should not be the person to
operate on me.

Outside of this place was an immense pit to receive the
dead from the general hospital, which was close by. Twelve
or fifteen bodies were flung in at a time, and covered with a
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
layer of earth, and so on, in succession, until the pit was
filled. Flocks of vultures already began to hover over this
spot, and Villa Formosa was now beginning to be as disagreeable
as it was the contrary a few days before. This
was my first and last visit to an amputating hospital, and I
advise young gentlemen, such as I was then, to avoid going
near a place of the kind, unless obliged to do so—mine was
an accidental visit.

Masséna, renouncing all hope of gaining any advantage by
a fresh attack upon our position, recrossed the river Agueda
with his army, and left the governor of Almeida to shift for
himself. On the 8th and 9th we heard several explosions in
that direction, but although we guessed that the governor
was destroying some of the magazines previous to his
surrender, it never for a moment occurred to us that he
meditated what he afterwards executed with too much
success. On the morning of the 11th we heard, with the
greatest astonishment, that the garrison, after having successfully
passed through our lines that encompassed the place,
had escaped, with trifling loss, by the pass of San-Felices,
and succeeded in reaching the French lines on the Agueda.
This was certainly the most extraordinary event that took
place during the campaign, and the regiments that formed
the blockade afforded amusement for several days to our
men; the soldiers used to say that the regiment nearest the
town <em>was asleep</em>, and that the others were <em>watching them</em>.

The command of the army of Portugal was now transferred
to Marshal Marmont, Duke of Ragusa. Masséna
returned to France in ill-health and ill-humour, in consequence
of the bad success of his combinations since his
elevation to the command of this army, which, it was confidently
stated, was to drive the English from the Peninsula.
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
With the qualifications of our new antagonist we were
unacquainted, except that having been for a considerable
time aide-de-camp to the Emperor Napoleon, we looked
upon him as something out of the common way—a kind of
<lang=la><em>rara avis</em></lang>. However, we found him out before we parted
with him.

For six days we had not seen our baggage, and were in
consequence without a change of linen. We lay among dirty
straw for those six days.

I had no nightcap, and my socks scarcely deserved the
name. But this was not all; those who had beards—at this
epoch I had not—suffered them to grow to a hideous length,
and their faces were so altered as to be scarcely recognisable
even by themselves. They might be compared to old
Madame Rendau, who, not having consulted her glass since
her husband’s death, on seeing her own face in the mirror of
another lady, exclaimed, “Who is this?” We all agreed
that it would be delightful to bathe ourselves in the river,
and half a dozen of us walked out to the banks of the Dos
Casas. Having washed ourselves, we had a hankering for
clean linen, and as none of us could be brought to the
opinion of the Irishman, who said it was a charming thing
when he <em>turned</em> his shirt, we proceeded to <em>wash</em> ours, and as
this was the first appearance of any of us in the character of
a <lang=fr><em>blanchisseur</em></lang>, we all acquitted ourselves badly, but I worst
of all. In an unguarded moment I flung my unfortunate
shirt a little farther than the others did, and, not being
quite as light as the day it came out of the fold, it sank to
the bottom, and I never saw it afterwards. I soon discovered
the cause of my mishap; a small whirlpool (which at the
moment appeared in my eyes little inferior to Charybdis)
carried it into its vortex, and left me shivering and shaking
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
like a solitary heron watching for a fish by the bank of a
river. This accident, however, happened at rather a lucky
time; our men had ransacked the French knapsacks with
tolerable effect, and as soon as my mishap was known to
the men of the company, I was not long wanting the means
to supply my loss. At another time this might not have been
a matter of easy accomplishment, because it is well known
in the army that the men in my regiment were never
remarkable for carrying <em>too great a kit</em>.

The soldiers, as was their custom, made a display of the
different articles they had picked up: some had watches,
others rings, and almost all money. There cannot be a
stronger contrast between the soldiers of any two nations
than between those of France and England: the former,
cautious, temperate, and frugal, ever with something valuable
about him; the latter the most unthinking, least cautious,
and intemperate animal in existence, with seldom a farthing
in his pocket, although his pay is three times greater than
the others. A French soldier was quite a prize to one of
our fellows, and the produce of the plunder gained served
him for drink for a week, and sometimes for a fortnight!

I knew a soldier once make a capture of <em>thirteen hundred
dollars</em>, which having squandered, this same man, in less
than a year afterwards, was tried for his life for a highway
robbery, and he would have been hanged had not a Portuguese
woman proved an <em>alibi</em> in his favour. The booty taken
by him (for I am convinced the woman swore falsely to save
his life) amounted to six vintems, or about <em>eightpence</em>
sterling! Under similar circumstances a French soldier
would have hoarded up his treasure, and, on his return
home, dressed like a gentleman, and gone to all the dancing-houses
in his neighbourhood.
.bn 107.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VIII

.pm start_summary
Guerilla warfare; its true character—The 3rd Division marches for the
Alemtejo—Frenchmen and Irishmen on a march—English regiments—Colonel
Wallace—Severe drilling—Maurice Quill and
Doctor O‘Reily—Taking a rise.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
We occupied our old quarters at Nava d'Aver, and were
well received by the inhabitants, who preferred taking a
quiet view of the combats of the 3rd and 5th to taking a
part in both or either; their plan of operations was of a far
different sort, and although unattended with any danger to
themselves, was fraught with the most disastrous consequences
to their foes, which is, no matter what may be urged against
it, the very essence of the art of war.

It may, perhaps, be asked what their method was? or
why I, a mere subaltern, should take upon myself the
censorship of the art of war? My answer to the former
shall be plain and I hope conclusive. To the latter, that
having served during part of the year 1809, the entire of
1810–11–12, and part of 1813, in the 3rd Division (commonly
designated the “fighting division”) of the Peninsular army,
and the division never having, during the period alluded to,
squibbed off as much as one cartridge without my being in
every place, I had opportunities of gaining, and I think I
did gain, a little insight into military tactics. If, however,
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
the view I have taken of the subject upon which I am speaking
be an erroneous one, I fear my readers will come to the
conclusion that I have lost some time which might have
been better employed—or, to speak more plainly, that I
have mistaken my profession. Marshal Saxe used to say
that a mule which had made twenty campaigns under Cæsar
would still be but a mule.

I have digressed thus far before touching on a subject
that, no doubt (although I have not seen any work of
the kind), has been written upon, and upon which much
diversity of opinion did exist at one time in England;
whether it still exists or not I shall not pretend to say, not
having been in the United Kingdom for some years; but
certain it is that a very general opinion was prevalent that
the war in the Peninsula was carried on, on the part of the
peasantry, in a spirit bordering more on a crusade than the
ordinary exertions of a brave people struggling for liberty,
and that those heroes fought more like a parcel of devils
incarnate than mortal men. Indeed, the engravings struck
off at Lisbon in commemoration of those days certainly
represented them as a gigantic, ferocious people, while the
few British that were thrown into the background looked
like so many dwarfs who were afraid to come to close quarters
with the French. I have ever combated this mistaken
opinion, nor does the recollection of the hundreds of those
heroes that I have seen marched to the different depôts,
handcuffed like a gang of criminals, weaken the view I have
taken of the <em>voluntary</em> part the Peninsular people took in
the contest. In a word, their plan was this:—

The moment our troops had completely routed a body of
the enemy’s infantry, strewing the ground with dead and
wounded, disorganised a park of artillery, or unhorsed some
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
squadrons of dragoons, <em>then</em>, and <em>then</em> only, would these
<em>gallant fellows</em> sally forth from their lurking places, and (first
taking the precaution to put a stop to any sort of parley
from their unfortunate victims by knocking them on the
head) completely rifle them of everything they possessed.
On the contrary, if our troops met with any reverse, as in
the case of Don Julian Sanchez and his ragged band, our
allies would take advantage of every incident of ground, and
make one of their rapid retrograde movements, sufficient to
baffle the evolutions of the most redoubtable <lang=fr><em>legère</em></lang> regiments
in the French army. This I say is the true harassing system,
and the one suited to the genius of the Peninsular nations.
It weakens your enemy, and is attended with no risk to
yourselves or your friends, which is the same thing; but in
England many think that the Portuguese and Spaniards did
as much, if not more, during the Peninsular contest than
the British army.

Matters remained tranquil in our neighbourhood after
the battle of Fuentes d'Oñoro, and the retreat of the army
of Portugal across the Agueda, and Lord Wellington employed
himself in giving directions for the repairs of the
injury inflicted by Brennier upon Almeida previous to his
evacuation of that fortress. The troops had recovered from
their fatigues and were fresh again and ready for anything,
when accounts reached us from the Alemtejo that General
Beresford was carrying on the siege of Badajoz, in which
operation he was likely to be disturbed by Marshal Soult,
who was on his march from Seville. Our division broke
up from its cantonments on the 16th of May, and Lord
Wellington, who rode at a rapid pace, reached Elvas in
three days. There he received the report of the battle of
Albuera.
.bn 110.png
.pn +1

The weather was fine and we continued our route without
any forced marches, taking the old beaten track through
Castello Branco, Niza, and Portalegre. Our march was
uninterrupted by any particular incident; we had no enemy
near us, and were therefore left to ourselves.

The French army have the character of being the best
marchers in Europe, and I know from experience that no
men, to use a phrase of the <em>Fancy</em>, understand better
than they do how to “hit and get away”; nevertheless I
would say, that an army composed exclusively of Irishmen
would outmarch any French army as much as I know they
would outfight them. The quality which carries a Frenchman
through, and enables him to overcome obstacles truly
formidable in themselves, is his gaiety, and his facility of
accommodating, not only his demeanour, but his <em>stomach</em>
also, to circumstances as they require it. An Irishman is
to the full as gay as a Frenchman; if he does not possess
his <lang=fr><em>piquant</em></lang> wit—and I don’t say that he does not—he has
in a paramount degree the rich humour of his own country,
which is nowhere else to be found. He can live on as little
nourishment as a Frenchman; give him his pipe of tobacco
and he will march for two days without food and without
<em>grumbling</em>; give him, in addition, a little spirits and a
biscuit, and he will work for a week. This will not be a
task so easy of accomplishment to the English soldier; early
habits have given him a relish for good eating, and plenty of
it too; if he has not a regular allowance of solid food, it is
certain he will not do his work well for any great length of
time. But an Irish fellow has been accustomed all his life
to be what an Englishman would consider half-starved;
therefore quantity or quality is no great consideration with
him; his stomach is like a corner cupboard—<em>you might throw
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
anything into it</em>. Neither do you find elsewhere the lively
thought, the cheerful song or pleasant story, to be met <em>only</em>
in an Irish regiment. We had a few Englishmen in my
corps, and I do not remember ever to have heard one of
them attempt a joke. But there are those who think an
Irish regiment more difficult to manage than that of any
other nation. Never was there a more erroneous idea. The
English soldier is to the full as drunken as the Irish, and
not half so pleasant in his liquor.

These opinions are, however, mere matter of fancy. Some
of our best regiments were English, and one, to please me,
decidedly the finest in the Peninsular army, the 43rd, was
principally composed of Englishmen. Then there was that
first-rate battle regiment, the 45th, a parcel of Nottingham
weavers, whose sedentary habits would lead you to suppose
they could not be prime marchers; but the contrary was the
fact, and they marched to the full as well as my own corps,
which were all Irish save three or four. But if it come to
a hard tug, and that we had neither rations nor shoes, then,
indeed, the Connaught Rangers would be in their element,
and outmarch almost any battalion in the service; and for
this plain reason, that scarcely one of them wore many pairs
of shoes prior to the date of his enlistment, and as to the
rations (the most part of them at all events), a dozen times
had been in all probability the <em>outside</em> of their acquaintance
with such delicacies.

But the grand secret in a good marching, good fighting,
or loyal regiment, one not given to a habit of deserting, is
being <em>well commanded</em>; because the finest body of men may
be ruined, the efforts of the bravest regiment paralysed, and
the best disposed corps become marauders and deserters,
from having an inefficient man at their head.
.bn 112.png
.pn +1

Colonel Alexander Wallace, who commanded us for so
many years, and under whom the regiment repeatedly covered
itself with glory, was the very chief we wanted. Although
a Scotchman himself, he was intimately acquainted with the
sort of men he had under him, and he dealt with them and
addressed their feelings in a way that was peculiar to himself
and suited to them. In action he was the same as on parade,
and in either case he was as he should be. If we were placed
(as we often were) in any critical situation, he would explain
to the soldiers what he expected them to do; if in danger of
being charged by cavalry he would say, “Mind the square;
you know I often told you that if ever you had to form it
from line, in face of an enemy, you’d be in a d—--d ugly
way, and have plenty of noise about you; mind the tellings
off, and don’t give the <em>false touch</em> to your right or left hand
man; for by G—d, if you are once broken, you’ll be
running here and there like a parcel of <em>frightened pullets</em>!”
But Colonel Wallace was out of his place as a mere commander
of a regiment; he was eminently calculated to head
a division, because he not only possessed that intrepidity of
mind which would brave any danger, but genius to discover
the means of overcoming it. It was by his foresight that
our brave companions, the 45th, were sustained in their
unequal contest with Reynier’s division at Busaco; and
Lord Wellington, who saw and fully appreciated the
man[oe]uvre, rode up to the 88th Regiment, and seizing
Colonel Wallace by the hand, said: “Upon my honour,
Wallace, I never witnessed a more gallant charge than that
just now made by your regiment.” The dead and wounded
of the 2nd and 4th Léger, the 15th and 36th (four French
regiments which were opposed to the 88th singly), lay thick on
the face of the hill, and their numbers gave ample testimony
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
that we deserved the praises bestowed upon us by our
General. The 45th also came in for their share of praise,
and no battalion ever merited it better than they did;—at
one time they were engaged with nearly ten times their own
number.

It was the fashion with some to think that the 88th were
a parcel of wild rattling rascals, ready for a row, but loosely
officered. The direct contrary was the fact. Perhaps in
the whole British army there was not one regiment so
severely drilled. If a man coughed in the ranks, he was
punished; if the sling of the firelock, for an instant, left
the hollow of the shoulder when it should not, he was
punished; and if he moved his knapsack when standing at
ease, he was punished—more or less of course, according to
the offence. The consequence of this system, exclusively
Colonel Wallace’s, was that the men never had the appearance
of being fatigued upon a march; and when they halted,
you did not see them thrusting their firelocks against their
packs to support them. Poor Bob Hardyman of the 45th
said the reason the Connaught Rangers carried their packs
better than any other regiment was “that they never had
anything in them”! and, to speak candidly, we never had
more than was necessary, and in truth it was very little that
satisfied our fellows.

At drill our man[oe]uvres were chiefly confined to line
marching, echelon movements, and formation of the square
in every possible way; and in all these we excelled. Colonel
Wallace was very unlike an old Major who, having once got
his battalion <em>into</em> square, totally forgot how to get it <em>out</em> of
it. Having tried several ways, each time more effectually
clubbing the sections, he thus addressed his officers and
soldiers: “Gentlemen! I can clearly discern that there is
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
a <em>something wanting</em>, and I strongly recommend you, when
you reach your barracks, to peruse Dundas![14]—Men, you
may go home,” and he thus dismissed them.

.fm rend=th
.fn 14
“Dundas” is the famous drill-book of Sir David Dundas, who
succeeded the Duke of York as Commander-in-Chief.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

I never remember our having as much as one adjutant’s
drill; all was done by the commanding officer himself. Our
adjutant was left ill at Lisbon, and he that acted was more
of a good penman (an essential point) than a drill. I forget
now how the circumstance of our having been sent an
adjutant from the Guards occurred, but one of their
sergeant-majors did reach us in the capacity of adjutant. On
his arrival at headquarters he dined with the Colonel, who
invited him to attend parade the next morning. We were
under arms at ten, and never once ordered arms until two!
Not a man fell out of the ranks, not a man coughed, and
not a man moved his pack. When the drill was over,
“Well,” said Colonel Wallace, “what do you think of the
state of the battalion?”—“Very steady indeed, sir,” replied
the Guardsman. He left us that night, <em>and we never saw
him afterwards</em>.

On the 24th of May we reached Campo Mayor, and here
I became acquainted with Maurice Quill. It would be
quite idle in me to attempt giving any very detailed account
of a character so well known; one who, whenever he opened
his mouth, was sure to raise a laugh, and often before he had
time to speak; and he by whom I was introduced (Dr.
O‘Reily) was little, if anything, inferior to Quill in either
eccentricity or humour.

The first question Quill asked O‘Reily was, if we all slept
soundly the night Brennier got away from Almeida. O‘Reily
replied, “that some of our army certainly slept sounder than
.bn 115.png
.pn +1
was desirable; but that in their affair at Albuera they did
seem to have had their eyes perfectly open, not only during
the action, but after it.” At this moment, a couple of
hundred of those troops that had been broken by the Polish
horse, having escaped from the enemy, passed us.

During our conversation, O'Reily, as was customary with
him, became quite abstracted, and apparently absorbed in
his own reflections, and upon our turning round we
discovered him in one of Mendoza’s attitudes! “What are
you squaring at?” demanded Maurice. “My good friend
Quill,” replied O‘Reily, “I have long felt the difficulty of
coming to a satisfactory conclusion as to the probability of
science being eventually able to overcome savage strength.
There is much, sir, to be said on both sides of the question,
and I have great doubts concerning the battle about to be
decided.”—“What battle? why, sure, we are not going to
fight another so soon?” said Quill. “The fight to which I
allude, sir,” said O‘Reily, with Quixote-like gravity—for he
paused between every word—“is the one pending between
Crib and the black man Molineux; it will be a contest of
science against brute strength”—and he threw himself into
one of the finest defensive attitudes I ever saw; “there,”
said he, “there is the true science for you; nevertheless, it
might be overcome by savage strength, and there is the rub,
sir. I have devoted much time in endeavouring to come to
a satisfactory conclusion on this point, but hitherto without
effect, so I must await the issue of this fearful encounter;
and, my dear Quill, having said so much on the subject, allow
me to wish you a very good morning.” It was evident that,
although Quill was no novice, O‘Reily had taken “a rise
out of him,” and it afforded us matter of amusement for many
a day after.
.bn 116.png
.pn +1

We remained in Campo Mayor until the 27th of May (in
order to allow the stores and battering train from Elvas to
arrive), on which day we passed the Guadiana at a ford,
distant from San Christoval about three cannon-shots; we
received no interruption in our passage of the river, and the
operation was performed without loss. The 28th, 29th, and
30th were taken up in marking out our camp, and
constructing huts; and as the weather was beautiful, and
our camp abundantly supplied by the peasantry, we passed
a very agreeable time of it.

The river ran within a few yards of us; its marshy banks
being thickly covered with plantations of olives, afforded a
delightful shade to us when we either went to fish or bathe.
Its breadth at this point might be about sixty toises, and it
is well stocked with fine mullet. We had several expert
fishermen amongst us, and they contrived not only to supply
their own tables with fish, but also to increase the comforts
of their friends.
.bn 117.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IX

.pm start_summary
Second siege of Badajoz—A <lang=fr><em>reconnoissance</em></lang>—Death of Captain Patten—Attacks
on Fort San Christoval—Their failure—Causes of their
failure—Gallant conduct of Ensign Dyas, 51st Regiment—His
promotion by the Duke of York.
.pm end_summary


Badajoz was laid siege to for the second time on the 30th of
May 1811; on that day the investment of the town on the
left bank of the Guadiana was completed, as was also that
of the fort of San Christoval on the right bank; and the
trenches before both were opened that night.

This was my first siege, and the novelty of the thing
compensated me in some degree for the sleepless nights I
used to pass at its commencement; but habit soon reconciled
me, and I could sleep soundly in a battery for a couple of
hours at a time. Nothing astonished me so much as the noise
made by the engineers; I expected that their loud talking
would bring the enemy’s attention towards the sound of our
pick-axes, and that all the cannon in the town would be
turned against us—and, in short, I thought every moment
would be my last. I scarcely ventured to breathe until we
had completed a respectable first parallel, and when it was
fairly finished, just as morning began to dawn, I felt
inexpressibly relieved. The 7th Division was equally
fortunate before San Christoval.
.bn 118.png
.pn +1

As soon as the enemy had a distinct view of what we had
been doing, he opened a battery or two against us, with,
however, but little effect, and I began to think a siege was
not that tremendous thing I had been taught to expect; but
at this moment a thirty-two pound shot passed through a
mound of earth in front of that part of the parallel in which
I was standing (which was but imperfectly finished), and
taking two poor fellows of the 83rd (who were carrying a
hand-barrow) across their bellies, cut them in two, and
whirled their remnants through the air. I had never before
so close a view of the execution a round shot was capable of
performing, and it was of essential service to me during this
and my other sieges. It was full a week afterwards before I
held myself as upright as before.

By ten o’clock in the morning our line of batteries
presented a very disorganised appearance; sand-bags,
gabions, and fascines knocked here and there; guns flung off
their carriages, and carriages beaten down under their guns.
The boarded platforms of the batteries, damp with the
blood of our artillery-men, or the headless trunks of our
devoted engineers, bore testimony to the murderous fire
opposed to us, but nevertheless everything went on with
alacrity and spirit; the damage done to the embrasures was
speedily repaired, and many a fine fellow lost his life
endeavouring to vie with the men of the Engineers in
braving dangers, unknown to any but those who have been
placed in a similar situation.

It was on a morning such as I am talking of that
Colonel Fletcher, chief officer of Engineers, came into the
battery where I was employed; he wished to observe some
work that had been thrown up by the enemy near the foot of
the castle the preceding night. The battery was more than
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
usually full of workmen repairing the effects of the morning’s
fire, and the efforts of the enemy against this part of our
works were excessively animated. A number of men had
fallen and were falling, but Colonel Fletcher, apparently
disregarding the circumstance, walked out to the right of
the battery, and, taking his stand upon the level ground, put
his glass to his eye, and commenced his observations with
much composure. Shot and shell flew thickly about him, and
one of the former tore up the ground by his side and covered
him with clay; but not in the least regarding this, he remained
steadily observing the enemy. When at length he had
satisfied himself, he quietly put up his glass, and turning to
a man of my party who was sitting on the outside of an
embrasure, pegging in a fascine, said, “My fine fellow, you
are too much exposed; get inside the embrasure, and you
will do your work nearly as well.”—“I’m almost finished,
Colonel,” replied the soldier, “and it isn’t worth while to
move now; those fellows can’t hit me, for they’ve been
trying it these fifteen minutes.” They were the last words
he ever spoke! He had scarcely uttered the last syllable
when a round shot cut him in two, and knocked half of his
body across the breech of the gun. The name of this
soldier was Edmund Man; he was an Englishman, although
he belonged to the 88th Regiment. When he fell, the
French cannoniers, as was usual with them, set up a shout,
denoting how well satisfied they were with their practice!

One evening, while we were occupied in the usual
way in the trenches, a number of us stood talking
together; several shells fell in the works, and we were on
the alert a good deal in order to escape from them. A
shell on a fine night at a distance is a pretty sight enough,
but I, for one, never liked too near a view of it. We were
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
on this night kept tolerably busy in avoiding those that fell
amongst us; one, however, took us by surprise, and before
we could escape, fell in the middle of the trench; every one
made the best of his way to the nearest <em>traverse</em>, and the
confusion was much increased by some of the sappers passing at
the moment with a parcel of gabions on their backs. Colonel
Trench of the 74th, in getting away, ran against one of these
men, and not only threw him down, but fell headlong over
him, and sticking fast in one of the gabions was unable to
move. As soon as the shell exploded, we all sallied forth
from our respective nooks, and relieved Colonel Trench from
his awkward position. “Well,” said Colonel King, of the
5th, “I often saw a <em>gabion</em> in a <em>trench</em>, but this is the first
time I ever saw a <em>Trench</em> in a <em>gabion</em>.” Considering the
time and place the pun was not a bad one, and made us all
laugh heartily, in which Colonel Trench good-humouredly
joined.

Not long after this a round shot carried away the arm
of a soldier of the 94th. Dr. O‘Reily of my corps, happening
to be the nearest medical man, was awoke out of a sound
sleep by his orderly sergeant, and having examined the
stump, amputated the fractured part. O‘Reily was one of
the most eccentric, and at the same time one of the
pleasantest fellows in the world. He delighted in saying
extraordinary things in extraordinary places, and it was
amusing to those who knew him well to see his countenance
after saying something out of the common way before a
stranger. In the present instance, after having wrapped his
boat-cloak about him, and settled himself in the same
position he had been in before he performed the operation
on the 94th man, he, with the most profound gravity of
manner, asked the sergeant if he recollected the state in
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
which he had found him? “Indeed, sir,” replied the
orderly with a broad grin, “your honour was fast asleep,
<i>snorin'</i> mighty loud.”—“Well then, sir, if you return here
in five minutes, in all human probability you will find me
in precisely the same situation,” and he immediately fell
asleep, or feigned to do so.

On the evening of the 5th I was sent in advance with a
covering party of forty men; we were placed some distance
in front of the works, and as usual received directions to
beware of a surprise. Our batteries were all armed, and a
sortie from the garrison was not improbable; the night was
unusually dark, and except an occasional shell from our
mortars, the striking of the clocks in the town, or the
challenge of the French sentinels along the battlements of
the castle, everything was still.

A man of a fanciful disposition, or indeed of an ordinary
way of thinking, is seldom placed in a situation more likely
to cause him to give free scope to his imagination than when
lying before an enemy on a dark night; every sound, the
very rustling of a leaf, gives him cause for speculation;
figures will appear, or seem to appear, in different shapes;
sometimes the branch of a tree passes for a tremendous fellow
with extended arms, and the waving of a bush is mistaken
for a party crouching on their hands and knees.

I don’t know why it was, but I could not divest myself
of the idea that an attack upon our lines was meditated.
I cast a look at my men as they lay on the ground, and saw
that each held his firelock in his grasp and was as he should
be; half an hour passed away in this manner, but no sound
gave warning that my suspicions were well founded. The noise
of the workmen in the trenches lessened by degrees, and as
the hour of midnight approached there was, comparatively
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
speaking, a death-like silence. I went forward a short
distance, but it was a short distance, for in truth—to say
the least of it—I was a little “hipped.” I even wished
the enemy would throw a shot or two against our works to
give a fillip to my thoughts. Heavens! how I envied the
soldiers, who slept like so many <em>tops</em> and snored so loud.
I went forward again, but had not proceeded more than
about one hundred paces when I heard voices whispering in
my front, and upon observing more minutely in the direction
from whence the sounds proceeded, I saw distinctly two men.
The uniform of one was dark; the other wore a large cloak,
and I could hear his sabre clinking by his side as he
approached me.

At the instant I do not know <em>what</em> sum I would have
considered too great to have purchased my ransom and
placed me once more at the head of my men. I need
scarcely say that I regretted the step I had taken, but it
was too late. The figures continued to advance towards
the spot where I was crouched, and were already within a
few paces of me. I did not know what to do; I dreaded
remaining stationary, and I was ashamed to run away—there
was not a moment to be lost, and I made up my
mind to sell my life dearly. I sprang up with my drawn
sabre in my hand, and called out as loud as I was able (and
it was but a so-so effort), “Who goes there?” My delight
was great to find, in place of two Frenchmen (the advance,
as I expected, of several hundred), Captain Patten of the
Engineers attended by a sergeant of his corps; he held a
dark lantern under his cloak, and told me he had been on
his way to reconnoitre the breach in the castle wall, but
that he thought it as well to return to the first covering
party he should meet with in order to get a file of men
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
which he proposed taking with him to within a short
distance of the breach. I was just then in that frame of
mind from my own little adventure to approve highly of
his precaution, and I gave him a couple of what our fellows
(the Connaught Rangers) used to call lads <em>that weren’t easy</em>,
or, to speak without a metaphor, two fellows that would
walk into the mouth of a cannon if they were bid to do it.

Previous to this I had passed an uneasy night, but I was
now filled with much anxiety for the fate of Captain Patten
and my own two men. They had left me about a quarter
of an hour when a few musket-shots from the bastion nearest
the breach announced that the <lang=fr><em>reconnaissance</em></lang> had not been
made unnoticed by the enemy; and shortly after, the return
of my soldiers confirmed the fact.

It appeared that upon arriving within pistol-shot of the
wall Captain Patten motioned to the men to lie down, while
he crept forward to the breach; he had succeeded in ascertaining
its state, and was about to return to the soldiers,
when some inequality in the ground caused him to stumble
a little, and the noise attracted the notice of the nearest
sentinel, whose fire gave the alarm to the others. One of
their shots struck Captain Patten in the back, a little below
the shoulder, and he survived its effects but a few hours.
Thus fell a fine young man, an ornament to that branch of
the service to which he belonged, and a branch which in
point of men of highly cultivated scientific information, as
well as the most chivalrous bravery, may challenge the
world to show its superior.

The fire against the castle was continued on the following
day, the 6th, with much effect, and the batteries in front of
San Christoval had not only overcome the fire of that outwork,
but towards midday the breach was judged assailable.
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
At nine o’clock at night one hundred men of the 7th
Division, commanded by Major Macintosh of the 85th
Regiment, advanced to the assault; the forlorn hope, consisting
of six volunteers, and led on by Ensign Joseph Dyas
of the 51st Regiment, who solicited this honour, headed the
attack.

The troops advanced with much order, although opposed
to a heavy fire. Arrived upon the glacis, they speedily
descended the ditch, and the forlorn hope, accompanied by
an officer of Engineers, pressed on to the breach. They had
scarcely arrived at its foot when the officer of Engineers was
mortally wounded, and Ensign Dyas was in consequence the
only person to direct the men at the breach; for the main
body, including the commanding officer, attempted to mount
what appeared to them to be the breach, but what was in
reality nothing more than an embrasure which had been
a good deal injured by the fire of our batteries. Some of
the foremost succeeded in planting ladders against its
rugged face, but their efforts were baffled by the exertions
of the French engineers who, notwithstanding our fire of
grape and musketry, had contrived to clear away the rubbish
from the base of the wall; and the ladders were in consequence
not of a sufficient length to enable the men to make
a lodgment. A quarter of an hour had now elapsed, during
which time several fruitless attempts had been made to enter
the fort; and Major Macintosh, with his few remaining
men, succeeded with difficulty in reaching their own lines,
which they had left but a short time before with feelings of
a very different description. None of the party could give
any account of Ensign Dyas—indeed, how could they? for
the storming party had never seen the forlorn hope from
the moment they descended the ditch! As is common in
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
such cases, there were many who said they believed that he,
individually, was the last living man in the ditch, and it
was a generally received opinion that Dyas had fallen.
Major Macintosh, in company with a few friends, was sitting
in his tent talking over the failure of the attack, and regretting,
amongst others, the loss of this officer, when to
his amazement he entered the tent not only alive but unhurt.
This brave young fellow, after having lost the greater part of
his men, and finding himself unsupported by the storming
party, at length quitted the ditch, but not until he heard
the enemy entering it by the sally-port.

On the 7th, 8th, and 9th the fire against San Christoval
was continued with increased vigour, and on the latter day
it was resolved that the attack of it should be a second time
made that night. A superior number of troops to those
which failed on the 6th, but still <em>inferior</em> to the garrison of
the fort, were selected for the attack, and the command given
to Major Mac Geechy, an English officer in the service of
Portugal, who volunteered this duty—Dyas again leading
the forlorn hope. As before, the troops advanced under the
fire of every gun that could be brought to bear upon them,
and with much spirit descended the ditch. A little disorder
amongst the men who carried the ladders caused some delay,
but the detachment pressed on to the breach without waiting
for the reorganisation of the ladder men. The soldiers
posted on the glacis, by their determined fire, notwithstanding
their exposed situation, forced the enemy to waver, and
if ever there was a chance of success, it was at this moment.
Dyas and his companions did as much as men could do, but
in vain. Their efforts were heroic, though unavailing; the
spot was strewed with the dead and dying; the breach was
packed with Frenchmen, and the glacis and ditch covered
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
with our dead and disabled soldiers. Major Mac Geechy
fell pierced with bullets, and almost all the party shared his
fate. Ensign Dyas was struck by a pellet[15] in the forehead,
and fell upon his face, but, undismayed by this, he sprang
up and rallied his few remaining followers, but in vain.
This heroic intrepidity deserved a better fate, but his efforts
were paralysed by the obstacles opposed to him, and Dyas
was at length reluctantly obliged to abandon an enterprise,
on the issue of which he had a second time chivalrously,
though unsuccessfully, staked his life. As before, he was
the last to leave the ditch, and with much difficulty reached
our lines. His mode of escape was as curious as it was novel.
One of the ladders that could not be placed upright still
hung from the glacis on the pallisadoes; this he sprang up,
and in an instant he was upon the glacis, where he flung
himself upon his face. The Frenchmen upon the walls,
seeing him fall at the moment of their fire, shouted out “<lang=fr><em>Il
est tué, en voila le dernier!</em></lang>”

.fm rend=th
.fn 15
 A small bullet, larger than a swan drop. Four of them were enclosed
in a piece of wood, three inches long, and at the top was placed the
musket-ball. This shrapnel in miniature did considerable execution.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

Dyas, perfectly collected, saw that his only chance of
escape was by remaining quiet for a short time, which he
did, and then seizing a favourable moment when the garrison
were thrown off their guard by the silence that prevailed, he
jumped up, and reached our batteries in safety. He and
<em>nineteen</em> privates were all that escaped out of <em>two hundred</em>,
which was the original strength of the storming party and
forlorn hope.[16]

.fm rend=th
.fn 16
 An exaggeration: 114 out of 200, not 180, were killed or wounded.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

It may, perhaps, be asked by persons unacquainted with
these details, what became of Ensign Dyas; and they no
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
doubt will say what a lucky young man he was to gain
promotion in so short a time; but such was not the case,
although he was duly recommended by Lord Wellington.
This was no doubt an oversight, as it afterwards appeared,
but the consequences have been of material injury to Ensign,
now Captain, Dyas. This officer, like most brave men, was
too modest to press his claim, and after having served
through the entire of the Peninsular war, and afterwards at
the memorable battle of Waterloo, he, in the year 1820—<em>ten
years after his gallant conduct</em>—was, by <em>a mere chance</em>,
promoted to a company, in consequence of the representation
of Colonel Gurwood (another, but more lucky, forlorn-hope
man) to Sir Henry Torrens.

Colonel Gurwood was a perfect stranger (except by
character) to Dyas, and was with his regiment, the 10th
Hussars, at Hampton Court, where Sir Henry Torrens
inspected the 51st Regiment. Colonel Ponsonby and Lord
Wiltshire (not one of whom Dyas had ever seen) also
interested themselves in his behalf; and immediately on Sir
Henry Torrens arriving in London, he overhauled the
documents connected with the affair of San Christoval, and
finding all that had been reported to him to be perfectly
correct, he drew the attention of His Royal Highness the
Duke of York to the claims of Lieutenant Dyas.

His Royal Highness, with that consideration for which
he was remarkable, immediately caused Lieutenant Dyas to
be gazetted to a company in the 1st Ceylon Regiment.

Captain Dyas lost no time in waiting upon Sir Henry
Torrens and His Royal Highness the Duke of York. The
Duke received him with his accustomed affability, and after
regretting that his promotion had been so long overlooked,
asked him what leave of absence he would require before he
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
joined his regiment. Captain Dyas said, “Six months, if
His Royal Highness did not think it too long.”—“Perhaps,”
replied the Duke, “you would prefer two years.” Captain
Dyas was overpowered by this considerate condescension on
the part of the Duke, and after having thanked him, took a
respectful leave; but the number of campaigns he had served
in had materially injured his health, and he was obliged to
retire on the half-pay of his company.
.bn 129.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER X

.pm start_summary
We withdraw from Badajoz—Dislike of the British soldier for siege-work—Affair
of El Bodon—Gallant conduct of the 5th and 77th
Regiments—Narrow escape of the 88th from being made prisoners—Picton’s
conduct on the retreat of Guinaldo.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
At eleven o’clock at night, on the 9th of June 1811, the
siege of Badajoz virtually ceased. From the moment the
second attack against San Christoval was repulsed, Lord
Wellington resolved to make the best of a bad business, and
he converted the siege into a blockade. On the 10th, the
battering train and stores were removed from the trenches,
and by the 13th our works were clear. The town was
closely blockaded until the 17th, on which day we broke up
from before the place, and crossing the Guadiana by the ford
above San Christoval, reached the banks of the Caya, in the
neighbourhood of Aronches, a little after noon.

It appeared from the different reports of our spies that
the whole disposable force, not only of Soult’s army of the
South, but also of that of Portugal, were in march against
us; and Lord Wellington accordingly took up a defensive
position near Elvas, with his vanguard at Campo Mayor,
consisting of the 3rd and 7th Divisions of infantry. The
Dukes of Dalmatia and Ragusa formed their junction at
Badajoz on the 28th, and the two Marshals dined there together
on that day. Great praise was bestowed upon General
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
Phillipon for his fine defence of the place, and, as a matter
of course, much bombastic stuff was trumpeted forth in the
papers about the valour displayed by the Imperial soldiers
on the occasion. Our losses were rated at more than four
times their real amount; and though no blame was attached
by the enemy to our troops, the Engineers were attacked with
a severity that I have reason to think was unjust. One
writer speaking on the subject says:—

“Had the Engineers followed the rules of fortification
with as much ability as his lordship displayed in the application
of the principles of the higher branches of tactics,
Badajoz would, no doubt, have surrendered about the 14th
or 15th of June. It scarcely would be believed, were it not
expressly mentioned in the official reports, that in the
beginning of the nineteenth century, troops should have
been sent to the assault with ladders after the breach had
been judged practicable.”

I shall leave it to the gentlemen of the Engineers to
answer these remarks; but as far as I have been able to
collect the facts, and I have received my information from
good, I might say the best, authority, our defeat before San
Christoval arose from three causes: first, the want of knowledge
displayed by the officer commanding the first attack
of the real situation of the breach, owing to the unfortunate
circumstance of the engineer being killed at the onset;
secondly, the shortness of the ladders, and the smallness of
the storming party each night; and thirdly, the conduct of
the men who were entrusted with the charge of the ladders—a
foreign corps, it is true;[17] but why employ troops of this
description upon a service so desperate?

.fm rend=th
.fn 17
The battalion of Brunswick Oels, largely composed of German
deserters from the French army.
.fn-
.bn 131.png
.pn +1

There is no duty which a British soldier performs before
an enemy that he does with so much reluctance—a retreat
always excepted—as working in trenches. Although essentially
necessary to the accomplishment of the most gallant
achievement a soldier can aspire to—the storming a breach—it
is an inglorious calling; one full of danger, attended
with great labour, and, what is even worse, with a deal of
annoyance; and for this reason, that the soldiers are not
only taken quite out of their natural line of action, but they
are, if not entirely, at least partially, commanded by officers,
those of the Engineers, whose habits are totally different
from what they have been accustomed to.

No two animals ever differed more completely in their
propensities than the British engineer and the British
infantry soldier. The latter delights in an open field, and a
fair “stand-up fight,” where he meets his man or men (for
numbers, when it comes to a hand-to-hand business, are of
little weight with the British soldier); if he falls there, he
does so, in the opinion of his comrades, with credit to himself;
but a life lost in the trenches is looked upon as one
thrown away and lost ingloriously. The engineer, on the
contrary, braves all the dangers of a siege with a cheerful
countenance; he even courts them, and no mole ever took
greater delight in burrowing through a sandhill than an
engineer does in mining a covered way, or blowing up a
counterscarp. Not so with the infantry soldier, who is
obliged to stand to be shot at, with a pick-axe or shovel in
his hand instead of his firelock and bayonet. If, then, this
is a trying situation, as it unquestionably is for a soldier,
where death by round-shot and shell in the works is comparatively
less than it is at the moment of the assault of
a breach, how much more care should there be taken in the
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
selection of the ladder men than appears to have been the
case at San Christoval?

On the 22nd of June, the two French Marshals moved a
large body of troops towards Elvas and Campo Mayor, in
order to cover their <lang=fr><em>reconnoissance</em></lang> of our position. Our
army at this time counted about sixty-six thousand men, of
which number only six thousand were cavalry. The combined
French army exceeded us by about ten thousand, and
in the arm of horse they were upwards of three thousand
our superiors. Notwithstanding this disproportion of force,
Lord Wellington had made able dispositions to beat the
French Marshals in detail, and there is little or no doubt
but that he would have succeeded, had Marmont been acting
in concert with a man as presumptuous as himself; but
Soult was too good a judge not to see the sort of adversary
he was opposed to, and it was not possible to entrap him.
Albuera taught him a lesson.

After the <lang=fr><em>reconnoissance</em></lang> of the 22nd, and after supplies
had been thrown into Badajoz, the enemy took up the
quarters he had occupied previous to the junction of the
armies of Portugal and the South—the army of Soult in
the neighbourhood of Seville, that of Marmont at Placentia.
The 7th and 3rd Divisions of our army occupied Campo
Mayor: and having got ourselves and our appointments into
good order, we began to have all the annoyances of garrison
duty, which was not lessened by the presence of three or
four general officers. The mounting of guard, the salute,
and all the minutiæ of our profession, were attended to with
a painful particularity; and poor old General Sontag was
near falling a sacrifice to his zeal on this particular point of
duty. This officer was by birth either a German or Prussian,
I don’t know which, but, from his costume, I should myself
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
say that he was a disciple of the Grand Frederick; he was a
great Martinet, and had all the appearance of one brought
up in the school of that celebrated warrior, and might have
passed, and deservedly so, for aught I know to the contrary,
for one who had served in the “Seven Years' War.” His
dress was singular, though plain; he usually wore a cocked
hat and jacket, tight blue pantaloons, and brown top
hunting-boots.

One day, when it came to my tour of duty, General Sontag
was the senior officer on the parade. Mounted on a
spirited horse, he took his station in front to receive the
“salute,” when the band of my regiment, much more
celebrated for its harshness and noise than its sweetness,
struck up as discordant a jumble of sounds as ever proceeded
from the same number of wind instruments. The animal, a
German horse, and no doubt with a good ear for music,
took fright, and standing upright on his hinder legs, commenced
pawing and snorting in a manner that astounded
every one present, the old General alone excepted; he
continued immovably steady in his saddle, from which a less
skilful or an inexperienced rider must inevitably have been
flung, and sawed his horse’s mouth with such effect as to
compel him to resume his former and more natural position.
But, unfortunately, at this moment the drum-major, who
justly estimated the cause of the refractory movements of
the brute, made a flourish with his mace as a token for the
band—music I can’t call it—to desist, and so terrified the
animal that he made a sudden plunge to get away, but was
so firmly held by the grip of his rider, that his feet came
from under him, and both the General and his charger were
prostrate on the ground in a second.

It was an alarming, as well as a ludicrous exhibition. For
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
a moment the General was unable to disentangle his foot
from one of the stirrups, and when he got rid, after much
exertion, of this encumbrance, he lost not only his hat but
his wig also; providentially he sustained no injury, and
every one was glad of it. He was a man much esteemed in
his brigade, and had, perhaps, the largest nose in the world!
He was humorously styled by some Marshal (Nez) Ney!
His nose hung in two huge flaps under his cheek-bone, and
their colour and size were like two red mogul plums. Joe
Kelly said that he would be a capital <em>gardener</em>, “because he
always had his fruit under his eye”!

A few weeks terminated our sojourn here, and the day of
our leaving it was a delightful one to us all. We marched
to the northern frontier, which we considered as our own
natural element; for in Estremadura we witnessed nothing
but reverses, and our division had no opportunity of keeping
up its established name. The country between the
river Coa and the Agueda was filled with troops. The 3rd
Division occupied Aldea de Ponte, Albergaria, and the
neighbouring villages. Gallegos, Espeja, Carpio, El Bodon,
and Pastores, were likewise occupied; and Ciudad Rodrigo
might be said to be invested; the garrison were, at all events,
much circumscribed in the extent of country for their
foragers, but, nevertheless, they made some successful excursions
to the nearest villages, such as Pastores and El
Bodon. The 11th Light Dragoons, stationed at the latter,
were considerably annoyed by the nocturnal visits of the
garrison. A regiment of infantry was, therefore, thought
necessary to co-operate with the cavalry, and mine (the 88th)
was the one selected. General Picton, no matter what his
other faults might be (and who is there amongst us without
one?), knew well what he was about when he sent “the
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
Rangers of Connaught” to support the 11th; he was aware
that before many hours after their arrival in their quarters
they would be tolerably well acquainted with the resources
of the country about them; and that though now and then,
perhaps, in a case of emergency, they might enlist an odd
sheep or goat into their own corps, they would not allow
the French to do it. The General was right, and thought it
better that a few sheep should be lost than an entire pen of
them carried off in triumph, and our dragoons (the worst of
it!) bearded to the edge (almost) of their sabres.

We were not long unemployed. On the tenth night
after our arrival the enemy made a formidable attack on
our outposts at the village of Pastores. The advanced
sentry, Jack Walsh, passed the word to the next, who communicated
with the picket, and in an instant every man was
on his legs. Walsh waited quietly until the French officer
who headed the advance approached to within a few paces
of where he was standing, when he deliberately took aim at
him, and shot him dead. The remainder retired for a
moment, panic-struck, no doubt, at the fate of their leader;
they, however, rallied—for they were not only brave, but,
what is almost as great a stimulus, hungry—and they
forced our advance to give way; but Colonel Alexander
Wallace, placing himself at the head of his men, drove back
this band of cormorants, and they never molested us afterwards.

Notwithstanding that we were thus placed with respect
to Rodrigo, the army of Portugal maintained its position;
the army of the North, commanded by Count Dorsenne,
remained in its cantonments on the Douro, and Rodrigo was
thus abandoned to its own resources.

Lord Wellington was not an idle spectator of this supineness
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
on the part of the two French generals. As early as
the month of August he directed that a large number of
the tradesmen[18] of our army, with a proportion of officers,
should be attached to the Engineers, in which branch we
were deficient in point of numbers; and these men in less
than six weeks gained much useful information, and besides,
made a quantity of fascines and gabions sufficient for the
intended operations. By the 5th of September the town of
Ciudad Rodrigo was completely blockaded, and we were
employed in making arrangements for its siege when the
two generals, Dorsenne and Marmont, made theirs to drive
us back on Portugal.

.fm rend=th
.fn 18
<em>I.e.</em> the men who in civil life had been smiths, carpenters, joiners,
etc.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

On the 22nd of September they formed their junction at
Tamames, which is about three leagues distant from Rodrigo.
Their united force amounted to sixty thousand men, including
six thousand horse; ours to not quite fifty thousand,
including the force necessary to observe the garrison. We
could not, therefore—taking it for granted, as a matter of
course, that we wished to maintain the blockade—have
brought forty thousand bayonets and sabres into the field,
with an inferiority, too, in cavalry of two thousand! This,
in a country so well calculated for the operations of that
arm, at once decided Lord Wellington, and he raised the
blockade on the 24th.

Early on the morning of the 25th the French army were
in motion; the cavalry, under General Montbrun, supported
by several battalions of infantry, advanced upon the position
held by our 3rd Division; but the over-zeal of Montbrun,
and the impetuosity of his cavalry, would not allow them to
keep pace with the infantry, who were in consequence completely
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
distanced at the onset, and never regained their place
during the day.

The ground occupied by the 3rd Division was of considerable
extent, and might, to an ordinary observer, appear
to be such as to place that corps in some peril of being
defeated in detail: for instance, the 5th Regiment, supported
by the 77th, two weak battalions, barely reckoning seven
hundred men, were considerably to the left, and in advance
of El Bodon, and were distant upwards of one mile from the
45th, 74th, and 88th; while the 83rd and 94th British, and
the 9th and 21st Portuguese were little, if anything, closer
to those two battalions. Some squadrons of the 1st German
Hussars and 11th Light Dragoons supported the advance,
and a brigade of nine-pounders, drawn by mules, and served
by Portuguese gunners, under the command of a German
major, named Arentschildt, crowned the causeway occupied
by the 5th and 77th.

These dispositions were barely completed when Montbrun,
at the head of his veteran host, came thundering over the
plain at a sweeping pace; ten of his squadrons dashed across
the ravine that separated them from Arentschildt’s battery,
which opened a frightful fire of grape and canister at point
blank distance. But although the havoc made by those guns
was great, it in no way damped the ardour of the French
horse; they panted for glory, and nothing of this kind could
check their impetuosity; once fairly over the ravine, they
speedily mounted the face of the causeway, and desperately,
but heroically, charged the battery. Nothing could resist
the torrent—the battery was captured and the cannoniers
massacred at their guns.

In an instant the 5th, commanded by the gallant Major
Ridge, formed line, threw in an effective running fire, steadily
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
ascended the height, charged the astonished French Dragoons,
and having repulsed and poured a volley into the latter, as
they rushed down the opposite face of the hill, recaptured
the guns, with which, joined by the 77th, they deliberately
retired across the open plain after a long and determined
stand against the enemy’s cavalry and artillery, and only
retreating when the approach of a strong body of French
infantry rendered such a movement imperative.

Flushed with his first success, Montbrun, at the head of
his victorious squadrons, now thought to ride through the
5th and 77th, but this handful of heroes threw themselves
into square, and received the attack with unflinching steadiness.
Nothing but the greatest discipline, the most undaunted
bravery, and a firm reliance on their officers, could
have saved these devoted soldiers from total annihilation;
they were attacked with a fury unexampled on three faces of
the square. The French horsemen rode upon their bayonets,
but, unshaken by the desperate position in which they were
placed, they poured in their fire with such quickness and
precision that the cavalry retired in disorder.

While this was taking place on the left, the regiments of
the right brigade were posted on a height parallel to that
occupied by the 5th and 77th. We had a clear and painful
view of all that was passing, and we shuddered for our
companions; the glittering of the countless sabres that were
about to assail them, and the blaze of light which the reflection
of the sun threw across the brazen helmets of the French
horsemen, might be likened to the flash of lightning that
preceded the thunder of Arentschildt’s artillery—but we
could do nothing. A few seconds passed away; we saw the
smoke of the musketry—it did not recede, and we were
assured that the attack had failed; in a moment or two
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
more we could discern the brave 5th and 77th following
their beaten adversaries, and a spontaneous shout of joy
burst from the brigade. What would we have given at that
moment to have been near them? They were not only our
companions in arms, but our intimate friends (I mean the
5th, for the 77th had but just joined the army, and were,
comparatively, strangers to us). But we were now menaced
ourselves. From the great space that intervened between
the regiments that had been engaged and those that had
hitherto been unoccupied, it was not easy, taking into
account the mass of French cavalry that covered the plain,
to reunite the 3rd Division. Lord Wellington, it is true,
was on the spot, but the <em>spot</em> was a large one, with but
few troops to cover it, and had the French cavalry done
their duty on that day, I doubt much if the 3rd Division
would not have ceased to exist! Meanwhile the time was
passing away without the enemy undertaking anything
serious; but the 5th and 77th, and the other troops under
General Colville, seeing the danger of their position, and
profiting by the inaction of the French troopers, who seemed
to be paralysed after their failure, made one of the most
memorable retreats on record, across the plain, surrounded
by three times their own number of horse, and exposed to
the fire of a battery of eight-pounders. But the 45th, 74th,
and 88th had not yet been able to disentangle themselves
from the rugged ground and vineyards to the rear of El
Bodon, and their junction with the remainder of the division
might be said to be at this moment (three o’clock) rather
problematical, because the French Light Horse and Polish
Lancers, not meeting with a force of our cavalry sufficient to
stop their progress, spread themselves over the face of the
country, capturing our baggage and stores, and threatening
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
to prevent the junction of the right brigade with the
other two.

While the French might be said to have the undisputed
possession of the entire field of battle, over which they were
pouring an immense mass of dragoons, followed by infantry
and artillery, the regiments of our division which were in
column continued their retrograde movement upon Fuente-Guinaldo.
The 45th and 74th had by this time cleared the
rugged ground and enclosures, and were in march to join
the remainder of the column; but the 88th were most unaccountably
left in a vineyard, which was enclosed by a loose
stone wall. In the hurry of the moment they might, and
I believe would, have been forgotten, had not the soldiers,
who became impatient upon hearing the clashing of weapons
outside the enclosure, burst down several openings in the
wall, by which means they not only saw the danger of the
position in which their comrades were placed, but also the
hopelessness of their own, if they did not speedily break
down the walls that incarcerated them; for our 1st Hussars
and 11th Light Dragoons were giving way before the overpowering
weight of the enemy’s horse, while the bulk of
the 3rd Division were marching in a line parallel to the
enclosure occupied by the 88th; so it was manifest that if
this regiment did not at the instant break from its prison,
a few moments would have decided its fate, and left the
3rd Division <em>minus</em> the Connaught Rangers.

Each moment that we remained was of consequence, and
the delay of five minutes would have been fatal; we were
without orders, and were at a loss how to act; but nothing
tends more to bring the energies of men into action than
their seeing clearly the danger that they are placed in, and the
consciousness that their only means of escaping it depends
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
upon their firm reliance on themselves. Some officers called
out to have the wall broken down, and in a second several
openings were made in it. Every officer made the greatest
efforts to supply, by his own particular dispositions, such as
were on the whole necessary; but an operation of so delicate
a nature, made in the face of a powerful antagonist, could
not be performed with as much order and regularity as was
desirable. From the great coolness of the men, and the
intelligence and gallantry of the officers, the regiment was at
last extricated from its dangerous position, but it was far,
very far, from being safe yet; and had the French dragoons,
at the close of the day, shown the same determination they
did at its commencement, not one man of the 88th would
have escaped.

We had scarcely cleared the enclosure when we witnessed
a series of petty combats between our horse and that of the
enemy, some of whom had posted themselves directly between
us and our entrenched camp at Fuente-Guinaldo. Immediately
in our front, some of Lord Wellington’s staff were
personally engaged with the French troopers; and one of
them, either Captain Burgh or the young Prince of Orange,
owed his life to the excellence of his horse. Lieutenant
King, of the 11th Dragoons, lost one arm by a sabre cut;
Prior, of the same regiment, had all his front teeth knocked
out by a musket shot, and Mrs. Howley, the black cymbal-man’s
wife, of the 88th, was captured by a lancer. The fate
of the officers I have mentioned was deplored, but the loss
of Mrs. Howley was a source of grief to the entire division.
The officers so maimed might be replaced by others, but
perhaps in the entire army such another woman, take her
for all and all, as Mrs. Howley could not be found. The
88th at length took its place in the column at quarter
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
distance, and the 3rd Division continued its retrograde
movement.

Montbrun, at the head of fifteen squadrons of light horse,
pressed closely on our right flank, and made every demonstration
of attacking us with the view of engaging our attention
until the arrival of his infantry and artillery, of which latter
only one battery was in the field; but General Picton saw
the critical situation in which he was placed, and that
nothing but the most rapid, and at the same time most
regular, movement upon Guinaldo could save his division
from being cut off to a man. For six miles across a perfect
flat, without the slightest protection from any incident of
ground, without artillery, and I might say without cavalry
(for what were four or five squadrons to twenty or thirty?)
did the 3rd Division continue its march. During the whole
time the enemy’s cavalry never quitted them; a park of six
guns advanced with the cavalry, and taking the 3rd Division
in flank and rear, poured in a frightful fire of round-shot,
grape, and canister. Many men fell in this way, and those
whose wounds rendered them unable to march were obliged
to be abandoned to the enemy.

This was a trying and pitiable situation for troops to be
placed in, but it in no way shook the courage or confidence
of the soldiers; so far from being dispirited or cast down,
the men were cheerful and gay, the soldiers of my corps
(the 88th) telling their officers that if the French dared to
charge, every officer should have a <em>nate</em> horse to ride upon.

General Picton conducted himself with his accustomed
coolness; he remained on the left flank of the column, and
repeatedly cautioned the different battalions to mind the
quarter distance and the “tellings off.” “Your safety,”
added he, “my credit, and the honour of the army, is at
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
stake: all rests with you at this moment.” We had reached
to within a mile of our entrenched camp, when Montbrun,
impatient lest we should escape from his grasp, ordered his
troopers to bring up their right shoulders and incline towards
our column: the movement was not exactly bringing his
squadrons into line, but it was the next thing to it, and at
this time they were within half pistol-shot of us. Picton
took off his hat, and holding it over his eyes as a shade from
the sun, looked sternly, but anxiously at the French. The
clatter of the horses and the clanking of the scabbards were
so great when the right half squadron moved up, that many
thought it the forerunner of a general charge; some mounted
officer called out, “Had we not better form square?”—“No,”
replied Picton; “it is but a <em>ruse</em> to frighten us, but it
won’t do.”

At this moment a cloud of dust was discernible in the
direction of Guinaldo; it was a cheering sight; it covered
the 3rd Dragoon Guards, who came up at a slinging trot
to our relief. When this fine regiment approached to within
a short distance of us they dismounted, tightened their
girths, and prepared for battle; but the French horse
slackened their pace, and in half an hour more we were
safe within our lines. The Light Division, which were also
critically circumstanced on this memorable day, joined us in
the morning, and thus the whole army was re-united.
.bn 144.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XI

.pm start_summary
Retreat of the French army—Vultures on the field of battle—The
Light Division and private theatricals—Major Leckie and the
musician—Privations—The Connaught Rangers and the sheep—Deficient
kits—Darby Rooney and General Mackinnon.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The Duke of Ragusa and the Count Dorsenne employed
themselves the whole of the day (the 26th of September)
in reconnoitring the ground we occupied, and everything
announced that a battle would be fought the next day
(which, had it taken place, would have been the anniversary
of the battle of Busaco, gained by us the preceding year),
but Lord Wellington observing a considerable body of
troops moving upon his left, apparently with the intention
of turning it, withdrew from his entrenched camp in the
course of the night to the neighbourhood of Alfayates,
leaving the 4th Division, commanded by General Cole, at
Aldea-de-Ponte.

At break of day on the 27th the French army were in
motion, but their surprise seemed great on finding our lines
unoccupied. Marmont pushed his advance upon the village
of Aldea-de-Ponte, and a gallant affair for our 4th Division
took place there. The two regiments of Fusileers[19] particularly
distinguished themselves, and repulsed the enemy at
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
the point of the bayonet. Night put an end to this affair,
which cost us a couple of hundred men, and nearly double
that number fell on the side of the French.

.fm rend=th
.fn 19
The 7th and 23rd Royal Welsh.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

The enemy being but ill supplied with provisions, and
the country in which they now were (Portugal) being quite
unsuited to their operations, as well as unable to supply
their wants, the French Marshal, having provisioned Rodrigo,
which was the object sought for when he formed his junction
with the army of the north, resolved upon retracing his steps,
which he did on the following day, the 28th.

Lord Wellington issued a most flattering order to the
troops engaged on the 25th, and so delighted was he with
the conduct of the 5th and 77th that he held them up as
an example to the army. On the 29th we went into
cantonments, our division occupying Aldea-de-Ponte; and
until our arrival there, I had no idea the loss of men and
horses on the 27th had been so great. The ground was
thickly covered with both, and immense numbers of vultures
had already established themselves in the neighbourhood.
These birds, the sure harbinger of a disputed field, crowded
around us in vast flocks: whether this was owing to the
lateness of the season, or to a scantiness in the supply of
their accustomed food, I know not; but the voracity of
these birds, and consequently their boldness, was beyond
anything I had ever before witnessed. In many instances
they would throw off their ordinary wariness, and strut
before the carcase they were devouring, as if they supposed
we were about to dispute their pretensions to it; but it is
astonishing what birds of this description will do when
really pressed by hunger.

Fuente-Guinaldo was occupied by our Light Division, who
made that town agreeable both to themselves and also to
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
their brothers in arms, not only by their hospitality, but by
the attraction of their theatrical performances, which were
got up in a style quite astonishing, considering the place
and the difficulties which they must have found in supplying
themselves with suitable costume; but the Light Division had
an <lang=fr><em>esprit de corps</em></lang> among them, whether in the field or
quarters, that must be seen to be understood. Their <lang=la><em>dramatis
personæ</em></lang> were admirable, and Captain Kent of the Rifles, by
his great abilities, rendered every performance in which he
took a part doubly attractive. The 3rd Division, although
unable to cope with the Light in this species of amusement,
got up races, which, though inferior to those of the former
year at Torres Vedras, were far from bad; amongst the
jockeys was one, an officer in the Portuguese service, who,
though an excellent horseman, was, without exception, the
ugliest man in the division, or perhaps in the army. Major
Leckie of the 45th took the greatest dislike to him on this
account, and gave him the name of “Ugly Mug”—by which
cognomen he was after known.

Just as the horses were about to start for a tolerably
heavy stake, I went up to Leckie, who was one of the most
knowing men on our turf. “Well, Leckie,” said I, “who’s
the winning jockey to-day?”—“Why look,” replied he,
“I’ve laid it on thick myself upon Wilde’s horse, Albuquerque,
and tortured as I am with this infernal attack of
gout (to which he was a great martyr), I have hobbled out
to witness the race; but, my dear fellow, I don’t care one
rush who wins, provided <em>Mug</em> loses.” However, <em>Mug</em> won
his race easily, and poor Leckie went home quite out of
sorts. Whether from the effect of his favourite horse losing,
or “Mug’s” winning, or that the exertion was too much for
him, I know not, but upon his return to Aldea-de-Ponte, he
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
was seized with a violent attack of gout; towards midnight
he was a little more composed, and had just sunk into a
gentle slumber, when he was awoke by a young Ensign who
had lately joined, and who occupied an apartment in the
house where Leckie was quartered. This officer played a
little on the violin, and had a very good voice; he began to
practise both, and commenced singing the little air in <cite>Paul
and Virginia</cite> of

.pm start_poem
Tell her I love her while the clouds drop rain,
Or while there’s water in the pathless main;
.pm end_poem

but whether from being imperfect in the song, or that those
particular lines struck his fancy, he never got beyond them.
Leckie became very fidgety—every scrape of the violin
touched his heart, but in a far different manner from that
in which it seemed to affect the performer; a quarter of an
hour passed on, and the same lines were repeated; at last
the accompaniment grew fainter and fainter, until it died
away altogether.

Leckie became composed: “Well!” exclaimed he, “that
young fellow is at rest for the night, and so I hope shall I be,”
and he was beginning to settle himself in a more easy posture
when the same sounds reassailed him. This was too bad! He
sprang out of bed, the perspiration rolling in large drops
down his forehead; he rushed to the door of the Ensign’s
apartment, which he forced at one push, and in a second was
standing before the astonished musician in his shirt. The
fatal words, “Tell her I love her,” had just been uttered,
and he was preparing to add, “while the clouds drop rain,”
when Leckie exclaimed, “By God, sir, I’ll tell her anything
you wish, if you’ll only allow me to sleep for half an hour.”
It would be impossible to convey an idea of the confusion of
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
the young man upon finding his commanding officer before
him at such a time and upon such an occasion; he made a
thousand apologies, and poor Leckie, who was one of the
pleasantest fellows in the world, in spite of his pain, could
not avoid laughing at the occurrence, which amused him to
the hour of his death.

Matters being in the state I have described in the month
of October 1811, and as there was no likelihood of any active
operations taking place, we began to make ourselves as comfortable
as the wretched village of Aldea-de-Ponte would
admit of. Any person acquainted with a Portuguese cottage
will readily acknowledge that a good chimney is not its forte;
we therefore turned all the skill our masons possessed to the
construction of fire-places that would not smoke, and it
required all their knowledge in the arcana of their profession
to succeed even in part. However, they did succeed, partially,
I must admit; but it was easy to satisfy us, and we made
up for the badness of our fire-places by stocking them
abundantly with wood, of which article there was no lack,—but
we had barely sufficient straw to keep our horses and
mules alive, much less afford ourselves a bed. In the entire
village, I believe, there were not a dozen mattresses. Provisions
were but ill supplied us, and we were reduced to
subsist upon half allowance of bad biscuit. As to money, we
had scarcely a sou; for although there was plenty of specie in
Lisbon for our use, the want of animals to convey it to the
army left us as ill off as if there had not been a dollar in
the chest of the Paymaster-General. So that between smoky
houses, no beds, little to eat, and less money, we were in
anything but what might be termed “good winter-quarters.”

This state of privation was sadly annoying to the soldiers,
and the men of my corps, or, as I am more in the habit of
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
calling them, “the boys,” were much perplexed as to what
they would do. Several desertions had taken place in the
army, but our fellows did not like that at-all-at-all. “Why,
then, by my sowl,” said Owen Mackguekin, of the Grenadiers,
“I think Misther Strahan, the commissary, is grately to blame
to keep us poor boys without mate to ate, when those <lang=pt><em>pizanos</em></lang>
have plenty of good sheep and goats; and sure if they’d ate
them themselves, a man wouldn’t say anything; but they’ll
neither ate them, nor give us lave to do so, and sure a’tanny
rate, <lang=pt><em>baccallâo</em></lang> and <lang=pt><em>azete</em></lang>[20] is good enough for them.” I need
scarcely remark that an argument so full of sound sense
was not likely to be thrown away upon the hearers of Owen
Mackguekin. From this moment our fellows determined to
be their own commissaries.

.fm rend=th
.fn 20
Salt fish and vinegar.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

For some weeks there had been a general defalcation
amongst the different neighbouring flocks, and the Portuguese
shepherds, confounded to know what had become of them,
armed themselves, and kept watch with a degree of vigilance
that they were heretofore unaccustomed to. Wolves, they
remarked, were not sufficiently numerous in that part of the
country to effect such havoc, even in the depth of winter;
but, said they, it is impossible at this early stage of the
season that it could be them; and they were right, for it
would be difficult to point out one regiment that did not
take something in the shape of tithe from the sheep-holders.

One night in November, 1811, three of the “boys”
walked out of their quarters with nothing at all—but their
bayonets; Mackguekin headed them. The sheep-fold they
assailed was defended by five armed Portuguese; but what
did the “boys” care for that? After nearly sending the
unfortunate men to the other world, they very deliberately
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
tied their arms and legs together “to keep them aisy,” as they
afterwards said, and then performing the same office to three
sheep, they left their owners to look after the remainder.

As may be supposed, this affair made a great noise. The
Provost-Marshal was directed to search, with the utmost
care, the quarters and premises of all the regiments; but the
fellow instinctively, I believe, turned towards those of my
corps; and here, I am sorry to confess, he found that which
he wanted, namely, the three sheep, part of them in a camp-kettle
on the fire, and the remainder in an outhouse. This
was enough. The three men were identified by the Portuguese,
tried, flogged, and had to pay for the sheep, which
(the worst of it!) they had not the pleasure of even tasting.
But this example by no means put a stop to the evil. The
sheep-folds were plundered, the shepherds pummelled, and
our fellows flogged without mercy. General Picton at length
issued orders, directing the rolls of the regiment to be called
over by an officer of each company at different periods during
the night, and by this measure the evil was remedied. But
we did not get credit for even this. That pleasantest of all
pleasant fellows, Bob Hardyman of the 45th, used to say,
in jest, that instead of the officers going round the quarters,
we entrusted the duty to a sergeant; and, according to
Bob’s account, the manner of his performing the duty was
as follows:—

Arrived at the door, he gave a gentle tap, when voices
from within called out, “Who’s there?”

<em>Ser.</em> “It’s me, boys!”

<em>Sol.</em> “And who are you?”

<em>Ser.</em> “Why then, blur 'an ouns, boys, don’t yees know
my voice?”

<em>Sol.</em> “Och! and to be sure we do now.”
.bn 151.png
.pn +1

<em>Ser.</em> “Well, boys, yees know what I’me come about.”

<em>Sol.</em> “Sure we do, sergeant.”

<em>Ser.</em> “Well, boys, are yees all within?”

<em>Sol.</em> “Within, is it! to be sure we are; why, where else
would we be?”

<em>Ser.</em> “That’s right, boys! but boys, take care, are yees
all in bed?”

<em>Sol.</em> “In bed! sure we are, and all asleep too!!”

<em>Ser.</em> “Och! that’s right, honies, it’s myself that’s proud
to find yees grown so regular!”

And having thus performed his duty, he wished them
good-night. But poor Bob Hardyman was one of those
sort of fellows that could say a thing (and make you laugh
at it too, although at your own expense) that if another
person attempted, he would get his teeth knocked down his
throat; he verified a saying in his own county (Galway),
that one man in that country might steal a horse with
impunity, when another darn’t look over the hedge where
he was grazing.

At Aldea-de-Ponte, the headquarters of our division,
all was quiet; and although our allowance of provisions was
scanty, and our supply of money scarcely sufficient to procure
us salt and rice for our soup, the division, nevertheless, was
in high order; we had a good deal of drill, and regular
examinations of the men’s kits—a very necessary precaution
with all regiments, and with my corps as well as another.
At an inspection of this kind by General Mackinnon he
found fault—and deservedly so, I must confess—with the
scanty manner in which some of the men of my company
were supplied. The General was too much the gentleman
to row, or call names, but it was clear from his manner that
he was far from satisfied with the wardrobe displayed by
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
these fellows; indeed, if he was, it would have been easy to
please him! At last coming to a “boy” of the name of
Darby Rooney, whose knapsack was what a Frenchman
would term <lang=la><em>vide</em></lang>, or, to speak more intelligibly, one that
contained nothing whatever but his watch-coat, a piece of
pipe-clay and button-brush! he seemed thunderstruck, as
well he might, for I believe “he ne’er had looked upon its
like before”!

With more asperity of manner than I ever observed him
to make use of, he asked “Darby” to whose squad he
belonged. Darby Rooney understood about as much English
as enabled him to get over a parade tolerably, but a conversation
such as the General was about to hold with him was
beyond his capacity, and he began to feel a little confused
at the prospect of a <lang=fr><em>tête-à-tête</em></lang> with his General: “Squidha—squodha—cad-dershe-vourneen?”[21]
said he, turning to the
orderly-sergeant, Pat Gafney, who did not himself speak the
English language quite as correctly as Lindley Murray.
“Whist, ye Bostoon,”[22] said Gafney, “and don’t make a
baste of yourself before the General.”—“Why,” said General
Mackinnon, “I believe he don’t understand me.”—“No, sir,”
replied Gafney, “he don’t know what your honour manes.”

.fm rend=th
.fn 21
“What does he say, honey?”
.fn-

.fn 22
“Hold your tongue, you booby.”
.fn-
.fm rend=th

The General passed on, taking it for granted that the
man had never heard of a squad, and making some
gentlemanlike observations on the utility of such partitions
of a company, expressed himself satisfied with the fine
appearance of the regiment, and our inspection ended with
credit to us, this solitary instance excepted. This was,
however, enough. Ill-nature and scandal seldom lack
arguments. They are ever ready to take a hint, and it is
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
unnecessary that a report should be as true as the gospel to
form a foundation for their belief of it. An hour had not
elapsed when the entire division were made acquainted
(through some of our friends!) with the story. Groups of
officers might be seen together (God forgive them!) laughing
at our expense. “Well!” cried one, “did you hear what
happened with the Connaughts to-day?”—“No,” replied a
second, “but I’ll bet twenty dollars I guess; another sheep
or goat found in their quarters?”—“No. But when
General Mackinnon inspected them just now, there was not
one man in the regiment who knew what a squad was!”—“I
would have sworn it,” replied a third. An old crone of
a major now joined the group, and shaking his head said,
“Ah! they are a sad set!” Poor idiot! The 88th was a
more really <em>efficient</em> regiment than almost any <em>two</em> corps in
the 3rd Division.
.bn 154.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII

.pm start_summary
Officers and sergeants—Fairfield and his bad habit—Regimental
mechanism—Impolitic familiarity—3rd Division at the siege of
Ciudad Rodrigo—Lieutenant D‘Arcy and Ody Brophy—The
Irish pilot.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The joke about Darby Rooney’s wardrobe, and the
conversation that took place between him and General
Mackinnon, was circulated throughout the army, and I
believe there was not one regiment unacquainted with the
circumstance; indeed, so general was its circulation, that it
reached the headquarters of Lord Wellington himself, and,
if report spoke truly (which it doesn’t always do), it caused his
lordship to laugh heartily.

I have myself—before and since I wrote the story—often
been asked if it was really a fact that we had no squads
in the companies of my regiment, and I have invariably
answered that we had not, and that every iota told by Bob
Hardyman was true, for I think Bob’s description of the
Connaught Rangers altogether too rich to be contradicted or
even altered. But were I myself to give a “full and true
account” of the “boys,” I would set them down as a parcel
of lads that took the world easy—or, as they themselves would
say, “aisy”—with a proper share of that nonchalance which
is only to be acquired on service—real service; but I cannot
bring myself to think them, as many did, a parcel of devils,
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
neither will I by any manner of means try to pass them off
for so many saints! But the fact is (and I have before said
so) that there was not one regiment in the Peninsular army
more severely—perhaps so severely—drilled as mine was; but
I also say, without the slightest fear of contradiction, that
the officers never tormented themselves or their men with too
much fuss. We approached their quarters as seldom as we
possibly could—I mean as seldom as was necessary—and
thereby kept up that distance between officers and privates
so essential to discipline; this we considered the proper line
of conduct to chalk out, and we ever acted up to it. We
were amused to see some regiments whose commanding
officers obliged every subaltern to parade his men at bedtime
in their blankets!—why, they looked like so many
hobgoblins! But if such an observance were necessary as far
as concerned the soldiers, surely a sergeant ought to be able
to do this much.

If a selection of good sergeants and corporals be made by
the officer at the head of a regiment, and if that officer will
only allow those individuals to do their duty, there is not the
least doubt but that they will do it—I peril myself upon the
assertion, and I bet a sovereign that the “Guards” agree
with me. I well remember some regiments managed in the
opposite way during the Peninsular War. Those poor
fellows were much to be pitied, for they were not only
obliged to fag, but to dress also, with as much scrupulous
exactness as the time and place would admit of. What
folly! But was Lord Wellington to blame for this?
Unquestionably not. He never troubled his head about
such trifles, and had the commanding officers of corps
followed the example set them (of not paying too much
respect to minutiæ) by the Commander-in-Chief, the
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
situation of the junior officers in the army would have been
far different from what it was.

Another custom prevailed in many regiments, which was
attempted to be got up in mine, but we crushed it in its
infancy; it was the sending a surgeon or his assistant to
ascertain the state of an officer’s health, should he think
himself not well enough to attend an early drill.

We had in my old corps, amongst other “characters,”
one that, at the period I am writing about, was well known
in the army to be as jovial a fellow as ever put his foot
under a mess-table. His name was Fairfield; and though
there were few who could sing as good a song, there was not
in the whole British army a worse duty officer. Indeed, it
was next to impossible to catch hold of him for any duty
whatever; and so well known was his dislike to all military
etiquette, that the officer next to him on the roster, the
moment Fairfield’s name appeared for guard-mounting or
court-martial, considered himself as the person meant, and
he was right nine times out of ten. The frequent absence of
Fairfield from drill, at a time too when the regiment was in
expectation of being inspected by the general of division,
obliged the officer commanding to send the surgeon to
ascertain the nature of his malady, which from its long
continuance (on occasions of duty!) strongly savoured of a
chronic complaint. The doctor found the invalid traversing
his chamber rather lightly clad for an indisposed person; he
was singing one of Moore’s melodies, and accompanying
himself with his violin, which instrument he touched with
great taste. The doctor told him the nature of his visit, and
offered to feel his pulse, but Fairfield turned from him,
repeating the lines of Shakespeare, “Canst thou minister,”
etc. etc. “Well,” replied the surgeon, “I am sorry for it, but
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
I cannot avoid reporting you fit for duty.”—“I’m sorry you
cannot,” rejoined Fairfield; “but my complaint is best
known to myself! and I feel that were I to rise as early as
is necessary, I should be lost to the service in a month.”
“Why,” said the doctor, “Major Thompson says you have
been lost to it ever since he first knew you, and that is now
something about six years,” and he took his leave for the
purpose of making his report.

The Major’s orderly was soon at Fairfield’s quarters with
a message to say that his presence was required by his
commanding officer. Fairfield was immediately in attendance.
“Mr. Fairfield,” said the Major, “your constant
habit of being absent from early drill has obliged me to send
the surgeon to ascertain the state of your health, and he
reports that you are perfectly well, and I must say that your
appearance is anything but that of an invalid—how is this?”
“Don’t mind him, sir,” replied Fairfield; “I am, thank God!
very well <em>now</em>, but when the bugle sounded this morning at
four o’clock a cold shivering came over me—I think it was a
touch of ague!—and besides, Dr. Gregg is too short a time
in the Connaught Rangers to know my <em>habit</em>.”—“Is he?”
rejoined the old Major, “he must be d—--d stupid then.
But that is a charge you surely can’t make against me. I
have been now about nineteen years in the regiment, during
six of which I have had the pleasure of knowing you, and
you will allow me to tell you, that I am not only well
acquainted with 'your habit,' but to request you will, from
this moment, <em>change it</em>”—and with this gentle rebuke he
good-humouredly dismissed him. He was an excellent duty
officer ever after.

A regiment is a piece of mechanism, and requires as much
care as any other machine whose parts are obliged to act
.bn 158.png
.pn +1
in unison to keep it going as it ought. If a screw or two
be loose, a skilful hand will easily right them without injuring
the machine; but if it falls into the hands of a self-sufficient
ignorant bungler, it is sure to be injured, if not
destroyed altogether; and as certain as the daylight, if it
is ever placed in a situation where it must from necessity
be allowed to act for itself—where the main spring cannot
control the lesser ones much less the great body of the
machine—it will be worse than useless—worse than a log—not
only in the way, but not to be depended upon!

It must not, however, be supposed that these observations
are meant to favour a too little regard to that system
of discipline which is so essential to be observed in the army,
and without which any army—but particularly a British
one—would be inefficient. Extremes should be avoided,
and too much familiarity is as bad as too much severity. I
once heard of a commanding officer of a first-rate regiment
who was in the habit of allowing the junior officers of his
corps to make too free with him; he at length found it
necessary to send his adjutant to inquire the reason why a
young ensign, who was in the habit of absenting himself
from parade, did so on one of those days which was allotted
as a garrison parade? The adjutant informed the ensign
that the colonel awaited his reply. “Shall I say you are
unwell?” demanded he. “Oh no,” replied the ensign,
“I’ll settle the matter with the commanding officer myself.”
The hour of dinner approached, yet no communication was
received from the ensign. Passing from his quarters to the
mess-room, the commanding officer met the ensign, and was
about to accost him when the latter turned his head aside
and declined recognising his colonel, who, upon arriving at
the mess-room, was so dejected as to attract the notice of
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
all the officers. Upon being asked why he was so out of
spirits, the colonel, “good easy man,” told a “round unvarnished
tale,” and in conclusion added, “I thought nothing
of his not answering my message, but I cannot express how
much I am hurt at the idea of his cutting me as he did
when I wished to speak with him!” This was <lang=fr><em>un peu trop
fort</em></lang>; and had the regiment in question been much longer
under the command of the good-natured personage I have
described, there is little doubt but that it would have
become rather relaxed in its discipline.

The different movements amongst the contending armies
in the end of 1811 caused it to be presumed that the
campaign the following year would open with much spirit;
and so it did, although earlier than was anticipated. Marmont,
thinking himself safe till the spring, had not only
quartered his army in very extensive cantonments, but also
detached General Montbrun, with three divisions, to co-operate
with Marshal Suchet in the kingdom of Valencia.
Intimately acquainted with these details, Lord Wellington
redoubled his efforts in the arrangement of all that was
necessary to carry on the siege of Ciudad-Rodrigo with
vigour. The 3rd Division, which was one of those destined
to take a part in the attack, broke up from its cantonments
on the morning of the 4th of January 1812. Carpio, Espeja,
and Pastores were occupied by our troops, and the greatest
activity prevailed throughout every department, but more
especially in that of the Engineers. All the cars in the
country were put into requisition for the purpose of conveying
fascines, gabions, and the different materials necessary
to the Convent of La Caridad, distant a league and half from
Rodrigo. The guns were at Gallegos, and everything was in
that state of preparation which announced that a vigorous
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
attack was about to be made, in the depth of a severe winter,
against a fortress that had withstood for twenty-five days
all the efforts of Marshal Masséna in the summer of 1810,
when it was only occupied by a weak garrison of Spaniards.
Yet, nevertheless, every one felt confident, and the soldiers
burned with impatience to wipe away the blot of the former
year in the unfortunate siege of San Christoval and Badajoz.

I have before mentioned that we had not an effective
corps of engineers—I mean in point of numbers. To remedy
this defect a proportion of the most intelligent officers and
soldiers of the infantry were selected during the autumn
months and placed under the direction of Colonel Fletcher,
the Chief Engineer. They were soon taught how to make
fascines and gabions, and what was of equal consequence—how
to use them. They likewise learned the manner of
working by sap, and by this means that branch of our army,
which was before the weakest, had now become very efficient.

The morning of the 4th of January was dreadfully inauspicious.
The order for marching arrived at three o’clock,
and we were under arms at five. The rain fell in torrents,
and the village of Aldea-de-Ponte, which the brigade of
General Mackinnon occupied, was a sea of filth; the snow
on the surrounding hills drifted down with the flood
and nearly choked up the roads, and the appearance of the
morning was anything but a favourable omen for us, who
had a march of nine leagues to make ere we reached the
town of Robleda on the river Agueda, which was destined
to be our resting-place for the night.

At half-past six the brigade was in motion, and I scarcely
remember a more disagreeable day; the rain which had
fallen in the morning was succeeded by snow and sleet, and
some soldiers, who sunk from cold and fatigue, fell down
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
exhausted, soon became insensible, and perished; yet, strange
to say, an Irishwoman of my regiment was delivered of a
child upon the road, and continued the march with her
infant in her arms.

Notwithstanding the severity of the day, it was impossible
to avoid occasionally smiling at the <lang=fr><em>outré</em></lang> appearance of
some of the officers. The total disregard which the Commander-in-Chief
paid to uniformity of dress is well known,
and there were many on this day who were obliged to
acknowledge that they showed more taste than judgment
in their selection. Captain Adair of my corps nearly fell a
victim to the choice he had made on this our first day of
opening the campaign of 1812. He wore a pair of boots
that fitted him with a degree of exactness that would not
disgrace a “Hoby”; the heels were high and the toes
sharply pointed; his pantaloons were of blue web; his
frock-coat and waistcoat were tastefully and fashionably
chosen, the former light blue richly frogged with lace, the
latter of green velvet with large silver Spanish buttons; but
he forgot the most essential part of all—and that was his
boat-cloak. For the first ten or twelve miles he rode, but
the cold was so intense that he was obliged to dismount,
and unquestionably his dress was but ill calculated for
walking. The rain with which his pantaloons were saturated
was by this time nearly frozen (for the day had begun to
change), and he became so dreadfully chafed that he was
necessitated to give up the march, and we left him at a
village half way from Robleda, resembling more one of
those which composed “the army of martyrs” than that
commanded by Lord Wellington. I myself was nearly in
as bad a state, but being a few years younger, and more
serviceably clad, I made an effort to get on.
.bn 162.png
.pn +1

We had by this time (eight o’clock at night) proceeded
a considerable way in the dark, and, as may be supposed,
it was a difficult matter to keep the men together as compactly
as could be wished. Whenever an opportunity occurred
a jaded soldier or two of my regiment used to look in
on our Spanish friends, and if they found them at supper,
they could not bring themselves to refuse an offer to “take
share of what was going,” and, to say the truth, this was no
more than might be expected from a set of fellows who
belonged to a country so proverbial for its hospitality to
strangers as theirs (Ireland) was! Besides this, the men of
the Connaught Rangers had a way of making themselves
“at home” that was peculiar to them, and for which—whatever
else might be denied them!—they got full credit. Bob
Hardyman used to say “they had a <em>taking way</em> with them.”

Passing a hamlet a short distance from Robleda we saw
a number of Spaniards, women as well as men, outside the
door of a good-looking house; much altercation was apparently
taking place; at length a soldier (named Ody Brophy)
rushed out with half a flitch of bacon under his arm; a
scuffle ensued, and Lieutenant D‘Arcy, to whose company
the soldier belonged, ran up to inquire the cause of the
outcry, but it was soon too manifest to be misunderstood;
the war-whoop was raised against our man, who, on his part,
as stoutly defended himself, not by words alone but by
blows, which had nearly silenced his opponents, when he
was seized by my friend D‘Arcy. <em>Piccaroon</em>, <em>Ladrone</em>, and
other opprobrious epithets were poured with much volubility
against him, but he, with the greatest <lang=fr><em>sang froid</em></lang>, turned to
his officer and said, “Be aisy now, and don’t be vexing
yourself with them or the likes of them. Wasn’t it for you
I was making a bargain? and didn’t I offer the value of it?
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
Don’t I see the way you’re lost with the hunger, and the
divil a bit iv rations you’ll get ate to-night. Och! you
cratur, iv your poor mother, that’s dead! was to see you
after such a condition, it’s she that id be leev’d iv herself
for letting you away from her at-all-at-all.”—“Well,” said
D‘Arcy (softened, no doubt, and who would not at such a
speech?), “what did you offer for it?”—“What did I offer
for it, is it? Fait, then, I offered enough, but they made
such a noise that I don’t think they heard me, for, upon my
sowl, I hardly heard myself with the uproar they made; and
sure I told them iv I hadn’t money enough to pay for it
(and it was true for me I hadn’t, unless I got it dog cheap!)
you had; but they don’t like a bone in my skin, or in yours
either, and that is the raison they are afther offinding me
afther such a manner. And didn’t one of the women get
my left thumb into her mouth, and grunch it like a bit of
mate? Look at it,” said he in conclusion, at the same time
thrusting his bleeding hand nearly into D‘Arcy’s face, “fait
and iv your honour hadn’t come up, it’s my belief she would
have bit it clane off at the knuckle.” This speech, delivered
with a rapidity and force that was sufficient to overwhelm
the most practised rhetorician, carried away everything along
with it, like chaff before a whirlwind, and D‘Arcy made all
matters smooth by paying the price demanded (two dollars),
and the piece of bacon was carried away by Ody, who was a
townsman of D‘Arcy’s, and who repeatedly assured him “he
would do more than that to sarve him.”

It was impossible to avoid paying a tribute of praise to
Ody Brophy for the tact with which he avoided the storm
with which he was threatened; and upon this occasion he
proved himself as good a pilot as ever guided a vessel, and
to the full equal to one I once heard of in the harbour of
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
Cork. A captain of a man-of-war, newly appointed to a
ship on the Irish station, took the precaution, in “beating
out” of harbour, to apprise the pilot that he was totally
unacquainted with the coast, and therefore he must rely on
the pilot’s local knowledge for the safety of his ship.

“You are perfectly sure, pilot,” said the captain, “you
are well acquainted with the coast?”

“Do I know my own name, sir.”

“Well, mind, I warn you not to approach too near the
shore.”

“Now make yourself aisy, sir; in troth you may go to
bed iv you plaise.”

“Then shall we stand on?”

“Why—what else would we do?”

“Yes, but there may be hidden dangers which you know
nothing about.”

“Dangers! I’d like to see the dangers dare hide themselves
from Mick—sure, don’t I tell you I know every rock
on the coast” (here the ship strikes), “<i>and that’s one of 'em</i>.”
.bn 165.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII

.pm start_summary
Spanish village accommodation—The siege of Ciudad Rodrigo—Picton’s
address to the Connaught Rangers in front of the breach—Lieutenant
William Mackie and the forlorn hope.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The brigade reached Robleda at nine o’clock at night, and
our quarters there, which at any time would have been considered
good, appeared to us, after our wretched billets at
Aldea-de-Ponte, and the fatigue of a harassing march,
sumptuous. The villages in Spain, like those of France, are
well supplied with beds, and the house allotted to me, D‘Arcy,
and Captain Peshall, was far from deficient in those essentials.
A loud knocking at the door of the cottage announced the
arrival of Peshall, who, like some others, had been “thrown
out” on the march, and who sought for his billet in the best
manner he could. He was a man who might boast of as
well-stocked a canteen as any other captain in the army;
and upon this occasion it made a proud display. The fireplace
was abundantly supplied with wood, and at each side
of the chimney there was a profusion of that kind of furniture
which I ever considered as indispensable to complete the
garniture of a well-regulated cuisine, no matter whether in a
cottage or château—I mean hams, sausages, and flitches of
well-cured bacon.

While I contemplated all the luxuries with which I was
.bn 166.png
.pn +1
surrounded, I felt exceedingly happy, and I am inclined to
think that the evening of the 4th of January 1812 was, if
not one of the pleasantest of my life, unquestionably one of
the most rational I ever passed. Our baggage had by this
time arrived, and having got on dry clothes, we began to
attack the contents of Peshall’s canteen, which was ever at
the service of his friends; it contained, among other good
things, a Lamego ham, and a cold roast leg of mountain
mutton, “morsels which may take rank, notwithstanding
their Spartan plainness, with the most disguised of foreign
manufacture.” It is scarcely necessary to add that we did
ample justice to the viands placed before us, and having
taken a sufficient libation of brandy punch, in which the
Spaniard joined us, we turned our thoughts to our beds.

We arose early the following morning, the 5th, and the
brigade reached the small village of Atalaya, distant three
leagues from Rodrigo, a little before noon. That fortress
was completely invested on the evening of the 7th, and
dispositions were made to commence operations against it
on the night following.

Ciudad Rodrigo stands upon an eminence, on the right
bank of the river Agueda, and is difficult of access; it had
been, since its occupation by the French, much strengthened
by the construction of a redoubt on the hill above St.
Francisco; some old convents in the suburbs were also turned
into defences, and these places no longer presented their
original peaceful appearance, but were, in fact, very respectable
outworks, and tended much to our annoyance and loss
at the commencement of the siege.

To be safe against a <lang=fr><em>coup-de-main</em></lang>, Rodrigo would require
a force of from five to six thousand troops, and its present
garrison did not reckon anything like three thousand
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
bayonets; it was therefore manifest that, notwithstanding
the unfavourable time of the year, it must fall if not
speedily succoured; yet it would seem that Marshal Marmont
took no measures to make a diversion in its favour.
Strongly impressed with this state of the matter, our
commander saw the advantage he would have over his
opponent, by acting with as little delay as possible. Protected
by a strong escort, Lord Wellington carefully reconnoitred
the town on the 8th; and shortly after dark, three
hundred men of the Light Division, headed by Colonel
Colborne of the 52nd, were formed for the attack of St.
Francisco. They were followed by a working party, composed
also of men of the Light Division. The storming party,
led on by Colonel Colborne, advanced under cover of the
night, and were not discovered until they had reached to
within a few yards of the redoubt, and our troops rushed on
with such impetuosity that the outwork was carried, and
the soldiers that defended it put to the sword, before the
garrison of Rodrigo thought it in danger; and profiting by
the panic with which the enemy were seized, Colonel Colborne
caused the works of the redoubt to be razed, completed the
first parallel, and rendered our future approaches secure.

The duty in the trenches was carried on by the 1st,
3rd, 4th, and Light Divisions, each taking its separate
tour every twenty-four hours. We had no tents or huts of
any description, and the ground was covered with snow,
nevertheless the soldiers were cheerful, and everything went
on well. The fortified convents in the suburbs were respectively
carried, and each sortie made by the garrison was
immediately repulsed; in some instances our men pursued
them to the very <em>glacis</em>, and many a fine fellow, carried away
by his enthusiasm, died at the muzzles of their cannon.
.bn 168.png
.pn +1

Every exertion was made to forward the work, so fully
were all impressed with its necessity; but notwithstanding
the animated exertions of the engineers, and the ready
co-operation of the infantry, their progress was at times
unavoidably slower than was anticipated. In some instances
the soil was so unfavourable, it was next to an impossibility
to make head against it; instead of clay or gravel, we frequently
met with a vein of rock, and invariably when this
occurred our losses were severe, for the pick-axes, coming in
contact with the stone, caused sparks to issue that plainly
told the enemy where we were, and, as a matter of course,
they redoubled their efforts on these points; nevertheless,
on the 14th, in the afternoon, we were enabled to open our
fire from twenty-two pieces of cannon, superior to those which
armed our batteries at Badajoz the year before, inasmuch as
the former guns were of brass, while those which we now
used were of metal. On this night we established the second
parallel, distant only one hundred and fifty yards from the
body of the place.

.il id=i142 fn=i_b_142fp.jpg w=500px ew=90%
.ca <sc>PLAN OF SIEGE OF CIUDAD RODRIGO.</sc> January 8–19, 1812.

On the 15th the second parallel was in a forward state,
and the approach by sap to the glacis was considerably
advanced; the effect also of our fire was such as made us
perceive a material alteration in the enemy’s mode of
replying to it; and it was apparent, that although but
seven days before the place, our labours were soon likely to
be brought to a termination. The cannonade of the enemy,
however, if not as great as at first, was more effective, and
our casualties more numerous, for their guns and mortars
were directed with a scientific precision that did credit to the
men who served them. But every hour proved the visible
superiority of our fire over that of the enemy, which at times
seemed to be altogether extinguished; and whenever it shone
.bn 169.png
.bn 170.png
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
forth with anything like brilliancy, it was but momentary,
and might be well likened to some spark of combustible
matter, issuing from the interior of a nearly consumed ruin.
Wherever danger was greatest, there were our engineers, and
it was painful to see their devotedness; on horseback or on
foot, under cover or exposed to fire, was to them the same,
and their example was followed by the soldiers with an
enthusiasm unequalled; in short, it was plain that a few
hours would suffice to decide the fate of Ciudad Rodrigo.
At this period (the 18th) the 4th Division occupied and
performed the duty in the trenches.

Early on the morning of the 19th, the 3rd Division
(although not for duty that day) received orders to march
to the Convent of La Caridad; and as Lord Wellington was
not in the habit of giving us unnecessary marches, we concluded
that he intended us the honour of forming one of the
corps destined to carry the place. On our march we perceived
our old friends and companions, the Light Division,
debouching from their cantonments, and the joy expressed
by our men when they saw them is not to be described; we
were long acquainted, and like horses accustomed to the
same harness, we pulled well together. At two o’clock in
the afternoon we left La Caridad, and, passing to the rear of
the first parallel, formed in column about two gun-shots
distant from the main breach. The 4th Division still
occupied the works, and it was the general opinion that ours
(the 3rd) were to be in reserve. The number of Spaniards,
Portuguese, and soldiers' wives in the character of sutlers,
was immense, and the neighbourhood, which but a few days
before was only an empty plain, now presented the appearance
of a vast camp. Wretches of the poorest description
hovered round us, in hopes of getting a morsel of food, or
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
of plundering some dead or wounded soldier: their cadaverous
countenances expressed a living picture of the greatest want;
and it required all our precaution to prevent these miscreants
from robbing us the instant we turned our backs from our
scanty store of baggage or provisions.

Our bivouac, as may be supposed, presented an animated
appearance—groups of soldiers cooking in one place; in
another, some dozens collected together, listening to accounts
brought from the works by some of their companions whom
curiosity had led thither; others relating their past battles
to any of the young soldiers who had not as yet come hand-to-hand
with a Frenchman; others dancing and singing;
officers' servants preparing dinner for their masters; and
officers themselves, dressed in whatever way best suited their
taste or convenience, mixed with the men, without any distinguishing
mark of uniform to denote their rank. The only
thing uniform to be discovered amongst a group of between
four and five thousand was good conduct and confidence in
themselves and their general.

It was now five o’clock in the afternoon, and darkness
was approaching fast, yet no order had arrived intimating
that we were to take a part in the contest about to be
decided. We were in this state of suspense when our attention
was attracted by the sound of music; we all stood up,
and pressed forward to a ridge, a little in our front, and
which separated us from the cause of our movement, but it
would be impossible for me to convey an adequate idea of
our feelings when we beheld the 43rd Regiment, preceded
by their band, going to storm the left breach; they were in
the highest spirits, but without the slightest appearance of
levity in their demeanour—on the contrary, there was a cast
of determined severity thrown over their countenances that
.bn 173.png
.pn +1
expressed in legible characters that they knew the sort of
service they were about to perform, and had made up their
minds to the issue. They had no knapsacks—their firelocks
were slung over their shoulders—their shirt-collars were
open, and there was an indescribable <em>something</em> about them
that at one and the same moment impressed the lookers-on
with admiration and awe. In passing us, each officer and
soldier stepped out of the ranks for an instant, as he recognised
a friend, to press his hand—many for the last time;
yet, notwithstanding this animating scene, there was no
shouting or huzzaing, no boisterous bravadoing, no unbecoming
language; in short, every one seemed to be impressed
with the seriousness of the affair entrusted to his charge, and
any interchange of words was to this effect: “Well, lads,
mind what you’re about to-night”; or, “We’ll meet in the
town by and by”; and other little familiar phrases, all expressive
of confidence. The regiment at length passed us,
and we stood gazing after it as long as the rear platoon
continued in sight: the music grew fainter every moment,
until at last it died away altogether; they had no drums,
and there was a melting sweetness in the sounds that touched
the heart.

The first syllable uttered after this scene was, “And are
we to be left behind?” The interrogatory was scarcely put,
when the word “Stand to your arms!” answered it. The
order was promptly obeyed, and a breathless silence prevailed
when our commanding officer, in a few words, announced to
us that Lord Wellington had directed our division to carry
the grand breach. The soldiers listened to the communication
with silent earnestness, and immediately began to disencumber
themselves of their knapsacks, which were placed
in order by companies and a guard set over them. Each man
.bn 174.png
.pn +1
then began to arrange himself for the combat in such manner
as his fancy or the moment would admit of—some by lowering
their cartridge-boxes, others by turning theirs to the
front in order that they might the more conveniently make
use of them; others unclasping their stocks or opening their
shirt-collars, and others oiling their bayonets; and more
taking leave of their wives and children. This last was an
affecting sight, but not so much so as might be expected,
because the women, from long habit, were accustomed to
scenes of danger, and the order for their husbands to march
against the enemy was in their eyes tantamount to a victory;
and as the soldier seldom returned without plunder of some
sort, the painful suspense which his absence caused was made
up by the gaiety which his return was certain to be productive
of; or if, unfortunately, he happened to fall, his place
was sure to be supplied by some one of the company to
which he belonged, so that the women of our army had
little cause of alarm on this head. The worst that could
happen to them was the chance of being in a state of widowhood
for a week.

It was by this time half-past six o’clock, the evening was
piercingly cold, and the frost was crisp on the grass; there
was a keenness in the air that braced our nerves at least as
high as <em>concert pitch</em>. We stood quietly to our arms, and
told our companies off by files, sections, and sub-divisions;
the sergeants called over the rolls—not a man was absent.

It appears it was the wish of General Mackinnon to
confer a mark of distinction upon the 88th Regiment, and
as it was one of the last acts of his life, I shall mention it.
He sent for Major Thompson, who commanded the battalion,
and told him it was his wish to have the forlorn hope of the
grand breach led on by a subaltern of the 88th Regiment,
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
adding at the same time that, in the event of his surviving,
he should be recommended for a company. The Major
acknowledged this mark of the General’s favour, and left
him folding up some letters he had been writing to his
friends in England—this was about twenty minutes before
the attack of the breaches. Major Thompson, having called
his officers together, briefly told them the wishes of their
General; he was about to proceed, when Lieutenant William
Mackie (<em>then senior Lieutenant</em>) immediately stepped forward,
and dropping his sword said, “Major Thompson, I am ready
for that service.” For once in his life poor old Thompson
was affected—Mackie was his own townsman, they had
fought together for many years, and when he took hold of
his hand and pronounced the words, “God bless you, my
boy,” his eye filled, his lip quivered, and there was a faltering
in his voice which was evidently perceptible to himself,
for he instantly resumed his former composure, drew himself
up, and gave the word, “Gentlemen, fall in,” and at
this moment Generals Picton and Mackinnon, accompanied
by their respective staffs, made their appearance amongst
us.

Long harangues are not necessary to British soldiers, and
on this occasion but few words were made use of. Picton
said something animating to the different regiments as he
passed them, and those of my readers who recollect his
deliberate and strong utterance will say with me, that his
mode of speaking was indeed very impressive. The address
to each was nearly the same, but that delivered by him to
the 88th was so characteristic of the General, and so applicable
to the men he spoke to, that I shall give it word for
word; it was this:—

“Rangers of Connaught! it is not my intention to expend
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
any powder this evening. We’ll do this business with the
could iron.”

I before said the soldiers were silent—so they were, but
the man who could be silent after such an address, made in
such a way, and in such a place, had better have stayed at
home. It may be asked what did they do? Why, what
would they do, or would any one do, but give the loudest
hurrah he was able.
.bn 177.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIV

.pm start_summary
Storm of Ciudad Rodrigo—Gallant conduct of three soldiers of the 88th—Desperate
struggle and capture of a gun—Combat between
Lieutenant Faris and the French grenadier—A Connaught
Ranger transformed into a sweep—Anecdote of Captain Robert
Hardyman of the 45th—Death of General Mackinnon—Plunder of
Ciudad Rodrigo—Excesses of the soldiers.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The burst of enthusiasm caused by Picton’s address to the
Connaught Rangers had scarcely ceased, when the signal-gun
announced that the attack was to commence. Generals
Picton and Mackinnon dismounted from their horses, and
placing themselves at the head of the right brigade, the
troops rapidly entered the trenches by sections right in
front; the storming party under the command of Major
Russell Manners of the 74th heading it, while the forlorn
hope, commanded by Lieutenant William Mackie of the
88th, and composed of twenty volunteers from the Connaught
Rangers, led the van, followed closely by the 45th,
88th, and 74th British, and the 9th and 21st Portuguese; the
77th and 83rd British, belonging to the left brigade, brought
up the rear and completed the dispositions.

While these arrangements were effecting opposite the
grand breach, the 5th and 94th, belonging to the left
brigade of the 3rd Division, were directed to clear the
ramparts and Fausse Braye wall, and the 2nd Regiment of
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
Portuguese Caçadores, commanded by an Irish colonel of the
name of O‘Toole, was to escalade the curtain to the left of
the lesser breach, which was attacked by the Light Division
under the command of General Robert Craufurd.

It wanted ten minutes to seven o’clock when these dispositions
were completed; the moon occasionally, as the
clouds which overcast it passed away, shed a faint ray of
light upon the battlements of the fortress, and presented to
our view the glittering of the enemy’s bayonets as their
soldiers stood arrayed upon the ramparts and breach, awaiting
our attack; yet, nevertheless, their batteries were silent,
and might warrant the supposition to an unobservant
spectator that the defence would be but feeble.

The two divisions got clear of the covered way at the
same moment, and each advanced to the attack of their
respective points with the utmost regularity. The obstacles
which presented themselves to both were nearly the same,
but every difficulty, no matter how great, merged into
insignificance when placed in the scale of the prize about
to be contested. The soldiers were full of ardour, but
altogether devoid of that blustering and bravadoing which
is truly unworthy of men at such a moment; and it would
be difficult to convey an adequate idea of the enthusiastic
bravery which animated the troops. A cloud that had for
some time before obscured the moon, which was at its full,
disappeared altogether, and the countenances of the soldiers
were for the first time, since Picton addressed them, visible—they
presented a material change. In place of that
joyous animation which his fervid and impressive address
called forth, a look of severity, bordering on ferocity, had
taken its place; and although ferocity is by no means one
of the characteristics of the British soldier, there was, most
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
unquestionably, a savage expression in the faces of the men
that I had never before witnessed. Such is the difference
between the storm of a breach and the fighting a pitched
battle.

Once clear of the covered way, and fairly on the plain
that separated it from the fortress, the enemy had a full
view of all that was passing; their batteries, charged to the
muzzle with case-shot, opened a murderous fire upon the
columns as they advanced, but nothing could shake the
intrepid bravery of the troops. The Light Division soon
descended the ditch and gained, although not without a
serious struggle, the top of the narrow and difficult breach
allotted to them; their gallant General, Robert Craufurd,
fell at the head of the 43rd, and his second in command,
General Vandeleur, was severely wounded, but there were
not wanting others to supply their place; yet these losses,
trying as they were to the feelings of the soldiers, in no way
damped their ardour, and the brave Light Division carried
the left breach at the point of the bayonet. Once established
upon the ramparts, they made all the dispositions
necessary to ensure their own conquest, as also to render
every assistance in their power to the 3rd Division in their
attack. They cleared the rampart which separated the lesser
from the grand breach, and relieved Picton’s division from
any anxiety it might have as to its safety on its left flank.

The right brigade, consisting of the 45th, 88th, and 74th,
forming the van of the 3rd Division, upon reaching the
ditch, to its astonishment, found Major Ridge and Colonel
Campbell at the head of the 5th and 94th mounting the
Fausse Braye wall. These two regiments, after having performed
their task of silencing the fire of the French troops
upon the ramparts, with a noble emulation resolved to
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
precede their comrades in the attack of the grand breach.
Both parties greeted each other with a cheer, only to be
understood by those who have been placed in a similar
situation; yet the enemy were in no way daunted by the
shout raised by our soldiers—they crowded the breach, and
defended it with a bravery that would have made any but
troops accustomed to conquer, waver. But the “fighting
division” were not the men to be easily turned from their
purpose; the breach was speedily mounted, yet, nevertheless,
a serious affray took place ere it was gained. A considerable
mass of infantry crowned its summit, while in the
rear and at each side were stationed men, so placed that
they could render every assistance to their comrades at the
breach without any great risk to themselves; besides this,
two guns of heavy calibre, separated from the breach by a
ditch of considerable depth and width, enfiladed it, and as
soon as the French infantry were forced from the summit,
these guns opened their fire on our troops.

The head of the column had scarcely gained the top,
when a discharge of grape cleared the ranks of the three
leading battalions, and caused a momentary wavering; at
the same instant a frightful explosion near the gun to the
left of the breach, which shook the bastion to its foundation,
completed the disorder. Mackinnon, at the head of his
brigade, was blown into the air. His aide-de-camp, Lieutenant
Beresford of the 88th, shared the same fate, and every
man on the breach at the moment of the explosion perished.
This was unavoidable, because those of the advance, being
either killed or wounded, were necessarily flung back upon
the troops that followed close upon their footsteps, and
there was not a sufficient space for the men who were ready
to sustain those placed <lang=fr><em>hors de combat</em></lang> to rally. For an
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
instant all was confusion; the blaze of light caused by the
explosion resembled a huge meteor, and presented to our
sight the havoc which the enemy’s fire had caused in our
ranks; while from afar the astonished Spaniard viewed for
an instant, with horror and dismay, the soldiers of the two
nations grappling with each other on the top of the rugged
breach which trembled beneath their feet, while the fire of
the French artillery played upon our columns with irresistible
fury, sweeping from the spot the living and the dead.
Amongst the latter was Captain Robert Hardyman and
Lieutenant Pearse of the 45th, and many more whose
names I cannot recollect. Others were so stunned by the
shock, or wounded by the stones which were hurled forth by
the explosion, that they were insensible to their situation;
of this number I was one, for being close to the magazine
when it blew up, I was quite overpowered, and I owed my
life to the Sergeant-Major of my regiment, Thorp, who saved
me from being trampled to death by our soldiers in their
advance, ere I could recover strength sufficient to move
forward or protect myself.

The French, animated by this accidental success, hastened
once more to the breach which they had abandoned, but the
leading regiments of Picton’s division, which had been disorganised
for the moment by the explosion, rallied, and soon
regained its summit, when another discharge from the two
flank guns swept away the foremost of those battalions.

There was at this time but one officer alive upon the
breach (Major Thomson, of the 74th, acting engineer); he
called out to those next to him to seize the gun to the left,
which had been so fatal to his companions—but this was a
desperate service. The gun was completely cut off from the
breach by a deep trench, and soldiers, encumbered with their
.bn 182.png
.pn +1
firelocks, could not pass it in sufficient time to anticipate
the next discharge—yet to deliberate was certain death.
The French cannoniers, five in number, stood to, and served
their gun with as much <lang=fr><em>sang froid</em></lang> as if on a parade, and the
light which their torches threw forth showed to our men
the peril they would have to encounter if they dared to
attack a gun so defended; but this was of no avail. Men
going to storm a breach generally make up their minds that
there is no great probability of their ever returning from it
to tell their adventures to their friends; and whether they
die at the bottom or top of it, or at the muzzle, or upon the
breech of a cannon, is to them pretty nearly the same!

The first who reached the top, after the last discharge,
were three of the 88th. Sergeant Pat Brazil—the brave
Brazil of the Grenadier company, who saved his captain’s
life at Busaco—called out to his two companions, Swan and
Kelly, to unscrew their bayonets and follow him; the three
men passed the trench in a moment, and engaged the French
cannoniers hand to hand; a terrific but short combat
was the consequence. Swan was the first, and was met by
the two gunners on the right of the gun, but, no way
daunted, he engaged them, and plunged his bayonet into
the breast of one; he was about to repeat the blow upon
the other, but before he could disentangle the weapon from
his bleeding adversary, the second Frenchman closed upon
him, and by a <lang=fr><em>coup de sabre</em></lang> severed his left arm from his
body a little above the elbow; he fell from the shock, and
was on the eve of being massacred, when Kelly, after having
scrambled under the gun, rushed onward to succour his
comrade. He bayoneted two Frenchmen on the spot, and
at this instant Brazil came up; three of the five gunners
lay lifeless, while Swan, resting against an ammunition chest,
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
was bleeding to death. It was now equal numbers, two
against two, but Brazil in his over-anxiety to engage was
near losing his life at the onset; in making a lunge at the
man next to him, his foot slipped upon the bloody platform,
and he fell forward against his antagonist, but as both rolled
under the gun, Brazil felt the socket of his bayonet strike
hard against the buttons of the Frenchman’s coat. The
remaining gunner, in attempting to escape under the carriage
from Kelly, was killed by some soldiers of the 5th, who just
now reached the top of the breach, and seeing the serious
dispute at the gun, pressed forward to the assistance of the
three men of the Connaught Rangers.

While this was taking place on the left, the head of the
column remounted the breach, and regardless of the cries
of their wounded companions, whom they indiscriminately
trampled to death, pressed forward in one irregular but
heroic mass, and putting every man to death who opposed
their progress, forced the enemy from the ramparts at the
bayonet’s point. Yet the garrison still rallied, and defended
the several streets with the most unflinching bravery; nor
was it until the musketry of the Light Division was heard in
the direction of the Plaza Mayor, that they gave up the
contest! but from this moment all regular resistance ceased,
and they fled in disorder to the Citadel. There were, nevertheless,
several minor combats in the streets, and in many
instances the inhabitants fired from the windows, but whether
their efforts were directed against us or the French is a point
that I do not feel myself competent to decide; be this as it
may, many lives were lost on both sides by this circumstance,
for the Spaniards, firing without much attention to regularity,
killed or wounded indiscriminately all who came within their
range.
.bn 184.png
.pn +1

During a contest of such a nature, kept up in the night,
as may be supposed, much was of necessity left to the guidance
of the subordinate officers, if not to the soldiers themselves.
Each affray in the streets was conducted in the best
manner the moment would admit of, and decided more by
personal valour than discipline, and in some instances officers
as well as privates had to combat with the imperial troops.
In one of these encounters Lieutenant George Faris, of the
88th, by an accident so likely to occur in an affair of this
kind, separated a little too far from a dozen or so of his
regiment, and found himself opposed to a French soldier
who, apparently, was similarly placed. It was a curious
coincidence, and it would seem as if each felt that he individually
was the representative of the country to which he
belonged; and had the fate of the two nations hung upon
the issue of the combat I am about to describe, it could not
have been more heroically contested. The Frenchman fired
at and wounded Faris in the thigh, and made a desperate
push with his bayonet at his body, but Faris parried the
thrust, and the bayonet only lodged in his leg. He saw at a
glance the peril of his situation, and that nothing short of
a miracle could save him; the odds against him were too
great, and if he continued a scientific fight he must inevitably
be vanquished. He sprang forward, and, seizing hold of the
Frenchman by the collar, a struggle of a most nervous kind
took place; in their mutual efforts to gain an advantage
they lost their caps, and as they were men of nearly equal
strength, it was doubtful what the issue would be. They
were so entangled with each other their weapons were of no
avail, but Faris at length disengaged himself from the grasp
which held him, and he was able to use his sabre; he pushed
the Frenchman from him, and ere he could recover himself
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
he laid his head open nearly to the chin. His sword-blade, a
heavy, soft, ill-made Portuguese one, was doubled up with
the force of the blow, and retained some pieces of the skull
and clotted hair! At this moment I reached the spot with
about twenty men, composed of different regiments, all being
by this time mixed <em>pell mell</em> with each other. I ran up to
Faris—he was nearly exhausted, but he was safe. The
French grenadier lay upon the pavement, while Faris, though
tottering from fatigue, held his sword firmly in his grasp,
and it was crimson to the hilt. The appearance of the two
combatants was frightful!—one lying dead on the ground,
the other faint from agitation and loss of blood; but the
soldiers loudly applauded him, and the feeling uppermost
with them was, that our man had the best of it! It was a
shocking sight, but it would be rather a hazardous experiment
to begin moralising at such a moment and in such a place.

Those of the garrison who escaped death were made
prisoners, and the necessary guards being placed, and everything
secured, the troops not selected for duty commenced
a very diligent search for those articles which they most
fancied, and which they considered themselves entitled to
by “right of conquest.” I believe on a service such as the
present, there is a sort of tacit acknowledgment of this
“right”; but be this as it may, a good deal of property
most indubitably changed owners on the night of the 19th
of January 1812. The conduct of the soldiers, too, within
the last hour, had undergone a complete change; before, it
was all order and regularity, now it was nothing but
licentiousness and confusion—subordination was at an end;
plunder and blood was the order of the day, and many an
officer on this night was compelled to show that he carried
a sabre.
.bn 186.png
.pn +1

The doors of the houses in a large Spanish town are
remarkable for their strength, and resemble those of a prison
more than anything else; their locks are of huge dimensions,
and it is a most difficult task to force them. The mode
adopted by the men of my regiment (the 88th) in this
dilemma was as effective as it was novel; the muzzles of a
couple of muskets were applied to each side of the keyhole,
while a third soldier, fulfilling the functions of an officer,
deliberately gave the word, “make ready”—“present”—“fire!”
and in an instant the ponderous lock gave way
before the combined operations of the three individuals, and
doors that rarely opened to the knock of a stranger in
Rodrigo, now flew off their hinges to receive the Rangers of
Connaught.

The chapels and chandlers' houses were the first captured,
in both of which was found a most essential ingredient in
the shape of large wax candles; these the soldiers lighted,
and commenced their perambulations in search of plunder,
and the glare of light which they threw across the faces of
the men, as they carried them through the streets, displayed
their countenances, which were of that cast that might well
terrify the unfortunate inhabitants. Many of the soldiers
with their faces scorched by the explosion of the magazine
at the grand breach; others with their lips blackened from
biting off the ends of their cartridges, more covered with
blood, and all looking ferocious, presented a combination
sufficient to appal the stoutest heart.

Scenes of the greatest outrage now took place, and it was
pitiable to see groups of the inhabitants half naked in the
streets—the females clinging to the officers for protection—while
their respective houses were undergoing the strictest
scrutiny. Some of the soldiers turned to the wine and spirit
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
houses, where, having drunk sufficiently, they again sallied
out in quest of more plunder; others got so intoxicated
that they lay in a helpless state in different parts of the
town, and lost what they had previously gained, either by
the hands of any passing Spaniard, who could venture
unobserved to stoop down, or by those of their own companions,
who in their wandering surveys happened to recognise
a comrade lying with half a dozen silk gowns, or some
such thing, wrapped about him. Others wished to attack the
different stores, and as there is something marvellously
attractive in the very name of a brandy one, it is not to be
wondered at that many of our heroes turned not only their
thoughts, but their steps also, in the direction in which these
houses lay; and from the unsparing hand with which they
supplied themselves, it might be imagined they intended to
change their habits of life and turn spirit-venders, and that
too in the wholesale line!

It was astonishing to see with what rapidity and accuracy
these fellows traversed the different parts of the town, and
found out the shops and storehouses. A stranger would
have supposed they were natives of the place, and it was not
until the following morning that I discovered the cause of
what was to me before incomprehensible.

In all military movements in a country which an army
is not thoroughly acquainted with, (and why not in a large
town?) there are no more useful appendages than good
guides. Lord Wellington was most particular on this point,
and had attached to his army a corps of this description.
I suppose it was this knowledge of tactics which suggested
to the soldiers the necessity of so wise a precaution; accordingly,
every group of individuals was preceded by a Spaniard,
who, upon learning the species of plunder wished for by his
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
employers, instantly conducted them to the most favourable
ground for their operations. By this means the houses were
unfurnished with less confusion than can be supposed; and
had it not been for the state of intoxication that some of
the young soldiers—mere tyros in the art of sacking a town—had
indulged themselves in, it is inconceivable with what
facility the city of Ciudad Rodrigo would have been eased
of its superfluities. And the <lang=fr><em>conducteur</em></lang> himself was not
always an idle spectator. Many of these fellows realised
something considerable from their more wealthy neighbours,
and being also right well paid by the soldiers, who were
liberal enough, they found themselves in the morning in far
better circumstances than they had been the preceding night,
so that all things considered, there were about as many
cheerful faces as sad ones. But although the inhabitants
were, by this sort of transfer, put more on an equality with
each other, the town itself was greatly impoverished. Many
things of value were destroyed, but in the hurry so natural
to the occasion, many also escaped; besides, our men were
as yet young hands in the arcana of plundering a town in
that <lang=fr><em>au fait</em></lang> manner with which a French army would have
done a business of the sort: but they most unquestionably
made up for their want of tact by the great inclination
they showed to profit by any occasion that offered itself for
their improvement.

By some mistake, a large spirit store situated in the Plaza
Mayor took fire, and the flames spreading with incredible
fury, despite of the exertions of the troops, the building was
totally destroyed; but in this instance, like many others
which we are obliged to struggle against through life, there
was a something that neutralised the disappointment which
the loss of so much brandy occasioned the soldiers: the light
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
which shone forth from the building was of material service
to them, inasmuch as it tended to facilitate their movements
in their excursions for plunder; the heat also was far from
disagreeable, for the night was piercingly cold, yet, nevertheless,
the soldiers exerted themselves to the utmost to put a
stop to this calamity. General Picton was to be seen in the
midst of them, encouraging them by his example and presence
to make still greater efforts; but all would not do, and floor
after floor fell in, until at last it was nothing but a burning
heap of ruins.

Some houses were altogether saved from plunder by the
interference of the officers, for in several instances the women
ran out into the streets, and seizing hold of three or four of
us, would force us away to their houses, and by this stroke of
political hospitality saved their property. A good supper
was then provided, and while all outside was noise and
pillage, affairs within went on agreeably enough. These
instances were, however, but few.

In the house where I and four other officers remained, we
fared remarkably well, and were passing the night greatly to
our satisfaction, when we were aroused by a noise like a
crash of something heavy falling in the apartment above us.
As may be supposed, we did not remain long without seeking
to ascertain the cause of this disturbance; the whole
party sprang up at once—the family of the house secreting
themselves behind the different pieces of furniture, while we,
<lang=fr><em>sabre à la main</em></lang>, and some with lights, advanced towards the
apartment from whence the noise proceeded; but all was
silent within. Captain Seton of my corps proposed that
the door should be forced, but he had scarcely pronounced
the words, when a voice from within called out, not in
Spanish or French, but in plain English, with a rich Irish
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
brogue, “Oh, Jasus, is it you, Captain?” On entering we
found a man of the Connaught Rangers, belonging to Seton’s
company, standing before us, so disfigured by soot and filth
that it was impossible to recognise his uniform, much less
his face—his voice was the only thing recognisable about
him, and that only to his Captain; and had it not been for
that, he might have passed for one just arrived from the
infernal regions, and it may be questioned whether or not
the place he had quitted might not be so denominated. It
appeared, from the account he gave of himself, that he had
been upon a plundering excursion in one of the adjoining
houses, the roof of which, like most of those in Rodrigo,
was flat; and wishing to have a distinct view of all that was
passing in the streets, he took up his position upon the top
of the house he had entered, and not paying due attention
to where he put his foot, he contrived to get it into the
chimney of the house we occupied, and, ere he could resume
his centre of gravity, he tumbled headlong down the chimney
and caused us all the uneasiness I have been describing. His
<lang=fr><em>tout ensemble</em></lang> was as extraordinary as his adventure. He had
eighteen or twenty pairs of shoes round his waist, and
amongst other things a case of trepanning instruments,
which he immediately offered as a present to his Captain!
Had the grate of this fireplace been what is called in
England the “Rumford grate,” this poor fellow must have
been irretrievably lost to the service, because it is manifest,
encumbered as he was, he would have stuck fast, and must
inevitably have been suffocated before assistance could be
afforded him; but, fortunately for him, the chimney was of
sufficient dimensions to admit an elephant to pass down it,
and, in truth, one not so constructed would have been
altogether too confined for him.
.bn 191.png
.pn +1

Morning at length began to dawn, and with it the horrors
of the previous night’s assault were visible. The troops not
on guard were directed to quit the town, but this was not a
command they obeyed with the same cheerfulness or expedition
which they evinced when ordered to enter it; in their
eyes it had many attractions still, and, besides, the soldiers
had become so unwieldy from the immense burdens they
carried, it was scarcely possible for many of them to stir,
much less march. However, by degrees the evacuation of
the fortress took place, and towards noon it was effected
altogether.

The breaches presented a horrid spectacle. The one
forced by the Light Division was narrower than the other,
and the dead, lying in a smaller compass, looked more
numerous than they really were. I walked along the
ramparts towards the grand breach, and was examining
the effects our fire had produced on the different defences
and the buildings in their immediate vicinity, but I had not
proceeded far when I was shocked at beholding about a
hundred and thirty or forty wounded Frenchmen, lying
under one of the bastions and some short distance up a
narrow street adjoining it. I descended, and learned that
these men had been performing some particular duty in the
magazine which blew up and killed General Mackinnon and
so many of the 3rd Division. These miserable beings were
so burnt that I fear, notwithstanding the considerate attention
which was paid to them by our medical officers, none of
their lives were preserved. Their uniforms were barely
distinguishable, and their swollen heads and limbs gave
them a gigantic appearance that was truly terrific; added
to this, the gunpowder had so blackened their faces that
they looked more like a number of huge negroes than
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
soldiers of an European army. Many of our men hastened
to the spot, and with that compassion which truly brave
men always feel, rendered them every assistance in their
power; some were carried on doors, others in blankets, to
the hospitals, and these poor creatures showed by their
gestures, for they could not articulate, how truly they
appreciated our tender care of them.

At length I reached the grand breach—it was covered
with many officers and soldiers; of the former, amongst
others, was my old friend Hardyman of the 45th, and
Lieutenant William Pearse of the same regiment; there
were also two of the 5th whose names I forget, and others
whose faces were familiar to me. Hardyman, the once
cheerful, gay Bob Hardyman, lay on his back; half of his
head was carried away by one of those discharges of grape
from the flank guns at the breach which were so destructive
to us in our advance; his face was perfect, and even in death
presented its wonted cheerfulness. Poor fellow! he died
without pain, and regretted by all who knew him; his
gaiety of spirit never for an instant forsook him. Up to the
moment of the assault he was the same pleasant Bob Hardyman
who delighted every one by his anecdotes, and none
more than my old corps, although many of his jokes
were at our expense. When we were within a short distance
of the breach, as we met, he stopped for an instant to shake
hands. “What’s that you have hanging over your shoulder?”
said he, as he espied a canteen of rum which I carried. “A
little rum, Bob,” said I. “Well,” he replied, “I’ll change
my breath; and take my word for it, that in less than five
minutes some of the 'subs' will be scratching a Captain’s
——, for there will be wigs on the green.” He took a
mouthful of rum, and taking me by the hand squeezed it
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
affectionately, and in ten minutes afterwards he was a
corpse!

The appearance of Pearse was quite different from his
companion; ten or a dozen grape-shot pierced his breast,
and he lay, or rather sat, beside his friend like one asleep,
and his appearance was that of a man upwards of sixty,
though his years did not number twenty-five. Hardyman
was stripped to his trousers, but Pearse had his uniform on;
his epaulettes alone had been plundered. I did not see the
body of General Mackinnon, but the place where he fell was
easily distinguishable; the vast chasm which the spot presented
resembled an excavation in the midst of a quarry.
The limbs of those who lost their lives by that fatal explosion,
thrown here and there, presented a melancholy picture
of the remnants of those brave men whose hearts but a few
short hours before beat high in the hope of conquest. It
was that kind of scene which arrested the attention of the
soldier, and riveted him to the spot; and there were few
who, even in the moment of exultation, did not feel deeply
as they surveyed the mangled remains of their comrades.

I next turned to the captured gun, so chivalrously taken
by the three men of the 88th. The five cannoniers lying
across the carriage, or between the spokes of the wheels,
showed how bravely they had defended it; yet they lay like
men whose death had not been caused by violence; they
were naked and bloodless, and the puncture of the bayonet
left so small a mark over their hearts, it was discernible only
to those who examined the bodies closely.

I turned away from the breach, and scrambled over its
rugged face, and the dead which covered it. On reaching
the bivouac we had occupied the preceding evening, I
learned, with surprise, that our women had been engaged in
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
a contest, if not as dangerous as ours, at least one of no
trivial sort. The men left as a guard over the baggage, on
hearing the first shot at the trenches, could not withstand
the inclination they felt to join their companions; and
although this act was creditable to the bravery of the
individuals that composed the baggage-guard, it was nigh
being fatal to those who survived, or, at least, to such as had
anything to lose except their lives, for the wretches that
infested our camp attempted to plunder it of all that it
possessed, but the women, with a bravery that would not
have disgraced those of ancient Rome, defended the post
with such valour that those miscreants were obliged to
desist, and our baggage was saved in consequence.

We were about to resume our arms when General Picton
approached us. Some of the soldiers, who were more than
usually elevated in spirits, on his passing them, called out,
“Well, General, we gave you a cheer last night; it’s your
turn now!” The General, smiling, took off his hat, and
said, “Here, then, you drunken set of brave rascals, hurrah!
well soon be at Badajoz!” A shout of confidence followed;
we slung our firelocks, the bands played, and we commenced
our march for the village of Atalaya in the highest spirits,
and in a short time lost sight of a place the capture of
which appeared to us like a dream.
.bn 195.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XV

.pm start_summary
Results of the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo—The town revisited—Capture
of deserters—Sale of the plunder—Army rests in cantonments—An
execution of deserters—A pardon that came too late.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo fell on the eleventh day
after its investment; and taking into account the season of
the year, the difficulty of the means to carry on the
operations, and the masterly manner in which Lord
Wellington baffled the vigilance of the Duke of Ragusa,
the capture of Rodrigo must ever rank as one of the most
finished military exploits upon record, and a <i>chef d'[oe]uvre</i> of
the art of war. Our loss was equal to that of the enemy; it
amounted to about one thousand <lang=fr><em>hors de combat</em></lang>, together
with three generals; of the garrison but seventeen hundred
were made prisoners, the rest being put to the sword.

So soon as my regiment reached the village, I obtained
leave to return to Rodrigo, for I was anxious to see in what
situation the family were with whom I, in common with
my companions, had passed the preceding night. Upon
entering the town, I found all in confusion. The troops
ordered to occupy it were not any of those which had
composed the storming divisions; and although the task of
digging graves, and clearing away the rubbish about the
breaches, was not an agreeable one, they nevertheless performed
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
it with much cheerfulness; yet, in some instances,
the soldiers levied contributions upon the unfortunate
inhabitants,—light ones it is true, and for the reason that
little remained with them to give, or, more properly
speaking, withhold. But the Provost-Marshal was so active
in his vocation that this calamity was soon put a stop to, and
the miserable people, who were in many instances in a state
of nudity, could without risk venture to send to their more
fortunate neighbours for a supply of those articles of dress
which decency required. Upon reaching the house I had
rested in the evening before, I was rejoiced to find it
uninjured, and the poor people, upon once more seeing me,
almost suffocated me with their caresses, and their expressions
of gratitude knew no bounds for our having preserved
their house from pillage.

Having satisfied myself that my <lang=pt><em>padrona</em></lang> and her daughters
had escaped molestation, I took my leave of them, and once
more visited the large breach. On my way thither I saw the
French garrison preparing to march, under an escort of
Portuguese troops, to the fortress of Almeida; they were a
fine-looking body of men, and seemed right well pleased to
get off so quietly; they counted about eighteen hundred,
and were all that escaped unhurt of the garrison. At the
breach there were still several wounded men, who had not
been removed to the hospitals; amongst them was a fellow
of my own corps, of the name of Doogan; he was badly
wounded in the thigh, the bone of which was so shattered as
to protrude through the skin. Near him lay a French
soldier, shot through the body, quite frantic from pain, and
in the agonies of death. The moment Doogan observed me,
he called out most lustily, “Och! for the love of Jasus, Mr.
Grattan, don’t lave me here near this villain that’s afther
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
cursing me to no end.” I observed to Doogan that the poor
fellow was in a much worse state than even himself, and that
I doubted whether he would be alive in five minutes. At
this moment the eyes of the Frenchman met mine, <lang=fr>“<em>Oh!
monsieur</em>,”</lang> exclaimed he, <lang=fr>“<em>je meurs pour une goutte d’eau!
Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!</em>”</lang>—“Now,” ejaculated Doogan,
addressing me, “will you believe me (that never tould a lie
in my life!) another time? Did you hear him, then, how he
got on with his <em>mon dew</em>?” I caused Doogan to be carried
to an hospital, but the French soldier died as we endeavoured
to place him in a blanket.

I quitted the breach, and took a parting glance at the
town; the smell from the still burning houses, the groups of
dead and wounded, and the broken fragments of different
weapons, marked strongly the character of the preceding
night’s dispute; and even at this late hour, there were many
drunken marauders endeavouring to regain, by some fresh act
of atrocity, an equivalent for the plunder their brutal state
of intoxication had caused them to lose by the hands of their
own companions, who robbed indiscriminately man, woman, or
child, friend or foe, the dead or the dying! Then, again,
were to be seen groups of deserters from our army, who,
having taken shelter in Rodrigo during the winter, were now
either dragged from their hiding-places by their merciless
comrades, or given up by the Spaniards, in whose houses they
had sought shelter, to the first officer or soldier who would
be troubled, at the moment, with the responsibility of taking
charge of them.

In the midst of a group of a dozen men, deserters from
different regiments, stood two of the Connaught Rangers.
No matter what their other faults might be, desertion was
not a species of delinquency they were addicted to; and as
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
the fate of one of these men—indeed both of them, for that
matter—was a little tragical, I purpose giving it a nook in
my adventures. The two culprits to whom I have made
allusion were as different in their characters as persons; one
of them (Mangin) was a quiet well-disposed man, short in
stature, a native of England, and, as a matter of course, a
heavy feeder, one that could but ill put up with “short
allowance,” and in consequence left the army when food
became as scarce as it did in the winter of 1811. The other,
a fellow of the name of Curtis, an Irishman, tall and lank,
was, like the rest of the “boys” from that part of the
world, mighty aisy about what he ate, provided he got a
reasonable supply of drink; but as neither the one nor the
other were “convenient” during the period in question, they
both left an advanced post one fine night, and resolved to try
the difference between the French commissariat and ours.
This was their justification of themselves to me, and I
believe, for I was not present at it, the <lang=la><em>summum bonum</em></lang> upon
which the basis of their defence at their trial rested. There
were also six Germans of the 60th Rifles in the group, but
they seemed so unnerved by their unexpected capture that
they were unable to say anything for themselves.

Towards evening I reached the village which my regiment
occupied. An altered scene presented itself. The soldiers
busied in arranging their different articles of plunder; many
of them clad in the robes of some priest, while others wore
gowns of the most costly silk or velvet; others, again,
nearly naked; some without pantaloons, having been
plundered, while drunk, of so essential a part of their dress;
but all, or almost all, were occupied in laying out for sale
their different articles of plunder, in that order which was
essential to their being disposed of to the crowds of
.bn 199.png
.pn +1
Spaniards which had already assembled to be the purchasers;
and if one could judge by their looks, they most unquestionably
committed a breach in their creed by “coveting their
neighbours' goods.” And had the scene which now presented
itself to our sight been one caused by an event the most
joyous, much less by the calamity that had befallen the
unfortunate inhabitants of Rodrigo, to say nothing of the
human blood that had been spilt ere that event had taken
place, the scene could not have been more gay. Brawny-shouldered
Castilians, carrying pig-skins of wine on their
backs, which they sold to our soldiers for a trifling sum;
bolero-dancers, rattling their castanets like the clappers of
so many mills; our fellows drinking like fishes, while their
less fortunate companions at Rodrigo—either hastily flung
into an ill-formed grave, writhing under the knife of the
surgeon, or in the agonies of death—were unthought of, or
unfelt for. <lang=la><em>Sic transit gloria mundi!</em></lang> The soldiers were
allowed three days <lang=fr><em>congé</em></lang> for the disposal of their booty; but
long before the time had expired, they had scarcely a rag to
dispose of, or a <em>real</em> of the produce in their pockets.

A few days sufficed for the reorganisation of the soldiers
after they had disposed of their hard-earned plunder, and
we were once more ready and willing for any fresh enterprise,
no matter how difficult or dangerous. Badajoz was
talked of, but nothing certain was known, and the quiet
which reigned throughout all our cantonments was such as
not to warrant the least suspicion that any immediate attack
against that fortress was contemplated by the Commander-in-Chief.

On the sixth day after our arrival at Atalaya, we were
again in motion; the village of Albergaria was allotted for
our quarters, and a court-martial was ordered to assemble for
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
the trial of the deserters from our army found in Rodrigo.
The men of the 60th, and the two men of the 88th (Mangin
and Curtis) were amongst the number. The court held its
sitting—the prisoners were arraigned, found guilty, and
sentenced to be shot! All were bad characters, save one,
and that one was Mangin. He received testimonials from
the Captain of his company (Captain Seton—ever the soldier’s
friend) highly creditable to him, and Lord Wellington, with
his accustomed love of justice, resolved that his pardon
should be promulgated at the time of the reading the proceedings
and sentence of the court-martial. Three days
after the trial it was made known to the prisoners, and the
army generally, that they were to die the following morning.

At eight o’clock the division was under arms, and formed
in a hollow square of small dimensions; in the centre of it
was the Provost-Marshal, accompanied by his followers, with
pick-axes, spades, shovels, and all the necessary etceteras for
marking out and forming the graves into which the unfortunate
delinquents were to be deposited as soon as they
received the last and most imposing of military honours—that
of being shot to death! In a few moments afterwards
the rolling of muffled drums—the usual accompaniment of
the death-march—was heard, and the soldiers who guarded
the prisoners were soon in sight. The division observed a
death-like silence as the prisoners defiled round the inside of
the square; every eye was turned towards them; but Mangin,
from his well-known good character, was an object of general
solicitude. The solitary sound of the muffled drums at last
died away into silence; the guard drew up in the centre of
the square, and the prisoners had, for the last time, a view
of their companions from whom they had deserted, and of
their colours which they had forsaken; but if their countenances
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
were a just index of their minds, they seemed to repent
greatly the act they had committed! The three men of the
60th were in their shirts, as was also Mangin of the 88th,
but Curtis wore the “old red rag,” most likely from necessity,
having, in all human probability, <em>no shirt to die in</em>—a circumstance
by no means rare with the soldiers of the Peninsular
army.

The necessary preliminaries, such as reading the crime
and finding the sentence, had finished, when the Adjutant-General
announced the pardon granted to Mangin, who was
immediately conducted away, and placed at a short distance
in rear of the division; the rest staggered onward to the
spot where their graves had been dug, and having been
placed on their knees, their legs hanging over the edge of
the grave, a bandage was tied over their eyes. The Provost-Marshal
then, with a party of twenty musketeers, their firelocks
cocked, and at the recover, silently moved in front of
the prisoners until he reached to within five paces of them,
and then giving two motions of his hand—the one to present,
the other to fire—the four men fell into the pit prepared to
receive them. The three Germans were dead—indeed they
were nearly so before they were fired at! and if the state
of their nerves was a criterion to go by, a moderate-sized
popgun would have been sufficiently destructive to have
finished their earthly career; but Curtis sprang up, and,
with one of his jaws shattered and hanging down upon his
breast, presented a horrid spectacle. Every one seemed to be
electrified, the Provost-Marshal excepted; he, I suppose, was
well accustomed to such sights, for, without any ceremony,
he walked up to Curtis, and with the most perfect composure
levelled a huge instrument (in size between a horse-pistol and
blunderbuss) at his head, which blew it nearly off his shoulders,
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
and he fell upon the bodies of the Germans without moving
a muscle.

This ceremony over, the division defiled round the grave,
and as each company passed it the word “eyes right” was
given by the officer in command, by which means every man
had a clear view of the corpses as they lay in a heap. This
is a good and wholesome practice, for nothing so much
awakes in the mind of the soldier, endowed with proper
feeling, the dishonour of committing an action which is
almost certain to bring him to a disgraceful end, while it
deters the bad man from doing that which will cost him all
that he has to lose—for such persons have no character—his
life. It was ten o’clock before the parade broke up, and
we returned to our quarters, leaving to the Provost-Marshal
and his guard the task of filling up the grave. Several
Portuguese peasants crowded near the fatal spot, and so soon
as all danger was passed, they flocked to witness the interment,
making, all the time, divers appeals to the Virgin Mary; but
whether these were intended for the preservation of the souls
departed, or their own bodies corporate, I neither knew nor
inquired.

Mangin, the man who had received his pardon, was still
in a state of stupor. After the lapse of an hour or so his
Captain went to see him; but the shock he had received was
too severe; he had not nerve to bear up against it; he
replied in an incoherent manner, soon fell asleep, and awoke
an idiot! Every effort that could be made by the medical
men, and every assurance of favour from his Captain, proved
vain—he became a palpable, irreclaimable idiot, and shortly
afterwards died of convulsions.
.bn 203.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVI

.pm start_summary
Preparations against Badajoz—Description of this fortress—Its investment—Line
of circumvallation formed in the night—Sortie of the
garrison repulsed—Destructive fire of the besieged—Dreadful explosion
from a shell—Indifference—Deaths of Captain Mulcaster,
Majors Thompson and North.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
Rodrigo having fallen, it was soon rumoured that we were
to move off to the south, to assault Badajoz. The soldiers
were full of ardour; they anxiously counted the hours as
they passed; and when at length, on the 8th of March, the
order arrived for the advance of the army to the Alemtejo,
their joy was indescribable. Badajoz had ever been looked
upon by them as unfriendly to our troops, and they contemplated
with delight the prospect of having it in their power
to retaliate upon the inhabitants their treatment of our men.
On the 9th, the army was in movement; the Light Division
opened the march, followed by the 3rd and 4th; they
crossed the Tagus by a bridge of boats, thrown over that
river at Villa Velha, and pressed rapidly forward towards
Elvas. One division of infantry and a brigade of cavalry
remained on the Agueda. On the 14th, the Light and 3rd
Divisions were concentrated in the neighbourhood of Elvas;
they were joined by the 4th Division on the following day,
while the remainder of the army, under Hill and Graham,
were pushed forward to Llerena, Merida, and Almendralejo,
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
to observe the motions of Soult, who by this time was
informed of the preparations, though not to their full extent,
that had been formed against Badajoz.

On the 16th of March, everything being in readiness, a
pontoon bridge was thrown across the Guadiana; fifteen
thousand men broke up from their bivouac at Elvas, and
advanced towards the river; the enemy disputed the ground,
and here—even here, with only a handful of cavalry opposed
to us—the French horsemen had actually the best of it, and
kept us at bay during a march of three hours. At length
we gained the river’s edge, passed the bridge, drove back
the enemy’s outposts, and completed the investment. The
following day, the 17th, Lord Wellington, accompanied by
his engineers, carefully reconnoitred the place. The point of
attack which his lordship decided upon, notwithstanding the
advantages which were on the side of the enemy, was quite
at variance with that of the preceding year, so it must be
naturally presumed that the former was found to be faulty.
Then the outworks were by no means so formidable as now
on the side about to be assailed, while on the San Christoval
side, the scene of the former attack, little progress had been
made towards its amelioration.

The evening of the 17th of March had scarcely closed
when three thousand men broke ground before the fort of La
Picurina, at the distance of one hundred and fifty yards.
The night was unusually dark, the wind was high, and the
rain fell in torrents—all of which favoured the enterprise.
The soldiers, accustomed to fatigues, and knowing by experience,
if for nothing but their own safety, the necessity of
getting on rapidly with their work, exerted themselves to
their utmost, and when the grey dawn of morning made its
appearance, the enemy beheld with surprise, through the
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
mist that surrounded them, the first parallel of our works
completed, without their having anticipated it, or having
thrown one shot in the direction of our workmen; but as
the fog cleared away, it was too palpable to be misunderstood
that, despite of the sagacity of General Count
Phillipon and his devoted garrison, a line of circumvallation
had been cut close to one of the best of their outworks, without
their having the remotest idea of the attempt. The different
alarm-bells in the town rang a loud peal, and in less than
half an hour a tremendous cannonade was opened upon us
from the guns of the fort as well as the town itself. Some
men were killed and several wounded, but excepting this, no
loss was sustained; the works were uninjured, their progress
unimpeded, and this, our first attempt, for the third time,
was crowned with that unlooked-for success which was a good
omen for the future.

The entire of the 18th the rain continued to fall, and
the trenches were already nearly knee-deep with water, but
by the great exertions of the engineers, and the persevering
resolution of the soldiers, the works were pushed on with
extraordinary vigour, the earth not being as yet sufficiently
saturated to lose its consistency. On the night of the 18th
it rained still more heavily; nevertheless some guns were
dragged through the slough by the soldiers, into the batteries
marked out to act against La Picurina, and the following
morning the works were in that forward state as to cause
the French Governor much alarm for the fate of this outwork.
Towards mid-day on the 19th, a dense vapour,
issuing from the Guadiana and Rivillas, caused by the heavy
rains that had fallen, made Phillipon consider the moment a
favourable one to make a rush into our works; he accordingly
placed two thousand chosen troops at the different
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
gates and sally-ports with fixed bayonets, ready to storm the
batteries at a given signal. At this time our soldiers were
working in the trenches, nearly up to their hips in water;
the covering party were too distant to afford immediate
relief if required to do so, because they were kept out of the
wet ground as far as was consistent with the safety of our
lines; and the soldiers that composed the working party
were in a helpless and defenceless state, their arms and
appointments being thrown aside.

I happened to be in the works on this day, and having a
little more experience than the officer who commanded the
party, I observed with distrust the bustle which was apparent,
not only in the fort of Picurina, but also along the ramparts
of the town. Without waiting the formality of telling the
commanding officer what I thought, I, on the instant,
ordered the men to throw by their spades and shovels, put
on their appointments, and load their firelocks. This did
not occupy more than three minutes, and in a few seconds
afterwards the entire trenches to our right were filled with
Frenchmen, the workmen massacred, and the works materially
damaged; while at the same moment several hundred men
attempted to throw themselves into the battery we occupied.
But the workmen were armed and ready to receive them;
they had just been placed—I must say it, for it is the truth—by
me in a posture not only to save their own lives, but
the battery also. The Frenchmen advanced with that impetuous
burst so well known to those who have witnessed it,
and so difficult to stand before by any. They had a double
motive to urge them on on this occasion: honour had a forcible
auxiliary in the shape of a dollar, which they were to receive
for every pick-axe or shovel they carried out of our trenches;
and, well as I know the French character, it is difficult for me
.bn 207.png
.bn 208.png
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
to say which of the two, honour or avarice, most predominated
upon the present occasion; I shall only say that it is
my firm conviction—and I judge from the spirit of the
attack—that both had their share in stimulating those heroic
and veteran plunderers to seek for a footing within our
trenches, for I never saw a set of fellows that sought with
greater avidity than they did the spades and shovels that
were thrown aside by our men. Lieutenant D‘Arcy of the
88th and Lieutenant White of the 45th pursued them almost
to the glacis of the town; and had the movement been foreseen,
there can be little hazard in saying that, with a
sufficient supply of ladders at the moment, the fort of
Picurina could have been carried by the workmen alone, so
great was their enthusiasm, with a less loss of lives than
it cost us (after six days' labour) on the 25th!

.il id=i178 fn=i_b_178fp.jpg w=500px ew=90%
.ca <sc>PLAN OF SIEGE OF BADAJOZ.</sc> March 16-April 6, 1812.

The sortie had been well repulsed at this point, but
higher up, on the right, we were not so fortunate; the
workmen were surprised, and, in addition to the injury
inflicted upon the works, a great loss of men and officers
was sustained before the covering party reached the spot.
General Picton soon after arrived in the battery where I
was stationed, and seemed to be much alarmed for its safety,
not knowing in the confusion of the moment, which was
great, that the enemy had attacked it, and had been driven
back; but when he learned from me that the workmen alone
had achieved this act, he was lavish in his praise of them,
and spoke to myself in flattering terms—for him; but
there was an austerity of demeanour which, even while he
gave praise—a thing he seldom did to the Connaught
Rangers at least!—kept a fast hold of him, and the caustic
sententiousness with which he spoke rather chilled than
animated. He was on foot, but his aide-de-camp, Captain
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
Cuthbert of the Fusiliers, was mounted, and while in the
act of giving directions to some of the troops (for by this
time the whole of the besieging force, attracted by the
cannonade, was in motion towards the works) he was struck
in the hip by a round shot, which killed his horse on the
spot, leaving him dreadfully mangled and bleeding to death.
This officer was a serious loss to Picton, and was much
regretted by the division; he possessed all the requisites for
a staff-officer, without that silly arrogance—the sure sign of
an empty mind, as well as head—which we sometimes meet
with amongst the gentlemen who compose the <lang=fr><em>état major</em></lang> of
our army.

We lost in this affair about two hundred men, many of
whom were cut down in the works, and several in the depots
far in the rear, by a body of the enemy’s light cavalry that
galloped out of the town at the moment the sortie commenced.
Absurd as this may read, it is nevertheless true:
the garrison of Badajoz, cooped up within its walls, without
a foot of ground that they could call their own beyond the
glacis, and, in a manner, begirt by an army of fifteen
thousand men, were—by their admirable arrangement of their
forces, or by the superlative neglect of our people, enabled
to ride through our lines—unopposed by a single dragoon!—from
right to left! Brilliant, however, as was this exploit,
it was of no such service to the garrison; their loss exceeded
four hundred men, and the capture of a few dozen spades
and shovels but ill repaid them for so great a sacrifice of
lives, at any time valuable, but in their present position
doubly so.

The sortie being at length repulsed, and order once more
restored, the works in the trenches were continued under a
torrent of rain and fire of artillery. Lieutenant White of
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
the 45th, who had been much distinguished in the batteries,
was struck by a shell (without a fuse) on the head, which
killed him on the spot; he was reading a book at the
moment, and Lieutenant Cotton of the 88th, who was sitting
beside him, was so covered with his blood, that it was
thought at first he had been frightfully wounded.

Up to this time the fall of rain had been so violent as to
threaten the total failure of the operation; it had never
ceased since the 17th, and the trenches were a perfect river.
The soldiers were working up to their knees in water, and
the fatigue and hardships they endured were great indeed,
but there was no complaint—not even a murmur to be
heard! The next day, the 22nd, the pontoon bridge over
the Guadiana was carried away by the floods which the late
rains had caused in the river, and the stream became so
rapid that the flying bridges could not be made use of, and,
in short, all supplies from the other side were cut off. In
the trenches matters were in as bad a state, for the earth no
longer retained its consistency, and it was impossible to get
it into any shape. On the 24th, however, the weather
happily settled fine, and much progress was made towards
forwarding the works; but this and the following day were
perhaps two of the most dreadful recorded in the annals of
sieges. The soldiers laboured with a degree of hardihood
bordering on desperation, while the engineers braved every
danger with as much composure as if they either set no value
upon their lives, or thought their bodies impregnable to shot
or shell. In proportion as our works advanced, the enemy
redoubled his fire, and the attempt made by us to drag the
heavy guns through the mud, or to form magazines for the
gunpowder, was almost certain death; but not content with
the destruction which his fire carried throughout our ranks,
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
Phillipon brought to his aid a battery from San Christoval,
which he placed close to the edge of the river; the fire of
this battery completely enfiladed our works, and rendered it
difficult and hazardous for the workmen to keep their
ground.

Half a battalion was ordered down to the water’s edge,
and the effect of their fire against these guns was soon
appreciated by the soldiers in the batteries; the cannonade
of the enemy lost its effect, their fire became irregular, their
shot passed over our heads, and finally they were compelled
to limber up their park of artillery, and retrace their steps,
at a gallop, up the Christoval height. Nevertheless, this
battery did an incalculable hurt to us; many men were
struck down by its fire, but, above all, our engineers suffered
the most. This was a loss that could be but ill spared, for
we were so scantily supplied with this description of force,
that it was found necessary to substitute officers of the
infantry to act as such during the siege. These officers were
very zealous in the performance of the dangerous duties they
had to fulfil: some had a tolerable knowledge of the theory,
but none, if I except Major Thomson of the 74th, and one
or two that had served at Rodrigo, knew anything of the
practical part; they strove, however, by great intrepidity,
to make up for their other defects; they exposed themselves
to every danger, with a bravery bordering on foolhardihood,
and consequently, under such a fire as we were exposed to,
scarcely one escaped death. Lieutenant Fairclough of the
5th, and Rammage of the 74th, both acting engineers, were
cut asunder by a round shot from the San Christoval battery;
others, whose names I forget, shared the same fate, and
several were wounded.

Towards three o’clock in the afternoon our works had
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
been materially advanced, several small magazines were in
progress, the batteries destined to act against La Picurina
were armed, and the losses which we sustained amongst our
engineers repaired by the arrival of others to replace their
fallen companions. It was at this time, while I was seriously
occupied with thirty men, in covering with boards and sand-bags
a magazine which had been, with great labour, formed
during the forenoon, that a shell of huge dimensions exploded
at the entrance of it. There were, at the moment,
above a dozen or so of the Staff Corps and Engineers, with
some of the line, placing a quantity of gunpowder in the
vault which had been prepared to receive it. The roof of
the magazine was, in defiance of the dreadful fire which was
incessant upon this point, crowned by a few soldiers of the
party under my command; some kegs of gunpowder, which
were at the entrance of the cave, unfortunately blew up,
destroying all at that side of the magazine, and hurling the
planks which were but in part secured upon its top, together
with the men that were upon them, into the air: it caused us
great loss of lives and labour, but fortunately the great store
of powder which was inside escaped. The planks were
shivered to pieces, and the brave fellows who occupied them
either blown into atoms, or so dreadfully wounded as to
cause their immediate death; some had their uniforms burned
to a cinder, while others were coiled up in a heap, without
the vestige of anything left to denote that they were human
beings.

An 88th soldier, of the name of Cooney, barber to the
company he belonged to, escaped the effects of the explosion
unhurt, except a slight scratch in the face, caused by a
splinter from a rock that had been rent in pieces by the
blowing up of the magazine; he was an old and ugly man,
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
but yet so vain of his personal appearance as to be nearly in
despair at the idea, as he said, “of his good looks being
spoiled.” While he was in the midst of his lamentation, a
round shot struck his head and carried it off. In his coat
pocket was found his soap and razor, which were instantly
drawn lots for, but to whose “lot” they fell I know not.

The French cannoniers were loud in cheering when they
discovered the effects of their fire upon Cooney’s sconce; our
men cheered in turn, and continued to crown the top of the
already half-dismantled magazine, but as fast as they mounted
it, they were swept off its face by the overwhelming fire from
the town; yet notwithstanding the great loss of lives that
had already taken place, and the almost certain death which
awaited all who attempted to remain on the magazine, it
was never for five minutes unoccupied, and by four o’clock
in the afternoon it might be said to be perfectly finished.
Baffled in his endeavours to stop our progress, Phillipon was
determined to make it cost us as dear as he could. Twelve
additional guns were brought from the unemployed batteries
and placed along the curtain <lang=fr><em>en barbette</em></lang>. These, at half-range
distance, without the means on our side to reply to
them, were fired with a fearful precision; it was next to
impossible to stand under it, but the soldiers, on this day,
surpassed all their former efforts. The fire of threescore
pieces of artillery was employed in vain against them; the
works were repaired so soon as injured, and everything
warranted the opinion that, should the night prove fine,
our batteries would open the following day.

Captain Mulcaster, of the Engineers, by his heroic conduct,
stimulated the soldiers wonderfully; no danger could unnerve
him, or prevent his exposing himself to the hottest of the
French fire, and for a time he escaped unhurt, but at length,
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
while standing on a rising ground, in front of the battery
No. 1, a twenty-four pound shot struck him in the neck, and
carried away his head and part of his back and shoulders.
The headless trunk was knocked several yards from the spot,
but was speedily carried to the engineer camp by some of
the brave men who, but a few short moments before, looked
upon what was now an inanimate lump of clay, with that
admiration naturally inspired by one of the finest as well as
the most intrepid young men in the army; for he had
endeared himself to the soldiers as much by his kind manner
to them as by his total disregard of danger to himself. It
is well known that infantry soldiers had a great dislike to
being placed under the control of the engineer officers, who
exacted, or at least they thought so, too much from them;
but Captain Mulcaster had a manner, peculiar to himself,
that gained him the goodwill of all.

Major Thompson of the 88th soon after fell. He was
observing a party of the enemy who were rowing a <lang=fr><em>bateau</em></lang>
across the inundation of the Rivillas with a reinforcement
of men intended to succour the troops that occupied the
ravelin of San Roque. This operation, although embracing
but a small portion of the garrison, was one of a very delicate
nature, inasmuch as the distance between our works and the
inundation was so short as to enable us to command with
musketry its entire span; but the Governor, ever ready in
strategy, provided against even this chance of his plans for
defence being marred. He caused to be constructed a large
<lang=fr><em>bateau</em></lang>, or, perhaps, more properly speaking, a raft. The
side of it which faced our lines was raised by light poles to
the height of four feet, through which were intertwined
wattles of osier; by this means, a support sufficiently strong,
without being too cumbrous to impede the movement of the
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
raft, was completed, and the inside was carefully padded with
hay, or such light matter; it made a sufficient defence against
musketry without any danger of the machine’s losing its
centre of gravity. To stop as much as possible this operation,
several hundred riflemen were placed in advance, and
so soon as the machine was discovered in motion on the
water, a heavy fire was opened; a corresponding demonstration
was made by the enemy, sustained by several batteries,
and those mutual efforts were always productive of a heavy
loss of lives on both sides, but particularly on ours, because
the enemy’s line of musketry commanded us at a distance of
three hundred and fifty yards, and up to this time we had
not one gun to answer their powerful salvos.

Major Thompson, who was in command of the riflemen,
was in conversation with an aide-de-camp belonging to the
staff of Marshal Beresford at the moment he fell; a musket
ball struck him in the right temple, and passing through the
brain, killed him on the spot. He had been but just <em>gazetted</em>
to his majority, by purchase, and had served with the army
from the campaign in Holland in 1794 to the moment of
his death, without ever having been absent from his regiment
in any of the battles in which it had been engaged, a few of
which have been recorded by me. Captain Seton, an officer
of precisely the same standing and services, succeeded him
in the command of the 88th, and led his regiment up the
ladders on the night of the storming of Badajoz, but he
gained no promotion, except in his regular turn! and he was
the <em>only</em> commanding officer of a battalion in the 3rd
Division that did not get a brevet step.

Towards evening the fire against La Picurina was so
effective that Lord Wellington resolved to storm it after
dark.
.bn 217.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVII

.pm start_summary
State of the enemy’s fort La Picurina from our fire—Attempt to storm
it—Desperate defence of the garrison—It is carried by assault—Preparations
for the grand attack—Frightful difficulties of the
enterprise—The attack and defence—Slaughter of the besiegers—Badajoz
taken.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
At about three o’clock in the afternoon of the 25th of March,
almost all the batteries on the front of La Picurina were
disorganised, its palisades beaten down, and the fort itself,
having more the semblance of a wreck than a fortification of
any pretensions, presented to the eye nothing but a heap of
ruins. But never was there a more fallacious appearance:
the work, although dismantled of its cannon, its parapets
crumbling to pieces at each successive discharge from our
guns, and its garrison diminished, without a chance of being
succoured, was still much more formidable than appeared to
the eye of a superficial observer. It had yet many means of
resistance at its disposal. The gorge, protected by three
rows of palisades, was still unhurt; and although several
feet of the scarp had been thrown down by the fire from our
battering-park, it was, notwithstanding, of a height sufficient
to inspire its garrison with a well-grounded confidence as to
the result of any effort of ours against it; it was defended
by three hundred of the <lang=fr><em>élite</em></lang> of Phillipon’s force, under the
command of a colonel of Soult’s staff, named Gaspard Thiery,
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
who volunteered his services on the occasion. On this day
a deserter came over to us from the fort, and gave an exact
account of how it was circumstanced.

Colonel Fletcher, the chief engineer, having carefully
examined the damage created by our fire, disregarding the
perfect state of many of the defences, and being well aware
that expedition was of paramount import to our final success,
advised that the fort should be attacked after nightfall.

At half-past seven o’clock the storming party, consisting
of fifteen officers and five hundred privates, stood to their
arms. General Kempt, who commanded in the trenches,
explained to them the duty they had to perform; he did so
in his usual clear manner, and every one knew the part he
was to fulfil. All now waited with anxiety for the expected
signal, which was to be the fire of one gun from No. 4
battery. The evening was settled and calm; no rain had
fallen since the 23rd; the rustling of a leaf might be heard;
and the silence of the moment was uninterrupted, except by
the French sentinels, as they challenged while pacing the
battlements of the outwork; the answers of their comrades,
although in a lower tone of voice, were distinguishable—<lang=fr>“<em>Tout
va bien dans le fort de la Pleuvina</em>”</lang> was heard by
the very men who only awaited the signal from a gun to
prove that the <lang=fr><em>réponse</em></lang>, although true to the letter, might
soon be falsified.

The great cathedral bell of the city at length tolled the
hour of eight, and its last sounds had scarcely died away
when the signal from the battery summoned the men to
their perilous task; the three detachments sprang out of
the works at the same moment, and ran forwards to the
glacis, but the great noise which the evolution unavoidably
created gave warning to the enemy, already on the alert,
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
and a violent fire of musketry opened upon the assailing
columns. One hundred men fell before they reached the
outwork; but the rest, undismayed by the loss, and unshaken
in their purpose, threw themselves into the ditch, or against
the palisades at the gorge. The sappers, armed with axes
and crow-bars, attempted to cut away or force down this
defence; but the palisades were of such thickness, and so
firmly placed in the ground, that before any impression could
be made against even the front row, nearly all the men who
had crowded to this point were struck dead. Meanwhile,
those in charge of the ladders flung them into the ditch, and
those below soon placed them upright against the wall; but
in some instances they were not of a sufficient length to reach
the top of the parapet. The time was passing rapidly, and
had been awfully occupied by the enemy; while as yet our
troops had not made any progress that could warrant a hope
of success. More than two-thirds of the officers and privates
were killed or wounded; two out of the three that commanded
detachments had fallen; and Major Shawe, of the
74th, was the only one unhurt. All his ladders were too
short; his men, either in the ditch or on the glacis, unable
to advance, unwilling to retire, and not knowing what to do,
became bewildered. The French cheered vehemently, and
each discharge swept away many officers and privates.

Shawe’s situation, which had always been one of peril,
now became desperate; he called out to his next senior
officer (Captain Oates of the 88th) and said, “Oates, what
are we to do?” but at the instant he was struck in the neck
by a bullet, and fell bathed in blood. It immediately occurred
to Oates, who now took the command, that although the
ladders were too short to mount the wall, they were long
enough to go across the ditch! He at once formed the
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
desperate resolution of throwing three of them over the
fosse, by which a sort of bridge was constructed; he led the
way, followed by the few of his brave soldiers who were
unhurt, and, forcing their passage through an embrasure
that had been but bolstered up in the hurry of the moment,
carried—after a brief, desperate, but decisive conflict—the
point allotted to him. Sixty grenadiers of the Italian
guard[23] were the first encountered by Oates and his party;
they supplicated for mercy, but, either by accident or design,
one of them discharged his firelock, and the ball struck Oates
in the thigh; he fell, and his men, who had before been
greatly excited, now became furious when they beheld their
commanding officer weltering in his blood. Every man of
the Italian guard was put to death on the spot.

.fm rend=th
.fn 23
There were no troops of the Italian guard in this part of Spain,
though there were some of the “<em>Velites</em>” in Catalonia. Italians there
were, but only men incorporated in ordinary French line regiments.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

Meanwhile Captain Powis’s detachment had made great
progress, and finally entered the fort by the salient angle.
It has been said, and, for aught I know to the contrary,
with truth, that it was the first which established itself in
the outwork; but this is of little import in the detail, or to
the reader. All the troops engaged acted with the same
spirit and devotion, and each vied with his comrade to keep
up the character of the “fighting division.” Almost the
entire of the privates and non-commissioned officers were
killed or wounded; and of fifteen officers, which constituted
the number of those engaged, not one escaped unhurt! Of
the garrison, but few escaped; the Commandant, and about
eighty, were made prisoners; the rest, in endeavouring to
escape under the guns of the fortress, or to shelter themselves
in San Roque, were either bayoneted or drowned in the
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
Rivillas; but this was not owing to any mismanagement on
the part of Count Phillipon. He, with that thorough
knowledge of his duty which marked his conduct throughout
the siege, had, early in the business, ordered a body of chosen
troops to <lang=fr><em>débouche</em></lang> from San Roque, and to hold themselves
in readiness to sustain the fort; but the movement was foreseen.
A strong column, which had been placed in reserve,
under the command of Captain Lindsey of the 88th, met
this reinforcement at the moment they were about to sustain
their defeated companions at La Picurina. Not expecting
to be thus attacked, these troops became panic-struck, soon
fled in disorder, and, running without heed in every direction,
choked up the only passage of escape that was open for the
fugitives from the outwork, and, by a well-meant but ill-executed
evolution, did more harm than good.

So soon as the result of this last effort to succour the
fort was apparent to Phillipon, he caused a violent cannonade
to be opened against it, but it was not of long duration;
and our engineers, profiting by the quiet which reigned
throughout the enemy’s batteries, pushed forward the second
parallel with great success. A corps of sappers, under my
command, were charged with the work of dismantling the
fort, and before day we had nearly completed its destruction.

Thus terminated the siege and storming of La Picurina,
after a lapse of eight nights and nine days of unprecedented
labour and peril. It might be said that its capture opened
to us the gates of Badajoz, or at all events put the key of
that fortress into our hands; it nevertheless cost us some
trouble before we could make use of the key so gained.
Never, from the commencement of the war until its termination,
was there a more gallant exploit than the storming of
this outwork.
.bn 222.png
.pn +1

On the 30th of March two breaching-batteries, armed
with twenty-six guns of heavy calibre, and of the very best
description, opened their fire to batter down the face of the
two bastions of Santa Maria and the Trinidad; and, notwithstanding
every effort which the powerful resources of the
enemy enabled him to command, it was abundantly manifest
that a few days would suffice to finish the labours of the
army before Badajoz.

The breaching-batteries, which opened their fire on the
30th, were effective beyond our expectations against the
works, and the sappers had made considerable progress
towards completing a good covered way for the troops to
<lang=fr><em>débouche</em></lang> from in their attack of the breaches. On the 25th
thirty-two sappers were placed under my command, but on
the night of the 4th of April their numbers were reduced to
seven. I lost some of the bravest men I ever commanded;
but, considering the perils they encountered, it is only surprising
how any escaped. We were frequently obliged to run
the flying-sap so close to the battlements of the town that
the noise of the pick-axes was heard on the ramparts, and,
upon such occasions, the party were almost invariably cut
off to a man. But it was then that the courage of the brave
fellows under my orders showed itself superior to any reverse,
and what was wanted in force was made up by the most
heroic bravery of individuals. There were three men of my
own regiment, Williamson, Bray, and Macgowan, and I feel
happy in being able to mention the names of those heroes.
When a fire, so destructive as to sweep away all our gabions,
took place, those men would run forward with a fresh supply,
and, under a fire in which it was almost impossible to live,
place them in order for the rest of the party to shelter themselves,
while they threw up a sufficiency of earth to render
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
them proof against musketry. This dangerous duty was
carried on for eleven successive nights, that is to say, from
the 25th of March to the 5th of April.

On this day the batteries of the enemy were nearly crippled,
and their replies to our fire scarcely audible; the spirits of
the soldiers, which no fatigue could damp, rose to a frightful
height—I say frightful, because it was not of that sort which
alone denoted exultation at the prospect of their achieving
an exploit which was about to hold them up to the admiration
of the world; there was a certain <em>something</em> in their
bearing that told plainly that they had suffered fatigues, which
they did not complain of, and had seen their comrades
and officers slain while fighting beside them without repining,
but that they smarted under the one, and felt acutely for
the other; they smothered both, so long as their minds and
bodies were employed; now, however, that they had a
momentary license to <em>think</em>, every fine feeling vanished, and
plunder and revenge took their place. Their labours, up to
this period, although unremitting, and carried on with a
cheerfulness that was astonishing, hardly promised the success
which they looked for; and the change which the last twenty-four
hours had wrought in their favour, caused a material
alteration in their demeanour; they hailed the present
prospect as the mariner does the disappearance of a heavy
cloud after a storm, which discovers to his view the clear
horizon. In a word, the capture of Badajoz had long been
their idol. Many causes led to this wish on their part; the
two previous unsuccessful sieges, and the failure of the attack
against San Christoval in the latter; but, above all, the
well-known hostility of its inhabitants to the British army,
and perhaps might be added a desire for plunder, which the
sacking of Rodrigo had given them a taste for. Badajoz
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
was, therefore, denounced as a place to be made an example
of; and, most unquestionably, no city, Jerusalem excepted,
was ever more strictly visited to the letter than was this ill-fated
town.

The demeanour of the soldiers on this evening faithfully
exemplified what I have just written: a quiet but desperate
calm had taken the place of that gayness and buoyancy of
spirits which they possessed so short a time before, and
nothing now was observable in their manner but a tiger-like
expression of anxiety to seize upon their prey, which they
considered as already within their grasp.

Towards five o’clock in the afternoon all doubts were at
an end, in consequence of some officers arriving in the camp
from the trenches: they reported that Lord Wellington had
decided upon breaching the curtain that connected the bastions
of La Trinidad and Santa Maria, and as this operation would
necessarily occupy several hours' fire, it was impossible that
the assault could take place before the following day, the
6th, and the inactivity that reigned in the engineer camp,
which contained the scaling-ladders, was corroborative of the
intelligence. For once I saw the men dejected; yet it was
not the dejection of fear, but of disappointment. Some of
the most impetuous broke out into violent and unbecoming
language; others abused the engineers; and many threw the
blame of the delay upon the generals who commanded in the
trenches; but all, even the most turbulent, admitted that
the delay must be necessary to our success, or Lord Wellington
would not allow it.

The night at length passed over, and the dawn of morning
ushered in a day pregnant with events that will be recorded
in our history as amongst the most brilliant that grace its
annals. The batteries against the curtain soon reduced it
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
to a heap of ruins; and the certainty that the trial would
be made the same evening re-established good-humour
amongst the soldiers. It was known, early in the day, that
the breaches were allotted to the Light and 4th Divisions;
to the 5th, the task of escalading the town on the side of
the St. Vincent bastion; and to Picton, with his invincible
3rd, to carry the castle by escalading its stupendous walls,
upwards of thirty feet high. The Portuguese brigade, under
General Power, were to divert the enemy’s attention on the
side of San Christoval; while three hundred men, taken
from the guard in the trenches, were to carry the outwork
of San Roque.

To ensure the success of an enterprise upon which so
much was at stake, twenty thousand men were to be brought
into action as I have described; by five o’clock all the ladders
were portioned out to those destined to mount them. The
time fixed for the assemblage of the troops was eight; that
for the attack ten. The day passed over heavily, and hour
after hour was counted, each succeeding one seeming to
double the length of the one that preceded it; but, true as
the needle to the pole, the long-expected moment arrived,
and the clear but deep note of the town clock was now heard
throughout our lines, as it tolled the hour of eight, and ere
its last vibration had ceased the vast mass of assailants were
in battle array. A thick and dusky vapour, issuing from the
Guadiana and Rivillas, hung above the heads of the hostile
forces, and hid alike, by its heavy veil, each from the view
of its opponent; the batteries on both sides were silent, as
if they reserved their efforts for the approaching struggle;
and, except the gentle noise which the rippling of the
Guadiana created, or the croaking of the countless frogs that
filled the marshes on each side of its banks, everything was
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
as still as if the night was to be one of quiet repose; and a
passing stranger, unacquainted with the previous events,
might easily have supposed that our army were no otherwise
occupied than in the ordinary routine of an evening parade;
but Phillipon, profiting by this cessation, retrenched and
barricaded the breaches in a manner hereafter to be described.

So soon as each division had formed on its ground in
open column of companies, the arms were piled, and the
officers and soldiers either walked about in groups of five or
six together, or sat down under an olive-tree to observe, at
their ease, the arrangements of the different brigades which
were to take a part in the contest. Then, again, might be
seen some writing to their friends—a hasty scroll, no doubt,
and, in my opinion, an ill-timed one. It is a bad time, at
the moment of entering a breach, to write to a man’s father
or mother, much less his wife, to tell them so; and, besides,
it has an unseasonable appearance in the eyes of the soldiers,
who are decidedly the most competent judges of what their
officers should be, or, at least, what <em>they</em> would <em>wish</em> them
to be, which is tantamount, at such a crisis.

There is a solemnity of feeling which accompanies the
expectation of every great event in our lives, and the man
who can be altogether dead to such feeling is little, if
anything, better than a brute. The present moment was
one that was well calculated to fill every bosom throughout
the army; for, mixed with expectation, hope, and suspense,
it was rendered still more touching to the heart by the
music of some of the regiments, which played at the head
of each battalion as the soldiers sauntered about to beguile
the last hour many of them were destined to live. The
band of my corps, the 88th, all Irish, played several airs
which exclusively belong to their country, and it is impossible
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
to describe the effect it had upon us all; such an air
as “Savourneen Deelish” is sufficient, at any time, to inspire
a feeling of melancholy, but on an occasion like the present
it acted powerfully on the feelings of the men: they thought
of their distant homes, of their friends, and of bygone days.
It was Easter Sunday, and the contrast which their present
position presented to what it would have been were they in
their native land afforded ample food for the occupation of
their minds; but they were not allowed time for much
longer reflection. The approach of General Kempt, accompanied
by his staff, was the signal for the formation of the
column of attack; and almost immediately the men were
ordered to stand to their arms. Little, if any, directions
were given; indeed, they were unnecessary, because the men,
from long service, were so conversant with the duty they
had to perform, that it would have been but a waste of
words and time to say what was required of them.

All was now in readiness. It was twenty-five minutes
past nine; the soldiers, unencumbered with their knapsacks—their
stocks off—their shirt-collars unbuttoned—their
trousers tucked up to the knee—their tattered jackets, so
worn out as to render the regiment they belonged to barely
recognisable—their huge whiskers and bronzed faces, which
several hard-fought campaigns had changed from their
natural hue—but, above all, their self-confidence, devoid of
boast or bravado, gave them the appearance of what they
in reality were—an invincible host.

The division now moved forward in one solid mass—the
45th leading, followed closely by the 88th and 74th; the
brigade of Portuguese, consisting of the 9th and 21st Regiments
of the line, under Colonel de Champlemond, were
next; while the 5th, 77th, 83rd, and 94th, under Colonel
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
Campbell, brought up the rear. Their advance was undisturbed
until they reached the Rivillas; but at this spot
some fire-balls, which the enemy threw out, caused a great
light, and the 3rd Division, four thousand strong, was to
be seen from the ramparts of the castle. The soldiers, finding
they were discovered, raised a shout of defiance, which
was responded to by the garrison, and in a moment afterwards
every gun that could be brought to bear against them
was in action; but, no way daunted by the havoc made in
his ranks, Picton, who just then joined his soldiers, forded
the Rivillas, knee-deep, and soon gained the foot of the
castle wall, and here he saw the work that was cut out for
him, for he no longer fought in darkness. The vast quantity
of combustible matter which out-topped this stupendous
defence was in a blaze, and the flames which issued forth on
every side lighted not only the ramparts and the ditch, but
the plain that intervened between them and the Rivillas.
A host of veterans crowned the wall, all armed in a manner
as imposing as novel; each man had beside him eight loaded
firelocks; while at intervals, and proportionably distributed,
were pikes of an enormous length, with crooks
attached to them, for the purpose of grappling with the
ladders. The top of the wall was covered with rocks of
ponderous size, only requiring a slight push to hurl them
upon the heads of our soldiers, and there was a sufficiency
of hand-grenades and small shells at the disposal of the men
that defended this point to have destroyed the entire of the
besieging army; while on the flanks of each curtain, batteries,
charged to the muzzle with grape and case shot, either swept
away entire sections or disorganised the ladders as they were
about to be placed, and an incessant storm of musketry, at
the distance of fifteen yards, completed the resources the
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
enemy brought into play, which, as may be seen, were of
vast formidableness.

To oppose this mass of warriors and heterogeneous congregation
of missiles Picton had nothing to depend upon
for success but his tried and invincible old soldiers—he relied
firmly upon their devoted courage, and he was not disappointed.
The terrible aspect of the rugged wall, thirty
feet in height, in no way intimidated them; and, under a
frightful fire of small arms and artillery, the ponderous
ladders were dragged into the ditch and, with a degree of
hardihood that augured well for the issue, were planted
against the lofty battlements that domineered above his
soldiers' heads: but this was only the commencement of one
of the most terrific struggles recorded during this hard-fought
night. Each ladder, so soon as placed upright, was
speedily mounted and crowded from the top round to the
bottom one; but those who escaped the pike-thrusts were
shattered to atoms by the heavy cross-fire from the bastions,
and the soldiers who occupied them, impaled upon the
bayonets of their comrades in the ditch, died at the foot of
those ladders which they had carried such a distance and
with so much labour.

An hour had now passed over. No impression had been
made upon the castle, and the affair began to have a very
doubtful appearance, for already well nigh half of the 3rd
Division had been cut off. General Kempt, commanding
the right brigade, fell wounded, early in the night; and the
88th Regiment alone, the strongest in the division, lost
more than half their officers and men, while the other regiments
were scarcely in a better condition. Picton, seeing
the frightful situation in which he was placed, became uneasy;
but the goodwill with which his brave companions
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
exposed and laid down their lives reassured him; he called
out to his men—told them they had never been defeated,
and that now was the moment to conquer or die. Picton,
although not loved by his soldiers, was respected by them;
and his appeal, as well as his unshaken front, did wonders in
changing the desperate state of the division. Major Ridge
of the 5th, by his personal exertions, caused two ladders to
be placed upright, and he himself led the way to the top of
one, while Canch, a Grenadier officer of the 5th, mounted
the other. A few men at last got footing on the top of the
wall; at the same time Lieutenant William Mackie of the
88th—he who led the forlorn hope at Rodrigo (unnoticed!—still
a lieutenant!!)—and Mr. Richard Martin (son of the
member for Galway, who acted as a volunteer with the 88th
during the siege) succeeding in mounting another. Mackie—ever
foremost in the fight—soon established his men on
the battlements, himself unhurt; but Martin fell desperately
wounded. A general rush to the ladders now took place,
and the dead and wounded that lay in the ditch were indiscriminately
trampled upon, for humanity was nowhere to be
found. A frightful butchery followed this success; and the
shouts of our soldiery, mingled with the cries of the Frenchmen,
supplicating for mercy or in the agonies of death, were
heard at a great distance. But few prisoners were made;
and the division occupied, with much regularity, the different
points allotted to each regiment. Meanwhile the ravelin of
San Roque was carried by the gorge, by a detachment drawn
from the trenches, under the command of Major Wilson of
the 48th; and the engineers were directed to blow up the
dam and sluice that caused the inundation of the Rivillas,
by which means the passage of that river between La
Picurina and the breaches could be more easily effected.
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
One entire regiment of Germans, called the regiment of
Hesse Darmstadt, that defended the ravelin were put to
death.

While all this was taking place at the castle and San
Roque, a fearful scene was acting at the breaches. The Light
and 4th Divisions, ten thousand strong, advanced to the
glacis undiscovered—a general silence pervading the whole,
as the spirits of the men settled into that deep sobriety
which denotes much determination of purpose; but at this
spot their footsteps were heard, and, “perhaps since the
invention of gunpowder,”[24] its effects were never more powerfully
brought into action. In a moment the different
materials which the enemy had arranged in the neighbourhood
of the breaches were lighted up—darkness was converted
into light—torches blazed along the battlements—and
a spectator, at a short distance from the walls, could
distinguish the features of the contending parties. A battery
of mortars, doubly loaded with grenades, and a blaze of
musketry, unlike anything hitherto witnessed by the oldest
soldier, opened a murderous fire against the two divisions;
but, unshaken by its effects, they pressed onward and jumped
into the ditch. The 4th Division, destined to carry the
breach to the right, met with a frightful catastrophe at the
onset. The leading platoons, consisting of the fusilier
brigade,[25] sprang into that part of the ditch that had been
filled by the inundation of the Rivillas, and were seen no
more; but the bubbles that rose on the surface of the water
were a terrible assurance of the struggles which those devoted
soldiers—the men of Albuera—ineffectually made to extricate
themselves from the deadly grasp of each other, and
from so unworthy an end.

.fm rend=th
.fn 24
Colonel Jones’s Sieges, i. p. 236.
.fn-

.fn 25
7th, 23rd, and 1st 48th.
.fn-
.fm rend=th
.bn 232.png
.pn +1

Warned by the fate of their companions, the remainder
turned to the left, and following the footsteps of the Light
Division, pressed onwards in one mingled mass to the breaches
of the curtain and La Trinidad. Arrived here, they encountered
a series of obstacles that it was impossible to
surmount, and which I find great difficulty in describing.
Planks, of a sufficient length and breadth to embrace the
entire face of the breaches, studded with spikes a foot long,
were to be surmounted ere they reached the top of the
breach; yet some there were—the brave Colonel Macleod,
of the 43rd, amongst the number—who succeeded so far, but
on gaining the top, <lang=fr><em>chevaux de frise</em></lang>, formed of long sword-blades
firmly fixed in the trunks of trees of a great size, and
chained, boom-like, across the breach, were still to be passed;
while at each side, and behind the <lang=fr><em>chevaux de frise</em></lang>, trenches
were cut, sufficiently extensive for the accommodation of
three thousand men, who stood in an amphitheatrical manner—each
tier above the other—and armed with eight muskets
each, like their companions at the castle, awaited the attack
so soon as the planks on the face, and the <lang=fr><em>chevaux de frise</em></lang>
on the top of the breach were surmounted; but they might
have waited until doomsday for that event, because it was
morally impossible.

The vast glare of light caused by the different explosions,
and the fire of cannon and musketry, gave to the breaches
the appearance of a volcano vomiting forth fire in the midst
of the army: the ground shook—meteors shone forth in
every direction—and when for a moment the roar of battle
ceased, it was succeeded by cries of agony, or the furious
exultation of the imperial soldiers. To stand before such a
storm of fire, much less endeavour to overcome a barrier so
impregnable, required men whose minds, as well as frames,
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
were cast in a mould not human; but, nevertheless, so it
was. The gallant Light and 4th Divisions boldly braved
every danger, and with a good will, rarely to be found, prolonged
a struggle, the very failure of which, taking into
account the nature of the obstacles opposed to them, and
their immense losses, was sufficient to immortalise them. At
length, after a dreadful sacrifice of lives—all the generals,
and most of the colonels, being either killed or wounded—they
were driven from the breaches, while the Frenchmen,
securely entrenched behind them, might be seen waving their
caps in token of defiance. This was too galling for men who
had never known defeat—and they ran back headlong to the
attack, and destruction. But for what end? To judge from
the past, when their numbers were more numerous, they had
failed; they were now reduced to less than half, while the
resources of the enemy were unimpaired, and the prospect
before them was hideous. Again did they attempt to pass
this terrible gulf of steel and flame—and again were they
driven back—cut down—annihilated. Hundreds of brave
soldiers lay in piles upon each other, weltering in blood, and
trodden down by their own companions. The 43rd left
twenty-two officers and three hundred men on the breach;
four companies of the 52nd were blown to atoms by an explosion;
and the 95th, as indeed every other regiment engaged,
suffered in proportion. Our batteries, from whence a
clear view of all that was passing could be distinguished,
maddened by the havoc at the breaches, poured in a torrent
of shot; and, in the excitement of the moment, killed friends
as well as foes. Finally, the remnant of the two divisions
retired; and, with a valour bordering upon desperation,
prepared for a third trial; but the success of Picton’s
attack was by this time whispered amongst them, and
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
the evacuation of the breaches soon after confirmed the
rumour.

While the attack of the castle and breaches was in
progress, the 5th Division, under General Leith, maintained
a fierce and dangerous struggle on the other side of the city
beyond the Pardeleras fort; but the resistance at those points
was feeble, as compared with the other two. In some instances
the French troops deserted the walls before they were
carried; and it is worthy of remark, that while the 38th
Regiment were mounting the ladders, the imperial soldiers
were scrambling down them at the reverse side—in many
instances treading upon the fingers of our own men! The
few men of Leith’s division, thus established on the ramparts,
boldly pressed on in the hope of causing a change in favour
of the men at the breaches; but the multitude that had fled
before this handful of troops became reassured when they
beheld the scantiness of their numbers, and, returning to the
fight, forced them up a street leading to the ramparts.
Leith’s men became panic-struck by this unexpected burst,
and retraced their steps in confusion; many were killed ere
they reached the wall; and some, infected by the contagion
of the moment, jumped over the battlements, and were
dashed to pieces in their fall. One, an officer, bearing the
flag of his regiment, fearing it might be captured, flung himself
from the wall, and falling into a part of the ditch that
was filled with the slime of the river, escaped unhurt. At
this critical moment General Walker reached the spot with
a fresh body of troops, and driving back the French with
ruinous disorder, established his men at this point; and from
that moment the fate of Badajoz was sealed. The enemy
fled in every direction towards the bridge leading to San
Christoval; and the remnant of the ill-fated Light and 4th
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
Divisions with difficulty entered the town by the breaches,
although unopposed.

It was now half-past two o’clock in the morning, and the
fighting had continued, without cessation, from ten the preceding
night. More than three hundred and fifty officers and
four thousand men had fallen on our side; yet the enemy’s loss
was but small in proportion; because, with the exception of
the castle, where the 3rd Division got fairly amongst them,
the French, with that tact for which they are so remarkable,
got away the moment they found themselves out-matched.

Shortly after the last attack at the breaches had failed,
and long after the castle had been carried (although it was
not generally known at the time), I was occupied, with Major
Thomson of the 74th (acting engineer), in placing some
casks of gunpowder under the dam of the Rivillas, in front
of San Roque; when, while leaning on his shoulder, I was
struck by a musket-bullet in the left breast; I staggered
back, but did not fall, and Thomson, bandaging my breast
and shoulder with his handkerchief, caused me to be removed
inside the ravelin; but the firing continued with such violence
upon this point, that it was long before I could venture out
of it. At length, nearly exhausted from loss of blood, and
fearing that I might be unable to reach the camp if I delayed
much longer, I quitted it, accompanied by two sappers of my
own corps (Bray and Macgowan), who supported me as I
walked towards the trenches. Bray was wounded in the leg
while he tried to cover me from the enemy’s fire; but this
brave fellow soon recovered, and afterwards greatly distinguished
himself in the battle of the Pyrenees, by killing a
French colonel at the head of his battalion.

By this time the attack of Badajoz was, in effect, finished.
Some irregular firing was still to be heard as the fugitives
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
hurried from street to street towards the Roman bridge
leading to San Christoval, but all resistance might be said to
have ceased. An attempt to retake the castle was made in
vain; but the brave Colonel Ridge of the 5th, who had so
distinguished himself, lost his life by almost one of the last
shots that was fired in this fruitless effort to recover a place
which had cost the army the hearts' blood of the 3rd Division;
and the dawn of the morning of the 7th of April showed to
the rest of the army, like a speck in the horizon, the shattered
remnant of Picton’s invincible soldiers, as they stood in a lone
group upon the ramparts of a spot that, by its isolated
situation, towering height, and vast strength, seemed not to
appertain to the rest of the fortifications, and which the
enemy, with their entire disposable force, were unable to
take from the few brave men who now stood triumphant
upon its lofty battlements. Nevertheless, triumphant and
stern as was their attitude, it was not without its alloy, for
more than five-sixths[26] of their officers and comrades either
lay dead at their feet, or badly wounded in the ditch below
them. All their generals, Picton amongst the number, and
almost all their colonels, were either killed or wounded; and
as they stood to receive the praises of their commander, and
the cheers of their equally brave but unfortunate companions
in arms, their diminished front and haggard appearance told,
with terrible truth, the nature of the conflict in which they
had been engaged.

.fm rend=th
.fn 26
An exaggeration: the 3rd Division lost about 1100 men out of 4300.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

Early on the morning of the 7th of April, Phillipon and
his garrison, which had taken refuge in San Christoval,
hoisted the white flag in token of submission, and from that
moment the beautiful and rich town of Badajoz became a
scene of plunder and devastation.
.bn 237.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVIII

.pm start_summary
The sacking of Badajoz—Neglect of the wounded—Spaniards and their
plunderers—Disgraceful occurrences—Calamities of war—The
author’s wound and uncomfortable couch—Extent of plunder—An
auction in the field—Neglect of the 88th by General Picton.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
Badajoz, one of the richest and most beautiful towns in the
south of Spain, whose inhabitants had witnessed its siege in
silent terror for one-and-twenty days, and who had been
shocked by the frightful massacre that had just taken place
at its walls, was now about to be plunged into all the horrors
that are, unfortunately, unavoidable upon an enterprise such
as a town taken by storm. Scarcely had Count Phillipon
and his garrison commenced their march towards Elvas,
when the work of pillage commenced. Some—many indeed—of
the good soldiers turned to the ditch of the castle and
to the breaches to assist and carry off their wounded companions;
but hundreds were neglected in the general and
absorbing thirst for plunder.

The appearance of the castle was that of a vast wreck;
the various ladders lying shattered at the base of its walls,
the broken piles of arms, and the brave men that lay as they
had fallen—many holding their firelocks in their grasp—marked
strongly the terrible contest in which they had been
engaged, and presented to the eye of a spectator ample food
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
for reflection. It was not possible to look at those brave
men, all of them dead or frightfully maimed, without recollecting
what they had been but a few short hours before;
yet those feelings, fortunately perhaps, do not predominate
with soldiers, and those sights, far from exciting reflections
of a grave nature, more usually call forth some jocular
remark, such as “that he will have no further occasion to
draw rations”; or “that he has stuck his spoon in the wall
and left off messing”—such is the force of habit.

At the breaches, the Light and 4th Division soldiers lay
in heaps upon each other—a still warm group; and many of
those veterans, from whom the vital spark had not yet fled,
expired in the arms of the few of their companions who
sought to remove them to a place better suited to their
miserable condition. But war, whatever its numerous attractions
to a young mind may be, is but ill calculated to inspire
it with those softer feelings so essential to soothe us in the
moment of our distress; it must not, therefore, be wondered
at that a wish for plunder and enjoyment took the place of
humanity, and that hundreds of gallant men were left to
perish from neglect.

Before six o’clock in the morning of the 7th of April, all
organisation amongst the assaulting columns had ceased, and
a scene of plunder and cruelty, that it would be difficult to
find a parallel for, took its place. The army, so fine and
effective on the preceding day, was now transformed into a
vast band of brigands, and the rich and beautiful city of
Badajoz presented the turbulent aspect that must result from
the concourse of numerous and warlike multitudes nearly
strangers to each other, or known only by the name of the
nation to which they belonged. The horde of vagabonds—Spaniards
as well as Portuguese, women as well as men—that
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
now eagerly sought for admission to plunder, nearly
augmented the number of brigands to what the assailing
army had reckoned the night before; and it may be fairly
said that twenty thousand people—armed with full powers
to act as they thought fit, and all, or almost all, armed with
weapons which could be turned, at the pleasure or caprice of
the bearer, for the purpose of enforcing any wish he sought
to gratify—were let loose upon the ill-fated inhabitants of
this devoted city. These people were under no restraint,
had no person to control them, and in a short time got into
such an awful state of intoxication that they lost all control
over their own actions.

In the first burst, all the wine and spirit stores were forced
open and ransacked from top to bottom; and it required but
a short time for the men to get into that fearful state that
was alike dangerous to all—officers or soldiers, or the inhabitants
of the city. Casks of the choicest wines and
brandy were dragged into the streets, and when the men had
drunk as much as they fancied, the heads of the vessels were
stove in, or the casks otherwise so broken that the liquor
ran about in streams.

In the town were a number of animals that belonged to
the garrison, several hundred sheep, numerous oxen, as likewise
many horses; these were amongst the first taken
possession of; and the wealthy occupier of many a house
was glad to be allowed the employment of conducting them
to our camp, as, by doing so, he got away from a place where
his life was not worth a minute’s purchase. But terrible as
was this scene, it was not possible to avoid occasionally
laughing, for the <lang=fr><em>conducteur</em></lang> was generally not only obliged
to drive a herd of cattle, but also to carry the bales of
plunder taken by his employers—perhaps from his own house—and
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
the stately gravity with which the Spaniard went
through his work, dressed in short breeches, frilled shirt, and
a hat and plumes that might vie with our eighth Henry,
followed, as he was, by our ragamuffin soldiers with fixed
bayonets, presented a scene that would puzzle even Mr.
Cruikshank himself to justly delineate. The plunder so
captured was deposited in our camp, and placed under a
guard chiefly composed of the soldiers' wives.

The shops were rifled, first by one group, who despoiled
them of their most costly articles, then by another, who
thought themselves rich in capturing what had been rejected
by their predecessors; then another, and another still, until
every vestige of property was swept away. A few hours was
sufficient for this; night was fast drawing near, and then a
scene took place that has seldom fallen to the lot of any
writer to describe. Every insult, every infamy that human
invention could torture into practice was committed. The
following day, the 8th of April, was also a fearful one for
the inhabitants; the soldiers became reckless, and drank to
such an excess that no person’s life, no matter of what rank,
or station, or sex, was safe. If they entered a house that
had not been emptied of all its furniture or wine, they proceeded
to destroy it; or, if it happened to be empty, which
was generally the case, they commenced firing at the doors
and windows, and not unfrequently at the inmates, or at
each other! They would then sally forth into the streets,
and fire at the different church-bells in the steeples, or the
pigeons that inhabited the old Moorish turrets of the castle—even
the owls were frighted from this place of refuge,
and, by their discordant screams, announced to their hearers
the great revolution that had taken place near their once
peaceful abodes. The soldiers then fired upon their own
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
comrades, and many men were killed, in endeavouring to carry
away some species of plunder, by the hands of those who, but
a few hours before, would have risked their own lives to
protect those they now so wantonly sported with: then would
they turn upon the already too deeply injured females, and
tear from them the trinkets that adorned their necks, fingers,
or ears! and, finally, they would strip them of their wearing
apparel. Some 'tis said there were—ruffians of the lowest
grade, no doubt—who cut the ear-rings out of the ears of
the females who bore them.

Hundreds of those fellows took possession of the best
warehouses, and for a time fulfilled the functions of
merchants; those, in their turn, were ejected by a stronger
party, who, after a fearful strife and loss of lives, displaced
them, and occupied their position, and those again were
conquered by others, and others more powerful! and thus
was Badajoz circumstanced on the morning of the 8th of
April 1812. It presented a fearful picture of the horrors
that are inevitable upon a city carried by assault; and
although it is painful to relate these disgraceful facts, it
is essential nevertheless. I feel as much pride as any man
can feel in having taken a part in actions that must ever
shed lustre upon my country; but no false feeling of
delicacy shall ever prevent me from speaking the truth—no
matter whether it touches the conduct of one man or ten
thousand!

To put a stop to such a frightful scene, it was necessary
to use some forbearance, as likewise a portion of severity.
In the first instance, parties from those regiments that had
least participated in the combat were ordered into the town
to collect the hordes of stragglers that filled its streets with
crimes too horrible to detail; but the evil had spread to such
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
an extent that this measure was inadequate to the end proposed,
and in many instances the parties so sent became
infected by the contagion, and in place of remedying the
disorder, increased it, by joining once more in revels they had
for a time quitted. At length a brigade of troops was
marched into the city, and were directed to stand by their
arms while any of the marauders remained; the Provost
Marshals attached to each division were directed to use that
authority with which they are of necessity invested. Gibbets
and triangles were in consequence erected, and many men
were flogged, but, although the contrary has been said, none
were hanged—yet hundreds deserved it.

A few hours more were sufficient to purge the town of the
infamous gang of robbers that still lurked about its streets,
and those ruffians—chiefly Spaniards or Portuguese, not in
any way attached to the army—were infinitely more dangerous
than our fellows, bad as they were. Murder—except
indeed in a paroxysm of drunkenness, and in many cases, I
regret to say, it did occur in this way—never entered their
thoughts, but the miscreants here referred to would commit
the foulest deed for less than a dollar.

Towards evening tranquillity began to return, and, protected
as they now were by a body of troops untainted by
the disease which had spread like a contagion, the unfortunate
inhabitants took advantage of the quiet that reigned; yet it
was a fearful quiet, and might be likened to a ship at sea,
which, after having been plundered and dismasted by pirates,
is left floating on the ocean without a morsel of food to
supply the wants of its crew, or a stitch of canvas to cover
its naked masts; by degrees, however, some clothing, such
as decency required, was procured for the females, by the
return of their friends to the town; and many a father and
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
mother rejoiced to find their children alive, although too
often seriously and grossly injured. But there were also
many who were denied even this sad consolation, for numbers
of the townspeople had fallen in the confusion that prevailed;
some of our officers also were killed in this way, and
it has been said, I believe truly, that one, a colonel commanding
a regiment, lost his life by the hands of his own
men.

The plunder with which our camp was now filled was so
considerable, and of so varied a description, that numerous
as were the purchasers, and different their wants, they all
had, nevertheless, an opportunity of suiting themselves to
their taste; still the auction had not commenced in form,
although, like other markets, “some private sales were
effected.” From the door of my tent I had a partial view of
what was taking place; but for the present I shall leave the
<lang=fr><em>marché</em></lang>, and describe how I myself was circumstanced from
the period I reached my tent, wounded, on the morning of
the 7th.

The two faithful soldiers, Bray and Macgowan, that conducted
me there, on entering, found my truss of straw, or
bed, if the reader will so allow me to designate it, occupied
by Mrs. Nelly Carsons, the wife of my batman, who, I
suppose, by the way of banishing care, had taken to drinking
divers potations of rum to such an excess that she lay down
in my bed, thinking, perhaps, that I was not likely again to
be its occupant; or, more probably, not giving it a thought
at all. Macgowan attempted to wake her, but in vain—a
battery of a dozen guns might have been fired close to her
ear without danger of disturbing her repose! “Why then,
sir,” said he, “sure the bed’s big enough for yees both, and
she’ll keep you nate and warm, for, be the powers, you’re
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
kilt with the cold and the loss ov blood.” I was in no mood
to stand on ceremony, or, indeed, to stand at all. I allowed
myself to be placed beside my partner, without any further
persuasion; and the two soldiers left us to ourselves and
returned to the town. Weakness from loss of blood soon
caused me to fall asleep, but it was a sleep of short duration.
I awoke, unable to move, and, in fact, lay like an infant.
The fire of small arms, the screams of the soldiers' wives, and
the universal buzz throughout the camp, acted powerfully
upon my nervous and worn-out frame; but Somnus conquered
Mars, for I soon fell into another doze, in which I might have
remained very comfortable had not my companion awoke
sooner than I wished; discharging a huge grunt, and putting
her hand upon my leg, she exclaimed, “Arrah! Dan, jewel,
what makes you so stiff this morning?”

It required but few words from me to undeceive her. Tea
and chocolate were soon in readiness, and having tasted some
of the former, I sat up in my bed waiting the arrival of the
first surgeon to dress my wound. My batman, Dan Carsons,
shortly afterwards made his appearance; he led up to the
door of my tent three sheep, and had, moreover, a pig-skin
of enormous size filled with right good wine which the
Spaniards call <lang=es><em>la tinta de la Mancha</em></lang>: “And sure,” said he,
“I heard of your being kilt, and I brought you this (pointing
to the pig-skin of wine), thinking what a nate bolster it i’d
be for you while you slept at your aise,” and, without waiting
for my reply, he thrust the pig-skin under my head. “And
look,” said he, shewing me a spigot at the mouth of my
bolster, “when you’re thirsty at-all-at-all, you see nothing is
more pleasant or aisy than to clap this into your mouth, and
sure won’t it be mate and dhrink for you too?”

“Oh, Jasus!” responded Nelly, “he’s kilt out and
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
out; see, Dan, how the blood is in strames about the
blankets.”

.pm start_poem
A little learning is a dangerous thing,
.pm end_poem

so—under certain circumstances—is a little laughing! and
Dan Carsons and his wife made me laugh so immoderately,
that a violent discharge of blood from my wound nearly put
an end to my career in this world. Had it not been for the
arrival of Dr. Grant, the staff-surgeon of the division, who
just now made his appearance, I doubt much if any of my
readers would ever have had the pleasure of reading these
my reminiscences. But I must have done with myself, Dan
Carsons, and his wife Nelly, and resume my narrative of the
sale of the plunder with which our camp was, to use a
mercantile phrase, glutted.

Early on the morning of the 9th of April a great
concourse of Spaniards had already thronged our lines; the
neighbouring villages poured in their quota of persons
seeking to be the purchasers of the booty captured by our
men, and each succeeding hour increased the supply for their
wants, numerous and varied as they were, and our camp
presented the appearance of a vast market. The scene after
the taking of Rodrigo was nothing in comparison to the
present, because the resources of Badajoz might be said to be
in the ratio of five to one as compared with her sister
fortress, and, besides, our fellows were, in an equal proportion,
more dexterous than they had been in their maiden
effort to relieve Rodrigo of its valuables. It may, therefore,
be well supposed, and the reader may safely take my word
for it, that the transfer of property was, on the present
occasion, considerable. Some men realised upwards of one
thousand dollars (about £250), others less, but all, or almost
all, gained handsomely by an enterprise in which they had
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
displayed such unheard-of acts of devotion and bravery; and
it is only to be lamented that they tarnished laurels so nobly
won by traits of barbarity for which it would be difficult to
find a parallel in the annals of any army. The sale of the
different commodities went on rapidly, notwithstanding we
had no auctioneers; there was no “king’s duty,” but, most
undeniably, if the Spaniards paid no “king’s duty,” they
paid the piper! While the divers articles were carried
away by the purchasers, the wounded were removed to
the hospitals and camp, and the lamentations of the
women for their dead or wounded husbands made a striking
contrast to the scene of gaiety which almost everywhere
prevailed.

Towards the evening of the 9th our camp was nearly
emptied of all its saleable commodities, and the following
morning was occupied in getting rid of the many Spaniards
who still hovered about us, endeavouring to get a bargain of
some of the unsold articles. By noon all traffic had ceased,
and the men began to arrange themselves for a fresh combat
with Marshal Soult, who was advancing towards Badajoz.
The appearance and demeanour of the soldiery in no way
warranted the idea that they had been occupied as they were
for the last three weeks, but more especially for the last three
days. They were the same orderly set of men they had been
before the attack on the town, and were just as eager to
fight Soult as they were to storm Badajoz: the only change
visible was their <em>thinned ranks</em>. In my regiment alone, out
of seven hundred and fifty privates, four hundred and thirty-four
had fallen; and of the officers, who at the commencement
of the siege counted twenty-four, but five remained
unhurt! Our total loss exceeded five thousand men; and
although no officer of a higher rank than colonel was killed,
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
it is a singular circumstance that every general actively
engaged was wounded on the night of the assault. Picton,
Colville, Kempt, Walker, and Bowes, who headed the
assaulting divisions and brigades, were every one of them
hurt on that fatal 8th of April.[27]

.fm rend=th
.fn 27
Picton headed the 3rd Division; Kempt its 1st Brigade.
Colville commanded the 4th Division; Bowes its 2nd Brigade. Walker
the 2nd Brigade of the 5th Division. The total loss of the British
during the siege was 72 officers and 963 men killed, and 306 officers
and 3483 men wounded. There were also 100 missing, mostly, it is
believed, men whose bodies fell into the Guadiana or the Rivillas and
were not found. This gives a total of 4924, so that Grattan’s figure of
“over 5000” is hardly exaggerated.
.fn-
.fm rend=th
.bn 248.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIX

.pm start_summary
Departure from Badajoz—The wounded left to the protection of
Spanish soldiers—Subsequently removed to Elvas—The author
leaves Elvas to join the army—Spaniards and Portuguese—Rodrigo
revisited—A Spanish ball—Movements of Marshal Marmont—Fall
of the forts of Salamanca—Amicable enemies.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
On the 15th of April, 1812, the heroes of Badajoz took a
last farewell of the scene of their glory and the graves of
their fallen companions, and marched towards the banks of
the Coa and Agueda, where, but a few months before, they
had given proofs of their invincible valour. Indeed it might
be said, without any great stretch of historical truth, that
every inch of ground upon which they trod was a silent
evidence of their right to be its occupant—so far, at least, as
right of conquest goes.

Ill as I was, in common with many others, who, like
myself, lay wounded, and were unable to accompany our
friends, I arose from my truss of straw to take a parting look
at the remnant of my regiment as it mustered on the parade;
but in place of upwards of seven hundred gallant soldiers,
and four-and-twenty officers, of the former there were not
three hundred, and of the latter but five! At any time,
when in the full enjoyment of health and vigour, this sad
diminution would have affected me; but in my then frame of
mind it acted powerfully upon my nerves. I asked myself,
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
where are the rest? I suppose I spoke louder than I
intended; for my man, Dan Carsons, ran out of his tent to
inquire “who I was looking after?”—“Dan,” replied, “I am
looking for the men that are absent from parade; where are
they?”—“Kilt, sir,” replied Dan, “and the greater part of
them buried at the fut of the ould castle forenent ye.”
“Their <em>bodies</em> are there, Dan, but where are they themselves?”
“Och, Jasus!” cried Dan to his wife, “he’s out of his sinces!
Nelly! run and fetch the pig-skin of wine; you know how it
sarved him last night when he was raving.” Nelly brought
the remnant of the Tinta de la Mancha, and a few mouthfuls
of it raised my spirits considerably, but the fever with which
I was attacked was increasing rapidly.

The drums of the division beat a ruffle; the officers took
their stations; the bands played; the soldiers cheered, and,
in less than half an hour, the spot which, since the 17th of
the preceding month, had been a scene of the greatest excitement,
was now a lone and deserted waste, having no
other occupants than disabled or dying officers and soldiers,
or the corpses of those who had fallen in the strife. The
contrast was indeed great, and of that cast that made the
most unreflecting think, and the reflecting feel. The sound
of the drums died away; the division was no longer visible,
except by the glittering of their firelocks; at length we lost
sight of even this, and we were left alone, like so many
outcasts, to make the best of our way to the hospitals in
Badajoz.

It is a task of more difficulty than may appear to the
reader to describe the feelings that a separation, such as I
have told of, caused in our breasts. More than half of our
old companions—dear to us from the intimate terms upon
which we had lived together, fought together, and, I might
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
say, died together, for three years—were parted from us, most
of them for ever!—the others gone to a distant part of the
theatre of war, while we, enervated and worn down, either
by loss of limb, or by loss of strength and vigour, were left
to seek shelter under the roofs of those very people who had
been so barbarously maltreated by our own soldiers. Nevertheless
every one betook himself to the method he thought
best suited to the occasion. Some caused themselves to be
conveyed in waggons; others rode on horseback; and many,
from a disinclination to bear the jolting of the carts, or the
uneasy posture of sitting astride a horse, hobbled on towards
the dismantled walls of the fortress. As we continued our
walk, we met, at almost every step, heaps of newly turned-up
earth, beneath which lay the bodies of some of our companions;
and a little farther in advance was the olive-tree, at
the foot of which so many officers of the 3rd Division had
been buried. At length we reached the ravelin of San Roque.

The Talavera gate was opened for our admission; it was
guarded by a few ill-looking, ill-fed, and ill-appointed
Spanish soldiers. As we entered, each man we passed saluted
us with respect; but the contrast between these men, who
were now our protectors, and the soldiers we had but a short
time before commanded, was great indeed; and the circumstance,
trifling as it may appear, affected us proportionally.
We walked on towards our wretched billets, and as we
passed through the streets that led to them, we saw nothing
but the terrible traces of what had taken place. Piles of
dismantled furniture lay scattered here and there; houses,
disfigured by our batteries, in a ruined state; the streets
unoccupied except by vagabonds of the lowest grade, who
prowled about in search of plunder; while at the windows
of some houses were to be seen a few females in disordered
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
dresses; but their appearance was of that caste that served
rather to increase the gloom which overhung the city.
Nevertheless, as the wounded men and officers passed, they
waved their handkerchiefs and saluted us with a <em>viva</em>; but
it was pitiable to witness the wretched state to which the
unfortunate inhabitants had been reduced.

Upon reaching the house allotted to me, I was met at the
door by an old woman who showed me my apartment. It
was scantily garnished with furniture, most of which was
broken; the bed was on the tiles, but that was rather an
advantage than the contrary, because the heat was excessive.
I stood in no need of any refreshment; my man, Dan,
having been so active during the <lang=fr><em>bouleversement</em></lang> that he
supplied my cellar as well as larder; and it was fortunate
that he did so, for the inhabitants of the house, as I afterwards
learned, were without a morsel of food or a stitch of
clothing, having been plundered of everything.

I lay down upon my mattress, soon fell asleep, and in less
than an hour awoke in a high fever. Dan wished that I
should attack the pig-skin of the Tinta de la Mancha, but I
positively refused to do so: “Why then, sir,” said he,
“hasn’t it been the making ov yee?”—“You mean the
killing of me, Dan. Go and seek for a surgeon.” He went,
and soon returned with a young man in the uniform of the
staff surgeons of our army; but from his youthful appearance,
and the unworkmanlike manner he went about dressing
my wound, I opine he was but an hospital mate. My man
Dan was decidedly of my opinion; for after the doctor had
examined my breast, and applied some dressing to it, he was
about to retire, when Dan said with an air of authority,
“You’re not going to be afthur going without looking at
his hinder part?” meaning my back. The doctor took the
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
hint, and, turning me on my face, found a large piece of the
cloth of my coat, which had been carried in by the ball,
protruding through the wound. The doctor looked confounded; Dan
looked ferocious, and though he spoke with
respect to the medical man, I plainly saw the storm which
was gathering. I feared that he was about to make use of
the <lang=la><em>fortiter in re</em></lang>, in preference to the <lang=la><em>suaviter in modo</em></lang>; so I
dismissed the doctor, upon an assurance that he would visit
me the following morning.

After a lapse of three days, all the wounded capable of
being removed were ordered to Elvas. Spring waggons,
carts drawn by oxen, mules harnessed with pack-saddles, and
in default of them, asses prepared in like manner, were put
in requisition for the purpose of freeing Badajoz of as many
of the disabled men, who crowded the hospitals, as possible.
I was among the number, but so ill was I as to have no
recollection of how I was transported, except that a waggon
stopped at my door, and, after some hours, I found myself in
the streets of Elvas. From the waggon I was placed in a
car, and it was night before my man Dan, with all his tact,
was enabled to procure me a billet. During a space of
fifteen days I lay in a state of great pain, accompanied by
fever, but after that I soon recovered my strength, and
being allowed the option of either joining the second
battalion of my regiment, to which I then belonged,
quartered at home, or going back to the army, I preferred
the latter.

My friends, Darcy and Adair, were my companions on my
route to the army; and, punctual at the appointed hour, we
left Elvas at six o’clock on the morning of the 3rd of June,
without any encumbrance, such as a detachment to look
after. We had no escort except our three servants, and
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
Dan’s wife Nelly; and it is needless to say that they were
perfectly competent to take care of themselves, without
causing us one moment’s uneasiness, either on their account
or our own; and never did any three officers in the service
of His Britannic Majesty, or in the service of any other
sovereign, set out on a route to join their companions with
a more fervent intention of making the time pass as agreeably
as possible. Our route towards Salamanca, near which
city the army was stationed, lay through the old line of
march, and we were obliged, unfortunately, once more to
encounter that place of dirt and wretchedness, Niza. No
matter what change had taken place either amongst ourselves
or the different towns through which we passed, Niza
was still the same; positively dirt—comparatively dirt—superlatively
dirt!—dirt! dirt! dirt! The ditches were
filled with reptiles, the houses with bugs and fleas, and
Adair, who was already blind of one eye, had the other
nearly darkened by the bite of a huge centipede. We
poulticed his eye with rye bread and cold water, and in the
morning carried him, with a <em>wry</em> face, to his saddle.

Once clear of Niza, we traversed the country towards the
Spanish frontier; at length we got clear of Portugal, and
once more reached the village of Fuentes d'Oñoro; every
house, I might almost say every face, was familiar to me.
The heaps of embanked earth, which denoted the places
where many of our old companions had been interred, were
covered with grass, which grew luxuriantly over the graves
of the men who had once stood there victorious, but who
were now lifeless clay. We traversed the churchyard where
so many of the Imperial Guard and our Highlanders had
fallen; and we marked well the street where three hundred
of the former had been put to death by the 88th Regiment.
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
Many of the doors still retained the marks of the contest;
and the chimneys, up which the Guard had sought shelter,
bore the traces of what had taken place. The torn apertures
in the large twigged chimneys, broken down by the
Guard in attempting to get up them, were in the same
state we had left them—untouched, unmended. Even the
children could trace with accuracy the footsteps of those
fallen heroes.

We walked on to the chapel wall, where the 79th had
suffered so severely, and through which the French had
forced their passage, under a torrent of shot, against the
bayonets of the brave Highlanders. The chapel door was
riddled through and through with bullets, and the walls
bore the marks of the round shot fired from the French
batteries. Several mounds of earth, covered as they were
with herbage, still pointed out the grave of some one who
had fallen; yet, to a passing stranger, the inequality of the
ground would scarcely have been noticed, so little attention
had been paid to the arrangement of the graves, which were
dug in the hurry of the moment; but with us it was different.
We could point out every spot, and lay our finger on the
place where a grave ought to be found.

It so happened that the house I was quartered in for the
night was one of those in which some of the Imperial Guard
had sought shelter. I asked my patron why he had not
mended the broken chimney? His reply was, that he
preferred the inconvenience of the smoke which the aperture
caused, for the pleasure he derived from viewing the grave,
as he termed it, of the base French who had so scandalously
ravaged his country. I cannot say that I much admired his
feeling.

From Fuentes d'Oñoro we reached Rodrigo, which we had
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
left only five months before. The breaches were repaired,
the trenches levelled, and were it not for the different spots
that had been assigned to many of our fallen companions,
which we found untouched, there was no trace of those
works which had caused us so much time and labour to construct.
But those places, well known to us, brought back to
our recollection the ground upon which we had stood a short
time before, under circumstances so different; and the change
that had taken place during the short interval—the thousands
that had fallen in the two sieges,—and the difference of our
attitude as compared to what it was when we before trod
the spot we were then standing upon, afforded ample food
for reflection. From the period of our investment of
Rodrigo to the capture of Badajoz, that is to say, eighty-eight
days, we lost in my regiment alone twenty-five officers
and five hundred and fifty-six men; and it cannot be wondered
at that we, who were alive and in health, should
have a feeling of regret for our less fortunate companions,
as also a feeling of thankfulness for our own escape.

There may be some who will think that such ideas are out
of place, but, in my opinion, they are not so. No truly brave
man ever looked upon the graves of his fallen companions
without a feeling of regret. A man falling in the heat of
battle is quite a different thing, because <em>there</em> all are alike,
and subject to the same chance; and it is, moreover, wrong
to mourn over the death of a comrade while the strife is
going on; but the strife once ended, then will the feelings
be brought into play, and the man who is incapable of a
pang of regret for his fallen companion is unworthy of the
name of a British soldier.

My man, Dan, had scarcely arranged my billet, ere I bent
my steps to the house where I had slept on the night of the
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
storming of the town. I had scarcely made my appearance
at the portal, when the old lady to whom the house belonged
recognised my voice. She ran forward to meet and welcome
me; her daughters accompanied her, and it was in vain that
I said I had a billet in a distant part of the town. The
excuse would not be taken, and I was forced, absolutely
forced, to have my baggage conveyed to the house where I
had so short a time before entered under far different circumstances.
The old lady asked how long I was to remain at
Rodrigo. I replied, for that night only. “<i>J'en suis fâché</i>,”
she replied in French, which language she spoke tolerably
well,—“<i>mais j’essayerai de faire votre séjour ici plus agréable
qu’elle ne l'était la dernière fois</i>”—and she immediately sent
an invitation to her friends to assemble at her house the
same evening.

Profiting by the confusion which of necessity took place
in arrangements for the <lang=fr><em>soirée</em></lang>, I left the house and took a
survey of the town and breaches. The houses which were
destroyed in the Great Square, by the fire which had taken
place on the night of the assault, as also those near the
breaches, remained in the same ruined state we had left
them; but excepting this, and a few gabions which out-topped
the large breach, whose reconstruction had not been
quite completed, we could find nothing to denote the toil
and labour we had sustained during our operations. An
hour sufficed for me to make my “reminiscence” of past
events. It was eight o’clock before Darcy and Adair joined
me, and when we reached my billet, we found the saloon
filled by a large and varied company.

Upon entering the room, all eyes were turned towards us,
for the good hostess had said a thousand kind things in my
praise, and the height and imposing look of Darcy were in
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
themselves sufficient to cause a <em>stare</em>; but the elegance of
Adair’s manners, who had passed the greater part of his life
on the Continent—his perfect knowledge of the Portuguese,
Spanish, Italian, and French languages—captivated all. And
although he was some fifteen or twenty years our senior, he
decidedly bore away the palm; and in less than an hour after
our <lang=fr><em>entré</em></lang>, he made, to my own knowledge, five conquests;
while Darcy and myself could boast of but two each! I never
felt so humiliated—from that moment I resolved that
if ever I had a son I would make him a linguist.

The ball was opened by Avandano de Alcantara, a young
Portuguese captain, belonging to the garrison of Almeida,
and Señora Dolores de Inza, a Spanish lady, a relative of the
Governor. The dance was the bolero, of which I had heard
so much, but had never seen danced before. All eyes were
turned towards the spot which the youthful couple occupied.
I was an attentive spectator. Avandano danced well, and
kept his elbows—a material point by the way—in that
position which no bolero dancer should depart from (I
obtained this information at Madrid), not to raise them
higher than his ear; but he danced mechanically, like one
that had been taught, and had his lesson by rule more than
by heart. Although he moved his arms with much grace,
and kept the proper measure with his feet, there was nothing
inspiring in his mode of dance, or in the manner he used his
castanettes. His partner, on the contrary, had all the fire
of the true Andalusian breed. Her movements, though not
perhaps as correct as his, were spirited, and drew down
thunders of applause from the spectators; and each plaudit,
as was natural, caused her to increase her exertions. She
danced beautifully, and every one expressed by their approbation
the gratification they felt by her display; but the
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
dance had scarcely ended when she fainted away, in consequence,
no doubt, of the exertions she had made. She soon
recovered, and would have once more joined the dance, had
not her friends dissuaded her from so foolish an act, and she
was reluctantly obliged to be a spectator for the remainder
of the night. Waltzing was continued to a late hour; but
there was no lady hardy enough to attempt the bolero after
the success of Señora Dolores in this most difficult and graceful
dance. The company at length retired to their different
homes; I bade an affectionate good-night to my hostess and
her daughters; and long before they were awake in the morning,
I was several miles on the road leading to Salamanca.

On the 17th, Darcy, Adair, and I rejoined the 88th and
the 3rd Division on the heights of San Christoval. We
found that we were engaged in “covering” the siege of the
forts of Salamanca, which Marshal Marmont was most
anxious to disturb. On the 23rd of June he came up against
us, tried our lines at several points, did not like the look of
them, and after some futile man[oe]uvring on both sides of the
Tormes, fell back upon Huerta, where he remained until the
27th, and then retreated towards the Douro.

Meanwhile our bombardment of the Salamanca forts
continued, and on the 27th its effect was so powerful that
one of the magazines in the principal fort blew up, and the
fire communicating with a quantity of wood which had been
incautiously placed near the magazine, the whole fort was
soon one vast fire, and a general attack by our troops taking
place at the moment, completed the disorder which naturally
prevailed. The three forts were thus taken; our loss, which
was estimated by the enemy at thirteen hundred, did not
much exceed one-third of that number; and Salamanca was
freed from the enemy.
.bn 259.png
.pn +1

As soon as the garrison of the forts were made prisoners,
they were marched through the streets leading from the outworks
to that part of the town that had been allotted for
their reception; but it was painful to witness the degradation
which these men were obliged to endure at the hands of the
excited population. Women of the lowest grade insulted
them, and some there were base enough to spit in their faces;
yet the French soldiers bore all these insults with composed—I
might say, with truth,—gentlemanly demeanour;
but it is not possible for me to express the disgust I felt at
seeing brave men so treated by a base rabble who, but a few
hours before, were on the most friendly terms with these very
men. At one time, when I saw such an indignity as mud
thrown at them, and a likelihood of something more serious
taking place, I expressed myself in strong terms against the
ruffians who so acted; and whether it was that I spoke
Spanish well enough to be understood, or that I suited the
action to the word by knocking down two fellows who were
the ringleaders, I know not; but from that moment the
prisoners were allowed to move on quietly.

Thus fell the forts of Salamanca. The news soon reached
Marmont, and on the 28th he retrograded towards the Douro,
and on the following day rested at Alaejos. Lord Wellington
followed the enemy’s movement, who, on the 2nd of
July, passed the Douro at Tordesillas, which post was
sufficiently formidable to embarrass a general who might be
desirous of forcing it. The line of the Douro is unexceptionable;
it possesses all the requisites which a retreating
army could wish for—uneven banks, narrow fords, and
abundance of woods, sufficient to mask the operations of a
large body of troops; and Marmont did all that a general
could do to render any effort to force it more than hazardous.
.bn 260.png
.pn +1

On the evening of the 3rd, Picton’s division was abreast
of the ford of Pollos; some cavalry tried the depth of the
river, which was deemed fordable; but the attitude of the
enemy on the opposite bank was so imposing that the idea
of forcing the passage was given up. From the 3rd until
the 12th of July the two armies remained in presence of
each other, encamped on each side of a river which at times
is a formidable sheet of water, but which was then little
more than an insignificant stream. Nevertheless, although
both armies kept their guards on their respective sides of
the water, and the movements of each were cautiously
watched, not one life was lost, nor one shot fired by
either army.

Indeed so different from hostility was the conduct of both
nations, that the French and British lived upon the most
amicable terms. If we wanted wood for the construction of
huts, our men were allowed to pass without molestation to
the French side of the river to cut it. Each day the soldiers
of both armies used to bathe together in the same stream,
and an exchange of rations, such as biscuit and rum, between
the French and our men was by no means uncommon. A
stop was, however, soon to be put to this friendly intercourse;
and it having been known in both armies that something
was about to be attempted by Marmont, on the evening of
the 12th of July, we shook hands with our <lang=fr><em>vis-à-vis</em></lang> neighbours
and parted the best friends.

It is a remarkable fact that the part of the river of which
I am speaking was occupied, on our side, by our 3rd Division,
on the French side by the 7th Division. The French officers
said to us on parting, “We have met, and have been for
some time friends. We are about to separate, and may
meet as enemies. As 'friends' we received each other
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
warmly—as 'enemies' we shall do the same.” In ten days
afterwards the British 3rd and the French 7th Divisions
were opposed to each other at the battle of Salamanca—and
the 7th French were destroyed by the British 3rd. But
I am now about describing one of the most memorable battles
ever fought by the British army—the battle of Salamanca.
.bn 262.png
.pn +1

.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XX

.pm start_summary
State of the opposing armies previous to the battle of Salamanca—Preliminary
movements—The Duke of Ragusa’s false movement—Pakenham
engaged with the enemy’s left—Defeats the division
under General Thomières—Reinforced, they again advance to the
attack—Their destruction by a brigade of British cavalry—The
Portuguese repulsed—Desperate exertions of the French—Final
charge of Clinton’s division—Complete defeat of the French army.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The situation and position of the hostile armies have been
described in the last chapter; it left them on the banks of
the Douro; and the probability, nay the certainty, that a
collision was about to take place between them was manifest
to the lowest soldier of both.

The passage of the line of the Douro in presence of an
army in a condition for battle is difficult, and it requires
much circumspection on the part of the General to hazard
it in the face of an enemy. Yet Marmont managed to cross.
He employed the days of the 13th, 14th, 15th, and 16th of
July in a series of evolutions we had hitherto been unaccustomed
to witness; and, in fine, on the morning of the
17th, after having made a night-march of thirteen Spanish
leagues, his army was over the river, in battle array on the
plain to the right of Nava del Rey, while the bulk of our
army was in full movement upon Toro, distant several leagues
from the 4th and Light Divisions and the two brigades of
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
heavy horse. The village of Torrecilla de la Orden was in
their front.

Marmont, finding how well the passage of the Douro had
been masked by his night-march, and seeing the small number
of troops that were at hand to oppose his movement, ordered
his masses forward in the hope of crushing them. The 4th
and Light Divisions, covered by Bock’s dragoons,[28] retired
upon the rising ground behind the villages. At this point
various charges were made by the cavalry of both armies;
and it was not until after a retreat of three hours, under a
burning sun and a torrent of shot, that the two divisions
reached the heights of the Guarena. The soldiers, famishing
with thirst, their tongues cleaving to their mouths, and
fainting with fatigue, rushed headlong towards the river;
and before they had drank sufficiently to satisfy their burning
thirst, the heights above them were crowned with forty
pieces of cannon at half-range. Great was the confusion
caused by the cannonade; and it was not without suffering
some loss that they effected their retreat to the opposite
bank. In less than an hour they joined the 1st and 3rd
Divisions, and the entire continued the retrograde movement.

.fm rend=th
.fn 28
The 1st and 2nd Heavy Dragoons of the King’s German Legion,
lately arrived from England.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

The French then advanced in two columns of twenty-five
thousand men each; the intervening space between them
might be reckoned at two miles. The right wing was commanded
by Clausel, the left by Marmont in person. Clausel
had scarcely arrived before the point occupied by the 4th Division,
when, seeing the smallness of their force, he conceived the
idea of making a sudden rush, in the hope of cutting them off.
His troops had scarcely formed when he pushed onward at the
head of two divisions of infantry and the brigade of dragoons
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
commanded by General Carrié; but Cole, placing himself at
the head of the 27th and 40th Regiments, received him with
steadiness, and drove the French infantry back in disorder.
Meanwhile Carrié, seeing some open spaces in Cole’s line,
caused by their movement against Clausel’s infantry, thought
to profit by this disorder, and galloping forward at the head
of his troopers, sabred many men; but at this moment the
cavalry sent to sustain Cole met them, and after a severe but
short conflict totally overthrew the brigade of Carrié, who
was himself numbered amongst the prisoners.

The defeat of Clausel and Carrié checked in a great
degree the ardour of the French Marshal. The following
day he rested, and on the 19th threw back his right wing,
and moving forward with the left of his army, menaced the
right of the British; but Lord Wellington, anticipating the
movement, was prepared for him, and offered battle on the
plain of Velosa. This was refused on the part of the French
General; and from this until the 20th, the two armies
man[oe]uvred within half cannon-shot of each other, the
British retiring as it had advanced—moving, not directly
rearward, but rather in a line parallel with the march of the
French. The columns were in movement in an open country,
fairly in the view of each other, and their respective attitudes
were of that novel sort that it would be difficult to find the
like recorded in the history of any two armies. At times
the French and British were within musket-shot of each
other, the soldiers of both in momentary expectation of
being engaged, yet not one shot was fired by either.

On the 20th, the British army reached the strong position
of San Christoval, on the right bank of the Tormes, distant
a league from Salamanca, the French General likewise resting
for the night upon the heights of Aldea Rubea, holding the
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
ford of Alba on the Tormes. Towards mid-day on the 21st
the French passed the river in two compact bodies, and,
screened by the woody nature of the country, established
themselves upon a new line of operations, threatening, in a
manner, the communication of the British with Rodrigo.
This man[oe]uvre—a bold one it may well be called—under
the cannon of an army that had proffered battle but a few
days before on a plain of vast extent, was enough to puzzle
a man less capable of command than he who was at the head
of the allied army; but, unruffled in his temper by such
vacillating conduct, and keeping a steady eye upon his
opponent, the British General diligently followed his track.
He passed his army, the 3rd Division under Pakenham
excepted, across the Tormes, and taking hold of one of two
isolated hills called Arapilles, he resolved to rest the right
of his army upon this point while his left leaned upon the
Tormes river at Santa Martha, and, in the event of a battle
taking place, to stand the issue on the ground I have described.
The 3rd Division still held the position of San
Christoval on the right bank, but was in readiness to pass
over the river by the bridge of Salamanca, in the event of a
battle taking place. The British General thus threw down
the gauntlet for the second time; and whether it was the
impetuous spirit of the French soldiers, or the temper of
their leader, or both combined, that wrought a change in
either, it is not easy to say; but one thing is certain, that
from this moment Marmont made up his mind to try the
issue of a battle.

In front of the Arapilles hill, which was the <lang=fr><em>point d’appui</em></lang>
for our right, stood another, of the same name and greater
altitude, distant five hundred yards from the one we possessed.
This mound commanded the one occupied by us, and, after
.bn 266.png
.pn +1
some severe contention, was finally held by the French; and
it was evident from the earnest manner in which they sought
to gain the possession of it, that it was destined to be the
support of the left of their army, as the other was clearly
marked out, by the previous events, to be intended for our
right.

All doubts as to a battle not taking place were now
hushed, and the soldiers of both armies were aware that the
result was to decide to whom Madrid belonged. The die
was cast; neither were inclined to back out of it, or to gainsay
what they had in a manner pledged themselves to fulfil;
and the evening of the 21st July 1812 closed upon the
heads of many a soldier who was destined never to
behold the setting of another sun. Nevertheless, the 3rd
Division under Pakenham had not been recalled; on the
contrary, we were busy in throwing up breastworks, and by
other means adding to the strength of the position we occupied.
Our division, though encamped on a height of considerable
altitude, had received strict orders to entrench
themselves; the earth was thrown up, the works were
palisaded, and in fine they were so well secured that we
had no fear of an attack or surprise. It is this precaution
that marks the great general. Lord Wellington had no
idea of being taken aback by any change in Marmont’s
plans during the night: on the contrary, he was convinced
that he was serious in his desire to give battle; but to guard
against any and every chance was but right. Marmont
might have again, on the night of the 21st, passed the river,
and brought his army in battle array before a handful of
men, and cut them off piecemeal before his movement could
have been arrested by the British General. The thing was
not probable—barely possible; but where possibilities, much
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
less probabilities, exist, it is essential that the mind of the
commander should be awake, and instead of brooding over
what is likely to take place the following day, look to what
may take place in the night. It was a remark of that
eminent general, Kleber, that to be surprised was much
more disgraceful than to be defeated: he said, “the bravest
man may be beaten; but whoever suffers himself to be surprised
is unworthy of being an officer.”

The evening of the 21st of July was calm, and appeared
settled, but persons well versed in the symptoms of the
horizon, which were unobserved by those intensely occupied
with the anticipations of the events which the morrow was
to produce, pronounced that a hurricane was not far distant.
Pakenham’s division was occupied, as I have before said, in
entrenching itself, when about ten at night a torrent of rain
fell in the trenches, and so completely filled them with water
that the soldiers were obliged to desist from their labour.
Later in the night a storm arose, and the wind howled in
long and bitter gusts. This was succeeded by peals of
thunder and flashes of lightning, so loud and vivid that the
horses of the cavalry, which were ready saddled, took alarm,
and forcing the pickets which held them, ran away affrighted
in every direction. The thunder rolled in rattling peals, the
lightning darted through the black and almost suffocating
atmosphere, and presented to the view of the soldiers of the
two armies the horses as they ran about from regiment to
regiment, or allowed themselves to be led back to their
bivouac by the troopers to whom they belonged. The vivid
flashes of lightning, which seemed to rest upon the grass, for
a few moments wholly illuminated the plain, and the succeeding
flashes occurred with such rapidity that a constant blaze
filled the space occupied by both armies. It was long before
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
the horses could be secured, and some in the confusion ran
away amongst the enemy’s line and were lost. By midnight
the storm began to abate, and towards morning it was evidently
going farther: the lightning flashed at a distance
through the horizon; the rain fell in torrents, and the
soldiers of both armies were drenched to the skin before the
hurricane had abated. Towards five o’clock the storm was
partially over, and by six the dusky vapour which had before
veiled the sun disappeared, and showed the two armies standing
in the array they had been placed the evening before.
All doubts were now set at rest as to which side of the river
the battle would be fought. The entire army of Marmont
remained on the left bank, and Pakenham was ordered to
move across the Tormes with the 3rd Division, by the bridge
of Salamanca, with as much speed as possible; but it was
one o’clock before he reached the station allotted to him—the
extreme right of the British.

At half-past one o’clock the two armies were within gunshot
of each other. The British, placed as follows, awaited
with calmness the orders of their General. We of the 3rd
Division, under Pakenham, were on the right of the line,
but hid by the heights in our front, and unseen by Marmont;
two squadrons of the 14th Light Dragoons and a brigade of
Portuguese horse, commanded by General D‘Urban, supported
us. Next to the 3rd Division stood the 5th, led
on by Leith; next to the 5th, and at the head of the village
of Arapilles, were placed the 4th and 7th Divisions;
beyond them, and a little in the rear, was the 6th Division,
under General Clinton; and to the left of all was the Light
Division, commanded by Colonel Barnard. The 1st Division,
composed of the Guards and Germans, was in reserve; and
the cavalry, under Sir Stapleton Cotton, was behind the
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
3rd and 5th Divisions, ready to act as circumstances might
require. The guns attached to each brigade were up with
the infantry; the park in reserve was behind the cavalry of
Cotton, while in the rear of all, and nearly <lang=fr><em>hors de combat</em></lang>,
might be seen the Spanish army, commanded by Don Carlos
D‘España. Thus stood affairs, on the side of the British, at
half-past one o’clock.

The French army, composed of eight divisions of infantry,
amounting to forty-two thousand bayonets, four thousand
cavalry, and seventy pieces of artillery, occupied a fine line
of battle behind a ridge whose right, supported by the
Arapilles height held by them, overlooked the one upon
which the left of our army rested. Their 5th Division
occupied this point; the 122nd Regiment, belonging to
Bonnet’s division, with a brigade of guns, crowned the
Arapilles; the 7th Division supported the 122nd Regiment;
the 2nd Division was in reserve behind the 7th;
the 6th were at the head of the wood, protected by twenty
pieces of artillery; and Boyer’s dragoons occupied the open
space in front of the wood to the left of all.

There was some irregularity in the arrangement of these
troops, and the Duke of Ragusa essayed in person to remedy
the evil. He marched with the 3rd and 4th Divisions to
the head of the wood occupied by Boyer, and it was then
he conceived the idea of extending his left, which afterwards
proved so fatal to him. On our side all was arranged for
defence; the bustle which was evident in the ranks of the
enemy caused no change in our dispositions. Lord Wellington,
having surveyed what was passing, and judging that
something was meant by it, gave his glass to one of his aide-de-camps,
while he himself sat down to eat a few mouthfuls
of cold beef. He had scarcely commenced when his aide-de-camp
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
said, “The enemy are in motion, my lord!”—“Very
well; observe what they are doing,” was the reply. A
minute or so elapsed, when the aide-de-camp said, “I think
they are extending to their left.”—“The devil they are!”
said his lordship, springing upon his feet,—“give me the
glass quickly.” He took it, and for a short space continued
observing the motions of the enemy with earnest attention.
“Come!” he exclaimed, “I think this will do at last; ride
off instantly, and tell Clinton and Leith to return as rapidly
as possible to their former ground.”

In a moment afterwards Lord Wellington was on horseback,
and all his staff in motion. The soldiers stood to their
arms—the colours were uncased—bayonets fixed—the order
to prime and load passed, and in five minutes after the false
movement of Marmont was discovered, our army, which so
short a time before stood on the defensive, was arrayed for
the attack! It was twenty minutes past four when these
dispositions were completed; and here it may not be amiss
to tell the reader the nature of the movement made by the
French General, which so materially altered his position, as
likewise that of his antagonist—and in doing so I shall be
as brief as I can.

It has been already seen that both armies were so circumstanced
as to almost preclude the possibility of a battle not
taking place. Marmont coveted it—Wellington did not
seek to decline it—both had the confidence of their soldiers—and
both, as to numbers, might be said to be on an
equality. When I speak of “numbers” I include the
Portuguese troops. Military men know what was the <em>real</em>
value of these soldiers! At two o’clock in the afternoon
Marmont was the aggressor; he held the higher hand; yet
at four, in two short hours afterwards, the relative situation
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
of both was altogether changed. The natural question will
be—How was this? It occurred just as I am about to
describe.

The two armies took their ground under the impression
that the French would attack, the British defend. All this
was plain; but Marmont had no sooner mounted his horse
and taken a survey of the field of battle than he conceived
the idea—like Melas at Marengo—of extending his line; by
marching his 7th Division to his left he might cause an
alarm in the breast of the British General for the safety of
his communication with the Rodrigo road, and in a manner
circumvent his position. Lord Wellington, at a glance, saw
all that was passing in the mind of his antagonist—he saw
the error he had committed; and calculating that his 3rd
Division (distant but three-quarters of a league from the
French 4th) would reach them before the 7th French
Division could retrace their steps and be in a position fitted
for fighting, he decided upon attacking the left, before this
division, commanded by Thomières, could regain its ground,
or at all events be in an efficient state to resist the attack of
his invincible Old Third. The result proved the soundness
of the calculation, because, although Thomières got into his
place in the fight, he did so before his men had foreseen or
expected it, and their total overthrow was in itself sufficient
to cause the loss of this great battle.

The 3rd Division had but just resumed their arms when
Lord Wellington, at the head of his staff, appeared amongst
them. The officers had not taken their places in the column,
but were in a group together in front of it. As Lord
Wellington rode up to Pakenham every eye was turned
towards him. He looked paler than usual, but notwithstanding
the sudden change he had just made in the disposition
.bn 272.png
.pn +1
of his army, he was quite unruffled in his manner,
and as calm as if the battle about to be fought was nothing
more than an ordinary assemblage of the troops for a field-day.
His words were few and his orders brief. Tapping
Pakenham on the shoulder, he said, “Edward, move on with
the 3rd Division—take the heights in your front—and drive
everything before you,”—“I will, my lord,” was the laconic
reply of the gallant Sir Edward.[29] Lord Wellington galloped
on to the next division, gave, I suppose, orders to the same
effect, and in less than half an hour the battle commenced.

.fm rend=th
.fn 29
Grattan evidently discredits Londonderry’s story that when starting
Pakenham cried to his brother-in-law, “Give me one grasp of that
conquering hand before I go”—a tale not much in consonance with
the character of either of the two men.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

The British divisions were scarcely in line when fifty
pieces of artillery crowned the ridge occupied by the French.
A heavy fire was soon opened from this park at half range,
and as the 4th and 5th Divisions advanced they were assailed
by a very formidable fire; but as yet the French infantry,
posted behind the ridge, were not visible. Cole’s troops
advanced to the left of the Arapilles height, while Pack,
with his brigade of Portuguese, two thousand strong, pressed
onward to attain it. The 5th Division, under Leith, advanced
by the right of Cole’s troops; and at this moment
the French 7th Division were seen hurrying back to occupy
the ground they had so short a time before quitted, while
the 3rd and 4th French Divisions were arranging themselves
to receive the attack of Cole and Leith.

When all was in readiness Pakenham departed at the
head of ten battalions[30] and two brigades of guns, to force
the left of the enemy. Three battalions, the 45th, 74th,
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
and 88th, under Colonel Alexander Wallace of the 88th,
composed the first line; the 9th and 21st Portuguese of the
line, under the Portuguese colonel, De Champlemond, formed
the second line; while two battalions of the 5th, the 77th,
83rd, and 94th British, under the command of Colonel
Campbell, were in reserve. Such was the disposition of the
3rd Division. In addition, General D‘Urban, with six
Portuguese squadrons, had orders to make head against
Boyer’s dragoons; and that the 3rd Division might not be
molested in its operation, Le Marchant’s three regiments of
heavy cavalry were placed in reserve in the rear of it. It
now only remains to relate what actually happened.

.fm rend=th
.fn 30
It should rather be <em>twelve</em> battalions, as each Portuguese regiment
was composed of two weak battalions.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

No sooner was Pakenham in motion towards the heights
than the ridge he was about to assail was crowned with
twenty pieces of cannon, while in the rear of this battery
was seen Thomières' division endeavouring to regain its
place in the combat. A flat space, one thousand yards in
breadth, was to be crossed before Pakenham could reach
the heights. The French batteries opened a heavy fire,
while our two brigades of artillery, commanded by Captain
Douglas, posted on a rising ground behind the 3rd Division,
replied to them with much warmth. Pakenham’s men
might thus be said to be within two fires—that of their own
guns firing over their heads, while the French balls passed
through their ranks, ploughing up the ground in every
direction; but the veteran troops which composed the 3rd
Division were not to be shaken even by this.

Wallace’s three regiments advanced in open column until
within two hundred and fifty yards of the ridge held by the
French infantry. Thomières' column, five thousand strong,
had by this time reached their ground, while in their front
the face of the hill had been hastily garnished with <lang=fr><em>tirailleurs</em></lang>.
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
All were impatient to engage, and the calm but stern
advance of Wallace’s brigade was received with beating of
drums and loud cheers from the French, whose light troops,
hoping to take advantage of the time which the deploying
from column into line would take, ran down the face of the
hill in a state of great excitement; but Pakenham, who
was naturally of a boiling spirit and hasty temper, was on
this day perfectly cool. He told Wallace to form line from
open column without halting, and thus the different companies,
by throwing forward their right shoulders, were in
line without the slow man[oe]uvre of a deployment. Astonished
at the rapidity of the movement, the French riflemen commenced
an irregular and hurried fire, and even at this early
stage of the battle a looker-on could, from the difference in
the demeanour of the troops of the two nations, form a
tolerably correct opinion of what would be the result.

Regardless of the fire of the <lang=fr><em>tirailleurs</em></lang>, and the showers of
grape and canister, Pakenham, at the head of Wallace’s
brigade, continued to press onward; his centre suffered, but
still advanced; his left and right being less oppressed by the
weight of the fire, continued to advance at a more rapid pace,
and as his wings inclined forward and outstripped the centre,
the brigade assumed the form of a crescent. The man[oe]uvre
was a bold, as well as a novel one, and the appearance of the
brigade imposing and unique, because it so happened that all
the British officers were in front of their men—a rare
occurrence. The French officers were also in front; but
their relative duties were widely different: the latter,
encouraging their men into the heat of the battle; the
former keeping their devoted soldiers back!—what a
splendid national contrast! Amongst the mounted officers
were Sir Edward Pakenham and his staff, Wallace of the
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
88th, commanding the brigade, and his gallant aide-de-camp,
Mackie (at last a Captain—in his regular turn!), Majors
Murphy and Seton of the 88th, Colonels Forbes and
Greenwell of the 45th, Colonel Trench of the 74th, and
several others whose names I cannot now remember.

In spite of the fire of Thomières' <lang=fr><em>tirailleurs</em></lang>, they continued
at the head of the right brigade, while the soldiers, with
their firelocks on the rest, followed close upon the heels of
their officers, like troops accustomed to conquer. They
speedily got footing upon the brow of the hill, but before
they had time to take breath, the entire French division,
with drums beating and uttering loud shouts, ran forward to
meet them, and belching forth a torrent of bullets from five
thousand muskets, brought down almost the entire of
Wallace’s first rank, and more than half of his officers. The
brigade staggered back from the force of the shock, but
before the smoke had altogether cleared away, Wallace,
looking full in the faces of his soldiers, pointed to the French
column, and leading the shattered brigade up the hill,
without a moment’s hesitation, brought them face to face
before the French had time to witness the terrible effect of
their murderous fire.

Astounded by the unshaken determination of Wallace’s
soldiers, Thomières' division wavered; nevertheless they
opened a heavy discharge of musketry, but it was unlike the
former,—it was irregular and ill-directed, the men acted
without concert or method, and many fired in the air. At
length their fire ceased altogether, and the three regiments,
for the first time, cheered! The effect was electric;
Thomières' troops were seized with a panic, and as Wallace
closed upon them, his men could distinctly remark their
bearing. Their mustachioed faces, one and all, presented the
.bn 276.png
.pn +1
same ghastly hue, a horrid family likeness throughout; and
as they stood to receive the shock they were about to be
assailed with, they reeled to and fro like men intoxicated.

The French officers did all that was possible, by voice,
gesture, and example, to rouse their men to a proper sense of
their situation, but in vain. One, the colonel of the leading
regiment (the 22nd), seizing a firelock, and beckoning to his
men to follow, ran forward a few paces and shot Major
Murphy dead in front of the 88th. However, his career soon
closed: a bullet, the first that had been fired from our ranks,
pierced his head; he flung up his arms, fell forward, and
expired.

The brigade, which till this time cheerfully bore up
against the heavy fire they had been exposed to without
returning a shot, were now impatient, and the 88th greatly
excited; for Murphy, dead and bleeding, with one foot
hanging in the stirrup-iron, was dragged by his affrighted
horse along the front of his regiment. The soldiers became
exasperated, and asked to be let forward. Pakenham,
seeing that the proper moment had arrived, called out to
Wallace “to let them loose.” The three regiments ran
onward, and the mighty phalanx, which but a moment before
was so formidable, loosened and fell in pieces before fifteen
hundred invincible British soldiers fighting in a line of only
two deep.

Wallace, seeing the terrible confusion that prevailed in
the enemy’s column, pressed on with his brigade, calling to
his soldiers “to push on to the muzzle.” A vast number
were killed in this charge of bayonets, but the men, wearied
by their exertions, the intolerable heat of the weather, and
famishing from thirst, were nearly run to a standstill.

Immediately on our left, the 5th Division were discharging
.bn 277.png
.pn +1
volleys against the French 4th; and Park’s brigade could be
seen mounting the Arapilles height. But disregarding everything
except the complete destruction of the column before
him, Pakenham followed it with the brigade of Wallace,
supported by the reserves of his division. The battle at
this point would have been decided on the moment, had the
heavy horse, under Le Marchant, been near enough to
sustain him. The confusion of the enemy was so great, that
they were mixed pell-mell together without any regard to
order or regularity; and it was manifest that nothing short
of a miracle could save Thomières from total destruction.
Sir Edward continued to press on at the head of Wallace’s
brigade, but the French outran him. Had Le Marchant
been aware of this state of the combat, or been near enough
to profit by it, Pakenham would have settled the business
by six o’clock instead of seven. An hour at any time,
during a battle, is a serious lapse of time; but in this action
every minute was of vital import. Day was rapidly drawing
to a close; the Tormes was close behind the army of
Marmont; ruin stared him in the face; in a word, his left
wing was doubled up—lost; and Pakenham could have
turned to the support of the 4th and 5th Divisions had our
cavalry been on the spot ready to back Wallace at the
moment he broke Thomières' column. This, beyond doubt,
was the moment by which to profit, that the enemy might
not have time to recollect himself; but while Le Marchant
was preparing to take a part in the combat, Thomières, with
admirable presence of mind, remedied the terrible confusion
of his division, and calling up a fresh brigade to his support,
once more led his men into the fight, assumed the offensive,[31]
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
and Pakenham was now about to be assailed in turn. This
was the most critical moment of the battle at this point.
Boyer’s horsemen stood before us, inclining towards our
right, which was flanked by two squadrons of the 14th
Dragoons and two regiments of Portuguese cavalry; but we
had little dependence on the Portuguese, and it behoved us
to look to ourselves.

.fm rend=th
.fn 31
It was Maucune’s division; Thomières had been killed by now,
and his regiments entirely scattered.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

Led on by the ardour of conquest, we had followed the
column until we at length found ourselves in an open plain,
intersected with cork-trees, opposed by a multitude who,
reinforced, again rallied and turned upon us with fury.
Pakenham and Wallace rode along the line from wing to
wing, almost from rank to rank, and fulfilled the functions
of adjutants, in assisting the officers to reorganise the
tellings-off of their men for square. Meanwhile the first
battalion of the 5th drove back some squadrons of Boyer’s
dragoons; the other six regiments were fast approaching the
point held by Wallace, but the attitude of the French
cavalry in our front and upon our right flank caused some
uneasiness.

The peals of musketry along the centre still continued
without intermission; the smoke was so thick that nothing
to our left was distinguishable; some men of the 5th
Division got intermingled with ours; the dry grass was set
on fire by the numerous cartridge-papers that strewed the
field of battle; the air was scorching; and the smoke,
rolling onward in huge volumes, nearly suffocated us. A
loud cheering was heard in our rear; the brigade half turned
round, supposing themselves about to be attacked by the
French cavalry. Wallace called out to his men to mind the
tellings-off for square. A few seconds passed, the trampling
of horses was heard, the smoke cleared away, and the heavy
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
brigade of Le Marchant[32] was seen coming forward in line at
a canter. “Open right and left” was an order quickly
obeyed; the line opened, the cavalry passed through the
intervals, and, forming rapidly in our front, prepared for
their work.

.fm rend=th
.fn 32
5th Dragoon Guards and 3rd and 4th Dragoons.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

The French column, which a moment before held so
imposing an attitude, became startled at this unexpected
sight. A victorious and highly-excited infantry pressing
close upon them, a splendid brigade of three regiments of
cavalry ready to burst through their ill-arranged and beaten
column, while no appearance of succour was at hand to
protect them, was enough to appal the boldest intrepidity.
The plain was filled with the vast multitude; retreat was
impossible; and the troopers came still pouring in to join
their comrades, already prepared for the attack. Hastily,
yet with much regularity, all things considered, they
attempted to get into square; but Le Marchant’s brigade
galloped forward before the evolution was half completed.
The column hesitated, wavered, tottered, and then stood
still! The motion of the countless bayonets as they clashed
together might be likened to a forest about to be assailed by
a tempest, whose first warnings announce the ravage it is
about to inflict. Thomières' division[33] vomited forth a
dreadful volley of fire as the horsemen thundered across the
flat! Le Marchant was killed, and fell downright in the
midst of the French bayonets; but his brigade pierced
through the vast mass, killing or trampling down all before
them. The conflict was severe, and the troopers fell thick
and fast; but their long heavy swords cut through bone as
well as flesh. The groans of the dying, the cries of the
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
wounded, the roar of the cannon, and the piteous moans of
the mangled horses, as they ran away affrighted from the
terrible scene, or lay with shattered limbs, unable to move,
in the midst of the burning grass, was enough to unman men
not placed as we were; but upon us it had a different effect,
and our cheers were heard far from the spot where this
fearful scene was acting.

.fm rend=th
.fn 33
It should rather be Maucune’s.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

Such as got away from the sabres of the horsemen sought
safety amongst the ranks of our infantry, and scrambling
under the horses, ran to us for protection—like men who,
having escaped the first shock of a wreck, will cling to any
broken spar, no matter how little to be depended upon.
Hundreds of beings, frightfully disfigured, in whom the
human face and form were almost obliterated—black with
dust, worn down with fatigue, and covered with sabre-cuts
and blood—threw themselves amongst us for safety. Not a
man was bayoneted—not one even molested or plundered;
and the invincible old 3rd Division on this day surpassed
themselves, for they not only defeated their terrible enemies
in a fair stand-up fight, but actually covered their retreat,
and protected them at a moment when, without such aid,
their total annihilation was certain. Under similar
circumstances would the French have acted so? I fear
not. The men who murdered Ponsonby at Waterloo, when
he was alone and unprotected, would have shown but little
courtesy to the 3rd Division, placed in a similar way.

Nine pieces of artillery, two eagles, and five thousand
prisoners were captured at this point; still the battle raged
with unabated fury on our left, immediately in front of the
5th Division. Leith fell wounded as he led on his men, but
his division carried the point in dispute, and drove the enemy
before them up the hill.
.bn 281.png
.pn +1

While those events were taking place on the right, the
4th Division, which formed the centre of the army, met with
a serious opposition. The more distant Arapilles, occupied
by the French 122nd, whose numbers did not count more
than four hundred,[34] supported by a few pieces of cannon, was
left to the Portuguese brigade of General Pack, amounting
to two thousand bayonets. With fatal, though well-founded
reliance—their former, conduct taken into the scale—Cole’s
division advanced into the plain, confident that all was right
with Pack’s troops, and a terrible struggle between them and
Bonnet’s corps took place. It was, however, but of short
duration. Bonnet’s soldiers were driven back in confusion,
and up to this moment all had gone on well. The three
British divisions engaged overthrew every obstacle, and the
battle might be said to be won, had Pack’s formidable brigade—formidable
in numbers at least—fulfilled their part; but
these men totally failed in their effort to take the height
occupied only by a few hundred Frenchmen, and thus gave
the park of artillery that was posted with them full liberty
to turn its efforts against the rear and flank of Cole’s soldiers.
Nothing could be worse than the state in which the 4th
Division was now placed; and the battle, which ought to
have been, and had been in a manner, won, was still in
doubt.

.fm rend=th
.fn 34
This is unfair to the Portuguese; the 122nd had 1000 bayonets.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

Bonnet, seeing the turn which Pack’s failure had wrought
in his favour, re-formed his men, and advanced against Cole,
while the fire from the battery and small arms on the
Arapilles height completed the confusion. Cole fell
wounded; half of his division were cut off, the remainder
in full retreat; and Bonnet’s troops, pressing on in a compact
body, made it manifest that a material change had taken
.bn 282.png
.pn +1
place in the battle, and that ere it was gained some ugly uphill
work was yet to be done.

Marshal Beresford, who arrived at the moment, galloped
up at the head of a brigade of the 5th Division, which
he took out of the second line, and for a moment covered
the retreat of Cole’s troops; but this force—composed of
Portuguese—was insufficient to arrest the progress of the
enemy, who advanced in the full confidence of an assured
victory; and at this critical moment Beresford was carried
off the field wounded. Bonnet’s troops advanced, loudly
cheering, while the entire of Cole’s division and Spry’s brigade
of Portuguese were routed. Our centre was thus endangered.
Boyer’s dragoons, after the overthrow of the French left,
countermarched and moved rapidly to the support of Bonnet;
they were close in the track of his infantry; and the fate of
the battle was still uncertain. The fugitives of the 7th and
4th French Divisions ran to the succour of Bonnet, and by
the time they had joined him his force had indeed assumed
a formidable aspect; and thus reinforced, it stood in an
attitude far different from what it would have done had
Pack’s brigade succeeded in its attack.

Lord Wellington, who saw what had taken place by the
failure of Pack’s troops, ordered up the 6th Division to the
support of the 4th; and the battle, although it was half-past
eight o’clock at night, recommenced with the same fury
as at the onset.

Clinton’s division, consisting of six thousand bayonets,
rapidly advanced to assert its place in the combat, and
to relieve the 4th from the awkward predicament in which it
was placed; they essayed to gain what was lost by the failure
of Pack’s troops in their feeble effort to wrest the Arapilles
height from a few brave Frenchmen; but they were received
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
by Bonnet’s troops at the point of the bayonet, and the fire
opened against them seemed to be threefold more heavy than
that sustained by the 3rd and 5th Divisions. It was nearly
dark; and the great glare of light caused by the thunder of
the artillery, the continued blaze of the musketry, and the
burning grass, gave to the face of the hill a novel and terrific
appearance: it was one vast sheet of flame, and Clinton’s
men looked as if they were attacking a burning mountain,
the crater of which was defended by a barrier of shining
steel. But nothing could stop the intrepid valour of the 6th
Division, as they advanced with a desperate resolution to
carry the hill. The troops posted on the face of it to arrest
their advance were trampled down and destroyed at the first
charge, and each reserve sent forward to extricate them met
with the same fate. Still Bonnet’s reserves, having attained
their place in the fight, and the fugitives from Thomières'
division joining them at the moment, prolonged the battle
until dark. Those men, besmeared with blood, dust, and
clay, half naked, and some carrying only broken weapons,
fought with a fury not to be surpassed; but their impetuosity
was at length calmed by the bayonets of Clinton’s troops,
and they no longer fought for victory but for safety. After
a frightful struggle, they were driven from their last hold in
confusion; and a general and overwhelming charge, which
the nature of the ground enabled Clinton to make, carried
this ill-formed mass of desperate soldiers before him, as a
shattered wreck borne along by the force of some mighty
current.

The mingled mass of fugitives fled to the woods and to
the river for safety, and under cover of the night succeeded
in gaining the pass of Alba over the Tormes. It was now
ten o’clock at night: the battle was ended. At this point
.bn 284.png
.pn +1
it had been confined to a small space, and the ground,
trampled and stained deep, gave ample evidence of the havoc
that had taken place. Lord Wellington, overcome as he was
with fatigue, placed himself at the head of the 1st and Light
Divisions and a brigade of cavalry, and following closely the
retreating footsteps of the enemy, with those troops who had
not fired a shot during the conflict, left the remnant of his
victorious army to sleep upon the field of battle they had so
hardly won.[35]

.fm rend=th
.fn 35
The reader will note a considerable number of echoes from Napier
in this interesting and well-written chapter. But the narrative differs
in many points from that of Napier, especially as to the sequence of
events in that part of the field where the 88th served—notably as to
the moment at which Le Marchant’s dragoons charged. Grattan, being
an eye-witness, is probably nearer the truth than Napier, who was on
the other wing in the ranks of the Light Division. On the other hand,
he makes some slips, especially in stating that Pakenham’s <em>second</em>
assault was made upon Thomières' division instead of Maucune’s.
.fn-
.fm rend=th
.bn 285.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXI

.pm start_summary
Importance of the battle of Salamanca—Anecdotes of the 88th—Gallantry
of Captain Robert Nickle—Pursuit of the defeated army
of Marshal Marmont—French infantry in square broken and
destroyed by cavalry—March on Madrid—Frolics at St. Ildefonso—Sudden
attack of the French Lancers—Disgraceful conduct of
the Portuguese Dragoons.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
No battle since that of Marengo, in 1800, which opened the
gates of Vienna to the first Consul of France, had been fought
whose consequences ought to be more duly appreciated than
the battle of Salamanca.

Had that battle been lost, the disasters of the French
army before Moscow would have been of little account in
the scale of the south, and the imperial eagles would have
soared with the same splendour, from Madrid to Cadiz, or
perhaps to Lisbon, as if no event of importance had occurred
beyond the Vistula. Portugal would have been then open
to invasion—the siege of Cadiz continued—the lines of Lisbon
once more invested—and what then?—why, the probable
withdrawal of the British army from the Peninsula. Portugal
would be thus conquered—Spain laid prostrate—England in
utter dismay—and one hundred and fifty thousand veteran
French troops marched across the Pyrenees to take a part in
the combats of Lutzen and Leipsic. These would have been
the results of a defeat at Salamanca; and who is the man bold
.bn 286.png
.pn +1
enough to say what the results in the north of Europe would
have been, had such an augmentation of force—which would
have been certain—joined Napoleon in the end of 1812, or
even in the spring of 1813? As it was, he gained the battle
of Lutzen with a “green army.” Had he been backed by
one hundred and fifty thousand veteran troops from Spain, it
requires no conjuror to tell what the upshot would have been.
These are the consequences which would have followed a
defeat at Salamanca. The gaining that battle placed matters
on a different footing. Portugal had nothing to dread—Soult
was forced to raise the siege of Cadiz—Madrid was
evacuated, and Castille and Andalusia were freed from the
presence of a French force; but, above all, no reinforcement
of any account durst leave Spain to succour the French army
in the north of Europe; and the European struggle was
brought to a favourable result, and England saved from
invasion—perhaps ultimate conquest! But those services of
the Peninsular army are forgotten, and unrewarded.

At ten o’clock at night, Lord Wellington at the head of
twelve thousand infantry, and two thousand horsemen, was
in pursuit of the routed and discomfited army of Marmont,
while the bulk of his own soldiers lay on the field of battle.
The results of that battle were—prisoners, one hundred and
thirty officers, seven thousand five hundred men, two eagles,
and fourteen guns. The field of battle was heaped with the
slain, and the total loss of the enemy may be estimated at
seventeen thousand: it has been reckoned by some writers as
exceeding twenty thousand; but I apprehend I am nearer
the mark, and that seventeen thousand was the outside. The
dead and wounded on the side of the British and Portuguese
(for the Spanish army, commanded by Don Carlos de España,
lost <em>four men</em>!) were nearly five thousand; but the greater
.bn 287.png
.pn +1
number of the Portuguese either fell in their feeble
attempt against the Arapilles height, or by the shot that
passed over the first line, composed of British, which
fell at random amongst the Portuguese placed in the
rear.

The troops that had gained the victory lay buried in sleep
until two o’clock of the morning following, when the arrival
of the mules carrying rum aroused them from their slumber,
but the parties sent out in search of water had not yet reached
the field. The soldiers, with parching lips, their tongues
cleaving to their mouths from thirst, their limbs benumbed
with cold, and their bodies enfeebled by a long abstinence
from food, and the exertion of the former day, ran to the
casks, and each man drank a fearful quantity. This for a
short time satisfied them, but a burning thirst followed this
rash proceeding, and before any water arrived, we were more
in need of it than at the close of the battle.

The inhabitants of Salamanca, who had a clear view of
what was passing, hastened to the spot, to afford all the
relief in their power. Several cars, most of them loaded
with provisions, reached the field of battle before morning;
and it is but due to those people to state, that their attentions
were unremitting, and of the most disinterested kind,
for they sought no emolument.

They brought fruit, and even quantities of water, well
knowing how distant the river was from us, and how scantily
the countryside around was provided with so necessary a
relief to men who had not tasted a drop for so many hours,
under a burning sun, and oppressed with the fatigue they
had endured during the fight.

During the battle there were many circumstances which,
if related in their places, at the period they occurred, would
.bn 288.png
.pn +1
have broken in upon the narrative, but may be told with
more propriety now.

When the 3rd Division under Pakenham had crossed the
flat, and were moving against the crest of the hill occupied
by Thomières' <lang=fr><em>tirailleurs</em></lang>, a number of <lang=pt><em>Caçadores</em></lang> commanded
by Major Haddock were in advance of us. The moment the
French fire opened, these troops, which had been placed to
cover our advance, lay down on their faces, not for the purpose
of taking aim with more accuracy, but in order to save
their own sconces from the French fire. Haddock dismounted
from his horse and began belabouring with the flat side of
his sabre the dastardly troops he had the misfortune to command,
but in vain; all sense of shame had fled after the first
discharge of grape and musketry, and poor Haddock might
as well have attempted to move the great cathedral of
Salamanca as the soldiers of his Majesty the King of
Portugal.

At the time the Colonel of the 22nd French Regiment
stepped out of the ranks and shot Major Murphy dead at
the head of his regiment, the 88th, a number of officers
were beside Murphy. It is not easy at such a moment to be
certain who is the person singled out. The two officers who
carried the colours of the regiment, and who were immediately
in the rear of the mounted officers, thought that the
shot was intended for either of them. Lieutenant Moriarty,
carrying the regimental flag, called out, “That fellow is
aiming at me!”—“I hope so,” replied Lieutenant D‘Arcy,
who carried the other colour, with great coolness—“I hope
so, for I thought he had <em>me</em> covered.” He was not much
mistaken: the ball that killed Murphy, after passing
through him, struck the staff of the flag carried by D‘Arcy,
and also carried away the button and part of the strap of
.bn 289.png
.pn +1
his epaulette! This fact is not told as an extraordinary
occurrence, that the ball which killed one man should strike
the coat of him who happened to stand in his rear, for such
casualties were by no means uncommon with us; but I
mention it as a strong proof of the great coolness of the
British line in their advance against the enemy’s column.

When the cavalry of Le Marchant passed through
Wallace’s brigade, in their advance against Thomières'
column, Captain William Mackie of the 88th, the discountenanced
leader of the forlorn hope at Rodrigo, who
acted as aide-de-camp to Colonel Alexander Wallace, was
missing. In the confusion that prevailed it was thought
he had fallen. No one could give any account of him; but
in a short lapse of time, after the cavalry had charged, he
returned covered with dust and blood, his horse tottering
from fatigue, and nothing left of his sabre—but the hilt!
He joined the cavalry so soon as the fighting amongst
the infantry had ceased, and those who knew the temperament
of the man were not surprised at it: wherever glory
and danger were to be met, there was Mackie to be found,
and nothing—not even the chilling slights he had experienced—could
damp his daring spirit.

At the first dawn of the morning of the 23rd of July
Lord Wellington continued the pursuit of the defeated
army of Marmont. He placed himself at the head of the
Light Division, which opened the march, followed by the
heavy German cavalry under General Bock, and Anson’s
brigade of light horse. Those two superb brigades of
dragoons had only joined the army the night before. The
1st Division of infantry, composed of the Guards and German
Legion, followed the cavalry, and Lord Wellington, at the
head of thirteen thousand men that had not pulled a trigger,
.bn 290.png
.pn +1
or unsheathed a sabre in the battle, followed the enemy’s
track; but the retreat was so quick that Marmont’s headquarters
were thirty miles from Salamanca the day after the
battle. Nevertheless, the corps that covered the retreat,
consisting of three battalions of infantry and five regiments
of cavalry, were overtaken near the village of La Serna. The
infantry formed themselves into three squares, the cavalry
were posted on the flanks for its support, but the panic with
which all were infected by the defeat of the preceding day
had taken such a fast hold of them, that the French horse
in advance could not be prevailed upon to show a front.
This threw those that were at hand to support them into
disorder; confusion was communicated to the remainder,
and the field of battle was precipitately abandoned by the
cavalry, who, in the most unaccountable manner, left their
companions, the infantry, to their fate.

The cavalry having thus fled, Bock, with his German
horse, galloped at the squares, and breaking through, slew
or took prisoners the entire; and the contest ended in one
dreadful massacre of the French infantry. Nevertheless,
many of the troopers fell; for one regiment in particular,
the 105th French, bravely stood their ground, but the
ponderous weight of the heavy cavalry broke down all
resistance; and arms lopped off, heads cloven to the spine,
or gashes across the breast and shoulders, showed to those
who afterwards passed the spot the fearful encounter that
had taken place; and from this moment nothing more of
the army of Portugal was to be seen.

The overthrow of the rear-guard which covered the flight
of the army of the Duke of Ragusa, and the rapid manner
in which Clausel made good his retreat from the heights of
La Serna, where that army for the last time made any show
.bn 291.png
.pn +1
of a stand against the British troops that had defeated it
on the plains of Salamanca, finished the campaign, so far, at
least, as regarded the army of Portugal.

The leading regiments followed the enemy’s track as far
as Flores de Avila, which town, distant ten leagues from
Salamanca, had been evacuated by them two days after the
battle. The cavalry and artillery of the northern army met
them on their retreat near Arevalo; but nothing—not even
this reinforcement—could inspire them with confidence; and
the mass of fugitives hastily followed the road leading to
Valladolid. The good generalship displayed by Clausel,
and the steady front he showed when in the presence of a
victorious army, raised him considerably, and justly so, in
the estimation of his own troops; but all his skill would
have been of no avail had the battle not been unavoidably
prolonged until dark.

The march of the British army continued without interruption.
Those divisions which followed the enemy were
enthusiastically welcomed as they passed through the different
towns and villages on the Valladolid road; the inhabitants
met us in vast numbers with a supply of wine, fruit, bread,
and vegetables, which were all bought up by the soldiers.
Arrived at Valladolid, and finding himself as far as ever
from being able to overtake the army of Marmont, Lord
Wellington made a full stop. Giving the troops one day’s
rest for the purpose of allowing the stragglers to come up,
he, on the 1st of August, turned off abruptly towards the
grand Madrid road; while Hill, with the second corps,
reached Zafra.

Marmont being thus disposed of for the present, and
Lord Wellington having formed the resolution of marching
to the Spanish capital, every road leading to it was occupied,
.bn 292.png
.pn +1
and thronged by cavalry, infantry, and artillery, baggage
and commissariat mules, stores of all descriptions, the
reserve park guns, and the followers of the camp, such as
sutlers, Portuguese servants, and women who followed the
soldiers. These, when assembled together, formed one vast
mass of between sixty thousand and seventy thousand souls.
The sight was an imposing one; the weather was beautifully
fine, and the advance of the army as it moved onward
towards the capital was one scene of uninterrupted rejoicing.
Never was the general feeling in Spain so much in favour
of the British nation, the British army, and the Hero who
commanded it, as on the present occasion. The news of the
great victory gained by the British army only a few days
before, under the walls of Salamanca, which was witnessed
by thousands upon thousands of Spaniards, was spread afar;
and the different routes which the army traversed were
crowded almost to suffocation by the Spanish people, who
vied with each other to gain a passing view of the men who
had so distinguished themselves, and to supply them with
every assistance in their power. Every face was cheerful;
and at the termination of each day’s march, our bivouacs, or
the villages we occupied, were crowded with Spanish girls
and young men, who either brought wine, lemonade, or
fruit; the evening was wound up by boleros and fandangos;
and, in short, our march to Madrid more resembled a
triumphal procession—which, in point of fact, it really was—than
the ordinary advance of an army prepared for
battle.

Meanwhile King Joseph hastily endeavoured to make
arrangements to stop the torrent which threatened his
capital. He had advanced upon Blasco Sancho on the 25th
of July; but there, hearing of the fate that had befallen his
.bn 293.png
.pn +1
favourite general at Salamanca, he retraced his steps, and
gaining the passes of the Guadarama, retired towards the
palace of the Escurial. He collected all the disposable force
that could be taken from the capital; but his army, chiefly
composed of <lang=es><em>Juramentados</em></lang> (Spaniards that entered into King
Joseph’s service), counted not quite fifteen thousand bayonets
and sabres—a force as to number, without taking into account
its <lang=fr><em>morale</em></lang>, not of that formidableness very likely to disconcert
the grand designs of Lord Wellington. In short, the army
continued its march towards the Spanish capital without
molestation. On the 6th of August the headquarters were
at Cuellar; on the 7th, at the ancient town of Segovia, so
celebrated in Spanish romance; and on the 8th the divisions
destined to march upon Madrid were concentrated at St.
Ildefonso.

St. Ildefonso is beautifully situated. The magnificent
waterworks, the elegant taste with which the gardens and
pleasure-grounds are laid out, and the vast concourse of
people who thronged them on the day of our arrival, gave to
it the appearance, in our eyes at least, of the most enchanting
spot on the face of the globe. At each of the principal
walks, bands of music played inspiring airs; and at half-past
six in the evening the waterworks were in full play. These
works, situated at the base of a lofty blue mountain, cast up
water to an immense height; and one in particular seemed
to us to be much superior to anything we afterwards witnessed
at either Versailles or St. Cloud. To me it certainly seems
so; but I, in common with many others, may be wrong; for,
in truth, we were so charmed with the novelty of the scene
we then witnessed, and the vast contrast it presented to the
scenes we had for such a length of time not only witnessed,
but taken an active part in, that all due allowance ought to
.bn 294.png
.pn +1
be made—if we are wrong—for our prepossession in favour
of this spot.

At eight o’clock Lord Wellington, surrounded by a
number of generals of different nations, a splendid staff, and
many grandees of Spain, entered the gardens. All the bands,
at one and the same moment, played “See the Conquering
Hero comes,” the singers joined in chorus, and the vast
multitude rent the air with acclamations. The females, disregarding
all form or etiquette, broke through the crowd to
get a nearer view of his Lordship, and many embraced him
as he passed down the different alleys of the gardens. The
groups of singers continued to sing; this was succeeded by
bolero-dancing, fandango-dancing, and waltzing; and all was
wound up by one of the most intoxicating and delightful
nights of pleasure that we had ever witnessed, and, if I mistake
not greatly, that was ever acted on the same spot. It
was late before we retired to rest—and indeed we had need
of repose: our minds as well as bodies required it; and when
the shrill note of the bugle the following morning (for that
matter it was the same morning) aroused us from our sleep,
all that had passed seemed but as a dream.

The causeway leading to Madrid is broad and well arranged;
as we reached each league-stone we counted with
anxiety the distance we had yet to pace ere we arrived at
the capital of Spain. The mountains which overhang the
Guadarama passes are bold and lofty; these passes, easy of
defence, and requiring but a small force, were abandoned
without a musket-shot being fired for their protection; and,
in fine, on the 11th, Lord Wellington was near the village
of Majadahonda, distant but one march from the capital.
Thirty thousand infantry were encamped half a league in its
rear; the different brigades of horse and artillery attached
.bn 295.png
.pn +1
to the infantry were at hand—in short, all was in readiness;
but the advanced guard of cavalry, unfortunately entrusted
to the brigade of Portuguese of D‘Urban, was in front of
all. Behind them, at the distance of a mile, were the two
regiments of heavy German horse, while the splendid troop
of horse artillery, commanded by Captain Macdonald, was
ready to support D‘Urban.

The greatest part of the day had passed over without any
event taking place between the advanced posts; some slight
skirmishing between the enemy’s lancers and D‘Urban’s cavalry
left matters as they were at the commencement. The army
was preparing its arrangements for the night’s repose and
the march of the following day, when the thunder of Macdonald’s
artillery aroused us in an instant from our occupations.
It was soon manifest that the enemy’s advance had
attacked the Portuguese cavalry; and the vast cloud of dust
that came rolling onward towards the village, where the
German horse were placed in reserve, told but too plainly
that the Portuguese were routed, and the Germans about to
be cut off. The infantry betook themselves to their arms,
and in a few moments the entire were in readiness to march
to the scene of action—for so in fact it was. The Portuguese
dragoons fled at the first onset, without waiting to exchange
one sabre-cut with the French; and so rapid was their flight—for
they rode through the village where the reserve of
Germans were posted to support them—that not more than
half of the Germans were mounted. Many men thus fell
before they could defend themselves, and their Colonel was
cut down while in the act of shaving himself; but his brave
soldiers, forming themselves together in the best manner the
time would admit of, closed with drawn sabres upon the
French lancers, which turned the stream, broke the mad
.bn 296.png
.pn +1
fury of the attack, and drove back the lancers in confusion.

Up to this time the combat was one scene of desperation.
An irregular and furious crowd might be seen mixed together,
fighting without order or regularity, and from the confusion
that prevailed it was not possible to see distinctly to which
side the victory belonged; but at a distance, far from the
scene of action, the burnished helmets of the Portuguese
troopers were distinguishable as they fled from the post they
had deserted, and from their brave companions, the Germans,
whom they left to be massacred. The din of arms, the clashing
of swords, and the thunder of the cannon, mingled with
shouts from every side, completed the confusion. In the
hurry of the moment some tents belonging to the 74th
Regiment took fire, the flames soon communicated with
those of the next regiment, and the camp was enveloped
with smoke; but this was soon overcome; and by the time
we approached near the point in dispute, the French cavalry
had been driven off the field, but not before many of the
Germans had fallen. Two guns of Macdonald’s brigade had
also been taken; and upon the whole, it was one of the most
disgraceful and unlooked-for events that had taken place
during the campaign. To be beaten at any time was bad
enough, but to be beaten by a handful of lancers, on the eve
of our entering Madrid, almost in view of the city, was worse
than all. But what caused our defeat—our disgrace—under
the eyes of the people of Madrid? The placing undue
reliance on the Portuguese troops.
.bn 297.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXII

.pm start_summary
The British army approach Madrid—Enthusiastic welcome—Preparations
to carry by assault the fortress of La China—It surrenders—Description
of Madrid—The Puerto del Sol—The Prado—Unsociability
of English officers—Seizure of a Spanish priest—Proved
to be a spy in the service of the enemy—His execution by the
garrotte.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
Order having been at length restored, and the French pushed
back again to their former ground, the German horse took
the advance, and the night passed over quietly; but in the
disgraceful encounter, which I have related in my last
chapter, two guns of Macdonald’s troop, which were upset
during the clamour, fell for a time into the enemy’s hands.

As we passed over the ground which had been the object
of dispute the preceding evening, we beheld many of the
brave Germans lying dead and naked. Every wound was in
the breast, and at the skirts of the village lay the two
captured guns; their carriages were broken, and they could
not in consequence be removed; the French had set fire to
the wheels, which were still smoking.

In less than two hours we reached the heights which command
Madrid; the soldiers ran forward to catch a glimpse
of the countless steeples that were distinguishable through
the haze, and their joy was at its height when they beheld
a city that had cost them so much toil and hard fighting
.bn 298.png
.pn +1
to gain the possession of. Ten thousand voices, at one and
the same moment, vociferated “Madrid! Madrid!” The
enthusiasm of the army was still further increased by the
thousands upon thousands of Spaniards that came from the
town to accompany us in our entry; for miles leading to the
capital the roads were crowded, almost to suffocation, by
people of all ranks, who seemed to be actuated by one simultaneous
burst of patriotism, and it was with difficulty that
the march was conducted with that order which we were in
the habit of observing. The nearer we approached the city
the greater was the difficulty of getting on, for the people
forced themselves into the midst of our ranks, and joined
hand in hand with the soldiers. Wine was offered and
accepted, though not to the extent the Spaniards wished,
but the soldiers were too well-disciplined, and felt too proud
of the station they held in the estimation of the people, and
in the estimation of themselves, to allow anything bordering
on excess to follow the latitude they thus had. There was
nothing like intoxication, not the slightest irregularity, and
the appearance of the officers, almost all of whom were
mounted, and the respect with which they were accosted by
the soldiers when occasion required it, was so strongly contrasted
with the loose discipline of the French army, to say
nothing of the bands of half-naked creatures that composed
the army of their own nation, that it may be fairly said no
troops ever entered any capital with all the requisites necessary
to ensure them a cordial as well as a respectful reception,
as the British army did on the present occasion.

At length we entered that part of the town near which
the palace stands, but the obstacles which impeded our
march, great as they were before, now became tenfold greater.
Nothing could stop the populace, which at this period nearly
.bn 299.png
.pn +1
embraced all that Madrid contained, from mixing themselves
amongst us. The officers were nearly forced from their horses
in the embraces of the females, and some there were who
actually lost their seats, if not their hearts. Old or young,
ugly or well-looking, shared the same fate; and one in
particular, an old friend of my own, and a remarkably plain-looking
personage, was nearly suffocated in the embraces of
half a dozen fair Castilians. When he recovered himself and
was able to speak, he turned to me and said, “How infernally
fond these Madrid women must be of kissing, when they
have nearly hugged to death such an ill-looking fellow as
me.” I would mention his name, but as he is still alive he
might not like the joke second-hand. We soon reached the
Convent of St. Domingo, near the Plaza Mayor, which was
destined for our quarters, and for a time took leave of these
people who had so cordially welcomed us to their capital.
The soldiers, thus quartered, were left to arrange their
barracks; while the officers, who were billeted in those
parts of the city adjoining the barrack, proceeded to occupy
the houses allotted to them, and to partake of the hospitality
of their patrons.

Evening had scarcely closed when every house was illuminated.
The vast glare of light which the huge wax candles
and torches, placed outside each balcony, threw out, so completely
lighted the town, that night seemed to be converted
into day, and the whole population of Madrid might be said
to fill the streets. Nothing could exceed the popular feeling
in favour of the British, and although the ancient palace of
the Retiro was garrisoned by two thousand five hundred
French troops, with a park of artillery at its disposal,
sufficient to batter down the city, the gaiety was continued
as if no enemy was within several leagues of the place. The
.bn 300.png
.pn +1
illuminations lasted for three nights, during which not the
slightest irregularity or misunderstanding took place.

On the morning of the 13th of August, the General commanding
the fortress of La China having refused to give it
up, orders were given to carry it by storm. The 3rd,
or “fighting division,” as ours was called, was selected by
Lord Wellington for this duty. At eight o’clock in the
morning all the ladders were in readiness, and the division,
commanded by Sir Edward Pakenham, defiled under the
walls of the botanic gardens. The sappers had succeeded in
opening several breaches in the wall, and the fire of the riflemen
in the interior of the gardens announced that the attack
of the outposts had commenced. One hundred thousand
people of all ranks, ages, and sex crowded the streets, houses,
and house-tops to witness the contest. No sooner was the
first gun fired, which was the signal for attack, than an
universal shout was raised by this vast multitude of spectators,
and it would be very difficult indeed, if not quite impossible,
to describe this animated scene. The soldiers, infected by
the example thus set them, cheered in turn, and it was
several minutes before any word of command could be heard
from the Babel-like tumult that prevailed. Little or no
orders were given—they were unnecessary. The men were
directed to carry the fort at the bayonet’s point, and this
was all that was said or that was necessary to be said. The
troops were then put in motion, and this was the signal for
another burst of enthusiasm from the Spaniards, several of
whom joined our ranks. The vivas now became so tremendous
that nothing else could be heard, and the leading platoons
had made some progress through the shrubberies before the
order to halt was known; owing to this a few men were killed
and wounded, and those old and tried soldiers lost their lives
.bn 301.png
.pn +1
or were disabled in a mere <lang=fr><em>bagatelle</em></lang>, for the French general
commanding in the fort displayed the white flag in token of
submission the moment he saw the 3rd Division in movement
towards the Retiro.

The fall of this place was of vast importance to us. In it
was found a large supply of provisions, as well as one hundred
and eighty-nine pieces of cannon, including a complete
battering train. There was likewise a great quantity of
powder and ball, and some clothing, as likewise twenty
thousand stand of arms. The garrison, consisting of three
thousand veteran soldiers, were made prisoners and sent to
Lisbon, and the fort was converted into a state prison for
disaffected or suspected Spaniards.

Thus ended our operations for the present, and we had
leisure to make our observations upon Madrid, and avail
ourselves of the hospitality of such of our patrons as were
disposed to show us attention.

Madrid stands in a flat uninteresting country, devoid of
scenery; fields of tillage encompass the city up to the mud
wall that surrounds it, and the rivulet that meanders round
it is in summer so insignificant as to be barely able to supply
the few baths on its banks with a sufficiency of water; nevertheless
this side of the town, which is next the Grand Park,
and the regal cottage called Casa del Campo, is far from
uninteresting, and as the Park, which abounds with game of
all sorts, was open to the British officers, we had abundance
of sport when we wished to avail ourselves of it. The streets
are wide, and the principal ones, generally speaking, clean,
but the part of the town possessing the greatest interest is
the great street called Puerto del Sol. Some centuries ago
it was the eastern gate of the town, but as the city became
enlarged from time to time, it is now, like the University
.bn 302.png
.pn +1
College of Dublin, in the heart of the metropolis, instead of
at the verge of it. Half a dozen or so of the principal streets
empty, in a manner, their population into this gangway,
where the Exchange is held, and all public business carried
on, so that any one desirous of hearing the news of the day,
the price of the funds, or any other topic discussed, has but
to station himself here and his curiosity will be satisfied, as
almost the entire of the population of Madrid pass and repass
under his eye during the day. Merchants, dealers, higglers,
charcoal venders, fellows with lemonade on their backs, girls
with pannellas of water incessantly crying out “<lang=es><em>Quien quiere
agua?</em></lang>” all congregate to this focus, where everything is to
be known.

Next to the Puerto del Sol must be placed the Prado or
public walk, which is decidedly the most agreeable lounge
that Madrid can boast of; but as the promenade never commences
before five in the evening, while, on the contrary, the
bustle of the Puerto lasts during the forenoon, it must have
from me the precedence though not the preference. By five
o’clock, as I before said, the walk begins to be frequented,
the great heat having by this time subsided, and the siesta
over. At seven it is crowded almost to suffocation, and
groups of singers with guitars slung across their shoulders
enliven the scene. At each side of the walk are tables at
which sit groups of people enjoying the scene, but you rarely
see men and women seated at the same table; indeed, it
would seem as if the men totally shunned the company of
the fairer sex, and engrossed themselves more with the news of
the day than the gaiety of the Prado. Much has been said of
the jealousy of the Spaniards, and in England it is a generally
received opinion that they are a jealous race, but I never
found them such—quite the contrary. In Madrid a married
.bn 303.png
.pn +1
woman may go to any house she pleases, or where and with
whom she wishes. They might have been a different people
when Spanish romances and Spanish plays—old ones, I mean—were
written, but if the manners and habits of the people
were then truly narrated, I can with truth say that no nation
in the world has undergone a more wholesome, thorough, and
radical reform than Spain.

In some instances we experienced much hospitality from
the people, but those occurrences were rare; for the Spaniards
are naturally a lofty and distant people, and most unquestionably
our officers did not endeavour by any act on their part
to do away with this reserve, and in fact after a sojourn of
nearly three months in the Spanish capital they knew nearly
as little of its inhabitants as they did of the citizens of Pekin.
This is a fatal error, and I fear one that it will be difficult
to counteract, for it is not easy to correct national habits
and national prejudices; but if the officers of the British
army were to reflect upon the effect their conduct must have
on the people of a different nation, and if they could be
made to understand how different, how far different, their
reception in foreign countries would be if they unbent themselves
a little, and conformed themselves to the modes of
those nations amongst whom they were sent by their sovereign,
they would at once come to the resolution of changing
their tone, and they would by so doing get themselves not
only respected and regarded, but the British nation as much
beloved as it is respected.

While we thus continued to pass our time in gaiety and
idleness, other divisions of the army had moved onwards
towards Burgos, which was strongly held by a chosen
garrison under the command of an experienced and skilful
general of the name of Dubreton. Meanwhile we continued
.bn 304.png
.pn +1
at Madrid, and either enjoying the amusement of the
theatres, the luxuries of the hotel called El Fuente d'Oro,
the hospitality of the good citizens, or the gay but noisy
scenes at the Calle de Baimos, we passed our time as agreeably
as men could do, considering the scanty amount of pay
which was issued to us; for from the difficulty of getting a
supply of animals sufficient to bring up specie from Lisbon,
where there was an abundance, the army was at this period
five months in arrear of pay, and except for the commissaries
and some paymasters who cashed our bills (at seven shillings
the dollar!) many of us would have been in a sad plight.
Those who were enabled to raise money at this enormous
percentage got on well enough, but others, who were limited
in their resources, were obliged, per force, to be lookers-on
at all that was passing.

An event was now about to take place that engrossed
much of the conversation of all Madrid, and created amongst
the army no little curiosity. It was the condemnation to
death, by the <lang=fr><em>garrotte</em></lang>, of a Spanish priest named Diego
Lopez. This ill-fated man, it appears, had been, for some
time previously to his arrest, in the pay of King Joseph;
he acted as a spy, and gave circumstantial information of all
that was passing in our army. Accurately acquainted with
his proceedings, the police agents narrowly watched his
motions. For some days he had been missing from his
lodgings in the Calle de Barrio Nuevo. No inquiry was
made after him by the police, they being too conversant in
their calling to raise any suspicion in his breast by a step
that they knew would be abortive; but his return was
eagerly looked for, carefully watched, and his apprehension
made more certain. At length he did return.

It was midnight when he reached the barrier at the
.bn 305.png
.pn +1
Toledo gate, where a police agent was stationed. He was
asked but few questions and was allowed to pass, and mounted
as he was on a jaded horse, fatigued by a long journey, it
was not difficult for the agent to keep near enough to him
to track him unobserved to his dwelling. The trampling
of his horse was soon recognised by an old woman who kept
watch for his return. A light was placed at the window as
a beacon that all was safe within, and he was about to dismount
when he was seized by three police agents who hurried
him away to the bureau of the director, while another entered
his house for the purpose of seizing his papers. He underwent
an immediate examination, but nothing could be
elicited from him to criminate himself, and no papers,
excepting commonplace ones, were found at his lodgings.
He was then stripped of his clothes, and another suit given
him in their stead. Every part of his dress was examined,
the linings carefully parted, his clothes in fact cut into
shreds, when at last, after a scrutiny of an hour, was found,
folded up in a button, covered with cloth, which corresponded
with the rest, a note from King Joseph to some person in
Madrid, briefly detailing the information he had received from
Lopez, and asking his advice as to the plans to be pursued.

No more was required, or indeed necessary, to confirm
his guilt, and the next day he was, by the orders of Don
Carlos de España, Governor of Madrid, hurried before a
military tribunal summoned together to try him. The only
evidence brought forward against him was the concealed
note; and nothing could induce him to betray the name of
his confederate. The trial was, therefore, of but short duration,
and when called upon by the president to make his
defence, he calmly stood forward, and looking his judges full
in the face, prepared to address them.
.bn 306.png
.pn +1

Every eye was fixed upon him, and it would be difficult
to look upon a man of a more imposing figure. In stature
he was about five feet eleven inches, and his make was in
proportion to his height; his lank black hair lay flat on his
forehead, and hung behind over the cape of his coat in loose
but neglected masses; his face bore the marks of care, and
his fine dark eye was sunk and wan—he was, in short, the
outline of a once fine, but now broken-down man. Having
wiped away the drops of sweat that covered his forehead,
caused by the heat of the weather, the crowded state of the
court, and, no doubt, the agitation of his mind, he spoke
as follows:—

“It is now something more than two years since I first
attached myself to the service of His Majesty King Joseph:
during that period I have served him faithfully, and with
the utmost diligence. I have rendered him some service,
and he will be, I doubt not, sorry when he learns my fate.
I have said that I served His Majesty faithfully: the
expression is too weak—I but <em>lived</em> for him; and the only
regret I feel in now laying down my life, while endeavouring
to promote his interests, is, that I have not been able to
succeed in this, my last mission, which is the only one I ever
failed in. Gentlemen, I have done.” He then bowed to
the court, and resumed his former place.

During the delivery of this short but impressive speech
the court and spectators were silent. When it was concluded,
a buzz of admiration and pity burst forth from almost every
person present, and there were many who would, if they
dared, have expressed their sentiments more fully, but the
strong guard which occupied the hall was sufficient to maintain
order; and though no lives were lost, many arrests took
place. When order was restored, the chief of police conducted
.bn 307.png
.pn +1
the prisoner, under a strong escort, back to his
dungeon; and the court being cleared, the president asked
the opinion of the members as to the guilt of Lopez. They
were unanimous—indeed there could be but one opinion,
and by that his life became the forfeit. The sentence
pronounced against him was, that he should suffer death by
strangulation on the following day at two o’clock; and the
Plaza Mayor, or Great Square, where a vast market is daily
held, was the spot decided upon as most fitting for the
execution.

It was thought necessary to augment some of the British
Guards in the neighbourhood of the Plaza; and the barrack
occupied by the 88th being close to it, I, as the next subaltern
for duty, was ordered to repair there to take charge of thirty
soldiers, lest any rioting should take place during the night.
It was five o’clock in the afternoon when I reached the square
on my way to the barrack. It was already much crowded
with people of all classes; some led by curiosity to see if any,
and what, preparations had been made towards erecting the
platform upon which the <lang=fr><em>garrotte</em></lang> was to be fixed; others
bargaining for and cheapening seats either at the windows
of the shopkeepers, or on the tops of the market stalls;
others calling out a sort of programme of the offences, etc.,
for which Lopez was to suffer; and, though last not least in
the list, a host of beggars, who assailed the bystanders with
entreaties for charity <em>in the name of the soul about to depart</em>!

The arrival of several carts carrying planks for the formation
of the platform, the presence of a large body of police,
and the appearance of the workmen entering the square,
dissipated anything like apprehension of a disappointment.
This circumstance, or announcement, had an instant and
powerful effect on the price of seats—the same as the intelligence
.bn 308.png
.pn +1
of a great victory would have on the funds in London.
“Omnium was above par,” and “much business was effected.”
Every person seemed pleased with the bargain he had made,
and I myself was among the number. I paid, by way of
deposit, half a dollar to ensure my place, the remaining
half to be handed down the following morning. All being
settled, so far as related to myself, I left the square to look
after my guard. I found all quiet in the quarters of our
barrack, and towards nightfall I again returned to the Plaza.
It was quite deserted except by the workmen, who were
busily employed in marking out and completing the rude
platform for the scaffold, in which they had made considerable
progress. Its height from the ground was about four
feet; the square or area was fourteen by twenty; and from
the quantity of materials, and their grossness, it might be
supposed that it was meant to sustain, at one and the same
moment, half the population of Madrid. But it yet wanted
that terrible instrument of death—the iron clasp—to complete
its structure.

It was three o’clock before I lay down to rest, but I slept
little. The din of hammers and the creaking of waggons
put sleep out of the question. I took up a volume of Gil
Blas and attempted to read and laugh, but in vain: I could
do neither the one nor the other—the <em>garrotte</em> was still in
perspective, and nothing could banish it from my thoughts.
At length the stillness which prevailed terribly told that all
was prepared, and I went once more to the spot. I found
it deserted by the workmen, who had done their part, and
these preparations now wanted nothing to complete them
but the presence of the man who was to die by the pressure
of the clasp, which hung from a beam of wood placed in the
centre of the platform.
.bn 309.png
.pn +1

I have before described the height and dimensions of this
platform; at each side of it was a flight of four steps—one
for the criminal, the other for the two executioners. In the
centre was a beam, to which was attached a chair or stool;
through the beam a clasp was introduced, and behind was a
screw, or sort of vice, which at one turn crushes the neck.
Having so far satisfied my curiosity, I once more returned
to my post, and waited with impatience for the coming of
the hour destined for the arrival of the priest. So early as
ten o’clock the square was thronged with Spanish troops,
and the platform upon which the scaffold stood surrounded
by a strong guard. Vast multitudes already began to congregate
towards the spot, in order to take possession of the
places they had paid for, or to secure those which would
give them an opportunity of witnessing the execution. All
business was at a standstill, and every idea, except that
connected with the coming event, seemed to be extinct. By
mid-day the square, the market-sheds in its centre, and the
houses which formed it, were filled nearly to suffocation;
and the other streets leading from the prison to the Plaza
were thronged with people of all ranks. At length the
shouts raised in the streets nearest the prison announced the
removal of the criminal, and the huzzas from that quarter
were rapidly taken up as they passed onward towards the
square: they increased by degrees, and, like a vast torrent
which is formed by tributary streams, each stream contributed
its quota to the current, until at length it reached
the vast vortex, the Plaza Mayor. At this place the shouts
were so deafening that for some minutes it was impossible
to ask a question, much less hear one. At length the head
of the cavalcade was in sight, and a death-like silence followed
the tumult that had preceded it. The soldiers stationed in
.bn 310.png
.pn +1
the square, as also those that surrounded the platform, resumed
their firelocks; the words “Las armas a l’ombro” was
quickly obeyed, and the entire procession was soon within
the precincts of the Plaza.

The convict, Lopez, dressed in black, with a loose cloak
covering his shoulders, was on horseback, attended by two
priests, also mounted, one at each side of him. He wore a
hat of large dimensions turned up in the front, and his
demeanour was the same as at his trial—firm, collected, and
calm. Arrived at the foot of the scaffold he dismounted
with ease, and throwing a rapid glance, first at the vast
crowd and then at the <lang=fr><em>garrotte</em></lang> itself, he ascended the flight
of steps leading to it. The two priests followed but did
not speak to him, his wish being that they should not. He
then, without flurry or agitation, took off his hat and cloak,
and handed them to the assistant executioner, to whom he
said something. He wished to address the people, but was
prevented by the officer commanding the Spanish troops.
He bowed obedience, and instantly took his seat upon the
stool under the clasp. His arms were then bound with
cords, and the iron collar passed through the stake and
placed upon his throat. This scene had a strong effect upon
the multitude: the quiet but determined self-possession of
the man, his extraordinary resolution, devoid of any bravado,
was enough to check any indecent ebullition of patriotism;
but the sight of that terrible collar seemed to awaken
feelings, and to call forth that sympathy which, a few
moments before, was nowhere to be found. Women who,
to their shame be it told, waved their handkerchiefs with
joy upon his arrival at the scaffold, now might be seen
covering their eyes to hide from their view the horrid sight,
or to wipe away the tears that traced their cheeks.
.bn 311.png
.pn +1

All was now in readiness: the executioner stood behind,
holding the screw with both hands; at each side was a confessor,
and behind one was the assistant executioner, with a
square piece of cloth in his hand; one of the priests read
from a book, while the other held the hand of Lopez. This
ceremony occupied but a few moments; and when the priest
had finished reading he stooped down to kiss the cheek of
the ill-fated Lopez. He then closed the book; the man
behind him threw the cloth over the culprit’s face; the
executioner turned the screw—and Lopez was dead! The
two priests hurried down the steps, and, in their confusion
and fright, ran headlong under the horses of the cavalry
which were posted round the scaffold. One of them, a corpulent
man—as indeed most priests are—was dreadfully
lacerated, but the other escaped uninjured.

During the entire of this scene the vast crowd preserved
the most profound silence; but the sight they had just
witnessed was succeeded by another of a more disgusting
nature. The assistant executioner removed the cloth from
the face of the dead man: it was perfectly black; the eyeballs
were forced from their sockets; the throat was pressed
quite flat, and the mouth, with the tongue hanging down on
the chin, was dragged under the right ear.

The troops then defiled out of the square, the multitude
dispersed, and by six o’clock in the evening not more than
twenty persons were near the scaffold upon which the dead
priest was still bound. The body was at length put into a
cart, the platform was removed, and the spot which so short
a time before was the theatre of this tragedy now bore no
evidence of the horrid scene that had been acted upon it.
.bn 312.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIII

.pm start_summary
Arrests at Madrid—Advantages of speaking French—Seizure of Don
Saturio de Padilla by the police—The author effects his liberation—A
bull day at Madrid—Private theatricals—French and English
soldiers—Blowing up the Retiro—Retreat from Madrid—A pig
hunt.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
The execution of the priest Lopez, narrated in the last
chapter, was followed by many arrests. In eight days no
fewer than one hundred and forty-nine persons were thrown
into prison; some on good grounds, others on trivial circumstances,
and many on the charge alone of having held
employment under the late government. The consequence
of this ill-judged severity was that all those who escaped
arrest in the first burst of tyranny practised by the local
authorities fled from Madrid, and scarcely a family was to
be found who had not to lament the loss of some individual
belonging to it, either by flight or imprisonment. Had the
siege of Burgos been successful, and the French troops driven
to Pampeluna, which would have been the natural result, a
tragical scene would have been enacted, not only at Madrid,
but throughout the whole of Spain. Yet all the time
nothing but forgiveness for the past and promises for the
future were to be heard of—except the daily and nightly
imprisonments that took place!

Two evenings after the execution of Lopez I met a
.bn 313.png
.pn +1
number of Spaniards at the house of my <lang=es><em>padron</em></lang>, Don Miguel
de Inza, who had himself been an engineer in the employment
of the late King Charles IV.; different topics, as a matter
of course, were discussed—the sieges of Rodrigo and Badajoz,
the battle of Salamanca, and the triumphant entry of our
troops into the capital of Spain. Most of the party seemed
well inclined towards us, and towards the king we proclaimed,
Ferdinand VII.; but there was little confidence amongst the
party themselves, and there was some who would, if they
dared, have spoken in favour of the French.

One old Donna in particular was rather severe in her
observations on the dress of the British officers, and remarked
that not one in fifty of them could speak French. Whether
it was that she was piqued at my paying much attention to
a lady who sat near her, or that she wished to display her
wit at my expense, I being nearer to her than any other
Englishman, I can’t say, but she turned round and asked if
I spoke the French language. I replied that I understood
it tolerably, but that I spoke it but indifferently. “I thought
so,” was her reply; “I knew by that young fellow’s appearance
he was a booby (<em>sot</em>),” said she, addressing one of her
friends. This she spoke in the very worst French that ever
came from the mouth of a Bastan peasant. I was determined
to have my revenge. I mustered up all my resolution, made
a rapid <lang=fr><em>repasser</em></lang> of all I had ever learned of French grammar,
and took the first opportunity that presented itself to attack
her. In a word, I completely out-talked her, out-spoke her,
and out-crowed her in the estimation of her friends; and
she who had been so short a time before the “leader of the
opposition,” was mum for the remainder of the evening.

Harmony was once more restored, and we were beginning
<pm corr 288.32 o to> forget the bickerings that party feeling had introduced
.bn 314.png
.pn +1
amongst us, when a violent knocking at the door from the
street threw the company into consternation and dismay.
Every one looked confounded; some were for barring the
door, others wished to escape; but this was easier said than
done, for in front stood the police agents (for it was them
and none other), and in the rear—if rear it could be called—was
nothing but a pile of buildings, to the full as lofty
as the house we inhabited. “What is to be done?” was a
demand much easier made than answered; though in fact
the proper and only reply to be made was, “Open the door,
and see who the gentlemen are looking after.” Several
persons, who had nothing to dread, loudly called out for
this proceeding, but it was far from palatable to the majority
of the company. It was idle, however, to talk, and, in fine,
the massive door was heard to creak on its rusty hinges. At
the same moment six ill-looking fellows entered the saloon,
and having taken a hasty but scrutinising survey of the
company, seized the son-in-law of my patron and rudely
carried him away.

Saturio de Padilla was the name of this gentleman, and
his only crime was that of holding the situation of Juiz de
Fora, under the government of King Joseph. Nothing
could be more unjust or impolitic than this arrest: it was,
however, idle to reason so with the police agents; Saturio
was taken off to the Fort of La China and thrown into a
dungeon, without bed or any other comfort which a gentleman
of his rank might have expected. At an early hour
the following morning I was awoke by his father-in-law, the
venerable Don Miguel de Inza; he begged of me to allow
my servant to convey some bedding to him, which I not only
consented to do, but, at the entreaties of his daughter, Donna
Maria Ignatia de Inza (whose sister was married to Padilla,
.bn 315.png
.pn +1
and who, by the way, was one of the most beautiful women
in Madrid), went to the prison myself. All entreaties to
allow us to see the prisoner were in vain, and had it not
been for the kindness of Colonel Manners of the 74th, who
was the Governor of the Fort, we should not have been
allowed to send even a change of linen to this gentleman.

A week passed away, and no tidings were heard of
Padilla; and his friends, fearing that he might be made
away with, became extremely uneasy. Without mentioning
my intention, I waited upon Colonel Manners, who was
much interested in his behalf when I told him the circumstances;
and, owing to his intercession, I had the happiness
of seeing my friend, Don Saturio, at liberty the day but one
following. I need scarcely say that this exploit of mine, for
so my Spanish friends termed it, raised me considerably
in the estimation of the ladies, and all of them, my old
formidable antagonist not excepted, were lavish in their
praises of my conduct. Nothing but balls, concerts, and
parties to the theatre and the Prado were thought of, until
the announcement in the newspapers, and the never-ceasing
cries of <lang=fr><em>affiche</em></lang> venders in the streets, that the bull-fights
were to take place, put a stop to all thoughts on any other
but this, to a Spaniard at least, momentous affair.

This national amusement is of so old a standing, and has
been so often related in novels and romances, that a description
of it may, in the present day, be thought ill-timed.
The day’s fighting which I witnessed was considered specially
good, and a tremendous day’s sport it was. Nine bulls were
killed, seven horses shared the same fate, and one of the
fighters was dreadfully injured. More than twenty people
were hurt by the last bull, who leaped the barriers and got
among the audience, but fortunately, and indeed miraculously,
.bn 316.png
.pn +1
no person was killed. Thus the “casualties” of the
day may be summed up as follows:—Killed, nine bulls, seven
horses: total, sixteen; wounded, twenty-three men and
women: grand total of killed and wounded, thirty-nine.

The bull-fights once over, the execution of the Priest
Lopez forgotten, and the probability of our soon leaving
Madrid taking place, were not things to be passed over
lightly by the ladies of that city; and no matter what may
be said or written of their being “a grave people,” I saw,
during my sojourn amongst them, no symptoms of “gravity,”
except when they thought we were about to leave their
capital. It was palpably evident that something should be
done to drive away the gloom that had in a great measure
already begun to take a fast hold of our friends; and the
officers of the Light Division, aided by some of the other
regiments in the garrison, resolved to treat the inhabitants
with a specimen of their dramatic powers. The play selected
was the <cite>Revenge</cite>, and “Zanga” was well personated by
Captain Kent of the Rifles; but whether it was that the
other characters were ill cast, or that the tragedy was too
dull for the Spaniards to relish, it is a positive fact that,
long before the second act was ended, the audience were
heartily tired of the play; and, notwithstanding the fine
acting of Kent, the play would have never been allowed to
proceed had not the performers been British officers, and the
object the relief of the poor of the capital. The <cite>Mayor of
Garrett</cite> followed, and this amusing farce was a set-off against
the <cite>Revenge</cite>, and put the audience quite at ease; for from
the moment “Zanga” (or <cite>El Preto</cite>, as they styled him)
appeared, there was one universal buzz of disapprobation.
It is not possible for me to say why they were so averse to
the play; it might have been their dislike to the Moors;
.bn 317.png
.pn +1
but be this as it may, I would advise my friends in the army
never to try the same play before a Madrid audience—that
is, which is a hundred to one, should they ever have the
same opportunity we had. This was the first and last play
ever attempted by us to be got up at Madrid.

The season was on the wane, summer was almost over,
and it was well known that Lord Wellington meditated an
attack on the town of Burgos; nevertheless all was tranquillity
and gaiety with the troops at Madrid, and many of
the sick and wounded from Salamanca reached us. Amongst
the number was my friend and companion, Frederick Meade
of the 88th. He had been badly wounded in the action of
the 22nd, and with his arm in a sling, his wounds still unhealed,
and his frame worn down by fatigue and exhaustion,
his commanding officer was surprised to see him again so
soon with his regiment; but various rumours were afloat as
to the advance of the Madrid army upon Burgos, and
Meade was not the kind of person likely to be absent from
his corps when anything like active service was to be performed
by it. Endowed with qualities which few young
men in the army could boast of, he soon made his way into
the very best society that the capital of Spain could be said
to possess. A finished gentleman in the fullest acceptation
of the word; young, handsome, speaking the Castilian
language well, the French fluently, a first-rate musician,
endowed by nature with a fine voice, which had been well
cultivated, it is not surprising that he soon became a general
favourite. In a word, wherever he went he was the magnet
of attraction, and when we quitted Madrid it would have
required a train of vehicles much more numerous than would
have suited our order of march to convey those ladies who
were, and would like to be more closely, attached to him.
.bn 318.png
.pn +1
Poor fellow! he was greatly to blame, but it was not his
fault; if the ladies of Madrid liked his face, or his voice,
how could he help that? My man, Dan Carsons—and here
I must say a word of apology to my friend Meade for
coupling their names together—told me when we were on
the eve of quitting Madrid, “that he (Carsons) didn’t know
how the devil he could get away at-all-at-all, without taking
three women, besides his wife Nelly with him.”

So far all went on gaily at Madrid; but Lord Wellington
was deeply occupied with matters of a different nature,
although he joined in the amusements that took place. The
capture of Burgos was what he aimed at, and his stay at
Madrid was but a cloak to cover his real intentions. On the
1st of September he quitted the capital, and took upon himself
the direction of that part of the army which he had
decided was to march upon Burgos. He crossed the Douro
on the 6th, and arrived at Valladolid on the same day, and
from thence he followed the enemy on their retreat to
Burgos. On the 16th he was, with a portion of his army,
before that fortress, which he soon invested and laid siege to.
The result of that siege, its failure, and the circumstances
which led to it, have nothing to do with my adventures;
they are the property of Colonel Napier—the only writer
that, I believe, can be held up as a standard to refer to on
the Peninsular War.

I have to bring forward to the public eye, and the eye
of posterity, too, the character of the Peninsular soldiers,
whether they be shown up as men who were able to conquer
the choicest legions of France, or as men who would sell the
most essential part of their dress for a glass of brandy. No
matter; they would have done both. Perfection is nowhere
to be found; and if the British soldier equalled the Frenchman
.bn 319.png
.pn +1
in habits of sobriety and caution, there could be no
possible comparison between them; but the retreat from
Madrid and Burgos, which I am about to relate, will give
the reader a clearer insight into what I have just now written:
and I will here say, without the least fear of contradiction,
that the French soldier as far surpasses the British soldier in
the essential qualities requisite for general operations, as the
latter excels the Frenchman in a pitched battle. Let two
armies of the two nations be placed in circumstances the
same, in advance or retreat. The supply of provisions may
be scanty or abundant—no matter which; both armies, for
argument sake, we will say, are placed in the same position
as to food. It may be asked what, then, is the great difference
between the soldiers of two nations who have been
opposed to each other for so many campaigns, and who
ought to have profited by the better system followed by
either? It is this: the British soldier is not so moderate in
his appetites as his neighbour, and he wants the head, which
the other possesses, to control him. Give to a British
regiment ten days', nay five days' bread at a time, and, as
may be necessary, five days' rations of spirits; at the end of
the second day—not the fifth, to which period it ought to
last—what quantity will be forthcoming? Not one half
ounce of bread, or half pint of spirits—half pint did I say!
not one thimbleful, nay, less than that, not one drop!
Should the ration be limited to bread, and in all armies,
even the most temperate, a large advance of spirits ought to
be avoided, the danger would be the same in any British
army, because the soldiers would barter their bread for
spirits or wine, and would become quite as inefficient, as if
they had been supplied with both by our commissaries.
Added to this, what means had the soldiers of the Peninsular
.bn 320.png
.pn +1
army to compete with the French in celerity of cooking?
None. The latter carried their cooking utensils on their
backs, while the camp-kettles for our troops were often
leagues distant when the meat arrived. This was the state
of our army when the retreat from Burgos on the one side,
and Madrid on the other, commenced, and it will be seen
in the following pages how that retreat was conducted, and
how the subordinate officers of the army were blamed for not
performing a duty which was impossible; and for this reason
was it impossible, that the means did not rest with them.
Our system was altogether faulty, and no exertions of the
junior, or even senior, officers could remedy it. Lord
Wellington at length discovered this, and in his next campaign
profited by the example which the enemy showed him,
and which ought to have been followed long before.

On the 20th of October, 1812, the siege of Burgos was
raised, and the troops before it retired towards the Douro,
while the portion of the army which occupied Madrid made
arrangements to join them when the proper time should
arrive. Accordingly, the fort of La China was mined, the
battering train found there removed, and all the necessary
arrangements for retreat were completed. On the 31st of
October the army quitted Madrid, and bivouacked in the
Royal Park near the palace.

The conflagration of La China continued all night, and
story after story fell in until it became a heap of ruins. The
following day, the 1st of November, the advance of the French
entered Madrid, and on that day our army commenced its
retreat upon Rodrigo and Portugal. On the side of Burgos
matters were in the same state. The attack against the
citadel, having failed, in default of means to carry it on,
the army before it broke up on the 20th of October, and by
.bn 321.png
.pn +1
the admirable arrangements of Lord Wellington, who took
the command in person, gained two marches on the enemy
before he was aware of it. Nevertheless a vigorous pursuit
took place, and the Burgos army was closely pressed, until
it reached the heights of San Christoval, where it was joined
by the troops that had occupied Madrid.

Up to this time no serious disaster had occurred, although
from the heavy rains that had fallen, which rendered the
roads nearly impassable, and the scanty supply of rations
which the troops received, it was feared that, if Soult pressed
on vigorously, our army would shortly become much disorganised;
but the Marshal took six days, that is to say,
from the 10th to the 16th of November, to examine the
ground occupied by the British General. On the 14th, our
army was in battle array close to the spot where we had
fought the battle of Salamanca the July before, but Soult,
although at the head of 90,000 soldiers, and two hundred
pieces of cannon, declined the offer, and confined his operations
to the sending a brigade or two on the line of our
communication with Rodrigo. On the 17th, Lord Wellington
commenced his march for the frontiers of Portugal, and from
that moment he was closely pursued by Marshal Soult. The
rain fell in torrents, almost without any intermission; the
roads could no longer be so called, they were perfect quagmires;
the small streams became rivers, and the rivers were
scarcely fordable at any point. In some instances the soldiers
were obliged to carry their ammunition boxes strapped on
their shoulders to preserve them, while passing a ford which
on our advance was barely ankle deep. The baggage and
camp-kettles had left us; the former we never saw until we
reached Rodrigo, and the latter rarely reached us until two
o’clock in the morning, when the men, from fatigue, could
.bn 322.png
.pn +1
make but little use of them. The wretched cattle had to be
slaughtered, as our rations seldom arrived at their destination
before the camp-kettles, and when both arrived, there was
not one fire in our bivouac sufficient to boil a mess.

Officers as well as soldiers had no covering except the
canopy of heaven; we had not one tent, and the army never
slept in a village. We thus lay in the open country; our
clothes saturated with rain, half the men and officers without
shoes, nothing to eat, or, at all events, no means of cooking
it. What then could be much worse than the situation in
which the army was placed? But this was not the worst,
because, from the nature of the retreat, and the pursuit,
neither the cavalry nor artillery horses could be supplied
with forage. The retreat each day generally began at four
in the morning, in the dead dark of night; towards eight
the army had gained perhaps six miles', perhaps not five,
start of the enemy. At ten they were at our heels. The
rear, as a matter of necessity, for the preservation of the
whole, was then obliged to face about and show a front, to
enable the remainder to proceed on their retreat. The
position taken up was, as a matter of course, according to
the urgency of the moment, sometimes in a vast tract of
ploughed land, where the troops were drawn up ankle deep
in mud. In this position, those who were not fighting were
obliged to remain, in their tattered uniforms, worn to rags
after two years' service, scarcely a good pair of shoes or
trousers on any, and the greater part without the former.
The ague had also attacked the bulk of the army, and as
the soldiers picked up the acorns that fell from the oak
trees (these, by the way, are the property of the pigs in
Spain, but the pigs, fortunately for themselves, had not
yet appeared in the woods we now traversed), many were
.bn 323.png
.pn +1
unable to eat them, so much were they enfeebled by the
disorder.

Yet under all these privations, the soldiers, at least the
“Connaught Rangers,” never lost their gaiety. Without
shoes they fancied themselves “at home,” and there were
few, I believe, who would not have wished themselves there
in reality. Without food they were nearly at home, and
without a good coat to their backs equally so! My man,
Dan Carsons, came up to me, and with a broad grin said,
“By gor, Sir, this same place” (at the time we were, and
had been for hours before, standing in a wet ploughed field)
“puts me greatly in mind iv Madrid.”—“Of Madrid! why,
Dan, no two places can be more unlike.”—“By Jasus, Sir,
the’re as like as two <em>paise</em>, only that we want the houses, and
the fires, and the mate, and the dhrink, and the women!
But, excepting that, don’t the jaws <em>iv</em> the boys with the
ague, when they rattle so, put your honour greatly in mind
<em>iv</em> the castonetts?” Dan’s joke was not quite so palatable
as it might have proved at a more fitting opportunity, or in
a more fitting place, for at that moment I felt a queer sort
of motion about my own jaws, which in less than an hour
proved itself to be a confirmed attack of ague. On this
night the rain never ceased; the rations could not be cooked,
having arrived too late, and the army had no food except
biscuit.

What I have related took place on the 16th. The following
day matters became worse, the rain continued to come
down in torrents, and in the passage of one river, out of ten
that we forded, a woman and three children were lost, as
likewise some baggage mules, which the women of the army,
in defiance of the order against it, still contrived to smuggle
into the line of retreat. The rations arrived alive (I mean
.bn 324.png
.pn +1
the meat), as usual after midnight, but no kettles reached us
for an hour after the poor famished brutes had been knocked
on the head. Each man obtained his portion of the quivering
flesh, but before any fires could be re-lighted, the order for
march arrived, and the men received their meat dripping
with water, but little, if anything, warmer than when it was
delivered over to them by the butcher. The soldiers drenched
with wet, greatly fatigued, nearly naked, and more than half
asleep, were obliged either to throw away the meat, or put it
with their biscuit into their haversacks, which from constant
use, without any means of cleaning them, more resembled
a beggarman’s wallet than any part of the appointments of
a soldier. In a short time the wet meat completely destroyed
the bread, which became perfect paste, and the blood which
oozed from the undressed beef, little better than carrion, gave
so bad a taste to the bread that many could not eat it.
Those who did were in general attacked with violent pains
in their bowels, and the want of salt brought on dysentery.
A number of cavalry and artillery horses died on this night,
and fatigue and sickness had already obliged several men
and officers to remain behind, so that our ranks were now
beginning to show that we had commenced, in downright
earnest, a most calamitous retreat.

Lord Wellington wished for a battle, if he could fight
one on advantageous terms, before his army became disorganised;
but this was not to the interest of the French
army; and the Duke of Dalmatia, who could at any time
make choice of his own field from his vast superiority in
horsemen, was too experienced a tactician to be led into so
fatal an error as that of fighting. Experience had shown
him that a retreat, such as the one I am describing, would
cost him little trouble to inflict as great a loss upon our army
.bn 325.png
.pn +1
as if he gained the advantage in a battle, and that it would
be a bloodless victory to him; whereas, if a general action
took place, and the entire of the two armies were thrown
into the fight, he could not expect to get off with a loss of
less than six or eight thousand men, with the chance, perhaps
the probability, of being defeated.

No Marshal in the French army knew the good and the
bad qualities of the soldiers he now followed better, few so
well, as Soult. He had pursued them to Corunna, and fought
them at Albuera. Knowing then, as he did, their imperfection
in retreat, and their superlative perfection in a pitched
battle, it would have been strange had he risked by a battle,
what it was as clear as the noon-day he would gain without
one, namely, the loss to us of several thousand men and
horses, who, if they did not fall into his hands, or die on the
retreat, were sure to be lost to our ranks in consequence of
its effects. The game was in his hands, and if he lost it by
bad play, the fault would be his, and his only. He did not
do so, but played a safe game, and when battle was offered
him near Salamanca, he <em>reneged</em>. He finessed well, and
though he did not drive us before him at the point of the
bayonet, his flank movement on the Rodrigo line, by a side
wipe, effected his purpose just as well for him.

A circumstance occurred on this day that so strongly
marks the difference between the British soldiers and the
soldiers of any other nation on such a retreat as we were
engaged in, that I cannot avoid noticing it. I have already
said that we had no means of cooking our meat, and that
the soldiers and officers, for all shared the same privations
alike, carried their meat raw, or nearly raw; consequently it
was not an additional supply of “raw material” that we so
much needed as the means of dressing what we had. Nevertheless,
.bn 326.png
.pn +1
towards noon, while a portion of the army was
engaged in a warm skirmish with the enemy’s advance, which
lay through a vast forest of oak, some hundreds of swine,
nearly in a wild state, were discovered feeding upon the
acorns which had fallen from the trees the autumn before.
No flag of truce ever sent from the advance post of one army
to the advance of another had a more decisive effect. Our
soldiers immediately opened a murderous fire upon the pigs,
who suffered severely on the occasion, being closely pursued
on the route, which they followed with that stupid—and for
them, on this occasion, fatal—pertinacity which the pig tribe
are so proverbial for, namely, going to the rear when they
ought to go straight forward. Had this herd of swine
deviated from the old beaten track of pigs in general—had
they, in short, gone forward instead of rearward—many
valuable lives, in the eyes of the owners at least, would have
been saved, because they would have soon reached the French
advance, and our fellows, once more placed <lang=fr><em>vis à vis</em></lang> with the
riflemen of the <lang=fr><em>grande nation</em></lang>, would have left off the pursuit—if
for nothing else <em>but to save their bacon</em>! This <lang=fr><em>rencontre</em></lang>,
one of the most curious that came within my knowledge
during my Peninsular campaigns, or indeed during my
sojourn in this world, led to consequences the most comic as
well as tragic. Colonel O‘Shea, who commanded the cavalry
of the French advance ordered to support the <lang=fr><em>tirailleurs</em></lang>, was
astounded when he saw the direction which the British fire
took. He could not be mistaken; the fire of the advance
of his own soldiers had slackened—ceased. It immediately
occurred to him that some corps must have got in rear of
our advance, and he galloped up to the <lang=fr><em>tirailleurs</em></lang> to ascertain
the real state of affairs. He was soon undeceived; but when
he learned the cause of the retrograde movement on the part
.bn 327.png
.pn +1
of our men, he could not avoid—and who could?—laughing
heartily.

Meanwhile the discomfited and routed pigs fled, and soon
got out of the clutches of the advanced guard. The bulk of
the fugitives took the road to <em>their</em> rights but here they were
again <em>wrong</em>. Had those ill-fated animals known anything
of the “rules of the road,” they would have kept to the <em>left</em>.
On the right they were encountered by a nearly famished
brigade that had received no rations at all in the preceding
twenty-four hours; and when they were, as has been seen,
so roughly handled by men whose haversacks were amply
stocked with meat, what chance had they—I ask the question
fearlessly—of any mercy from a body of famished, ferocious
fellows? The question I have just put is easily answered.
They had none to expect, and none did they receive. Neither
age nor sex was spared; and out of this fine herd of swine,
scarcely one in one hundred escaped unhurt. No victory
was ever more complete; and the grunting and squeaking
of the wounded pigs and hogs throughout the forest was a
sad contrast with the merriment of the soldiers, who toasted,
on the points of their bayonets—intended for other and
more noble game—the mangled fragments of their former
companions.

Day was drawing to its close, and the 3rd Division, commanded
by Sir Edward Pakenham, was about to retire from
the ground it had held during several hours in face of the
enemy, when a warm fire of musketry on our left led us to
suppose we were outflanked. The officers of the staff galloped
in the direction from whence the firing proceeded. Sir
Edward did the same, but it was some time before they
reached the scene of action. In the meantime the different
regiments were so arranged as to be ready either to advance
.bn 328.png
.pn +1
or retreat, as circumstances might require; and the French
corps in our front made demonstrations of a similar kind.
In this state of suspense we remained for nearly an hour, when
at last Sir Edward returned, with the news that the firing
was caused by a fresh attack on the pigs that had escaped
the first brunt of the attack against them. He ordered the
different advance posts to be placed, which he superintended
in person; the soldiers then prepared to fell timber for fires,
and some ran to an uninhabited village—they were all
uninhabited on the line of our march for that matter—for
the purpose of getting dry wood, that is to say, the doors
and roofs of the houses, to enable us to light up the green
timber, which was the only fuel we could command. The
soldiers and officers of all ranks were nearly exhausted from
cold and wet; and had the village in question belonged to
the king of England, much less to a parcel of Spanish
peasants, it would have shared the same fate as the one in
question.

The party from the village soon arrived, some bringing
doors, others articles of different kinds of household furniture,
such as chairs, tables, and bedsteads; but nothing in the
shape of food was to be found. No doubt, had it been day,
something might be got at, but warmth was what we stood
in need of more than food. Several of us still carried the
parboiled beef of the night before, and, when the fires were
lighted, we made a shift to roast it either on our swords,
bayonets, or bits of sticks, which we formed into respectable
skewers. This operation finished, the fire around which each
group sat or stood, in order of companies, their arms regularly
piled behind them, was replenished with green and dry timber,
according to our supply of each or both. The soldiers then
placed their knapsacks round the outer part of the circle,
.bn 329.png
.pn +1
and, having given the best place to their officers inside the
circle, all lay down together, or at their own choice, with
their feet towards the heat of the fire. Some arranged in
this manner, others did not lie down at all; and those who
had captured a door, propped it up as a defence against the
rains and winds. There were others who got a blanket and
fixed it with branches of trees and stones against some
uneven spot, and lay down in the mud. It was, in fact, all
mud and wet; and in whatever manner we accommodated
ourselves, according to circumstances, whether walking, standing,
or sleeping, it was of little difference. No matter what
<em>mood</em> any of us might have been disposed to follow, the
<em>imperative</em> had the call; and, as has been seen, we could not
<em>decline</em> it. <lang=la><em>Verbum sat sapienti.</em></lang>

Thus ended the operations of this day; officers and soldiers
were placed exactly, or nearly, as I have described. Many
were so feeble as not to be capable of the least exertion;
others, on the contrary, were hale and stout, and I myself
was amongst the number of the latter. I had lain some time
with my feet near the fire, but I dreaded an attack of ague,
and I walked about to keep my body warm, which was but
thinly clad. I had not been long on my legs, and I was at
the moment standing near the small tent where Sir Edward
Pakenham lay in his wet clothes, when a rush of pigs—the
remnant, I suppose, of those that had escaped in the day—disorganised
several piles of arms. The soldiers stood up,
and every man seized his firelock. A Portuguese regiment
near us, thinking the enemy were at their heels, began to fire
right and left, without knowing what they fired at. Sir
Edward Pakenham ran out of his tent, and while in the act
of mounting his horse and giving directions to his orderly
dragoon, the man was shot dead by the side of the General.
.bn 330.png
.pn +1
It required some time before the confusion that prevailed
could be remedied; but the soldiers never for a moment lost
their presence of mind, and the 3rd Division was formed with
astonishing celerity in battle array. The error into which
the Portuguese had fallen was with some difficulty remedied,
and, except a few men who were wounded, nothing serious
happened. The pigs, who were the cause of all, escaped
without any loss, but whether they ever found their way
back to their original owners I know not. Trifling as the
affair was, with troops less accustomed and less ready to face
an enemy than those that composed the 3rd Division, it
might have had a different result.

The march was continued the following morning. The
troops commenced the retreat some hours before day. Towards
ten o’clock the enemy’s advance were at the heels of
the rear-guard, which, as before, disputed the ground. A
rapid stream on the Rodrigo side of the village of San Munoz
was to be passed before the rear could be considered safe.
Many regiments had already forded the river, but one entire
brigade was missing, and the haze was so great that it was
difficult to distinguish any object clearly.

Pakenham’s division was already on the left bank of the
stream, while the brigade of nine-pounders, commanded by
that admirable officer, Captain Douglas, opened its fire on the
French advance. This, for a moment, arrested their progress;
but O‘Shea, at the head of fifteen hundred dragoons, passed between
the French infantry and the river, and, disregarding the
fire of our artillery, overtook the brigade before it had passed
the ford. The confusion at this point was great; some men
were sabred; but the fire of Douglas’s guns caused the French
dragoons many casualties, and they galloped back to their
former ground. The safety of the brigade which was missing
.bn 331.png
.pn +1
was thus ensured; but Sir Edward Paget, who had gone in
quest of it, and who knew nothing of what had taken place at
the river’s edge, was taken prisoner by O‘Shea. We thus lost
our second in command, as also many men; and the cavalry
and artillery horses had become so enfeebled for want of
forage, that it was manifest our retreat, if vigorously followed
by Soult, would, as a matter of necessity, have been protected
by the infantry alone; but Soult either could not or would
not press us, and the remainder of the day passed over
languidly.
.bn 332.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIV

.pm start_summary
Sufferings of the army on the retreat—Jokes of the Connaught
Rangers—Letter of Lord Wellington—The junior officers—Costume
of the author during the retreat—An unusual enjoyment.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
Notwithstanding the attitude of Pakenham’s troops, and
the excellent arrangement of the park of artillery under
Douglas, the troopers of O‘Shea still menaced the ford. A
brigade of French guns ascended the heights, and opened
their fire upon the 3rd Division, but they were replied to
with vigour by Douglas, who on this day surpassed himself;
and the decided superiority which his fire had over that of
the enemy was so palpable that, after a short trial, the
French left the heights. Day was drawing to its close, and
our march, as usual, commenced soon after dark. The entire
day had been one of drizzling wet, but, towards evening, the
rain came down in torrents; the army had to march two
leagues ere they reached the point marked out for them on
the line of retreat, and it would be difficult to describe the
wretched state of the troops. The cavalry half dismounted;
the artillery without the requisite number of horses to draw
the ammunition-cars, much less the guns; the infantry without
shoes, or nearly so; and the roads, even in the broad
day, nearly impassable, made the march of this night one of
.bn 333.png
.pn +1
great loss. When a halt occurred, which was often unavoidable
in consequence of the guide mistaking the way, or
because of the narrowness of a part of the road, or the difficulty
of ascertaining the pass of a river, those in the rear
fell down asleep, and it was next to impossible to awaken
them, so much were they exhausted; it then became incumbent
on every man who was awake to rouse those in his
front, who impeded the line of march, not only of the individual
himself, but of the army in general. Nevertheless,
many were obliged to stay behind, and were abandoned to
their fate. None but the stout and hale could bear up
against the inclemency of the weather and the want of food;
but the worst of all was the wretched state of the horses of
the cavalry and artillery. These poor animals, when they
reached the place marked out for our resting for the night,
had not one morsel to eat, for it was absolutely impossible
to forage for them at such an hour and under such circumstances,
and the consequence was that many died from cold
and famine, either in the harness of the artillery or under
the saddles of the dragoons.

It was nine o’clock this night of the retreat before we
reached the ground where we were to rest, and we had scarcely
lit our fires when the bullocks and kettles arrived. This circumstance—a
rare one—put us in good spirits, and by the time we
had eaten our first meal that day we became more gay, and the
“boys” of the 88th had their joke about the slaughter of the
pigs by the 4th Division, of which I have made some slight
mention in the last chapter. That I might have said more on
the subject I am aware, for it was a subject that much might
be said upon; but, had I done so, my readers, perhaps,
would consider me a <em>bore</em>. However, the Connaught Rangers
would have, and had, their joke at the expense of the
.bn 334.png
.pn +1
defunct pigs. Jack Richardson, of the light infantry
company, said, “The poor craturs must be blind intirely
when they run into the mouth of the 4th Division.”—“No,”
replied my man, Dan Carsons, “they wern’t blind all out,
but perhaps they had a <em>stye in their eye</em>!” This sally of
Dan was loudly applauded; and this kind of gaiety of spirit
never forsook the men of the 88th under any circumstances.
It was well for themselves, and for the service also; for I
believe no regiment in the Peninsula had more uphill work
to contend against than the ill-fated 88th. No matter!—all
that is past and gone now; and those who survive, and
recollect the events that took place during their stay in the
3rd Division, are now changing positions; they had uphill
work <em>then</em>—<em>now</em> they are going down the hill. It is,
nevertheless, a galling reflection to those who bravely earned
notice and promotion, to find themselves passed over, while
others, of regiments in the same division, and under the same
General, and placed in circumstances the same, and sometimes
less hazardous, have been lauded and promoted, when we
of the 88th were not even noticed!

But I am digressing. After Carsons' pun we soon fell
asleep, and were again on our legs at four in the morning;
but our appearance was greatly changed for the worse:
several soldiers had died during the night from exhaustion
and cold, and those who had shoes on them were soon
stripped of so essential a necessary; and many a young
fellow was too happy to be allowed to stand in a “dead
man’s shoes.” Others were so crippled as to be scarcely able
to stand to their arms. Ague and dysentery had, more or
less, affected us all; and the men’s feet were so swollen that
they threw away their shoes in preference to wearing them.

Scarcely any provisions were to be found, but an abundance
.bn 335.png
.pn +1
of wine could have been easily procured from the
different wine-caves in each village. The troops, once let
loose in this kind of way, could not be restrained, and all
discipline would have been at an end; therefore, no one
ought to be surprised that Lord Wellington forbade the
occupation of a town. He did his part in the grand scale,
but those who acted under him were deficient in every way.
Sometimes the troops were bivouacked in a muddy swamp,
when dry ground, in comparison at least, was nigh. The
consequence of all this bungling was fatal: the troops
became ill and inefficient; they became discontented; and,
to wind up all, the junior officers of the army were blamed
for those things over which they had as much control as they
had over the actions of the Dey of Algiers or the Great
Mogul. The officers divided the misery of the retreat with
their men, and it is well known that many of them had
scarcely a covering to their backs. Scarcely a subaltern in
the army had a dollar in his pocket, the troops being four
months in arrear of pay; but, even supposing he had money
in abundance, what use could he make of it? There was
nothing to be had for love or money—we had no money, and
few of us were inclined to make love; but even if we were,
there was no one (the worst of it) to make love to.

Such was the end of a campaign, the commencement
of which augured the most fortunate results. The men who
composed this fine army—which, at Rodrigo, Badajoz, and
Salamanca, carried all before them—were now greatly
changed for the worse. Scarcely a man had shoes; not
that they were not amply supplied with them before the
retreat commenced, but the state of the roads, if roads they
could be called, was such, that so soon as a shoe fell off or
stuck in the mud, in place of picking it up again, the man
.bn 336.png
.pn +1
who had thus lost one kicked its fellow-companion after it.
Yet the infantry was efficient, and able to do any duty. No
excesses were committed, for Lord Wellington having taken
the precaution of keeping the army away from the different
villages, no man had an opportunity of obtaining wine or
spirits, and thus drunkenness and insubordination were not
added to the list of our misfortunes.

But the cavalry and artillery were in a wretched state
indeed. The artillery of the 3rd, 6th, and 7th Divisions, the
heavy cavalry, together with the 7th and 12th Light Dragoons,
were nearly a wreck; and the artillery of the 3rd Division
lost seventy horses between Salamanca and Rodrigo. It was
next to impossible that the artillery and cavalry could have
made, if vigorously pursued, three marches beyond the latter
place. What force, then, was to arrest the enemy in his
pursuit?—The infantry, and the infantry alone; yet this
main-prop of the army was, by mismanagement, left without
the means of nourishment! Had not the infantry, by their
firmness in bearing up against all the evils they had to
surmount—such as bad clothing, no tents to shelter them
from the heavy rains that fell, and no means of dressing their
food—presented the front they did, the army must have
been lost before it could have reached Gallegos; and, if
equal zeal had been exhibited by the general officers in
providing for the wants of their troops, as was shown by the
subordinate officers in the maintenance of discipline amongst
them, the well-known letter of Lord Wellington would never
have been written.[36]

.fm rend=th
.fn 36
Almost every officer of the Peninsular army who has written on the
Burgos retreat, from William Napier downward, joins in the protest
against Wellington’s objurgatory general order against his regimental
officers, published at the end of this retreat. Grattan’s murmurs are
but a sample of the rest.
.fn-
.fm rend=th
.bn 337.png
.pn +1

The officers asked each other, and asked themselves, how or
in what manner they were to blame for the privations the
army endured on the retreat? The answer uniformly was—in
no way whatever. The junior officers had nothing to do
with it at all. Their business was to keep their men
together, and, if possible, to keep up with their men on the
march, and this was the most difficult duty they had to
perform; for many, very many, of these officers were young
lads, badly clothed, with scarcely a shoe or boot to their feet—some
attacked with dysentery, others with ague, and more
with a burning fever raging through their system, they had
scarcely strength left to hobble on in company with their
more hardy comrades, the soldiers. Nothing but a high
sense of honour could have borne them on; and there were
many who would have remained behind, and run all risks as
to the manner in which they would be treated as prisoners,
were it not for this feeling. The different bivouacs each
morning presented a sad spectacle—worn-out veterans, or
young lads unable to move, were abandoned to their fate.
Some were thrown across the backs of the commissariat
mules, and conveyed to the rear; but this was rare, for the
drivers were obliged to make all haste to reach their
destination, and the frames of the men, worn down by
sickness, unhealed wounds, or old ones breaking out afresh,
were unable to bear the jolting of the mules, and these men
generally preferred taking their chance on the line of
march to submitting to such an uneasy mode of conveyance.

Thus ended the year 1812, and thus ended our retreat
upon Portugal. The details I have given of that retreat
have not been the least exaggerated. It had, nevertheless,
but little effect on my regiment, the 88th, for we scarcely
lost a man by fatigue or sickness. The “boys of Connaught”
.bn 338.png
.pn +1
were not much put out of their way by the want of shoes, a
good coat to their backs, or a full allowance of rations: they
took all those wants <em>aisy</em>! In short, it was astonishing to
see the effective state of the regiment, as compared with
others, when we reached our cantonments.

Since I commenced these pages, I have endeavoured to
impress my readers with the idea—and I hope I have succeeded—that
the 88th were none of those humdrum set of
fellows that ought to be classed with other regiments; they,
in fact, had a way of their own! There are many who will
agree—cordially on this point, at least—with me; but their
reading and mine of the text may be widely different,
nevertheless.

The 88th was a regiment whose spirit it was scarcely
possible to break, and the many curious incidents which
occurred during this retreat afforded them ample food for
that ready humour for which they were proverbial, and for
which they got <em>full credit</em>; but, nevertheless, they still are <em>in
arrear</em>, and they owe a debt to themselves which they must
pay off—no matter what the price may be. It was well for
them that they had food for their humour, for they had
little for their stomachs; but that did not cause them much
uneasiness. The state in which some of the officers were
placed was quite pitiable. Many were obliged to throw off
their boots, their feet having become so swollen that they
could not bear them. Those so circumstanced were necessitated
to look to the soldiers for a new fit-out. But where
could that be found? The men themselves, not caring
much whether they had or had not shoes, left those they
had worn in the muddy roads, and it would not be an easy
matter to find on this same retreat a second pair with any
man. However, by hook or by crook, those who wanted
.bn 339.png
.bn 340.png
.bn 341.png
.pn +1
shoes were supplied; yet, though the soldiers might be
termed the <em>shoemakers</em> of their officers, they never got the
<em>upper</em> hand of them!

.il id=i308 fn=i_b_308fp.jpg w=500px ew=90%
.ca
SERGEANT AND PRIVATE
IN WINTER MARCHING ORDER 1813.
<s>London, Edward Arnold, 1902</s>
.ca-

To describe the state of the officers would be impossible;
for myself, I can truly say I was in rags. I wore a frock-coat,
made out of a dress belonging to a priest that was
captured by my man Dan Carsons at Badajoz. I wore it
during our sojourn at Madrid: it was lined with silk, and
might be termed a good turn-out there; but, as it turned
out on the retreat, it was the worst description of clothing
I, or rather my man Dan, could have pitched on. Every
copse I passed, and they were many, took a slice off my
Madrid frock, and by the time I had undergone three
marches, it was reduced to a spencer! My feet never quitted
the shoes in which they were placed, from the moment of the
retreat until its close. I knew too well their value, and if I
once got my feet out of them (no easy matter), I knew right
well it would take some days to get them back again, they
were so swollen; and even if I were dead, much less crippled,
there were many to be found anxious to stand in my shoes—to
boot!

There were others, and many others, as badly off as I was.
My friend Meade was obliged to leave his shoes behind him.
He tried to walk barefooted for a while, but it was impossible.
The gravel so lacerated his feet that he could not
move, and he was obliged to make some shift to get a pair
in place of those he had abandoned. Captain Graham of the
21st Portuguese, a lieutenant in my regiment, was so worn
out with fatigue, barebacked and barefooted, that, on one
night of the retreat, having been fortunate enough to get a
loaf of bread, he joined me and my companion Meade; but,
so unable was he to eat of the food he brought to share with
.bn 342.png
.pn +1
us, that he fell down on the ground and never tasted a morsel
of it. It is, therefore, tolerably clear to any man possessing
common understanding, that the junior officers of the army,
from the neglect of their superiors, were not in a state to do
more than they did.

The retreat still continued, but the army was unmolested,
and at length, after an absence of so many days, we once
more got sight of our baggage. The poor animals that
carried it were in a bad state; but they were even better
than our cavalry or artillery horses. Of the former, three-fourths
of the men were dismounted; and the latter could,
with difficulty, show three horses, in place of eight, to a
gun.

On this night, I think it was the 26th of November (that
is to say, four weeks, less by two days, since we left Madrid),
I enjoyed what I never expected to see again—a hearty meal.
A knot of us got together under a tent belonging to Captain
Robert Nickle, whose batman was one of the first to arrive
with his baggage, and he kept open house for as many as the
tent could accommodate. In the centre was placed a huge
pannella of chocolate, which was garnished by a couple of
large loaves of Spanish bread. The contents of the pannella,
as also the dimensions of the loaves, were soon altered in
appearance, and so, indeed, were we. Our stomachs, which
before were as lank as half-starved greyhounds, now became
plump and full, and, moreover, some fragments were left even
after the servants were fed, and abundantly fed.

A dog belonging to Nickle, that had been absent with
the baggage, and which had been on as short rations as his
master, also got a bellyful, and soon after came into the tent,
but his owner was so changed in appearance and dress that
the dog did not at first recognise him—which proves the old
.bn 343.png
.pn +1
adage to be correct that “a man is sometimes so changed
that his own dog don’t know him.”

The army continued its retrograde movement unassailed,
and by the 30th of November was established in its different
stations; but here the real effects of the retreat began to be
felt. The soldiers, while in action, or in a state of activity,
had not time to get ill! So long as the mind and body are
occupied, everything, in comparison, goes on well; but after
a storm a calm succeeds, and that calm is sometimes as bad,
and even worse, than the storm that has preceded it. So it
was in the present instance. More than half the men were
attacked with some complaint; but fever and dysentery,
from overwork and bad treatment, were most prevalent, and
the number of bayonets which we counted at the conclusion
of the retreat was considerably diminished before we were
settled in our winter quarters.

Many men, whose frames were as robust as their minds
were ardent, began to sink under the accumulation of the
miseries they had endured during the retreat. The continued
and unsparing exposure of their bodies under such
heavy rains as had fallen, and their being obliged to lie out,
without any covering, for so many nights, during so inclement
a season, now began to be felt, and made visible ravages
amongst our ranks. The oldest and most hardy soldiers, as
well as the youngest, sank alike under diseases, and it was
heart-breaking to see our ranks thinned, not only of the
hardy old stock, but of the promising young suckers also.
But so it was! The men died by tens—twenties—thirties—and
in the course of a short time every battalion was
reduced to the half of its original strength. In less than a
month the hospitals were overstocked, and many officers were
taken ill. I, for once, was amongst the number on the sick-list.
.bn 344.png
.pn +1
A bad ill-healed wound, which I received in the breast
on the night of the storming of Badajoz, now began to
revisit me. A high fever was the consequence, but I was at
length relieved by the taking away of three pieces from one
of my ribs. The reader is not to suppose from this confession
that I was a married man at the time this operation was
performed; but I had, nevertheless, a “rib,” though not a
wife; and as to the “pieces” which I lost, it would be but a
useless task to look after them now.

The Sergeant-Majors wife, a fine, fat, well-looking
woman, amongst many others, was taken ill, and visited
with a bad fever. She was the sister of my man, Dan
Carsons, and had kept close with the regiment from the time
of its first landing in the Peninsula to the time I am now
speaking of. She acted in many a useful capacity towards
the officers. She supplied us with wine and bread, and
every other comfort she could afford us, and was, in fact,
a necessary appendage to the officers, for she was one of
the best foragers I ever saw in the 88th regiment; and
the army knows—the Peninsular army, I mean—that we
had some good ones. But this poor woman lost two fine
mules during our retrograde movement, as also the cargoes
with which they were laden, amounting to a good round
sum, which, at the lowest estimate, I must value to be worth
three hundred dollars. This loss affected her. She had left
no stone unturned to realise it, and this untoward event
brought on a violent fit of illness. The fatigue she had
undergone, no doubt, aided the cause of her disorder; but,
be this as it may, she became quite delirious. While in her
bed she could not be made to understand that the army was
not in full retreat. “Where,” she would exclaim, “are my
mules?” My man, Dan, was in constant attendance upon
.bn 345.png
.pn +1
his sister, and was, as a matter of course, continually intoxicated!
If she got better, he would say that he took a little
dhrop “more than usual” for joy; if she relapsed, he did the
same “to dhrown grief.” So that, between Dan’s “joy” and
Dan’s “grief,” to say nothing of my own helpless state, I was
anything but well off.

At length the poor woman became quite insane, but she
still looked up to Dan as her sheet-anchor; nevertheless,
Dan always paid her that respect which he conceived due
to the wife of the Sergeant-Major, and always called her
Misthress O‘Neil; she, on the contrary, forgetting the station
she held, always called her brother “Dan.” “Och, then,”
said she, “Dan, what do the Frinch mane at all—where do
they mane to dhrive us to?—an’t my mules gone, and our
baggage gone, and still we’re on the rethrate? Haven’t
they taken all from us, even our necessaries?—where do they
mane to send us to?”—“By gob! Misthress O‘Neil,” replied
Dan, with a broad grin, “I think they mane to <em>send us all to
pot</em>!”
.bn 346.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXV

.pm start_summary
End of the Burgos retreat—Cantonments in Portugal—Rest at last—Shocking
effects of excess in eating—The neighbourhood of Moimento
de Beira—Wolves—The author employed to cater for his
regiment on St. Patrick’s day—Is attacked by wolves on his return—Measure
for measure.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
Dan Carsons' prognostication, which closed the last chapter,
was not fulfilled, although a retreat on Portugal was
necessary.

Once clear of the Spanish frontier we arrived, by easy
marches, at the different towns and villages appointed for
our occupation, while the French army retraced their steps,
and, it is to be presumed, followed the course we had taken,
though not exactly the same route.

The village of Leomil was the one allotted to the 88th,
and was also the headquarters of Sir John Keane (the
General of brigade) and his staff. This town, distant about
five leagues from the city of Lamego, and two from Moimento
de Beira, was by no means a bad resting-place for men who
had for so many days, and in such inclement weather, inhabited
no town, or slept, if sleep it could be called, under
any covering except their tattered uniforms; but the transition
was too sudden, and it is not difficult for the reader
to see what the consequence was. An abundant supply of
money, a great plenty of wine, meat, and poultry were things
.bn 347.png
.pn +1
not to be lightly treated by a parcel of men in a state of
nakedness and starvation. In a word, all were bought up
greedily, and as greedily devoured. But the frames of the
soldiers had undergone a great change; their stomachs were
much weakened by the bad diet they had heretofore tasted,
and the disordered state of their bowels was such, that in
five cases out of six the soldiers were attacked with some
complaint or other. The officers suffered little, because they
had a greater command over themselves; but I knew an
instance of a man of the company I commanded (his name
was Travers) eating, for one week, independent of his rations,
the head of an ox daily!

Reader, do not laugh at this. It is a true but melancholy
picture, not a laughable one, of what a half-starved man will
do when opportunity favours. The result, as might have been
foreseen, was fatal. A violent inflammation of the bowels
took place, and the poor fellow died in the most excruciating
agonies. No remedy of our doctors could relieve him; they
did all they could, but in vain.

The country in the neighbourhood of Leomil, and between
that town and Moimento de Beira, is in the highest degree
grand; it moreover abounded in game, and officers who were
fond of their gun, or of coursing, had ample opportunities
of enjoying both. There was, however, one drawback, which
was an unpleasant one, and that was the vast number of
wolves that infested the mountains. These fierce animals
were so terrific when pressed by hunger, that in one instance
they seized the head of a sheep which was in a house, having
made their way under the door. The owner, hearing the
cries of the animal, rushed to its assistance, and, catching
hold of the hind legs, dragged it back, but the head and a
part of the neck were carried away by the wolves. Another
.bn 348.png
.pn +1
instance of their ferocity soon after occurred. A young
child, who had wandered into the street of a small village
earlier than usual, was carried off and devoured by these
animals. But this in no way damped the ardour of our
sportsmen. With a double-barrelled gun on his shoulder no
one feared danger, though he might guard against it; and
I never knew an instance of any one being attacked by a
wolf, although we saw many in our sporting excursions.

Our cantonments by this time, the first week in February,
had undergone so great a change for the better, that they
might be really termed comfortable. From the time we
were first settled in our present quarters we established an
evening club, which was superintended by Misthress O‘Neil,
who was by this time re-established in health. We wished
to have a regular mess, but that was not possible, as the
difficulty and expense of purchasing materials would have
been too great; so we were necessitated to content ourselves
with our evening club, which was a source of great amusement
and conviviality. It brought us together each evening
after our requisite duties to the soldiers had been gone
through; and we had no sort of gambling: whist, our
favourite game, was always played at a low rate, and each
night was wound up by a supper of such materials as could
be procured. Our commanding officer, Major Macgregor,
gave up his best room for our use, and, all things considered,
our club was most comfortable, and tended to keep up that
feeling of harmony and action for which the “Connaught
Rangers” were so remarkable during the Peninsular War.
In 1809, after the battle of Talavera, the 88th, while
quartered at Campo Mayor, established a mess. This circumstance,
trifling as it may appear, was nevertheless attended
with a good deal of trouble and a heavy expense. I do not
.bn 349.png
.pn +1
remember that any other regiment in the army did the same.
In 1812, after the battle of Salamanca, the 88th established
a splendid mess, for which the officers paid a high rate.
During both these periods the 88th was commanded by
Colonel Alexander Wallace, whose name I have repeatedly
mentioned in these pages for his distinguished conduct.
Now the object of all this must be clear to any military
man: it had but one object, and one only—the keeping up
a gentlemanly and social feeling amongst the corps; and
when, as has been seen, such feelings did exist, will any man
give credit to the calumnies that have been attempted to be
fastened upon the “Connaught Rangers” by the biographer
of the late Sir Thomas Picton?

Sir John Keane was to dine with the regiment on St.
Patrick’s day. Even at this early period I was their caterer,
although in a far different way from that in which I am now
employed: then I catered for their stomachs—their <em>faim</em>;
now I cater for their honour—their <em>fame</em>! At an early
hour on the 15th of March, mounted on a good mule, with
fifty dollars in my pocket, I left my regiment on the route
to the city of Vizeu, with a <lang=fr><em>carte blanche</em></lang> to do the best I
could in the purchase of provisions. I was followed by my
man Dan, who had for his assistant, or coadjutor, as he styled
him, my batman, Jack Green, as handy a “boy” as ever
“listed” in the ranks of the “Connaught Rangers.” The
mule they took charge of was little inferior to the one I
rode, but their pace was of necessity slower, as he was encumbered
not only with a pair of panniers, destined to carry
the prog for our St. Patrick’s dinner, but also with the
weight of Dan and Jack, who arranged themselves in the
best manner they could astride his back. Vizeu is five
leagues from Leomil, but, as I knew the country tolerably
.bn 350.png
.pn +1
well, I struck out of the high road, and, crossing the
mountains, reached the town some hours before my servants.

Vizeu is a good town, one of the best in Portugal, and
the shops are abundantly supplied with such commodities as
would suit the taste of a general buyer. Brazil sugar, nearly
as white as snow, green tea at a cheap price, cloths of every
description, and a rich assortment of Braganza shawls, so
much prized in England, were severally named to us as we
passed the different shops; but Dan, who was, or at least
made himself, spokesman on the occasion, shrugged up his
shoulders and replied to each, “No, señor, me no care the
chocolate, nor the suggera, nor the shawla; me care the
peché.”

We soon reached the market-place. There I found an
abundance of what I most wished for—fish. I purchased a
number of fine mullet, some hens and fowls, and a variety of
other matters which I thought requisite to garnish our table
the following day, and I despatched my two trusty servants
on their route some hours before I departed myself.

Being mounted on a superb mule I did not mind much
what road I took, but struck across the mountains above
Leomil, bordering on Moimento de Beira. Before I reached
the passes I so well knew it became dark, and I lost my way.
On reaching a small village I was informed by the peasants
that I was still two leagues from Leomil, had a bad and
difficult country to traverse before I could reach the road,
and that the mountains were infested with wolves. I was
aware that the latter part of their report was but too true;
and when they told me the name of their village, near which
I had shot before, I was convinced that my knowledge of
the country by night was not quite as perfect as in broad
day. The peasants endeavoured to make me remain where
.bn 351.png
.pn +1
I was for the night; but notwithstanding their offers of
hospitality, I preferred taking my chance with the wolves to
the certainty of being half devoured by fleas, a commodity
with which, I well knew, their houses were amply stocked.
I therefore determined to proceed, as I was anxious to reach
home; and I had no great fear of an attack, as I was well
mounted, with a case of pistols in my holsters, and my sabre
at my side. I left the reins loose on the neck of my mule,
who, with wonderful sagacity, made her way through the
different passes. We had nearly reached the high road
without meeting any obstacle, save the different glens we
were obliged to pass, when all of a sudden the mule became
alarmed, and bounding to the right and left, made it difficult
for me to keep my saddle. The distant cry of wolves soon,
however, explained the cause of her uneasiness; and although
I pressed on at as rapid a pace as the nature of the country
would admit of, I found that the pack were palpably gaining
on me.

I was within a few yards of the high road when three
ringleaders of the pack came close to me. Two of them
attacked my mule behind, while the other made a spring at
her throat, and the remainder were coming rapidly into the
field of battle, for so in fact it was. I discharged one of my
pistols at the foremost, but whether I wounded him or no I
cannot say; for, to speak candidly, I looked with more
anxiety to secure a safe retreat than the honour of a splendid
victory; and I can affirm, without the slightest qualm of
conscience, that mine on this night was never surpassed—in
rapidity, at least—in either ancient or modern times. Moreau
was celebrated for his retreat through the Black Forest—Wellington
for his to the lines of Torres Vedras—but what
was the disparity of numbers in either case to what I had
.bn 352.png
.pn +1
to contend against? Neither of those great men had more
than three to one opposed to him, while I had—if I may
judge from the howling of the reserve, and the daring of the
advance—fifteen to two! for my mule must have <em>her</em> share
in the exploit, because had it not been for her I firmly
believe I should have never had an opportunity of relating
what took place on the night I speak of. In a word, never
was mortal man nearer being devoured.

The rest of the story is easily told. At length I reached
the high road leading to Leomil. I gave my mule a touch
of the rowels of my spurs, which might have been dispensed
with, for she, poor thing, was to the full as anxious as myself
to quicken our pace. In less than half an hour I reached
the headquarters of the “Connaught Rangers,” and no man,
I will venture to say, ever rejoined his corps with greater
pleasure than I did mine on that occasion.

The hour for dinner at length arrived, and the dinner
was a good one; and I say it was such, although I was the
person who provided it. The fish was excellent, the fowl of
the best quality, and to any one who has ever had the good
fortune to taste a Lamego ham, it would be but superfluous
to descant on the merits of so delicious a morsel. For the
beef and mutton I can’t say much, but the wine was of the
best quality. I had taken particular care on this essential
point, and went to a convent where my friend Graham, with
his Portuguese regiment, were quartered, and, through his
interest, prevailed on the priests to send us some of their
own best. In saying this I need not say more in praise of
the wine, as it is well known those gentlemen never kept,
for their own use, one drop of any wine that was not of the
best quality.

The dinner went off well, the attendance was good, and
.bn 353.png
.pn +1
we were all as happy as any corps could wish to be; but our
doctor, O‘Reily, being a little “Bacchi plenus,” mistook the
veranda for the door, walked out of it and fell, uninjured,
about fifteen feet! The spot in which he happened to fall,
fortunately, was a soft one, and he himself, being a little
moist, escaped as by a miracle, without any mishap. Next
morning I examined the spot, and was struck with astonishment
at the exactness of the impression his features had left.
Had he sat to have his likeness taken, and undergone the
troublesome process of having his face daubed over with
paste, it could not have been more perfect, and thus in a
second of time, without any trouble to himself, he performed
what would have cost him a full half-hour at least, with a
great deal of annoyance into the bargain, had he regularly
allowed a sculptor to take his bust. He had no doubt taken
his wine without measure, and it is clear that the wine, or
the effects of it, had taken his “measure,” and made him
“measure” his length on the heap of mud upon which he
fortunately fell, and it was in this instance “measure for
measure.”

Major Macgregor, who commanded the 88th up to this
period, now left us on leave, and was succeeded in the command
by one of the most gentlemanlike officers and best
soldiers in the British army—Captain Robert Nickle. Sir
John Keane, as I have before said, commanded the brigade,
Sir Edward Pakenham the division; and from the period
of our arriving at our quarters at Leomil, until our leaving
it on our advance towards Vittoria, we had not one single
syllable of annoyance with either our Brigadier or Major-General,
nor do I believe we had as much as one court-martial
in the battalion—and this embraced a period of
more than six months.
.bn 354.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVI

.pm start_summary
Ordered home—Priests carousing—San Carlos gambling-house at
Lisbon—Cocking the card—The author quits the Peninsula—Adventures
on the road—The author’s return to Ireland.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
To those who have never seen service, or been present with
the Peninsular army for a series of years, it would be rather
a difficult task to make them comprehend the feelings of an
officer upon active service, when ordered home. There are
many, no doubt, who would say it was a lucky “turn up”;
but there are many, I know, who would have a contrary
opinion. Years of hard fighting, fatigues, and privations,
that we now wonder at, had, nevertheless, a charm that, in
one way or another, bound us together, though it severed
some; and, all things considered, I am of opinion that our
days in the Peninsula were amongst the happiest of our lives.

It was with feelings of regret that I was now on the eve
of quitting the first battalion of the Connaught Rangers,
but, before doing so, I resolved to spend a few days with
my old friend and companion, Captain Graham. He was
attached to the 21st Portuguese Regiment, quartered in a
large convent half-way between Leomil and Lamosa; and
here, for the first time, I had a full specimen of the manners
and habits of the priesthood of Portugal. I had, it is true,
met them occasionally before, and always found them pleasant,
.bn 355.png
.pn +1
agreeable companions; but I had little idea of the depraved
state they lived in until I became, in a manner, an inmate
of the convent where my friend was quartered.

Dinner was about to be announced when some five or six
priests entered, each carrying under his arm a small pig-skin
of wine. They were all merry, gay lads, and looked as if
they had—which I have no doubt of—tasted the contents of
their <lang=fr><em>fardeau</em></lang>. All were agreeable men; they talked upon
all subjects; but the fair sex “had the call.” My friend
asked where the others were who had promised to come.
He was told they were on duty; but what that “duty” was,
I could not exactly define. Be this as it may, dinner was
scarcely over when three monks entered the apartment.
One, who seemed to be the provider, was loaded with an
enormous pig-skin of wine, which he carried on his back;
and, so soon as the door was flung open, he, with some
difficulty, placed it in a corner, and then, with his two companions,
joined our festive board.

Now, at the time I am speaking of, I was a very young
lad. I had, nevertheless, seen something of the world; I
had mixed in society, high and low; I had read books—some
of them moral, some the contrary; but in all that I
had ever seen, read, or heard of, I never could suppose that,
amongst any set of men—much less priests—so great a scene
of blackguardism could be amalgamated together as I witnessed
on this night. Their songs and talk were as indecent
as can be imagined. The fellows were so pleasant that, if
you could forget they were priests, it would have been well
enough; but it is disgraceful to see men in this calling adopt
the manners and habits of the most profligate, by which
means they not only disgrace themselves, but the religion
they profess.
.bn 356.png
.pn +1

I took leave of my old regiment, and, with two hundred
and sixty-five dollars in my pocket, bent my way towards
Lisbon. My old friend D‘Arcy accompanied me, and my
man, Dan Carsons, took charge of our baggage-mule, which
carried our kits. This, indeed, was a sort of sinecure to him;
for, to say the truth, we were not overstocked with many
extras. Little occurred worthy of notice until we reached
Lisbon, and there we met with our companion, Simon Fairfield,
so well known to the army.[37] Maurice Quill was also
there, and as they were both, like ourselves, waiting for a
passage home by the first fleet that was to leave the Tagus
for England, we thought we could not do better than “club”
together.

.fm rend=th
.fn 37
Fairfield was better known in the army by his Christian name, and
was almost invariably called “Sim,” or, as Joe Kelly called him,
“Simmy.” He ended very badly, in abject misery caused by his own
vices and thriftlessness, without a coat to his back or a roof to his head.
.fn-
.fm rend=th

It was a rare circumstance to meet two such characters,
and our time passed away agreeably in learning those
anecdotes which have been told of both. Much has been
related of Quill, but Fairfield was immeasurably his superior
on some points. In the first place, he sang beautifully,
while Maurice could not sing at all; and if Quill possessed
that extraordinary humour, which it is so well known he
did, poor Simon Fairfield was an overmatch for him as a
punster.

Our stay in Lisbon was but short, as, in a few days after
our arrival, the fleet was in readiness to sail for Portsmouth.
But, short as our sojourn was, it was of sufficient length to
nearly empty our purses. That sink of profligacy and nest
of sharpers, the San Carlos gambling-house, was the constant
resort of all the idlers in Lisbon; and, in a few days, I and
.bn 357.png
.pn +1
my friends were completely eased of all our loose cash. But
we had one resource left, in the shape of a horse each, which
was the same thing as ready money, and we determined to
try our luck once more at the gambling table. Accordingly,
the horses were sent to the fair, were sold, and brought a
“fair” price. Mine fetched one hundred and twenty-five
dollars. Those belonging to Hill, D‘Arcy, and Adair, all
of my corps, were also disposed of at a “fair” value. Poor
“<em>Fair</em>”field had no horse or mule. He had an old jackass—his
companion for years—which brought to the general
fund only fifteen dollars. A sort of council of war was now
held as to the line of operations we should follow, and it was
unanimously agreed that D‘Arcy, being a good judge of the
game, should be the purse-bearer, and play according to his
own judgment to any amount he might think proper, for the
profit or loss of the entire party.

Matters were so far arranged, and we were ready and
panting with anxiety to have another trial with the bankers
of the San Carlos tables, when Hill, a young man of sound
sense, hinted that, to prevent any mistake, and not to leave
all on the “hazard of the die,” we should deposit a certain
number of dollars each for the purchase of our sea-stock.
This hint was so replete with <em>rationality</em> that we all
acquiesced, and fifteen dollars “<lang=fr><em>par tête</em></lang>” was regularly
pouched by Hill, who was understood to be our caterer. He
laid in a capital stock of wine, brandy, fowls, and meat—and,
so far, all went on right. The wine and brandy he purchased
from the far-famed Signor Cavizoli; but, if he paid high for
them, they were of excellent quality.

Meanwhile D‘Arcy, who conducted his department in
the capacity of Chancellor of the Exchequer, was regular in
his attendance at the gaming-table. He marked with much
.bn 358.png
.pn +1
circumspection the gains and losses of the numbers on his
cards, for and against the banker; but his caution was of no
avail. In the first night’s play one hundred dollars had been
scooped from him by the Portuguese banker, leaving a surplus
of about seventy-five more at his disposal. As this was our
last stake, and as the fleet was to sail the following day (I
wish it had sailed ten days sooner), we all went to San Carlos
to witness the luck of D‘Arcy. Before him lay seventy-five
dollars, and before him sat the banker, ready and willing to
relieve him of their weight. For the first half-hour he played
with some success, but afterwards the tide of luck was against
him. Not one of the party interfered <em>pro</em> or <em>con</em>. Again he
made a rally, and, like, a ship at sea who has weathered the
storm and begins to right herself, he went on, as it were,
sailing before the wind. But, in a moment of exultation,
and having, as he thought, calculated to a nicety the certainty
of success, he staked the entire of our stock-in-trade on the
turn of the card. He was right—the card turned up in his
favour, and he was a winner of three hundred dollars and
upwards. I looked on quietly, and expected to see him take
the money or double the card (which means “double or
quit”), thereby insuring his stake at the worst, or doubling
it in the event of success. What, then, was our astonishment
and dismay when we saw him “cock” the card, and heard him,
in a loud tone, addressing the dealer of the pack in the single
monosyllable, “Cock.” Now, the meaning of the word “cock,”
and “cocking” the card, that is to say, turning up one of
the corners of it, implies that you will have, if you gain,
three times the stake on the table, but, if you lose, you lose
all. So it was with D‘Arcy; the wrong card turned up, and
we, one and all, turned out, went home to our beds, sailed
for Portsmouth next day, and I never wagered a shilling at
.bn 359.png
.pn +1
a gaming-table since. Perhaps it was the best “turn up” I
ever had.

Our passage home was pleasant and short. No incident
worth relating occurred; and, in twelve days after we left
Lisbon, we found ourselves off Spithead. The number of
Jews which crowded the vessel was astonishing. They all
sought for gold, but amongst us it was a scarce commodity.
One solitary guinea was all I possessed, and I believe I could
say as much as any of my companions. For this guinea I
received, from a Jew, thirty shillings; and it was then that
I really began to lament the loss of my “specie” in Lisbon.
It was, however, of no use to repine. We had, after a good
deal of peril, arrived once more on our native shore. We
saw ourselves, on landing, hailed by our own people, and,
though last, not least, had an order on the agent for seven
months' pay! We were all splendidly dressed, with braided
coats, handsome forage caps, rich velvet waistcoats, appended
to which were a profusion of large silver Spanish buttons—some
wore gold ones—and our pantaloons bore the weight of
as much embroidery as, poor Fairfield once said, would furnish
a good sideboard of plate! Thanks to the old German tailor
in Lisbon (I forget his name) for this. If he charged high,
he gave everything of the best quality; but, as we landed,
and saw the garrison of Portsmouth in their white breeches
and black gaiters, and their officers in red coats, long boots,
and white shoulder belts, we must have appeared to them, as
they did to us, like men who formed a part of an army of
different nations.

We took coach the morning after our landing for London.
After a few days spent there in sight-seeing and amusements,
I set out to visit my family in Ireland. I took my place on
the top of the Liverpool coach, and, with a light heart,
.bn 360.png
.pn +1
viewed the beautiful country we passed over. The contrast
it presented to that which I had but a few weeks before left
was great indeed, and I felt a pride when I reflected that I,
humble as I was, was one of those who had fought and bled
not only for my country’s honour, but my country’s safety.

My servant, Dan Carsons, sat behind, and kept all the
outside passengers near him, either in astonishment at the
tales he recounted as to what he had seen, or in roars of
laughter at some of his adventures, which he told without
any scrupulous qualms as to whether they were true or not.
He had made himself so agreeable to those behind that, at
the first stage, where we changed horses, some of the front
passengers requested he would take his place with them; but
there was no vacant seat, and no one seemed disposed to
resign his place, so I thought the best plan was for me to go
behind, which, I said, I preferred to the front; and my
man Dan was installed beside the driver. The laughter
in front was, if possible, louder than it had been before
in the rear, while Dan was recounting his Peninsular
reminiscences.

We reached Liverpool without any adventure, and next
day sailed for Dublin. In those days which I write of we
did not use steam, and a three-day passage from Liverpool
to Dublin was quite a common thing, and it was the practice
then to lay in a sea stock for a voyage of four or five days.
This was a matter of easy accomplishment, and, having laid
in a fair supply of edibles, etc., we set sail, and on the third
day arrived in Dublin. After remaining in the capital one
day, I parted from my old companion, D‘Arcy, and took the
first coach for the Kildare road, while D‘Arcy brought himself
to an anchor in the Ennis mail. Our leave of absence
was for three months, and, before the expiration of that time,
.bn 361.png
.pn +1
the second battalion of the regiment was expected in Ireland,
so we did not calculate on a long separation, nor were we
mistaken.

It would be tedious and uninteresting to give any minute
detail of my reception amongst my family and friends.
Those sort of adventures read well in novels, but I do not
think my readers will be displeased with me for leaving them
out. As a matter of course all my acquaintances got round
me, and I had to recount all my four years' adventures in
the Peninsula; and, while I was so employed in the drawing-room,
my man Dan fulfilled his part in the kitchen, and,
I have little doubt, did much more justice to the matter than
I did.

When my leave expired, I took leave of my friends and
joined the second battalion, which was stationed at Fermoy.
The army of the Peninsula had by this time, the spring of
1814, established itself within the French frontier, and
reinforcements were in readiness to be sent from Cork to
join their companions in the south of France, but, as will be
seen in the next chapter, there was no need of this augmentation
of force.
.bn 362.png
.pn +1


.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVII

.pm start_summary
Breaking up of the British Peninsular army at the abdication of
Napoleon—Separation of the soldiers' wives—The elopement—Sad
story of Thorp, the Drum-Major—Conclusion.
.pm end_summary

.sp 2
After six years of terrible war, the army of the Peninsula
at length found a stop put to its victorious career, and the
inhabitants of the city of Toulouse were the last who heard
a hostile shot fired against their countrymen. From the
commencement of this wonderful struggle, in August 1808,
to April 1814, more battles had been fought (all of them
won) than England could boast of for nearly a century; and
the triumphant march of the army of Wellington was uninterrupted
by one defeat, until the subjection of their
brave opponents was complete, which forbade further hostile
advance upon the French territory.

It would be a work of supererogation to bring events
before the reader which have been so often and so well told.
Suffice it to say that upon the news of the abdication of
the Emperor Napoleon having reached the headquarters of
the Dukes of Dalmatia and Wellington, the armies of the
different nations which formed portions of those troops were
so arranged as to be ready to return to their respective
countries or destinations. Those of Spain returned to Spain,
and those of Portugal returned to Portugal. The British
.bn 363.png
.pn +1
infantry embarked at Bordeaux, some for America, some for
England; and the cavalry, marching through France, took
shipping at Boulogne.

The separation of those troops from each other, after so
long an intercourse, and an uninterrupted series of victories,
was a trying moment. There were, no doubt, many at least
about to return to their native country and to their friends;
but they were also about to leave behind them, probably for
ever, those countries in which they had passed the most
eventful years of their lives, and to be separated from friends
whose claim to the title could not be doubted—because such
friendships as those I speak of were not formed by interested
motives, and were consequently the more sincere and lasting.
They left also behind them the bones of forty thousand of
their companions who had fallen, either by disease or by the
sword, in the tremendous but glorious contest they had been
all engaged in—a contest which decided more than the fate of
the Peninsula, for the very <em>existence</em> of England was the
stake played for, or rather fought for, in this terrible game;
the loss of one single point would not only have rendered the
game desperate, but lost it altogether. The players on both
sides were nearly equal in skill, and if Wellington could not
boast of the same evenness and perfection of some of the
materials he had in hand, as compared with his opponents,
he most undeniably held a few <em>trumps</em> that always decided
the game in his favour. Sixty thousand Anglo-Portuguese,
under their great leader, accomplished more on the southern
frontier of France than did <sc>HALF A MILLION</sc> of the allies on
the side of Germany.

These are heart-stirring facts, and the recollection of
them, even after so long a lapse of time, causes the pulse to
quicken, and the heart to beat high; for it can never be too
.bn 364.png
.pn +1
often repeated, or too well remembered, by those of the
Peninsular army who are now living, that it was the imperishable
deeds of that army that saved their country.

Their great leader now left them; but he did not do so
without his marked expressions of what he thought of the
past, and his promises for the future. His General Order
contained the following words:—

“Although circumstances may alter the relations in which
he has stood towards them for some years, so much to his
satisfaction, he assures them he will never cease to feel the
warmest interest in their welfare and honour, and that he
will be at all times happy to be of any service to those to
whose conduct, discipline, and gallantry their country is so
much indebted.”

How these promises have been kept is too well known,
and it is difficult to say whether that he ever made them, or
never kept them, is to be regretted most. However, the
Duke of Wellington, no doubt, does not put the same construction
on his words, and on his acts, that others do; and
it will be the task of the historian and posterity to deal with
a matter which can be better judged of by unbiassed persons
than by the parties interested. That the Duke of Wellington
is one of the most remarkable, and perhaps the greatest man
of the present age, few will deny; but that he has neglected
the interests and feelings of his Peninsular army, as a body,
is beyond all question; and were he in his grave to-morrow,
hundreds of voices, that are now silent, would echo what I
write.

All the necessary preparations being made, the armies of
the three nations parted, and proceeded on the different
routes pointed out for them to follow. The breaking up of
this splendid army of veterans, that for six years slept on the
.bn 365.png
.pn +1
field of battle they had invariably won, was a trying moment.
Many a bronzed face, that had braved every danger unmoved,
was now moistened with a tear; but the proud consciousness
that so long as their country required their services, and that
nothing, save death, had separated them, until at last they
stood triumphant on the threshold of the invaders' country,
stifled every other feeling. In fine, the commands of the
great man that had so often assembled them at his beck,
now separated them—and for ever.

Several of the most effective regiments were ordered to
embark for Canada, and as the war between England and
America was at its height, the battalions destined for
American service were restricted to a certain number of
soldiers' wives. The English, Irish, and Scotch were sent to
England, and proper attention paid to their wants and
comforts. They had also on board the transports that were
to convey them to England their own countrymen and their
own countrywomen, amongst whom were many personally
known to them, who had served in the same brigade or division.
But the poor faithful Spanish and Portuguese women,
hundreds of whom had married or attached themselves to
our soldiers, and who had accompanied them through all
their fatigues and dangers, were from stern necessity obliged
to be abandoned to their fate. This was also a trying
moment; many of these poor creatures, the Portuguese in
particular, had lived with our men for years, and had borne
them children. They were fond and attached beings, and
had been useful in many ways, and under many circumstances,
not only to their husbands, but to the corps they
belonged to generally. Some had amassed money (Heaven
knows how!), but others were without a sixpence to support
them on their long journey to their own country, and most
.bn 366.png
.pn +1
of them were nearly naked. The prospect before them was
hideous, and their lamentations were proportionate, for
many, though they had a <em>country</em> to return to, had neither
friends to welcome them nor a home to shelter them; for in
this war of extermination, life, as well as property, was lost.
The soldiers were seven months in arrear of pay, and the
officers were as badly off; nevertheless subscriptions were
raised, and a fund, small no doubt in proportion to their
wants, enabled relief to be portioned amongst all. This
partial and insufficient aid did not, nor could not, however,
lessen the real bitterness of the scene, for many of those
devoted beings—now outcasts, about to traverse hundreds
of miles ere they reached their homes, if homes they found
any—had followed their husbands through the hottest of the
battlefield; had staunched their wounds with their tattered
garments, or moistened their parched lips, when without such
care death would have been certain; they had, when such aid
was not required, devoted days and nights in rendering those
attentions which only they who have witnessed them can
justly appreciate. Yet these faithful and heroic women were
now, after those trials, to be seen standing on the beach,
while they witnessed with bursting hearts the filling of those
sails, and the crowding of those ships, that were to separate
them for ever from those to whom they had looked for
protection and support.

In this list there was one female, a lady—I call her so,
for her rank and prospects entitled her to the appellation I
have given her—who was as much to be pitied as the rest,
though her circumstances were widely different. She was a
beautiful woman, only daughter of the wealthy Juiz de Fora
of Campo Mayor. During the autumn of 1809, when a
portion of the Peninsular army, after the battle of Talavera,
.bn 367.png
.pn +1
was quartered in that town, this girl—for so she was then—fell
in love with the Drum-Major of the 88th Regiment.
His name was Thorp. As in most cases of the sort, both
parties had made up their minds to the consequences. The
girl was determined to elope with Thorp, and Thorp was
equally resolved to carry her off; but this required measures
as well as means. Touching the latter Thorp was amply
supplied, for he was pay-sergeant of a company, and, moreover,
received constant remittances from his father, who was
a man of respectability in Lancashire. In a word, Thorp
was a gentleman, and lived and died a hero! As to the
lady, her tale is easily told. Her father, Señor José Alfonzo
Cherito, Juiz de Fora of Campo Mayor, was a man possessing
large estates, and having but one child, and that child a
daughter, he naturally looked forward to a suitable match
for her. Now, as poor Thorp could not boast of those
qualities or attributes which the worthy Juiz de Fora had
very naturally anticipated, when his daughter had made up
her mind to espouse Thorp, his rage and disappointment
may be easily imagined when he learned that she had left
his <lang=es><em>quinta</em></lang>, taking all her jewels with her. The regiment
was to march the following morning, and as all mode of
conveyance in the shape of cars or mules, for the wounded
or sick, was under the “surveillance” of the worthy magistrate,
he apprehended no difficulty in tracing his runaway
daughter—but he was mistaken. The cars were examined,
the baggage-mules were overhauled, the commissariat mules,
carrying ammunition, biscuit, and rum, were looked at, but
amongst all these no trace of the fugitive could be found.
What, then, was to be done? There was but one other
chance of finding the girl, and this was a survey of the
officers' horses, as the officers rode at the head or in rear of
.bn 368.png
.pn +1
the column; but the Juiz de Fora, although a functionary
of high note and high authority in his own calling, and
amongst his own neighbours, did not much relish an inspection,
though freely granted, which would place him amongst a
thousand shining British bayonets. However, he did accept
the invitation, and was allowed to make the inspection—but
he discovered no trace of his daughter.

“Are you satisfied?” said the Colonel.

“I am satisfied that my daughter is not with your
regiment, sir; yet I am anything but satisfied as to her
fate!” replied the old man.

The band played a quick march; Thorp, as Drum-Major,
flourished his cane; the daughter of the Juiz de Fora, in her
new and disguised character of cymbal-boy, with her face
blacked, and regimental jacket, banged the Turkish cymbals,
and Thorp, who as Drum-Major was destined to make a
noise in the world, was for obvious reasons silent on this
occasion. The regiment reached Monte Forte the same day,
and the <lang=es><em>padre</em></lang> of that town performed the marriage ceremony
in due form.

In detailing the history of the elopement and marriage of
Jacintha Cherito with Drum-Major Thorp, I have given but
a short outline of a very romantic and, as it was nigh turning
out, a tragical affair. But were I to sit down quietly, and
write of all the intrigues that were set in motion, or of all
the attempts that were made to assassinate this girl, and also
her husband, what I could truly write would be fitting for
the pages of a romance. Thorp’s history shall be told in a
few words. It was this:—

He joined the 88th Regiment on its return from South
America in 1807. He was quite a lad, and being rather too
young to be placed in the ranks, was handed over to the
.bn 369.png
.pn +1
Drum-Major. He soon became so great a proficient that,
on the regiment embarking for Portugal, at the end of 1808,
he was raised to the rank of Drum-Major, in the room of his
preceptor, who was invalided. In those days our Drum-Majors
wore hats pretty much the same as those now worn
by Field-Marshals; indeed, the only difference between them
was that the hat then worn by the former was not only of
a more imposing and capacious size, but more copiously
garnished with white feathers round the brim than those of
the latter now are. The coat, too, a weight in itself, from
the quantity of silver lace with which it was bedizened, was
an object sufficient to attract attention and respect from the
multitude that witnessed the debarkation of the regiment at
Lisbon. In short, Thorp was mistaken by the Portuguese
for a General Officer, and some went so far as to guess at
his being the Earl of Moira, who, it was rumoured at the
time, was about to join the army. Absurd as those opinions
were—and most absurd they assuredly were, because Thorp,
neither in years nor appearance, resembled in the slightest
degree the high personage he was mistaken for—Thorp felt
gratified—and where is the Drum-Major that would not?—at
being taken for a General Officer; and from that moment
he made up his mind to pitch drums, drummers, and drum-sticks,
not only from his hands but his thoughts also, and
fight his way to the honourable privilege of carrying the pole
of a colour in place of the mace of a Drum-Major.

His wish was soon gratified, for when his regiment, at
Busaco, was running headlong with the bayonet against three
of Reynier’s splendid battalions, Thorp, to the amazement
of Colonel Wallace, was seen at the head of the 88th, not
with his “mace of office” in his hand, but with his plumed
hat, waving it high over his head, as he called out, “The
.bn 370.png
.pn +1
Connaught Rangers for ever!” During the action the
Sergeant-Major had been killed while fighting beside Thorp,
and Wallace, on the field of battle, named him as Sergeant-Major,
in place of the one he had lost. From this period up
to the battle of Toulouse, Thorp was a distinguished man.
Four times had he been wounded, but he was always up with
his regiment in time for the next battle, often with his
wounds unhealed. At the battle of Orthes, his conduct was
so remarkable that his name was forwarded for an ensigncy.
Thorp knew this, and at Toulouse, the last battle fought
by the Peninsular army, he was resolved to prove that his
recommendation was deserved. In this action his bravery
was not bravery alone—it was rashness.

Some companies of Picton’s division had been repulsed in
an attack at the bridge-head, near the canal—which attack
it has been said, and in my opinion truly said, should never
have been made—when Thorp ran forward, and assisted in
rallying the soldiers. The fire from the firearms and batteries
of the French was incessant, and many officers and soldiers
had fallen. There was one spot in particular that had been
the scene of much slaughter to those who occupied it, and
five officers, besides numbers of soldiers, had been already
struck down by cannon-shot, and others wounded by musketry.
Amongst the latter was Captain Robert Nickle, one of the
most distinguished officers in the army. While he was
hobbling to the rear, he observed Thorp standing in the
midst of those who had fallen, the rest having been withdrawn
out of fire from a position that should never have
been occupied. For in the front of the French battery, and
running in a direct line from the canal to this position, was a
low narrow avenue or hedge, which ended within a few yards
of where our people had formed after their repulse, and this
.bn 371.png
.pn +1
avenue served as a guide, or groove, for the enemy’s range;
they were now, however, more or less, under cover. In a
moment of excitement, Thorp, with his cap in his hand, stood
alone on this spot, saying, “Now let us see if they can hit
<em>me</em>!” Nickle, who was passing at the moment, supported
by two of his company—for his arm was badly shattered—called
out to Thorp to leave the spot. “Oh, Captain
Nickle,” replied Thorp, “they can’t hit <em>me</em>, I think.” Those
were the last words he ever uttered. A round shot struck
his chest, and, cutting him in two, whirled his remains in the
air. Thus fell the gallant Thorp, and though his rank was
humble, his chivalrous deeds were those of a hero. The day
after his death the English mail brought the <cite>Gazette</cite> in
which poor Thorp’s name was seen as promoted to an ensigncy
in his old regiment; and though this announcement came too
late for him to know it, it was a great consolation to his poor
afflicted widow, and it was the means of reconciling her father
to the choice she had made, and her return once more to her
home was made a scene of great rejoicing; but nothing more
of her was ever heard by the regiment.

.tb

The war in the Peninsula was now ended, after having
continued for nearly six years with various changes; and
gloriously, in truth, was it ended by the British General and
his unconquerable army. “Thus the war terminated, and
with it all remembrance of the veterans' services.” And now,
reader, I am about to take leave of you, for the present at
least. In these “Adventures” I have told you many circumstances
you never before heard of, and I hope I have not
fatigued you, or trespassed too long on your patience. I
have, without being, I trust, too tedious, told you of the
wrongs my old corps has suffered. I have, without presuming
.bn 372.png
.pn +1
to write a History of the Peninsular War, told you something
of the services performed by the Peninsular army; and I
have drawn your attention to the scandalous manner in which
the never-to-be-forgotten services of that wonderful army
were treated by the Government and by the Duke of
Wellington. I leave the continuation of the <cite>Adventures of
the Connaught Rangers</cite> dependent on the favour of which
you may think the pages I have now presented to you
deserving.

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THE END
.sp 4
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<s><em>Printed by</em> <sc>R. & R. Clark, Limited</sc>, <em>Edinburgh</em>.</s>
.pb
<target id='endnote'>
.dv class='tnotes'

.ce
<l>Transcriber’s Note</l>

Hyphenations occurring on line breaks are resolved by following the
preponderant occurrence of the word elsewhere in the text. Several
inconsistencies in punctuation in the front matter were resolved without
notice here.

The reference in the sole error corrected are to the page and line in the original.

.ta l:8 l:46 l:12 w=90%
<pm cref 288.32> | we were beginning [t]o forget | Restored.
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.dv-